Читать книгу: «The Making of William Edwards; or, The Story of the Bridge of Beauty», страница 9

'Ah, well, Rhys, all the world are not farmers. Cate's father is a weaver. I cut turf, and sell lime and culm and aught else, to turn an honest penny. But let me see what sort of a young builder you have on the farm. You know I do be going about the country and use my eyes, so I know good walls from bad ones.'

'Sure, they do be well enough for a boy's work,' half contemptuously admitted Rhys, whilst pointing out the repairs in walls and sties.

Jones gave them more than a cursory examination.

'Yes, yes, Rhys. But they do be "well enough" for a man's work, that they do. The stones are well fitted and firm. You owe the boy thanks, not blame. Don't you be for thwarting Willem, or you may be spoiling a good builder to make a poor farmer. A sound fence is a farmer's friend. Let him keep your fences sound, and he will help to pay the rent, 'deed he will.'

'I don't see how.'

'Your eyes are blinded by prejudice, man. Would not a stray cow, or hog, or pony that found a gap ready, do more damage to crops in a day than you could repair in a month?'

This was not to be gainsaid. But when the turf-cutter urged William's claim to just consideration and recognition of his service, the pride of Rhys was up in alarm for his own authority.

'He is such a boy,' he argued.

'No more a boy than you were, Rhys, when you first tried to fill your dead father's place, and told your mother you were "old enough to do your duty." Have you forgotten that? Or are you younger than you were then?'

Whether he had forgotten, or did not choose to remember, he turned off with a light laugh, and the remark, 'I'm not doing my duty in idling here.'

But conscience is a mill that grinds at all hours, and unsought, and Robert Jones had set the wheels in motion.

'Willem,' said the peat-cutter to the depressed boy, just before he cracked his whip to set his unloaded team in motion downhill, 'if you build up your life as well as you have built up your garden wall, you'll do. It is firm and compact, and the stones are set evenly together. But strife between brothers is a bad foundation to build upon. And it is not for a lad of your age to be unruly, and oppose the brother who has so long been working for all of you. There is time enough before you to build walls or churches, or what you will; but you have none to lose if you would bind the bond of brotherhood around you, or lay the foundation of a Christian life, look you.'

William's eyes brightened, and his chest expanded under his Saturday's sullied smock-frock, as his early friend commended his handiwork, for and hitherto he had not been cloyed with the sweetmeat. But his aspect changed. He did not relish the bitter dose of advice mingled with the honey, for his whole soul was in rebellion.

'Praise is pleasanter than honey,'

Yet, swift and sharp as the man's whip crack, memory brought back those other words to the same purport the stranger, Mr. Morris, had spoken long ago, and every hoof-beat of mule or ass seemed to hammer them into his brain.

Far down the steep hill were beasts and driver before William roused from his reverie, and rushed after them, shouting as he went. The man turned.

'What is it, Willem?'

'Can you teach me to count?'

'Yes, up to a hundred, in tens. That is the way I count my peat.'

'Oh, I can be counting that as I knit.'

'Ah, then, if you do be wanting to reckon properly, and do sums with figures, you had better be asking Owen Griffith; he do be clever at that. I will speak to him for you.'

''Deed, I would be so glad.'

Robert Jones was as good as his word. Owen's cottage was not on his direct road, but he did not mind going out of his way to do a kindness.

The weaver had just taken a finished web of blue flannel out of his loom, and sat smoking a long pipe on the bench outside.

After the first salutation, the turf-cutter began by saying, 'Have you seen the dry wall Willem Edwards have been building up so cleverly?'

'Sure to goodness, no. Yet he did always have a notion that way. I have heard Rhys and Cate be laughing over it many a time.'

''Deed, yes, Owen, but it's not to be laughed at. That boy have a head, look you. I've seen walls built and mended less securely by old hands before now.'

'Sure now! You don't say so? I wish he would come and repair mine. It's been tumbling down, stone by stone, waiting till Morgan the mason did be coming round.'

'Well, you ask Willem. And if you would be offering to teach him to reckon up with figures, he would be proud and pleased to build it up. 'Deed he would. He do just be asking me to teach him. But you go looking at that wall of his. Willem do want encouraging, not laughing at. He will build up more than a broken-down wall some day. – Shall you be wanting peat or lime next week?'

'Ah, yes; and if you think Willem can mend the wall you can bring a sled of stones as well.'

The next day, on the way from church, Owen Griffith got William by his side, and set him counting the trees by the wayside, and the sheep on the hills, as preliminary to lessons in arithmetic, but nothing said he of any broken walls.

He left that for the afternoon, when he and Cate walked up to the farm, ostensibly to learn what news Ales had brought from Cardiff.

Over all that he shook his head, uncertain what to make of it, though he said, 'It do look bad, it do.'

But there was nothing uncertain in his exclamation of surprise at the firmly repaired walls Mrs. Edwards showed so proudly as the work of her youngest son.

It led to the open proposal that William should restore his fences to condition in return for lessons in arithmetic, and to Mrs. Edwards' consent to that use of his time.

Rhys had strolled away with Cate to talk over the deferred prospect of their marriage, and so did not hear of this arrangement until afterwards, when, for reasons of his own, he thought best to keep the peace.

It was the small beginning of greater things.

CHAPTER XVII.
PROPER TOOLS

Ales had resumed her work on the farm, but not with the spirit and vivacity of old. She had been wont to sing over her work, and had a store of old Welsh ballads in her memory. But the song-bird mourned in silence for the mate torn away so ruthlessly, and, as weeks and months and years rolled on in the same drear monotony of hopelessness, her heart grew colder and heavier, and her prayers became as the very wailings of despair.

It cut her to the soul to hear Rhys grumbling, as he did, at the money filched from them to pay, not only the rent Evan should have paid, but the heavy costs of a seizure in addition; and she more than once resolved to quit the farm when the year expired.

Second thoughts, however, suggested that nothing would suit the young man better, and his very grumbling might have that end in view; for, once rid of her, he could seek the necessary consent to bring in a wife with a good grace.

He had not improved in temper, certainly. It had irritated him to hear William lauded for the very proclivities he had held of so small account, nay, turned into ridicule.

It was no satisfaction to have a brother so much younger competent to enlarge and raise the walls of the sheepfold, as he did, before a second winter set in. What though a mason's charges were saved, was not the saving at the greater cost of his own supremacy?

And in the long winter nights when he and Davy sorted fleeces or combed the wool, or tended the dye-pot on the fire; when Ales taught Jonet to twirl the flaxen thread drawn from the distaff, so as to set the spindle dancing on the floor to the tune of the mother's industrious spinning-wheel, how it tried his patience to see William making figures and calculations on a board, with chalk or ruddle by the light of the candle, whilst the knitting-pins, which should have been earning money, lay idle by his side.

There are men ready to perform generous acts, who are flagrantly unjust, but cannot see it. Robert Jones had urged Rhys Edwards to 'be just.' He should have said 'be generous,' and Rhys might have responded to the appeal. He resented the imputation of injustice.

Yet he denied to his brother the meed of praise his service merited; he begrudged him the time to acquire the common rules of simple arithmetic; perhaps because he felt it was a step to something beyond his own attainment. He counted not the money saved in masonry as money earned. He might have been content had William been as passively submissive as Davy and Jonet, but he found in him a spirit boldly daring to cope with his own, and it stung him to find the boy upheld in his resistance.

So years crept on. The third winter passed, the snows melted, the roads were free for traffic, the river sang a pæan to approaching spring, the pink and brown buds were bursting into green, song birds were flitting and fluttering about the eaves and boughs, all was life and activity upon the farm. The Osprey had never again put into port at Cardiff, where Mr. Pryse bit his nails and snarled more cantankerously than ever, and nothing had been heard of Evan. Ales lost heart, she did not sing with the birds; but William, no longer snubbed, worked on the farm with the best, until another barrier rose between himself and Rhys, in the shape of another stone wall.

Hedges have now superseded walls in many parts of Glamorganshire; but at the date of this narrative, the fields and lanes were universally bounded by what are known as 'dry walls,' and still they serve as fences on the uplands.

By 'dry walls' are to be understood walls built without mortar or cement, of irregular, unhewn flagstones, so put together, so wedged in one with another, as to stand firm where a cemented wall might give way exposed to the high winds of those elevated regions, the very crevices allowing the blasts to pass through, and so reduce the pressure on the mass. Such are the walls in Craven and other parts of northern England.

Yet it is no uncommon thing for the coping-stones to be hurled away in a fierce gale, or for large portions of such walls to be blown down, as came to pass on Brookside Farm that gusty spring.

Here was an opportunity for William to turn his talent to account and save his mother's pocket, as be sure he did.

So far, so good. Rhys made no objection, and Mrs. Edwards was well pleased. Davy had begun to feel proud of his brother.

But it so happened that Robert Jones, whose window had long before been fitted in by William, came to seek his services, not merely to repair a breach, but to enclose a portion of ground as a stone yard.

Rhys, then engaged sowing barley on last year's turnip ground, looked as black as two thunder-clouds rolled into one, and without mincing his words gave a decided refusal.

'Willem is not a public stonemason, Robert Jones. He is now dibbling in the potato-sets, and cannot be spared. You asked me to "be just"; do you think you are just in seeking to draw him away from the farm at this busy season?' and with a very strong oath he swore 'Willem should not build walls for him or any one else.'

But the leader of the peat-cutter's team happened to carry a resonant bell, as did the leading beast of all packhorse teams, in order to warn other teamsters, or the drivers of cattle or carriages, that the narrow roadway was blocked, and one or the other must wait in the nearest broadened space provided as a refuge until the advancing team had passed and left the road clear. Such open grassy spots may still be seen in England's narrow by-ways, and there gipsies make their camps. Nay, even in the heart of busy London, old Paternoster Row is so provided with spaces where two carts may pass abreast.

The bell, set ringing through the clear March air with every motion of the mule's head, brought William leaping over runnel, ridge and furrow, and dividing fence to greet his old and true friend.

The voice of Rhys, ever loud and authoritative, now raised and vehement, reached William as he came bounding along.

'Who says I shall not build walls for any one?' he cried. 'I will, and no one here shall stop me. Do you think I mean to dig and delve all my life, and be labourer to you?'

'Labourer to me, you jackanapes? Do you think your intermittent labour pays for your sustenance? But if you quit the farm this day to go wall-building, you may quit it altogether. I am not going to wear my life away to support you in idleness. Cyphering at night, piling up stones by day, rambling off to Caerphilly Castle when you should be at work – what sort of labour do you call that?'

'Head-work; of no account with you. But, look you, I'll go and come as I please, and build walls if I please. And I don't be owning you for master. If we can but find the old lease, it may turn out the youngest son is heir and not the eldest. But let me tell you that for the toss up of a silver penny I'd quit the farm for ever, only I know that's what you do be wanting. You would be glad to get either me or Ales out to make room for Cate. But while we stay, mother do be mistress, and shall be.'

For a moment Rhys seemed dumbfounded. Then he sprang upon his brother, and grappled with him as if he would have borne him to the earth.

The fifteen years lad was thick set and sturdy, and stood his ground well, but he was no match for the man of more toughened frame and indurated muscle.

It would have gone badly with the younger had not the turf-cutter interposed, and, by sheer force, thrust them apart.

'What!' cried he, 'are you two brothers so jealous of each other you would strive like Cain and Abel? Shame on you both! Would you bring death and sorrow on your mother's hearth once more?'

They stood panting, but abashed, as he proceeded —

'Surely, what with one loss after another – the rent money unaccounted for when Evan disappeared, the cruel bill for costs, the raising of the rent, the missing lease – the poor widow do be passing through a sea of trouble, with cares enough to drown her, without you two, who should be her help and comfort, adding to the load. Are you not ashamed?'

'It be Rhys' fault!' 'It be Willem's fault!' they cried simultaneously, alike moved by the reference to their mother, whom they loved with deep affection.

'You are alike to blame. Each one has some reason on his side; but, let me tell you, lads, it is always the one most in the wrong who is the last to give in. Now, shake hands and be friends. I came here thinking to be doing you all a service, for it would pay better for Willem to be building walls than doing common field-work. But I don't be wanting to breed dissension between you, so I will be getting Morgan the stonemason to build my wall.'

William's lips were set close.

The brothers looked at each other; Rhys wavered. The reference to 'better pay' had struck a vibrating chord in his breast.

'If' – he began.

'I will build your wall, look you, pay or no pay, Robert Jones. But you will not be wanting me to-day, whatever?'

'No, not until next week; but fair work must have fair pay. Yet, what say you, Rhys?'

Here was a loophole for Rhys to slip through. 'Oh, indeed, if you don't be wanting to call him off his work to-day or to-morrow, it may be managed.'

So it was amicably settled, and when the turf-cutter went his way, William was on his knees helping Rhys to gather up what he could of the barley spilled from his seed-wallet during their unbrotherly struggle.

It so happened that the following Sunday the vicar took for his text, 2 Peter i. 5, 6, and 7, dwelling especially on the last – 'And to godliness brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness charity' – in such manner that both Rhys and William took it to heart, imagining he had heard of their antagonism, and was addressing his sermon especially to them. No doubt there were others in the congregation to whom the sermon might apply with equal force, but they two held their heads down, as if to hide the crimson flush that mounted to the roots of their brown hair, and fidgeted uneasily upon their high-backed seat.

Anyway that was the end of their open strife. And when, at the close of another week, William carried home to his mother, in good hard coin, more than double the hire of a field-labourer, reserving a very small portion for himself, there was nothing said by way of objection to his craze for building, or his efforts to attain a more complete knowledge of arithmetical calculation.

Few persons ever found their way to Brookside Farm except on business, fewer still cared to ask who kept the fences and outhouses in such good order; and though Owen Griffith's house was by the roadside, ordinary passers-by were not likely to stop and put such questions, even if they gave the walls a second glance.

But Robert Jones had become a thriving man of business. He had increased the number of his team, and still travelled the country round with culm and peat, and clay and lime. There was scarcely a farmer or cottager on all Eglwysilan mountain, or near it, who did not on occasion call at his place, either to carry away some of his necessary commodities, or to leave a special order. And these were the very men to whom fences were of importance, the very men to know a good, compact wall when they saw it.

Jones had a long head. He had a double motive when he began to deal in broken flagstone, and invited William Edwards to build up an enclosing wall for his stores. He knew the wall would attract attention, bring the self-taught young mason into notice, and help to sell his stone.

The event justified his far-seeing calculations. Before another spring brought William's sixteenth birthday, he was known to be the best builder of dry walls within a wide area, and his services were in frequent request.

There was no more snubbing under his mother's roof, for with a very small reserve for personal needs, he poured all his earnings into her lap as to a common store; and rising in estimation, he was thanked with heartfelt satisfaction, so material and so necessary were added gains to meet increased demands, extortionate Mr. Pryse, sneering and grinning at their inability to confront him with their lease, having raised the rent a second time, and threatened still harsher measures.

And no one now lent a more willing hand to any work upon the farm, when not otherwise employed, than thoughtful William, who saw with pain the streaks of white interlacing his mother's once black hair.

But William Edwards was not content to be a mere builder of dry walls. He looked at the masonry of the church and of Caerphilly Castle, and was conscious he had much to learn. How to enlarge his fund of knowledge was a problem. But he was not easily daunted.

One Sunday he observed a cow and sundry sheep trespassing on the vicar's glebe, having taken a wide gap in the wall as an invitation. No sooner was service concluded than he marched up boldly to the vicar, reminded him of promised help, explained his desire to master higher forms of arithmetic than Owen Griffith had ability to teach, and modestly offered to repair the glebe wall if the vicar would accept his services. The Rev. John Smith smiled, and assented readily. William set to work upon the wall the next day, going into the vicarage parlour when candles were lighted, and making the best use of the privilege accorded. Long after the wall shut out four-footed intruders, William might be seen on his way to the vicarage, after a hard day's work, once or twice a week, a bit of candle stuck in a hollowed turnip serving to light him home when there was no moon.

It was about this time a gleam of stronger light shone on his darkness.

He was engaged enclosing a fresh field for a farmer about two miles from Caerphilly. Raising his head, and giving his arms a stretch, his attention was arrested by a noise there was no mistaking. There was a blacksmith's shop by the roadside, and almost in front of it a load of stones was being dumped down from a cart, or what then answered to the name in that wild region. It was little more than a sled, low to the ground, but running on broad wheels or rollers of solid wood, girthed with iron bands and drawn by four horses.

His curiosity was excited. A group of working men were there. What were they about to do? One man was measuring the ground, the others, doffing their coats, rolled up their shirt sleeves, and also set to work.

A trench was dug along the lines marked out. And now two mules came up with laden panniers. William overleapt his own low wall and drew nearer to observe, his pulses beating rapidly. He was coming on the secret he had so long panted to learn.

A heap of sand was emptied on the ground, and hollowed out like a huge shallow bowl. Into this was poured lime from the other panniers, and then a man carrying a pail brought water from a wayside runnel and poured it on the lime. There was no need to tell whence rose that volume of steam to one who whitewashed his mother's farm buildings so repeatedly. But the stirring up and mixing of mortar was new to him. And what was that soft fluff shaken out of a bag when the steam began to subside? It was something with which the wind made free and blew about almost like thistle-down – ay, almost into his own face. He caught a loosened tuft; examined it. It could be nothing but cow's hair. So that was how the mortar was bound together!

Anon began a chipping and ringing of steel upon stone, that was, and was not, new to him.

Nearer and nearer he drew, yet afraid of exciting observation. He knew his own purpose, and felt as if the busy masons would know it too, and drive him away before his object was attained.

He watched the mason chip and dress the stones to shape until the one fitted its fellows, and they were laid side by side in a bed of mortar within the trench, and fresh mortar spread on these with a trowel to receive a second layer of stones for the foundation.

Then he went back to his own dry-wall building. But never had wall taken him so long before, for day by day he watched the masons at their work, and day by day learned something fresh – even the uses of square and plummet – until a well-built farrier's shed adjoined the blacksmith's forge, with smoothly-rounded pillars bearing up the roof.

He had learned the secret of the masons' tools, primarily the hammer, with which the stones were chipped and dressed. Unlike his own, it was steeled at both ends, one end shaped like an axe.

From a smith in Caerphilly he obtained just such another before the week was out.

Brief apprenticeship! No premium paid! No years of servitude to a master! God had gifted him with peculiar faculties. He had a special bias; he had also intelligence, perseverance, and determination to succeed. He had achieved so far a measure of success.

He began to speculate on success he could not measure.