before death, he summoned to him his sons. "Off away am I to the
Palace," he said.

"Large will be the shout of joy among the angels," Aben told him.

"And much weeping there will be in Sion," said Dan. "Speak you a little
verse for a funeral preach."

"Cease you your babblings, now, indeed," Sheremiah demanded. "Born first
you were, Aben, and you get Rhydwen. And you, Dan, Penlan."

"Father bach," Aben cried, "not right that you leave more to me than
Dan."

"Crow you do like a cuckoo," Dan admonished his brother. "Wise you are,
father. Big already is your giving to me."

Aben looked at the window and he beheld a corpse candle moving outward
through the way of the gate. "Religious you lived, father Sheremiah, and
religious you put on a White Shirt." Then Aben spoke of the sight he had
seen.

The old man opened his lips, counseling: "Hish, hish, boys. Break you
trenches in Penlan, Dan. Poor bad are farms without water. More than
everything is water." He died, and his sons washed him and clothed him
in a White Shirt of the dead, and clipped off his long beard, which
ceasing to grow, shall not entwine his legs and feet and his arms and
hands on the Day of Rising; and they bowed their heads in Sion for the
full year.