Through Welsh Doorways Part 5

"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 hea.r.s.e. 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," a.s.sented Betty proudly, "he's a wonderful man for thinkin' of other folks."

V

_Bryn Tirion sees Death Triumphant_

"I don't know," said Olwyn Evans, in a resigned voice, "I don't know but it was best. The Wynneses always had fewer chances than the Joneses.

Hugh Wynne didn't say much, but I could see he was happy, an' the Wynne girls was so pleased. They said as long as their mother had to go she couldn't have done better, the stone'll look so pretty with it all writ on it; an' then the hea.r.s.e an' their mournin' did look so nice together."

"There was a good many folks there?" suggested Griffiths.

"Aye, there was; I thought it was more'n pleasant for all the Joneses to come, because they must feel disappointed with Jane Jones still livin'."

"Is she the same?" asked Griffiths.

"Aye, no worse."

"There was people at the funeral from Tremadoc," added Betty.

"From Tremadoc and from Rhyd Dhu, too. Some haven't ever seen a real hea.r.s.e before. A cart to draw the coffin in is all the Rhyd Dhu folks know," concluded Olwyn.

"They say the plate on the coffin was more'n filled with money," added Betty.

"Aye, it was," said Olwyn; "there was more'n enough to pay both the doctor an' the minister. It does the town good to have a lot of folks here. They wasn't all interested in Jane Wynne, but they was interested in seein' which'd die first, an' in the hea.r.s.e. I suppose they wanted to come an' make sure she really was dead. Well, you never did better by Bryn Tirion, Griffith."

"Aye," said Griffith, tapping his finger-tips together and smiling contentedly at the row of big-eyed, whiskered cats, "aye, it's an a.s.sistance."

_Dreams in Jeopardy_

Pedr Evans dived into the contents of a box of picture post-cards; from the shop counter all that could be seen of him was the back of broad shoulders, two inches of st.u.r.dy neck, well-shaped ears, and a thatch of brown hair. The box, which was large and placed on a shelf behind the counter, gave evidences to the person who could peek over the counter and around Pedr of being in an alarming state of disorder. Apparently the man fumbling among the cards intended to rearrange them; at least some line of the figure suggested that this was the impression he wished to convey. But it was as if he were running his hands through sand, for the post-cards slipped from his fingers and fell in even greater confusion. A woman who had entered the shop-door looked at his back a second--she had caught a rim of the face as it had turned quickly away--smiled, lifted her eyebrows, and stuck her tongue into one heavily tinted cheek.

"'Ts, 'ts," she hissed, behind her teeth.

Pedr wheeled about; in turning he caught the corner of his box of post-cards, and over they went upon the floor.

"Well, indeed, Catrin Griffiths," he said, with an attempt at composure.

"Aye, it's me," she answered airily. "Ffi! Playin' cards, Pedr Evans?

Um-m, what would Nelw Parry be sayin'?"

Pedr coloured and s.h.i.+fted his weight.

"No, puttin' the stock in order," he objected.

"Yes? Well, an' playin' you didn't see me? Yes?"

Catrin patted the puffs of yellow hair that projected from under her pink hat, and, placing a finger on her lips, smiled insinuatingly at Pedr. It was evident as she stood before him that she considered herself alluring, a charming embodiment of the world and the flesh and the devil. Of that world, it was rumoured, Pedr Evans knew something; at least he had made excursions into it; he had been to Liverpool, nay, he had been even farther, for he had been to London. London! The word chimed as merrily in Catrin's ears as coronation bells. London! Pedr Evans had been to London, and the magic word had been in more mouths than Catrin's. There was never a question asked in Conway, climbing by degrees to the wise men of the village and still failing an answer, but people would say, "Aye, well, indeed, _we_ dunno, but Pedr Evans he's been to London, an' he'll know, whatever."

Catrin Griffiths had seen him mount the London coach, and she had seen him return. And, by a method of reasoning wholly her own, she had concluded that he would appreciate her, for she, Catrin Griffiths, had seen something of that world, too; she had seen highly-coloured prints of Piccadilly, the 'busses with gay people atop and fine ladies in their carriages clad in cloaks and furs and furbelows, throats and wrists bejewelled in a marvellous fas.h.i.+on, and such fine gentlemen driving the carriages; and, what is more, she had spelled painfully through the English, in which her tongue was stiff, of a beautiful romance, "Lady Nain's Escape." Catrin considered her worldly schooling of coloured pictures, a novel, and advertis.e.m.e.nts, the best, and with an occasional s.h.i.+lling sent to Liverpool she had literally applied this tuition to her face and figure. She realised, however, that there were still worlds for her to conquer, and a far enchanted land called Drawing Room into which she had not as yet had even a lithographic peep. Because she longed for greater nearness to this kingdom, therefore she longed for Pedr. As she stood before him, her pink hat on her yellow hair, her painted face thick with chalk, her lips a glossy carmine, her throat embedded in fluffs of cheap tulle, her figure stuffed into an ancient dress of white serge, she was wondering how it would be possible for any man to resist her.

But the man whom she ogled blushed; he looked furtively towards the windows, and at the door at the back of the shop, and it was plain to be seen that he felt himself caught in a trap between his counter and the shelf. He seemed ashamed, ashamed to look at her.

"Well, Catrin," he said, without lifting his eyes, "what can I do for you to-day?"

"Dear _anwyl_, it's most slipped my mind--um-m--well, I'll be havin'

sixpence worth of writin' paper."

"Aye, smooth, I suppose?" he asked, taking it from the shelf.

"No, I think I'll take it rough, for that's the style now, whatever."

"Oh! very well."

"Been takin' photographs lately, Pedr?"

"Not many."

"I'm thinkin' you'll be goin' down Caerhun way some day soon," she continued, her pink face wrinkling with mingled mirth and devilry; "it's very pretty there, good for an artist like you."

Pedr folded in the ends of the parcel and said nothing.

"Aye," she went on, "an' there's an old church there, with a bell-tower that looks over the wall like an eye. It don't wink, Pedr, but I'm thinkin', indeed, it could tell a good deal, if it had a mind to. It's next to the church the Parrys used to live."

Pedr, tying the parcel and snapping the string, maintained his silence.

"It's there old Parry used to be drunk as a faucet; aye, an', Pedr," she whispered, "I could be tellin' you somethin' else. Nelw Parry----"

"Tut!" said Pedr angrily; "here's your parcel, Catrin Griffiths. You'll have to be excusin' me this morning, for I'm busy."

"Pooh, busy!" and Catrin laughed shrilly; "you're always busy when there's a mention of Nelw Parry. Well, ask Nelw herself what it is she can tell you that you don't know. Perhaps you'll be _wantin'_ to know before you marry her."