the sack could
not contain any more words, he wove a lid of cobwebs over the mouth of
it. Jealous that no mishap should befall his treasure, he mounted a low,
slow-moving cloud, and folding his wings rode up to the Gate of the
Highway.

VIII

JOSEPH'S HOUSE

A woman named Madlen, who lived in Penlan--the crumbling mud walls of
which are in a nook of the narrow lane that rises from the valley of
Bern--was concerned about the future state of her son Joseph. Men who
judged themselves worthy to counsel her gave her such counsels as these:
"Blower bellows for the smith," "Cobblar clox," "Booboo for crows."

Madlen flattered her counselors, though none spoke that which was
pleasing unto her.

"Cobblar clox, ach y fy," she cried to herself. "Wan is the lad bach
with decline. And unbecoming to his Nuncle Essec that he follows low
tasks."

Moreover, people, look you at John Lewis. Study his marble gravestone in
the burial ground of Capel Sion: "His name is John Newton-Lewis; Paris
House, London, his address. From his big shop in Putney, Home they
brought him by railway." Genteel are shops for boys who are consumptive.
Always dry are their coats and feet, and they have white cuffs on their
wrists and chains on their waistcoats. Not blight nor disease nor frost
can ruin their sellings. And every minute their fingers grabble in the
purses of nobles.

So Madlen thought, and having acted in accordance with her design, she
took her son to the other side of Avon Bern, that is to Capel Mount
Moriah, over which Essec her husband's brother lorded; and him she
addressed decorously, as one does address a ruler of the capel.

"Your help I seek," she said.

"Poor is the reward of the Big Preacher's son in this part," Essec
announced. "A lot of atheists they are."

"Not pleading I have not the rent am I," said Madlen. "How if I
prentice Joseph to a shop draper. Has he any odds?"

"Proper that you seek," replied Essec. "Seekers we all are. Sit you. No
room there is for Joseph now I am selling Penlan."

"Like that is the plan of your head?" Madlen murmured, concealing her
dread.

"Seven of pounds of rent is small. Sell at eighty I must."

"Wait for Joseph to prosper. Buy then he will. Buy for your mam you
will, Joseph?"

"Sorry I cannot change my think," Essec declared.

"Hard is my lot; no male have I to ease my burden."

"A weighty responsibility my brother put on me," said Essec. "'Dying
with old decline I am,