TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Yiss, mum. [Touches his forelock to Mrs. Jones the Wash.] A grand day for the clothes, Mrs. Jones, mum.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. Yiss, yiss, an' as I was just sayin' 'tis a meltin' day for the soap!
NELI. [Significantly.] An' perhaps 'tis a meltin' day for somethin' besides soap!
[She looks at Deacon.
HUGH. [Earnestly.] Yiss, yiss, for souls, meltin' for souls, I am hopin'. [Picking up the book from the little three-legged table, and speaking to the Deacon.] They are enlargin' the burial ground in Llanycil Churchyard—achoo! achoo!
DEACON ROBERTS. [Slyly moving a step away from fire.] They're only enlargin' hell, Hughie lad, an' in that place they always make room for all. [He casts a stabbing look at Neli.
MRS. JONES THE WASH. [Nodding head.] True, true, room for all! [Chuckling.] But 'twould be a grand place to dry the clothes in!
DEACON ROBERTS. [Severely.] Mrs. Jones, mum, hell is paved with words of lightness.
HUGH. [Looking up from book, his face expressing delight.] Deacon Roberts, I have searched for the place of hell, but one book sayeth one thing, an' another another. Where is hell?
TOM MORRIS THE SHEEP. Aye, where is hell?