THE GLORY THAT WAS SION’S
“What's the use of a tombstone,” asked Old Shemmi, “if there is nothing under it? Does a landless man go to Castellybryn to buy a plough?”
“O you people,” the Respected Bryn-Bevan broke in, “you are all wandering on the moorness. Dear me. Dear me! Let us now seek deliverance from this trial which it has pleased God to inflict upon us. Let them who go to church tithe gatherers and the like be buried in church ground. Well do we know the fewness of graves there. We know where the Angel and the trumpet will be. Our graveyard, dear ones, is it not the glory of Sion? No, indeed then, we cannot spare one clay. Sit you down now and reason with one another.”
“Very suitable,” observed Old Shemmi, “is the field over Abel Shones’s house.”
“I am not afraid to enter the Palace,” said Abel. “But, friends bach, does not my drinking-water come through that field?”
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