They walked across the street.
“Poor dear,” said Ellen Roberts to them as they entered, “she’ll not last till morn. Her heart’s beatin’ slower a’ready.”
“Aye, aye, she’s failin’,” assented the neighbours.
“It would be a credit, somethin’ to be proud on,” whispered old Annie Dalben.
“Aye, a credit,” agreed the neighbours.
Jane beckoned to the doctor.
“If I do, tell Robert Roberts to make mention of it in his sermon,” she pleaded weakly.
“I will,” replied the doctor.
“Well,” remarked Olwyn Evans as they went out, “it’ll be a credit either way to one of the families to be carried in that smart hearse. Jane Wynne’s older, an’ perhaps she’d ought to get it; but then the Joneses has always meant more to Bryn Tirion, an’ it seems as if they’d ought to have the honour. I never saw two families more ambitious for anything. It does seem as if Griffiths had thought of everything a man could think of to benefit the village.”
“Aye,” assented Betty proudly, “he’s a wonderful man for thinkin’ of other folks.”