He looked the beau-ideal of a servant of all work.
"Can I see the church ?" said I.
"Ah, you want to see the church," said honest Scrub.

"Yes, sar! you shall see the church.

You go up road there past church--come to house, knock at door--say what you want--and nice little girl show you church.
Ah, you quite right to come and see church--fine tomb there and clebber man sleeping in it with his wife, clebber man that--Owen Tiddir; married great queen--dyn clebber iawn." Following the suggestions of the man of the hairy cap I went round the church and knocked at the door of the house, a handsome parsonage.

A nice little servant-girl presently made her appearance at the door, of whom I inquired whether I could see the church.
"Certainly, sir," said she; "I will go for the key and accompany you." She fetched the key and away we went to the church.

It is a venerable chapel-like edifice, with a belfry towards the west; the roof sinking by two gradations, is lower at the eastern or altar end, than at the other.
The girl, unlocking the door, ushered me into the interior.
"Which is the tomb of Tudor ?" said I to the pretty damsel.
"There it is, sir," said she, pointing to the north side of the church; "there is the tomb of Owen Tudor." Beneath a low-roofed arch lay sculptured in stone on an altar tomb, the figures of a man and woman; that of the man in armour; that of the woman in graceful drapery.