"They do," Martha avowed. "Sometimes, iss; sometimes, no. Poison they are when they breed."
"Not talking properly you are," said Eylwin. "Why for you palaver about breeding to the preacher? Cross I will be."
"Be you quiet now, Martha," said Tim. "Lock your tongue."
"Send a letter to Winnie for a rabbit; two rabbits if she is small," ordered Eylwin. "And not see your faults will I."
Tim and Martha were perplexed and communed with each other; and Tim walked to Wimbledon where he was not known and so have his errand guessed. He bought a rabbit and carried it to the door of the minister's house. "A rabbit from Winnie fach in Wales," he said.
"Eat her I will before I judge her," replied Eylwin; and after he had eaten it he said: "Quite fair was the animal. Serious dirty is the capel. As I flap my hand on the cushion Bible in my eloquence, like chimney smoke is the dust. Clean you at once. For are not the anniversary meetings on the sixth Sabbath? All the rich Welsh will be there, and Enoch Harries and the wife of him."
He came often to view Tim and Martha at their labor.
"Fortunate is your wench to have holiday," he said one day. "Hard have preachers to do in the vineyard."
"Hear we did this morning," Tim began to speak.
"In a hurry am I," Eylwin interrupted. "Fancy I do butter from Wales with one pinch of salt in him. Tell Winnie to send butter that is salted."