likely qualification. However as they near Swansea, Michael Rossiter
gives Mr. D.V. Williams his card (D.V.W. regrets he cannot
reciprocate but says he has hardly settled down yet to any address)
and--though as a rule he is taciturn in trains and cautious about
making acquaintances--expresses the hope he will call at 1, Park
Crescent some afternoon--"My wife and I are generally at home on
Thursdays"--when all are back in town for the autumn. They separate
at Swansea station.

David spends the night at Swansea, employing some of his time there
by enquiring at the Terminus Hotel as to the roads that lead up the
valley of the Llwchwr, what sort of a place is Pontystrad ("the
bridge by the meadow"), whether any one knows the clergyman of that
parish, Mr.... er ... Howel Vaughan Williams. The "boots" or one of
the "bootses," it appears, comes from the neighbourhood of
Pontystrad and knows the reverend gentleman by sight--a nice old
gentleman--has heard that he's aged much of late years since his son
ran away and disappeared out in Africa. His sight was getting bad,
Boots understood, and he could not see to do all the reading and
writing he was once so great at.

After a rather wakeful night, during which D.V. Williams is more
disturbed by his thoughts and schemes than by the continual noises
of the trains passing into and out of Swansea, he rises early and
drafts a telegram:--

Revd. Howel Williams, Vicarage, Pontystrad, Glamorgan. Hope
return home this evening. All is well.

DAVID.

Then pays his bill and tries to mount his bicycle the wrong way to
the great amusement of the Boots; then remembers the right way and
rides off, with the confidence of one long accustomed to bicycling,
through the crowded traffic of Swansea in the direction of Llwchwr.

It was a very hot ride through a very lovely country, now largely
spoilt by mining and metallurgy, along a road that was constantly
climbing up steeply to descend abruptly. David of course could have
travelled by rail to the Pontyffynon station and thence have ridden
back three miles to Pontystrad. But he wished purposely to bicycle
the whole way from Swansea and take in with the eye the land of his
fathers. He was postponing as long as possible the test of meeting
his father, the father of the young n'eer-do-weel who had been lying
for months in a South African field hospital the year before. He
halted for a cup of