By Berwen Banks. Allen Raine

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      "To-morrow they can clear out the barn. The next day is the market at Llanilwyn; they must go there and buy a cow which Jones Pant y rych is going to sell. I have told Ebben he is not to give more than 8 pounds for her, and that is one pound more than she is worth."

      Cardo was silent. To clear out the barn next day was easy enough, but to get Dye and Ebben to the market on the following day would be impossible. It was the opening of the Sassiwn, and he knew that neither of the men would be absent on that occasion, even though disobedience should cost them their place. They were both Methodists, and it had gone hard with the Vicar before he had taken them into his service; but the exigencies of farm life had compelled him to do so, as there was absolutely not one young man amongst his own congregation.

      To do him justice, he had forgotten for the moment that the market day at Llanilwyn would also be the Sassiwn day.

      "Do you remember, father, the Sassiwn begins the day after to-morrow?"

      "I had forgotten it, but I don't see what difference that can make to my buying a cow."

      "But Ebben and Dye will want to be at the meetings."

      A shadow crossed the old man's face. He made no answer, but continued to eat his supper in silence, and at last rose, and with a short "Good-night, Cardo," went into his study. He knew as well as his son did that it would be useless to try and persuade his servants to be absent from the meetings, and the knowledge galled him bitterly, too bitterly for words, so he was silent; and Cardo, knowing his humour, said nothing to Dye and Ebben of his father's wishes.

      "Poor old dad!" he sighed, as he finished his supper, "it is hard for him to see his congregation dwindled away to a mere handful, while the chapels around him arc crowded to overflowing. By Jove! there must be something wrong somewhere."

      As usual after supper he followed Betto into the old kitchen, where the servants were assembled for supper, and where Shanw was again holding forth, to her own delight and Betto's disgust, on the coming glories of the Sassiwn.

      "To-morrow evening will be the first meeting."

      "Will it be in the field?" asked Cardo.

      "Oh, no, Ser; the first is in the chapel always, and no strangers are there. Essec Powell will have to shut up his old books for a few days now, and poor Valmai will have rest. Marged Hughes says she is reading to him for hours every day, but once she can get out of his sight he forgets all about her, and goes on reading himself."

      "When does he prepare his sermons?" said Cardo.

      "Prepare his sermons!" said Shanw indignantly. "Do you think Essec Powell would write his sermon out like a clergyman and read it out like a book? No, indeed! Straight from the 'brist'—that's how Essec Powell preaches!"

      "What time is the first meeting next day?"

      "Oh, early, Ser—eight o'clock. Are you coming? Anwl! there's glad they'd be. You shall go on the platform with Price Merthyr and Jones Abertawe and all the rest."

      "Saul among the prophets," said Cardo, laughing, and picturing himself among the solemn-faced preachers. "No, no; that wouldn't do, Shanw. What would my father say?"

      "Well, well!" said Shanw, clicking her tongue against her teeth; "'ts, 'ts! 'tis pity indeed. But, there, everybody knows it is not your fault, Ser."

      Cardo frowned, and fell into a brown study. It wounded him to hear his father blamed, and yet in his heart of hearts he wished he would so far temper his zeal with Christian charity as to attend the meetings which were moving the hearts of the people so much.

      3 "The old know, the young appear to know."

      4 Leek broth.

      5 Rodomontade.

      6 Peeped.

      7 Glamorganshire.

      CHAPTER III

      THE SASSIWN

      The Sassiwn day dawned bright and clear, and as the time for the first service drew near, the roads and lanes were thronged with pedestrians and vehicles of every description.

      The doors of the houses in all the surrounding villages were closed for the day, except in a few cases where illness made it impossible for the inmates to leave their beds. Everybody—man, woman, and child, including babies innumerable—turned their faces towards the sloping field which for the day was the centre of attraction.

      Already the grass was getting hidden by the black throng, and still the crowds arrived, seating themselves row behind row on the wild thyme and heather. The topmost corner of the field merged into a rocky wilderness of stunted heath and patches of burnt grass, studded with harebells, and this unapportioned piece of ground stretched away into the adjoining corner of the Vicar's long meadow. In the afternoon Cardo, who had virtuously kept away from the morning meetings, sauntered down to chat with Dye, who had condescended to absent himself from the third service, in order to attend to his duties on the farm.

      "You sit here, Mr. Cardo," he said, with a confidential wink, "on your own hedge; the Vicar can't be angry, and you will hear something worth listening to."

      Soon the sloping bank was crowded with its rows of human beings, all listening with intense interest to a pale, dark man, who stood on the front of the platform at the bottom of the field, and with sonorous voice delivered a short opening prayer, followed by an impassioned address. In the clear, pure air every word was distinctly heard all over the field, the surging multitude keeping a breathless silence, broken only by the singing of the birds or the call of the seagulls. Sometimes a baby would send up a little wail of fatigue; but generally the slumberous air soothed and quieted them into sleep.

      The prayer over, the preacher gave out the words of a well-known hymn, and with one accord the people stood up, and from those hundreds and thousands arose the swelling tones of one of those old hymns which lay hold of every Welshman's heart, its strange reminiscences, its mysterious influences swaying his whole being, and carrying him away on the wings of its rising and falling melody. His fathers and grandfathers sang it in their old thatched cabins—and, farther back, the warriors and bards of his past ancestry breathed the same tones—and, farther back still, the wind swept its first suggestions through the old oaks of the early solitudes.

      "Is it this, I wonder, this far-reaching into the past, which gives such moving power to the tones of an old Welsh hymn?" Thus Cardo mused, as he sat on the hedge in the spring sunshine, his eyes roaming over the dense throng now settling down to listen to the sermon, which the preacher was beginning in low, slow sentences. Every ear was strained to listen, every eye was fixed on the preacher, but Cardo could not help wondering where Valmai was. He saw Essec Powell with clasped fingers and upturned chin listening in rapt attention; he saw in the rows nearest the platform many of the wives and daughters of its occupants. Here surely would be the place for the minister's niece; but no! Valmai was nowhere to be seen. In truth, she had been completely forgotten by her uncle, who had wandered off with a knot of preachers after the hospitable dinner, provided for them at his house СКАЧАТЬ