“Shut your backhead.  Out of school will Winnie be very near now.”

“Speak clear.”

“Ask Enoch Harries will I to make her his servant.”

“Be modest in your manner,” Martha warned her husband.  “Man grand is Enoch.”

“Needing servants hap he does.”

“Perhaps, iss; perhaps, no.”

“Cute is Winnie,” said Tim; “and quick.  Sense she has.”

Tim addressed Enoch, and Enoch answered:  “Blabber you do to me, why for?  Send your old female to Mishtress Harries.  Order you her to go quite respectable.”

Curtsying before Mrs. Harries, Martha said:  “I am Tim Dafis’ wife.”

“Oh, really.  The person that is in charge of that funny little Welsh chapel.”  Mrs. Harries sat at a table.  “Give me your girl’s name, age, and names of previous employers for references.”  Having written all that Martha said, she remarked:  “We are moving next week to a large establishment in Thornton East.  I am going to call it Windsor.  Of course the husband and I will go to the English church.  I thought I could take your girl with me to Windsor.”

“The titcher give her an excellent character.”

“I’ll find that out for myself.  Well, as you are so poor, I’ll give her a trial.  I’ll pay her five pounds a year and her keep.  I do hope she is ladylike.”

Martha told Tim that which Mrs. Harries had said, and Tim observed:  “I will rejoice in a bit of prayer.”

“Iss,” Martha agreed.  “In the parlor of the preacher.  They go up quicker.”

God was requested by Tim to heap money upon Mrs. Harries, and to give Winnie the wisdom, understanding, and obedience which enable one to serve faithfully those who sit in the first pews in the chapel.

Now Winnie found favor in the sight of her mistress, whose personal maid she was made and whose habits she copied.  She painted her cheeks and dyed her hair and eyebrows and eyelashes; and she frequented Thornton Vale English Congregational Chapel, where now worshiped Enoch and his wife.  Some of the men who came to Windsor ogled her impudently, but she did not give herself to any man.  These ogles Mrs. Harries interpreted truthfully and she whipped up her jealous rage.

“You’re too fast,” she chided Winnie.  “Look at your blouse.  You might be undressed.  You are a shame to your sex.  One would say you are a Piccadilly street-walker and they wouldn’t be far wrong.  I won’t have you making faces at my visitors.  Understand that.”

Winnie said:  “I don’t.”

“You must change, miss,” Mrs. Harries went on.  “Or you can pack your box and go on the streets.  Must not think because you are Welsh you can do as you like here.”

On a sudden Winnie spoke and charged her mistress with a want of virtue.

“Is that the kind of miss you are!” Mrs. Harries shouted.  “Where did you get those shoes from?”

“You yourself gave them to me.”