"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?"