“May I look at it?” said I.
“Certainly,” said the woman, and placed the book in my hand. It was a magnificent Welsh Bible, but without the title-page.
“That book must be a great comfort to you,” said I to her.
“Very great,” said she. “I know not what we should do without it in the long winter evenings.”
“Of what faith are you?” said I.
“We are Methodists,” she replied.
“Then you are of the same faith as my friend here,” said I.
“Yes, yes,” said she, “we are aware of that. We all know honest John Jones.”
After we had left the gate I asked John Jones whether he had ever heard of Rebecca of the toll-gates.
“Oh, yes,” said he; “I have heard of that chieftainess.”