“Aye, but it won’t save Jane Jones nor Jane Wynne.”
“No?”
“The Joneses is havin’ him come every other day, so the Wynneses is doin’ the same. They’re both failin’ rapidly. When the family asks about Jane Jones, all he’ll say is, ’She’s no worse.’ An’ when the Wynneses ask about Jane Wynne he says, ’She’s no better.’ Olwyn Evans says it’s her opinion he don’t know which is worse; doctors, she thinks, has to keep quiet, they’re always so uncertain what the Lord is plannin’. It’ll be hard on Robert if they both die the same day an’ he has to bury them simultaneous. Virginia says he’s poorly now from havin’ to make so many visits each day on the Joneses, to say nothin’ of the neighbours flockin’ in to ask him questions after each visit. It’s hard on Robert.”
“Aye, it is,” assented Griffiths peacefully.
In the thirtieth year of the contest Griffith Griffiths had won his election; by the gift of the hearse he put Bryn Tirion under a final obligation. Politics paled before the generations of dead who would be indebted to this benefactor. That a man should be a Conservative or a Radical mattered not to the dead, and the living must discharge for the dead their debt of gratitude. But the outcome of this contest was quickly lost sight of in the uncertainty of a new strife. Would Jane Jones or Jane Wynne be buried first in the new hearse? While Griffiths and Betty were still discussing this question the door-knocker clapped rapidly.
“I do believe it’s Olwyn Evans come with news,” exclaimed Betty.
“Good-evening,” said Olwyn, disposing of her greeting. “She’s seen it!”
“Seen it?”
“Aye, Gwen Williams. She was walkin’ there by the old hedge over the Glaslyn this evening, an’ first she thought it was a light in the old mill, for it looked large just like a lamp-flame. Then she saw it was movin’ and it was comin’ toward her.”