Tim, the Bible in his hands, stepped up to the pulpit, his
eyes closed in prayer, and as he passed up he stumbled.
Eylwin Jones heard the noise of his fall and ran into the chapel.
"What's the matter?" he cried. "Comic you look on your stomach. Great
one am I for to see jokes."
"An old rod did catch my toe," Tim explained.
Eylwin changed the cast of his countenance. "Awful you are," he reproved
Tim. "Suppose that was me. Examine you the stairs. Now indeed forget a
handkerchief have I for to wipe the flow of the nose. Order Winnie to
give me one of Enoch Harries. Handkerchiefs white and smelly he has."
"Ill is Winnie fach," said Martha.
"Gone she has for brief weeks to Wales," Tim added.
In the morning Eylwin came to the Tabernacle.
"Not healthy am I," he said. "Shock I had yesterday. Fancy I do a rabbit
from Wales for the goiter."
"Tasty are rabbits," Tim uttered.
"Clap up, indeed," said Martha. "Too young they are to eat and are they
not breeding?"
"Rabbits very young don't breed," remarked Eylwin.
"They do," Martha avowed. "Sometimes, iss; sometimes, no. Poison they
are when they breed."
"Not talking properly you are," said Eylwin.
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