tea at Llandeilotalybont ... Wales has many
place names like this ... and being there not many miles from
Pontystrad was able to glean more recent and more circumstantial
information about the man he proposed to greet as "father."

At half-past six that evening, having perspired and dried, perspired
and dried, strained a tendon and acquired a headache, he halted
before the gate of the Vicarage garden at Pontystrad, having been
followed thither to his secret annoyance by quite a troop of village
boys of whom he had imprudently asked the way. As they talked Welsh
he could not tell what they were saying, but conjectured that his
telegram had arrived and that he was expected.

Standing under the porch of the house was an old man with a long
white beard like a Druid in spectacles shading his eyes and
expectant...

A bicycle might prove an incumbrance in the ensuing interview, so
David hastily propped his against a fuchsia hedge and hurried
forward to meet the old man, who extended hands to envelop him, not
trusting to his eyes. An old, rosy-cheeked woman in a sunbonnet came
up behind the old man, shrieked out "Master David!" and only waited
with twitching fingers for her own onslaught till the father had
first embraced his prodigal son. This was done at least three times,
accompanied with tears, blessings, prayers, the uplifting of poor
filmy eyes to a cloudless Heaven--"Diolch i Dduw!"--ejaculations as
to the wonder of it--"Rhyfeddol yw yn eiholl ffyrdd"--God's
Providence--His ways are past finding out! "Ni ellir olrain ei
Ragluniaeth!"--"My own dear boy! Fy machgen annwyli!"

Then the old woman took her turn: "Master David! Eh, but you're
changed, mun!"--then a lot of Welsh exclamations, which until the
Welsh can agree to spell their tongue phonetically I shall not
insert--"Five years since you left us! Eh, and I never thought to
see you no more. Some said you wass dead, others that you wass taken
prisoner by the Wild Boars. But here you are, and welcome--indeed--"
Then Master David between the embraces was scanned, a little more
critically than by the purblind father, but with distinct approval.

At last David stood apart in the stone-flagged hall of the Vicarage.
His abundant hair was rumpled, his face was stained by other
people's tears, his collar, tie, dress disordered, and his heart
touched. It was a rare experience in his twenty-four years of
life--he guessed that should be his age--to find himself really
tak