Jenkins the Midwife--Jane Elin has a new baby, an' it'll be needin'
somethin'. [_Pointing to counter._] Here is everythin' plainly marked.
Ye're no to undersell or give away anythin.' D'ye hear?
HUGH. Aye, I hear!
NELI. An' remember where the tobacco is, for this is the day Tom Morris
the Sheep comes in.
HUGH. Aye, in the glass jar.
NELI. Good-by. I will return soon.
HUGH. [_Indifferently._] Good-by.
[NELI _leaves by door at back centre. Immediately_ HUGH _steals
toward the shelves where she hid the book_.
NELI. [_Thrusting head back in._] Mind, Hughie lad, no readin'--nay, not
even any theology!
HUGH. [_Stepping quickly away from shelves and repeating parrotlike._]
Nay, nay, no readin', no sermons, not even any theology!
NELI. An' no salvation till I come back!
[_She smiles, withdraws head, and is gone._ HUGH _starts forward,
collides clumsily with the counter in his eagerness, knocks the
basket of eggs with his elbow, upsetting it. Several eggs break. He
shakes his head ruefully at the mess and as ruefully at the
counter. He finds book and hugs it greedily to him._
HUGH. [_Mournfully._] Look at this! What did I say but that there was no
salvation sellin' groceries! If Neli could but see those eggs! [_He
goes behind counter and gets out a box of eggs, from which he refills
the basket. The broken eggs he leaves untouched upon the floor. He opens
his volume of sermons and seats himself by a little three-legged table
near the fire. He sighs in happy anticipation. Hearing a slight noise,
he looks suspiciously at door, gets up, tiptoes across floor to street
door, and locks it quietly. An expression of triumph overspreads his
face._] Da, if customers come, they will think no one is at home
whatever, an' I can read on! [_He seats himself at little three-legged
table, opens volume, smooths over its pages lovingly, and begins to read
slowly and halting over syllables._] The smoke of Ba-by-lon was
hot--scorchin' hot. An' 'twas filled with Ba-ba-ba-baal stones, slimy
an' scorchin' hot also----
[_There is the sound of feet coming up the shop steps, followed by
a hand trying the door-knob._ HUGH _looks up from his sermons, an
expression of innocent triumph on his face. The door-knob is tried
again, the door rattled._
[_Then some one rings the shop door-bell._
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Calling._] Mrs. Williams, mum, have ye any soap?
[_No answer. Calling._] Mrs. Williams! Mrs. Williams!
[HUGH _nods approvingly and lifts his volume to read_.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Where are they all whatever? I will just look in at
the window, [_A large, kindly face is anxiously flattened against the
window. At that_ HUGH _drops in consternation under the three-legged
table_.] Uch, what's that shadow skippin' under the table? No doubt a
rat after the groceries. Mrs. Williams, mum, Mrs. Williams! Well,
indeed, they're out.
[_She pounds once more on the door with a heavy fist, rings, and
then goes. Suddenly the door back centre opens, and_ NELI WILLIAMS
_appears_.
NELI. [_She does not see_ HUGH _and peers around for him_.] What is all
that bell-ringing about?
[HUGH _crawls out from under the table_.
HUGH. Hush, she's gone!
NELI. [_Amazed, and whispering to herself._] Under the table!
HUGH. [_Rising and putting up his hand as a sign for her to keep
silent._] Nay, 'twas Mrs. Jones the Wash come to buy her soap whatever!
NELI. Aye, well, why didn't she come in whatever?
HUGH. [_Whispering._] I locked the door, Neli, so I could finish readin'
those essays whatever! An' then she looked in at the window, an' I had
to get under the table.
NELI. [_Indignantly._] Locked the door against a customer, an' after all
I said! An' crawled under a table! Hugh Williams, your wits are goin'
quite on the downfall!
HUGH. [_In a whisper._] Aye, but Neli, those essays--an' I thought ye
had gone to market.
NELI. I had started, but I came back for my purse. Put down that book!
HUGH. Aye, but, Neli----
NELI. [_Angrily._] Much less of heaven an' much more of earth is what I
need in a husband! Ye have sent away a customer; very like Mrs. Jones
the Wash after soap will go elsewhere.
HUGH. Aye, but Neli....
[_Steps are heard approaching._
NELI. Get up! Some one is coming.
[HUGH _gets up very unwillingly_.
HUGH. [_Whispering still._] Aye, but Neli....
NELI. [_Angrily._] Put down that book, I say! [_She crunches over some
eggshells._] Eggs? Broken?
HUGH. [_Putting down book._] Aye, Neli, my elbow an' the eggs in
Babylon....
NELI. [_Sarcastically._] Aye, I see beasts in Babylon here
together--doleful creatures smearin' one an' sixpence worth of eggs all
over the floor. An' a half-dozen eggs gone last week. [_Wiping up
eggs._] An' I'm to suppose Babylon had something to do with that
half-dozen eggs, too? They were put in the basket after Mrs. Jones the
Wash had left whatever, an' before Deacon Roberts came.
HUGH. Neli, I did not say----
NELI. [_Still angrily._] Well, indeed, unlock that door!
HUGH. [_Going to unlock door._] But, Neli....
NELI. [_Disappearing through door back centre._] Not a word! Your mind
has gone quite on the downfall--lockin' doors against your own bread and
butter an' soap.
HUGH. [_Unlocking door sullenly._] But, Neli, salvation an' soap....
NELI. [_Snappily._] Salvation an' soap are as thick as thieves.
HUGH. But, Neli, a man is his own master.
NELI. Yiss, I see he is!
[NELI _goes out, slamming door noisily_.
HUGH. Dear anwyl, she seems angry!
[HUGH _opens street door left just as_ NELI _goes out through
kitchen, by door back centre_. DEACON ROBERTS _enters the door_
HUGH _has unlocked. He looks at_ HUGH, _smiles, and goes over to
counter in a businesslike way. He is a stout man, dressed in a
black broadcloth cutaway coat, tight trousers, a drab vest, high
collar and stock, woollen gloves, a muffler wound about his neck
and face, and a tall Welsh beaver hat. Under his arm he carries a
book._
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Speaking affectionately, pulling off his gloves,
putting down book on counter, and beginning eagerly to touch the various
groceries._] Essays on Babylon to-day, Hughie lad?
HUGH. [_Looking about for_ NELI _and speaking fretfully_.] Nay.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Unwinding his muffler._] Ye look as if ye had been in
spiritual struggle.
HUGH. [_Drearily._] I have.
DEACON ROBERTS. Well, indeed, Hughie, 'tis neither the angel nor the
archfiend here now, nor for me any struggle except the struggle to both
live an' eat well--ho! ho! _an'_ eat well, I say--in Bala. [_Laughs
jovially._] Ho! ho! not bad, Hughie lad--live _an'_ eat in Bala!
HUGH. [_Patiently._] With that muffler around your head, deacon, ye are
enough to frighten the devil out of Babylon.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Unwinding last lap of muffler._] Yiss, yiss, Hughie
lad. But I dunno but ye will understand better if I call myself, let us
say the angel with the sickle--ho! ho!--not the angel of fire, Hughie,
but the angel with the sharp sickle gatherin' the clusters of the vines
of the earth. [_Sudden change of subject._] Where is Neli?
HUGH. [_Vacantly._] I dunno--yiss, yiss, at market.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Chuckling._] Dear, dear, at market--a fine day for
marketing! An' my essays on the Flamin' Wickedness of Babylon, Hughie
lad, how are they? Have ye finished them?
HUGH. Nay, not yet.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Looking over counter, touching one article after
another as he mentions it._] Pickled herrin'--grand but wet!
Pickles--dear me, yiss, Neli's--an' good! Butter from
Hafod-y-Porth--sweet as honey! [_He picks up a pat of butter and sniffs
it, drawing in his breath loudly. He smiles with delight and lays down
the butter. He takes off his hat and dusts it out inside. He puts his
hat back on his head, smiles, chuckles, picks up butter, taps it
thoughtfully with two fingers, smells it and puts down the pat
lingeringly. He lifts up a loaf of_ NELI WILLIAMS'S _bread, glancing
from it to the butter_.] Bread! Dear me! [_His eyes glance on to
codfish._] American codfish [_picks up package and smacks his lips
loudly_], dear _anwyl_, with potatoes--[_reads_] "Gloucester." [_Reaches
out and touches eggs affectionately._] Eggs--are they fresh, Hugh?
HUGH. [_Dreamily._] I dunno. But I broke some of them. They might be!
[_Looks at floor._
DEACON ROBERTS. _Were_ they fresh?
HUGH. I dunno.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Sharply._] Dunno? About _eggs_?
[_Picks up egg._
HUGH. [_Troubled._] Neli's hens laid them.
DEACON ROBERTS. I see, Neli's hens laid 'em, an' you broke 'em!
Admirable arrangement! [_Putting down the egg and turning toward the
cheese, speaks on impatiently._] Well, indeed then, were the hens fresh?
HUGH. [_More cheerful._] Yiss, I think. Last week the basket was grand
an' full of fresh eggs, but they disappeared, aye, they did indeed.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Starts._] Where did they go to?
HUGH. [_Injured._] How can I say? I was here, an' I would have told her
if I had seen, but I did not whatever. Neli reproves me for too great
attention to visions an' too little to the groceries.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Chuckling._] Aye, Hughie lad, such is married life!
Let a man marry his thoughts or a wife, for he cannot have both. I have
chosen my thoughts.
HUGH. But the cat----
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Briskly._] Aye, a man can keep a cat without risk.
HUGH. Nay, nay, I mean the cat took 'em. I dunno. That's
it--{SPACE}[HUGH _clutches his head, trying to recall something_.] Uch,
that's it! Neli told me to remember to ask ye if ye thought eggs could
steal a cat whatever.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Puzzled._] Eggs steal a cat?
HUGH. [_Troubled._] Nay, nay, cats steal an egg?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Startled and looking suspiciously at_ HUGH.] Cats?
What cats?
HUGH. [_With solemnity._] Aye, but I told Neli I'm no carin' about cats
with heaven starin' me in the face. Deacon Roberts, those essays are
grand an' wonderful.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Relieved._] Yiss, yiss! Hughie lad, theology is a
means to salvation an' sometimes to other ends, too. But there's no
money in theology. [_Sighs._] And a man must live! [_Points to corroded
dish of pickled herring, sniffing greedily._] Dear people, what
beautiful herrin'! [_Wipes moisture away from corners of his mouth and
picks up a fish from dish, holding it, dripping, by tail._] Pickled?
HUGH. [_Looking at corroded dish._] Tuppence.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Shortly._] Dear to-day.
HUGH. [_Eyeing dish dreamily._] I dunno. Neli----
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Eyes glittering, cutting straight through sentence and
pointing to cheese._] Cheese?
HUGH. A shillin', I'm thinkin'.
DEACON ROBERTS. A shillin', Hugh? [DEACON ROBERTS _lifts knife and drops
it lightly on edge of cheese. The leaf it pares off he picks up and
thrusts into his mouth, greedily pushing in the crumbs. Then he pauses
and looks slyly at_ HUGH.] Was it sixpence ye said, Hugh?
HUGH. [_Gazing toward the fire and the volume of essays._] Yiss,
sixpence, I think.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Sarcastically._] Still too dear, Hugh!
HUGH. [_Sighing._] I dunno, it might be dear. [_With more animation._]
Deacon, when Babylon fell----
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Wipes his mouth and, interrupting_ HUGH, _speaks
decisively_.] No cheese. [_He removes his tall Welsh beaver hat, mops
off his bald white head, and, pointing up to the shelves, begins to dust
out inside of hatband again, but with a deliberate air of preparation._]
What is that up there, Hughie lad?
HUGH. [_Trying to follow the direction of the big red wavering
forefinger._] Ye mean that? A B C In-fants' Food, I think.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Giving his hat a final wipe._] Nay, nay, not for me,
Hughie lad! Come, come, brush the smoke of burnin' Babylon from your
eyes! In a minute I must be goin' back to my study, whatever. An' I have
need of food!
[HUGH _takes a chair and mounts it. The_ DEACON _looks at_ HUGH'S
_back, puts his hand down on the counter, and picks up an egg from
the basket. He holds it to the light and squints through it to see
whether it is fresh. Then he turns it lovingly over in his fat
palm, makes a dexterous backward motion and slides it into his
coat-tail pocket. This he follows with two more eggs for same
coat-tail and three for other--in all half a dozen._
HUGH. [_Dreamily pointing to tin._] Is it Yankee corn?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_To Hugh's back, and slipping in second egg._] Nay,
nay, not that, Hughie lad, that tin above!
HUGH. [_Absent-mindedly touching tin._] Is it ox tongue?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slipping in third egg and not even looking up._] Ox
tongue, lad? Nay, nuthin' so large as that.
HUGH. [_Dreamily reaching up higher._] American condensed m-m-milk?
Yiss, that's what it is.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slipping in fourth egg._] Condensed milk, Hughie? Back
to infants' food again.
HUGH. [_Stretching up almost to his full length and holding down tin
with tips of long white finger._] Kippert herrin'? Is it that?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slipping in fifth egg._] Nay, nay, a little further
up, if you please.
HUGH. [_Gasping, but still reaching up and reading._] Uto--U-to-pi-an
Tinned Sausage. Is it that?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slipping in sixth egg with an air of finality and
triumph, and lifting his hat from the counter._] Nay, nay, not that,
Hughie lad. Why do ye not begin by askin' me what I want? Ye've no gift
for sellin' groceries whatever.
HUGH. [_Surprised._] Did I not ask ye?
DEACON ROBERTS. Nay.
HUGH. What would Neli say whatever? She would never forgive me.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Amiably._] Well, I forgive ye, Hughie lad. 'Tis a
relish I'm needin'!
HUGH. [_Relieved._] Well, indeed, a relish! We have relishes on that
shelf above, I think. [_Reaches up but pauses helplessly._] I must tell
Neli that these shelves are not straight.
[_Dizzy and clinging to the shelves, his back to the_ DEACON.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Picking up a pound of butter wrapped in print paper._]
Is it up there?
HUGH. No, I think, an' the shelves are not fast whatever. I must tell
Neli. They go up like wings. [_Trying to reach to a bottle just above
him._] Was it English or American?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Putting the pound of butter in his hat and his hat on
his head._] American, Hughie lad.
[_At that instant there is a noise from the inner kitchen, and_
NELI WILLIAMS _opens the door. The_ DEACON _turns, and their
glances meet and cross. Each understands perfectly what the other
has seen._ NELI WILLIAMS _has thrown off her red cloak and taken
off her Welsh beaver hat. She is dressed in a short full skirt,
white stockings, clogs on her feet, a striped apron, tight bodice,
fichu, short sleeves, and white cap on dark hair._
NELI. [_Slowly._] Uch! The deacon has what he came for whatever!
HUGH. [_Turning to contradict his wife._] Nay, Neli--{SPACE}[_Losing his
balance on chair, tumbles off, and, with arm flung out to save himself,
strikes dish of pickled herring. The herring and brine fly in every
direction, spraying the_ DEACON _and_ HUGHIE; _the bowl spins madly,
dipping and revolving on the floor. For a few seconds nothing is audible
except the bowl revolving on the flagstones and_ HUGHIE _picking himself
up and sneezing behind the counter_.] Achoo! Achoo! Dear me,
Neli--Achoo!
NELI. [_Going quickly to husband and beginning to wipe brine from
husband's forehead and cheeks; at the same time has her back to the_
DEACON _and forming soundless letters with her lips, she jerks her head
toward the_ DEACON.] B-U-T-T-E-R!
HUGH. [_Drearily._] Better? Aye, I'm better. It did not hurt me
whatever.
NELI. [_Jerking head backwards toward_ DEACON ROBERTS _and again forming
letters with lips_.] B-U-T-T-E-R!
HUGH. What, water? Nay, I don't want any water.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Coughing, ill at ease and glancing suspiciously at
bowl that has come to rest near his leg._] Ahem! 'Tis cold here, Mrs.
Williams, mum, an' I must be movin' on.
NELI. [_Savagely to_ DEACON.] Stay where ye are whatever!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Unaccustomed to being spoken to this way by a woman._]
Well, indeed, mum, I could stay, but I'm thinkin' 'tis cold an'--I'd
better go.
NELI. [_Again savagely._] Nay, stay! Stay for--for what ye came for
whatever!
[NELI _looks challengingly at the_ DEACON. _Then she goes on wiping
brine carefully from husband's hair and from behind his ears. The_
DEACON _coughs and pushes bowl away with the toe of his boot_.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Smiling._] 'Tis unnecessary to remain then, mum.
NELI. [_To_ HUGH.] What did he get?
HUGH. [_Sneezing._] N--n--Achoo!--nothin'!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_With sudden interest, looking at the floor._] Well,
indeed!
NELI. [_Suspiciously._] What is it?
[_He reaches down with difficulty to a small thick puddle on the
floor just beneath his left coat-tail. He aims a red forefinger at
it, lifts himself, and sucks fingertip._
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Smiling._] Ahem, Mrs. Williams, mum, 'tis excellent
herrin' brine! [_From the basket on the counter he picks up an egg,
which he tosses lightly and replaces in basket._] A beautiful fresh egg,
Mrs. Williams, mum. I must be steppin' homewards.
HUGH. [_Struggling to speak just as_ NELI _reaches his nose, wringing it
vigorously at she wipes it_.] Aye, but Neli, I was just tellin' ye when
I fell that I could not find the deacon's relish--uch, achoo! achoo!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_With finality, tossing the egg in air, catching it and
putting it back in basket._] Well, indeed, mum, I must be steppin'
homewards now.
[NELI'S _glance rests on fire burning on other side of room_. _She
puts down wet cloth. She turns squarely on the_ DEACON.
NELI. What is your haste, Mr. Roberts? Please to go to the fire an'
wait! I can find the relish.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Hastily._] Nay, nay, mum. I have no need any
more--[_Coughs._] Excellent herrin' brine.
[_Goes toward door._
NELI. [_To_ HUGH.] Take him to the fire, Hugh. 'Tis a cold day whatever!
[_Insinuatingly to_ DEACON.] Have ye a reason for wantin' to go, Mr.
Roberts?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Going._] Nay, nay, mum, none at all! But, I must not
trouble ye. 'Tis too much to ask, an' I have no time to spare an'----
NELI. [_Interrupting and not without acerbity._] Indeed, Mr. Roberts,
sellin' what we _can_ is our profit. [_To_ HUGH, _who obediently takes_
DEACON _by arm and pulls him toward fire_.] Take him to the fire, lad.
[_To_ DEACON.] What kind of a relish was it, did ye say, Mr. Roberts?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Having a tug of war with_ HUGH.] 'Tis an Indian
relish, mum, but I cannot wait.
HUGH. [_Pulling harder._] American, ye said.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Hastily._] Yiss, yiss, American Indian relish, that
is.
NELI. Tut, 'tis our specialty, these American Indian relishes! We have
several. Sit down by the fire while I look them up. [_Wickedly._] As ye
said. Mr. Roberts, 'tis cold here this morning.
DEACON ROBERTS. There, Hughie lad, I must not trouble ye. [_Looks at
clock._] 'Tis ten minutes before twelve, an' my dinner will be ready at
twelve. [_Pulls harder._
NELI. [_To_ HUGH.] Keep him by the fire, lad.
DEACON ROBERTS. There, Hughie lad, let me go!
[_But_ HUGH _holds on, and the_ DEACON'S _coat begins to come off_.
NELI. [_Sarcastically._] The relish--American Indian, ye said, I
think--will make your dinner taste fine and grand!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Finding that without leaving his coat behind he is
unable to go, he glowers at_ HUGH _and speaks sweetly to_ NELI.] 'Tis a
beautiful clock, Mrs. Williams, mum. But I haven't five minutes to
spare.
NELI. [_Keeping a sharp lookout on the rim of the_ DEACON'S _hat_.]
Well, indeed, I can find the relish in just one minute. An' ye'll have
abundance of time left.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Trapped, and gazing at clock with fine air of
indifference._] 'Tis a clever, shinin' lookin' clock whatever, Mrs.
Williams, mum.
NELI. Have ye any recollection of the name of the maker of the relish,
Mr. Roberts?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Putting his hands behind him anxiously and parting his
freighted coat-tails with care; then, revolving, presenting his back and
one large, well-set, bright-colored patch to the fire._] Nay, I have
forgotten it, Mrs. Williams, mum.
NELI. Too bad, but I'm sure to find it. [_She mounts upon chair. At this
moment the shop door-bell rings violently, and there enters_ MRS. JONES
THE WASH, _very fat and very jolly. She is dressed in short skirt, very
full, clogs on her feet, a bodice made of striped Welsh flannel, a
shabby kerchief, a cap on her head, and over this a shawl._ NELI _turns
her head a little_.] Aye, Mrs. Jones the Wash, in a minute, if you
please. Sit down until I find Deacon Roberts's relish whatever.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Sits down on chair by door back centre and folds
her hands over her stomach._] Yiss, yiss, mum, thank you. I've come for
soap. I came once before, but no one was in.
NELI. Too bad!
MRS. JONES THE WASH. An' I looked in at the window an' saw nothin' but a
skippin' shadow looked like a rat. Have ye any rats, Mrs. Williams, mum,
do ye think?
NELI. Have I any rats? Well, indeed, 'tis that I'm wantin' to know, Mrs.
Jones the Wash!
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Well, I came back, for the water is eatin' the soap
to-day as if 'twere sweets--aye, 'tis a very meltin' day for soap!
[_Laughs._
DEACON ROBERTS. 'Tis sweet to be clean, Mrs. Jones the Wash.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Laughing._] Yiss, yiss, Deacon Roberts, there has
many a chapel been built out of a washtub, an' many a prayer risen up
from the suds!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Solemnly._] Aye, Mrs. Jones the Wash, 'tis holy work,
washin' is very holy work.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Touched._] Yiss, yiss, I thank ye, Deacon
Roberts.
DEACON ROBERTS. Well, I must be steppin' homeward now.
NELI. [_Firmly._] Nay, Mr. Roberts. I am searchin' on the shelf where I
think that American Indian relish is. Ye act as if ye had some cause to
hurry, Mr. Roberts. Wait a moment, if you please.
DEACON ROBERTS. Well, indeed, but I am keepin' Mrs. Jones the Wash
waitin'!
NELI. [_To_ MRS. JONES.] Ye are in no haste?
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Thoroughly comfortable and happy._] Nay, mum, no
haste at all. I am havin' a rest, an' 'tis grand an' warm here whatever.
NELI. [_Maliciously to_ DEACON.] Does it feel hot by the fire?
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Experiencing novel sensations on the crown of his bald
head._] Mrs. Williams, mum, 'tis hot in Y Gegin, but as with Llanycil
Churchyard, Y Gegin is only the portal to a hotter an' a bigger place
where scorchin' flames burn forever an' forever. Proverbs saith, "Hell
an' destruction are never full." What, then, shall be the fate of women
who have no wisdom, Mrs. Williams, mum?
NELI. [_Searching for relish._] Aye, what? Well, indeed, the men must
know.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Nodding her head appreciatively at_ HUGH.] Such
eloquence, Mr. Williams! Aye, who in chapel has such grand theology as
Deacon Roberts!
[_She sighs. The bell rings violently again, and_ TOM MORRIS THE
SHEEP _enters. He is dressed in gaiters, a shepherd's cloak, etc.,
etc. He carries a crook in his hand. He is a grizzle-haired,
rosy-faced old man, raw-boned, strong, and awkward, with a
half-earnest, half-foolish look._
NELI. [_Looking around._] Aye, Tom Morris the Sheep, come in an' sit
down. I am lookin' out an American Indian relish for the deacon.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Yiss, mum. I am wantin' to buy a little tobacco,
mum. 'Tis lonely upon the hillsides with the sheep, whatever.
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Hastily._] I must go now, Mrs. Williams, mum, an' ye
can wait on Tom Morris.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Nay, nay, Mr. Roberts, sir, there is no haste.
NELI. [_To_ TOM MORRIS.] Sit down there by the door, if you please.
[TOM MORRIS _seats himself on other side of door by back centre_.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Yiss, mum. [_Touches his forelock to_ MRS. JONES
THE WASH.] A grand day for the clothes, Mrs. Jones, mum.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Yiss, yiss, an' as I was just sayin' 'tis a meltin'
day for the soap!
NELI. [_Significantly._] An' perhaps 'tis a meltin' day for somethin'
besides soap! [_She looks at_ DEACON.
HUGH. [_Earnestly._] Yiss, yiss, for souls, meltin' for souls, I am
hopin'. [_Picking up the book from the little three-legged table, and
speaking to the_ DEACON.] They are enlargin' the burial ground in
Llanycil Churchyard--achoo! achoo!
DEACON ROBERTS. [_Slyly moving a step away from fire._] They're only
enlargin' hell, Hughie lad, an' in that place they always make room for
all. [_He casts a stabbing look at_ NELI.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [_Nodding head._] True, true, room for all!
[_Chuckling._] But 'twould be a grand place to dry the clothes in!