Samuel Jones of Hendre was a man who had seen in life many changes, and with every change its weariness, and with every weariness its tax on his faith. Often when he raised his eyes to seek the light he was blinded by the rush of the storm.  And Hendre was like his life; for every blade of wheat that grew on his land there was a weed, and it was easier to grow gorse and thistles there than corn.  Hendre was a farm in the shadow of the sun; so there was not for him much comfort in the luxurious prayers of Mr. Herbert of the Fron and his sort, men for whom the sun had never done anything but smile on them and on their land and its fruits, men who daily gave thanks for the smiles of Providence and, because it was not with them as it was with many of their fellow-pilgrims, they asked the Lord to be merciful to those fellow-pilgrims, with a hint that the fellow-pilgrims on whom Providence did not smile as it did on them were not wholly free from blame for that themselves. Mr. Herbert always called his God "the Great King", and his highest conception of religion was to be loyal: he knew himself for one of the courtiers of the Great King.

And when the time came to arrange for the harvest thanksgiving, Mr. Herbert was the man who suggested dressing up the lonely old country chapel for the first time with the finest flowers and plants and fruits, as a sign of the Great King's generosity to them all. For it was seemly to be loyal. And having seen them acknowledging His gifts, the Great King would condescend to notice them in His grace, at the harvests which awaited them in the future.  And Mr. Herbert was the owner of the most beautiful flowers, and the rarest plants, and the finest fruits, for he could afford to grow them. But he was loyal and respectful enough to admit that the Great King too had a hand in the work.

When the new plan was brought forward, Robert Owen of Tros yr Afon opposed it, because he did not believe in these newfangled ideas, and because they were only Popery coming in through the back-door. He was the only man who spoke against the suggestion. Whether or not they agreed with Mr. Herbert, fear of him silenced all the others, except Samuel Jones of Hendre. He said not a word, not because he feared Mr. Herbert, but because he despised his blindness too much to venture to answer him; under great emotion Samuel Jones was stumbling in his speech. For he had not seen the Lord's face in these rich flowers and plants and fruits. If he had depended on them, his God's face would have been pale and weak. Mr. Herbert's gardens brought forth pomegranates, but Samuel Jones knew what it was to want for bread.

In the end Mr. Herbert won, and it was decided to decorate the chapel. For days before the festival the women were very busy carrying the fruits of the earth to the little old chapel and arranging them as best they could in a chapel whose walls had not been designed for sheaves of wheat to hang upon, nor its windows to hold apples and oranges and turnips on their sills, nor its pulpit to hold loaves and bunches of grapes. And though the richest of the produce came from the Fron, the rest of the church was not going to come there empty-handed except Robert Owen of Tros yr Afon and Samuel Jones of Hendre. And there was great variety -from the little red potatoes of Ty'n Clwt, and the "old man's beard" of Moel y Wrach, to the pumpkins of the Fron greenhouses and flowers that had no Welsh names, and that had never breathed the air of Wales unaided. And the walls of the little old chapel were more ashen-coloured than ever beside the blush of these privileged flowers and fruits. Robert Owen of Tros yr Afon looked scornfully on all these things, condemning the whole thing loudly, and muttering between his teeth about country popes, but Samuel Jones looked at them with his head under his wing, and kept his own counsel.

When the decoration was complete, the old chapel looked like a heavy-footed, wrinkled-faced, countrified old maid who in the twinkling of an eye had thrown off her clothes in favour of the most fashionable London and Paris wear, and had filled her wrinkles with paint and powder, while the shape and movements of her body cried out against them.

Before the day of the festival, everybody looked in to see the sight, and it was extraordinarily fine in everyone's eyes. No one doubted that there would be great enthusiasm in the singing and the praying and the whole festival from beginning to end. Many a man went home from the sight fully believing that Mr. Herbert of the Fron was the most godly and the most inspired man in the whole countryside, for thinking of this idea: to bring the Great King's gifts to His own House, and in His sight to receive them back gratefully from His hand, instead of sweeping them thoughtlessly in from the gardens and fields. Samuel Jones too went to see the sight, and as he looked upon it, he cast his eyes back on his own past. Little had his body or his soul ever had of splendid fruits from the orchards and vineyards and gardens of life. He had been without them so long that he doubted whether they would agree with him if he had them now. The battle of his body and soul for their sustenance had been the battle of bleak land, and he would never have known the Lord if he had waited for the great harvests to lead him to Him. The God of these fruitful mercies was Mr. Herbert's God, not his; and he went home heavy-footed and weary-eyed. And a wave of bitterness came over his spirit, and swept away every tittle of thanks from his breast, leaving only the filthiness of the wave.

The night before the festival came at last, and the night before was a preparation for the great day it was the night for the apprentice hands to pray. The old hands were kept for the next day, and they were arranged according to their gifts, and carefully winnowed, so that only the great gifts remained for the last night. The sight before them was a great help in loosening the tongues of the apprentice hands, and they gave thanks more freely than usual, if their language was halting and narrow, for these visible signs of the thoughtfulness of the Lord and His mercies towards them, though there was no hope that they, poor fellows, would ever sink their teeth in the fruits which smiled mockingly on them from the walls and windows. And they suggested that they didn't know what would have become of them if the Lord had frowned on them and withheld His hand, and they feared that their faith would have been shipwrecked had it not been for these signs.

Samuel Jones himself was one of the men of the night before, in the world of prayer, for he was clumsy-tongued and uncouth of speech. But though he was called upon, and though he wanted to go forward, he could not for the life of him do so tonight. He felt that the Lord's mercies round about him were mocking him and scorning him, siding with their Creator as respecters of persons. At the end of the service he got up before anyone else and went home alone, with his head bowed more heavily than ever. Though he went to bed, he did not sleep a wink, but tossed and turned all night, seeing the Lord's mercies staring at him from the darkness, laughing at him, with their eyes aflame like stars in every corner of the room. He saw what he had thought to be a rock, on which he thought he had climbed, and which he thought he had made the foundation of his life, shaking like a quicksand under his feet. He knew that if everyone else was right he was mistaken, but if he was right, all this sort of thanks was the vanity of people who had not faced life. It became a fight for him, and he fought the whole night, with the Great King half the time mocking him and the other half hiding His face from him. And when He did happen to show His face, it was the face of Mr. Herbert of the Fron. But after the long battle, he thought the face of the Lord had changed, and that he himself had at last found the true vision; and he determined to put it to the test. He rose when the dawn was beginning to mottle the sky, and went out to his fields. He cut all the thistles that were at hand and made a bunch of them. He went to the field whose gorse he could not master, and cut an armful of the gorse. Then he went to the field where he fought incessantly with thorns, and cut an armful of those too. Then he went to the hedge and lopped off the longest branches of the brambles and took them with him. After that he went to gather an armful of the weeds with which the farmers of the district fought a lifelong battle. He made a load of them all, and trailed straight off to the little old lonely chapel, whose frosted roof he saw shining in the distance in the pale light, when hardly anyone else in the district had begun to move. He hesitated a little on the threshold, and went in, for the door was not locked: no one would think of locking it between two services during the harvest thanksgiving festival.

He went in and put his load down. Then he collected all the flowers and plants and fruits and carried them to the cellar where the firewood was kept. He came back and began on the work he had come there to do. He dressed the pulpit with thorns and brambles, he put the gorse along the window-sills, and the thistles and weeds in bunches to hang on the nails here and there on the walls. Then he went to the other end of the chapel and looked at the sight. After that he turned on his heel and went home to his breakfast like a man coming home from the battlefield after a great victory.

Samuel Jones arrived early at the chapel for the ten o'clock prayer-meeting. The congregation was very large. It was always large at the harvest thanksgiving services, but the novelty of this meeting brought everyone with an inquisitive spirit there, however irreligious and unthankful he might be. When he got to the porch, each one put his head in through the chapel door first, before going in himself, to have a look at the sight. And the next thing was a sudden little sort of "Oh I" as though someone had put a pin into him. And everyone who came in after this went through this rite, and turned back to the porch to whisper furiously to everybody who was there.

And Samuel Jones enjoyed the scene with a great enjoyment.

If the other decorations had been an attraction, these were much more so, for when the news of the transformation had gained wings, it went from one to another like wildfire, and people poured in, treading on each other's heels.

The hour for beginning came, but everybody stared one at the other - the elders in the big pew at the congregation, and the congregation at the elders and the new decorations alternately. Instead of signs of the Great King's blessings, there were signs of His curses on every side - for was not the great curse, "Thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee"? And in every breast were awakened bitter memories of the lifelong battles against opposing powers that were a burden on their lives in this bleak mountainous district. Every prayer that had been prepared for the meetings of the day was destroyed. And it was worse for the men who were to pray in the morning than for anyone, for the others would have a chance to revise their thoughts. And Samuel Jones, spying eagerly at the men who were to pray, muttered continually to himself, "Now pray, you knaves".

Mr. Herbert of the Fron looked bitter. He had never before had occasion to seek the Great King's face in thorns and brambles and gorse and thistles and weeds. But time was going, and he stood up to lead the meeting as usual. He could not think of a hymn that would suit an occasion like this; so instead of giving out a hymn himself, and calling someone forward afterwards, he called on William Jones of Gwern y Ffynnon to lead a hymn and to begin. But neither the chapter that William Jones had meant to read, nor the prayer he had composed, acknowledged thorns and brambles and gorse and thistles and weeds as God's mercies. And though he had a long list of those mercies to recite and work up enthusiasm with, since he had carefully learnt the names of as many of the exotic mercies as could be put into Welsh, he could not think of a tone of voice that would fit words like thorns and brambles and gorse and thistles and weeds. So William Jones shook his head. And Samuel Jones of Hendre rubbed his hands together between his knees and muttered to himself, "Now pray, you knaves".

Then Mr. Herbert called on Hugh Edwards, the stone-mason, who too had been shaping fine sentences during the last few days, including the words cucumbers and pumpkins and pomegranates, and had convinced himself that Mesopotamia was their natural home, so that he could bring that word in too. Hugh Edwards too shook his head. And Samuel Jones went on rubbing his hands and muttering, "Pray now, enthuse now, Hugh".

That was a head-shaking service, and Mr. Herbert came to the end of the men who ought to pray at the ten o'clock meeting without so much as one of them obeying his call; he was terrified of calling on any of those who ought to pray in the evening, lest he should offend them. And everybody again began to look one at the other. No one expected that Samuel Jones would be called on to take part, for he was one of the night-before men, and he had already refused. But after a long uneasy silence, during which everyone waited for everyone else, and stared at the strange decorations and made guesses at their secret; after Mr. Herbert had coughed suggestively from time to time, and puffs of laughter had begun to come from the children and the thoughtless; after Jane Daniel.of Ddol Ddu had tried to strike a tune and start a hymn, and had failed; Samuel Jones himself began to feel uneasy, and to see that all this was a challenge to what he thought of as his vision. After turning about in his seat and fidgeting and looking several times towards the door, and rubbing his hands together between his knees for a long time, and scratching his neck uncomfortably, he suddenly rose and went up at a half-trot to the big pew, he stood there and looked at the congregation, and the congregation looked at him, with something of stupidity in the look on both sides. For who ever heard of one of the night-before men taking part of his own accord the next morning, after refusing on his own proper night? Samuel Jones turned to look at the thorns and the brambles and the gorse and the thistles and the weeds, and shook himself. Then without giving out a hymn he turned to the Bible, opened it, and searched through it, and began to read, pouring his soul into every word and sentence. And the sentences took light under his touch. He did not read much, but these were the words

"Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: yet will I rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation.
"The Lord God is my strength, and he will make my feet like hinds' feet, and he will make me to walk upon mine high places."

Samuel Jones shut the Bible with a snap, and went down on his knees, with cold sweat pouring down his face. After some stumbling the bonds of his tongue were unloosed, and his speech became like a flood. His vision flamed before his eyes, and he was as one who saw the thorns and the brambles on the pulpit, and the gorse on the windows, and the thistles and the weeds on the walls, as a splendid garment about the Lord, and the face of the Lord shining through them; and the Lord and he walked together in the garden of the Lord: but the flowers there were not ashamed of His garments.

The prayer meeting was held for the rest of the day, and the thorns and brambles and the gorse and the thistles and the weeds were not taken away. Many men prayed in their turn, but that festival is known to this day, in the tradition of the countryside, as Samuel Jones's Harvest Thanksgiving.