DEACON ROBERTS. [Experiencing novel sensations on the crown of his bald head.] Mrs. Williams, mum, 'tis hot in Y Gegin, but as with Llanycil Churchyard, Y Gegin is only the portal to a hotter an' a bigger place where scorchin' flames burn forever an' forever. Proverbs saith, "Hell an' destruction are never full." What, then, shall be the fate of women who have no wisdom, Mrs. Williams, mum?
NELI. [Searching for relish.] Aye, what? Well, indeed, the men must know.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [Nodding her head appreciatively at Hugh.] Such eloquence, Mr. Williams! Aye, who in chapel has such grand theology as Deacon Roberts!
[She sighs. The bell rings violently again, and Tom Morris the Sheep enters. He is dressed in gaiters, a shepherd's cloak, etc., etc. He carries a crook in his hand. He is a grizzle-haired, rosy-faced old man, raw-boned, strong, and awkward, with a half-earnest, half-foolish look.
NELI. [Looking around.] Aye, Tom Morris the Sheep, come in an' sit down. I am lookin' out an American Indian relish for the deacon.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Yiss, mum. I am wantin' to buy a little tobacco, mum. 'Tis lonely upon the hillsides with the sheep, whatever.
DEACON ROBERTS. [Hastily.] I must go now, Mrs. Williams, mum, an' ye can wait on Tom Morris.
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Nay, nay, Mr. Roberts, sir, there is no haste.
NELI. [To Tom Morris.] Sit down there by the door, if you please.
[Tom Morris seats himself on other side of door by back centre.