"Handy is little money," she
murmured, "to pay for lodgings and clothes preacher, and the old scamps
of boys who teach him." She lived on potatoes and buttermilk, and she
dressed her land all the time. People came to remark of her: "There's no
difference between Mali Pencoch and the mess in her cow-house."
Days, weeks, and months moved slowly; and years sped. Josi passed from
the School of Grammar to College Carmarthen, and Mali gave him all the
money that she had, and prayed thus: "Big Man bach, terrible would
affairs be if I perished before the boy was all right. Let you me keep
my strength that Josi becomes as large as Bern-Davydd. Amen."
Even so. Josi had a name among Students' College, and even among
ordained rulers of pulpits; and Mali went about her duties joyful and
glad; it was as if the Kingdom of the Palace of White Shirts was within
her. While at her labor she mumbled praises to the Big Man for His
goodness, until an awful thought came to her: "Insulting am I to the
Large One bach. Only preachers are holy enough to stand in their pray.
Not stop must I now; go on my knees will I in the dark."
She did not kneel on her knees for the stiffness that was in her limbs.
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