“Why, I said to him, yere hanner, that I would tell the congregation, at which he laughed and said that he wished I would, for that the congregation would say they didn’t believe me, though at heart they would, and would like him all the better for it.”
“Well, and what did you say then?”
“Nothing, at all, yere hanner; but I spat in his face and went home and told my uncle Tourlough, who forthwith took out a knife and began to sharp it on a whetstone, and I make no doubt would have gone and stuck the fellow like a pig, had not my poor aunt begged him not on her knees. After that we had nothing more to do with the Methodists as far as religion went.”
“Did this affair occur in England or Wales?”
“In the heart of England, yere hanner; we have never been to the Welsh chapels, for we know little of the language.”
“Well, I am glad it didn’t happen in Wales: I have rather a high opinion of the Welsh Methodist. The worthiest creature I ever knew was a Welsh Methodist. And now I must leave you and make the best of my way to Chepstow.”
“Can’t yere hanner give me God before ye go?”
“I can give you half-a-crown to help you on your way to America.”
“I want no half-crowns, yere hanner; but if ye would give me God I’d bless ye.”
“What do you mean by giving you God?”