The Making of William Edwards Part 19

Presently a voice he knew hailed him from out the smoke-reek.

'Do that be you, Robert Jones? 'Deed, you're the very man to tell the landlord here who owns an old horse left here three weeks ago by a farming-man, who called himself Evan Evans, of Eglwysilan, and went off without paying his score, look you!'

'Ah, how did he go off?'

'Queerly. He said as he was going to hire a boat to carry the horse and some goods of his, as he was be taking to Castella, across the river in the morning, but he never did come back here.'

'No,' chimed in the landlord, 'nor never did mean it, or he would not have been going off in the _Osprey's_ boat, as he surely did.'

"Deed no! not if he did go of his own free will,' came from a feeble voice in a corner; 'but I've heard as'--

'Sure, and didn't Mr. Pryse be saying he was be running off with a lot of money?' again struck in the landlord, drowning the words of the previous speaker.

On this ensued a warm controversy, in which some dark hints were thrown out respecting the _Osprey_, and Mr. Pryse's connection therewith, all bearing on the strangeness of Evan's disappearance.

Listening Robert Jones had come to the conclusion that the landlord was under Mr. Pryse's finger and thumb, and cautiously made no comment. But he kept his eye on the owner of the feeble voice, and, when he went out, followed.

He had found the man shifty, timid, and unwilling to give an unspoken opinion to a stranger.

So, too, were the tarry loungers upon the quay the next morning.

'Evans _might_ have been kidnapped and carried off against his will, the crew of the _Osprey_ were a queer lot, look you; or he might be running away, as Mr. Pryse did say--they could not tell.'

Mr. Pryse might have frozen free speech, but Robert Jones had noted shrugs and nods more expressive than words. Then the application of two silver pennies to the palm of a timorous lad opened his lips to tell that he had seen a strange man, looking for a big boat, hustled into the boat of the _Osprey_, and held down whilst the crew rowed out to the schooner in the bay. And, when Ales herself discovered that Evan had bought both a wedding-ring and a brooch for her, the conclusion was obvious.

She had shed her tears in the three weeks gone. She returned to the farm in tearless, but gnawing, uncertainty as to her Evan's fate, yet proud of her ability to clear his honest name.

She was somewhat incoherent in her story, but Robert Jones an hour or so later backed it up with fuller details, and his own convictions.

'Yes, yes, indeed, Evan Evans did go about his business like an honest man. There be still the spades and things he paid for, and I have a gla.s.s window he left his G.o.d-penny[12] on. He would have kept all the money if he intended running away. No, no, he did be paying all the rent, Mrs. Edwards, whatever Mr. Pryse do say.'

"Deed, it do seem like it. But why should he be "pressed" on board?'

she queried. 'There be no war now.'

'Why should any wicked deed be done?' put in Ales. 'A bad man do have his reasons ready.'

'Yes, yes, and one evil head moves many evil hands, Mrs. Edwards,' added Jones, 'if, as is hinted by them as daren't speak their minds, Mr. Pryse do have dealings with the gruff captain of the _Osprey_ for something fiery besides his lordship's coal. Then, smuggling a stout-limbed fellow or two on board might be winked at, if it was no part of the bargain.

And I do be telling Ales not to think they would kill Evan. They want living men for sailors, not dead ones.'

'Then G.o.d may bring him back to me some time, and I will pray day and night for him. Yes, yes, though the day be long it will have an evening.

And let not Mr. Pryse be thinking to escape--

"The later that G.o.d's vengeance is, The heavier far and sorer 'tis,"'

broke from Ales, her eyes and cheeks kindling as with a spirit of prophecy, as she hurried from the kitchen into the dark storeroom beyond to contend with her own agony in secret.

Then came a reckoning with Jones for Breint's keep at the inn (Ales had cleared Evan's score as a matter of honour), and whilst settling that with Mrs. Edwards, it occurred to him that her sons had pursued their occupations in uncommon silence during this statement of facts and fancies, especially Rhys, who seemed more interested in disentangling the locks of wool he was combing by the fireside (his comb-pot on the hearth) than on disentangling what seemed an unaccountable plot against his mother's tried and faithful servant.

William, knitting a long blue stocking in the opposite corner, had put in an occasional word, but even he did not appear at ease.

Davy's wooden soles had been heard clattering outside along with sounds indicative of more care for recovered Breint than the absent Evan.

He walked in from the farmyard just in time for the supper of hot leek-porridge Jonet poured scalding hot into their bowls, not forgetting one for the turf-cutter, who sat down without apology, for the odour was appetising.

Again he noticed that Rhys and William preserved a sullen silence towards each other, and wondered what fresh quarrel there had been.

When supper was over, and he rose to depart, William followed him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than the boy began to lay bare his grievance in tones of wounded self-esteem.

'Look you,' said he, 'since Evan went, Old Billy has been suffered to b.u.t.t at the walls, and never a stone had been put back to keep him from the styes, till they did be like to tumble down. So yesterday, while Rhys was at market, I did work till the sweat poured off me, and mended them all, thinking I would let Rhys see what I could do. And since he found out this afternoon what I had been doing, he has never spoken one word to me, whatever. If I had knocked the walls down he could not have looked more surly. It's enough to make one run away, it is! And if it was not for mother and Jonet, I would be running away, 'deed I would.'

'Hush, Willem, don't be saying that; runaway sons make sorrowful mothers. Don't be thinking of doing anything rash, anything you cannot be asking the blessing of Almighty G.o.d upon. Perhaps you neglected something Rhys expected done, of more consequence than a dry wall.'

'Sure, Cate Griffith did be digging the potatoes. She could not build up walls. I do believe Rhys is vexed just because mother was so well pleased, and began to put her garden right that Billy and the pigs had spoiled. Rhys would have liked Evan better if mother had found fault with him.'

The boy's bitter attempt at self-justification was checked by his mature friend.

'Faults are thick where love is thin, Willem. You are only a boy and your brother is a man. It is not for you to go your own way and disobey wilfully. But I will look at your handiwork in the morning, when I bring the lime for the land; and, perhaps, be saying a word to bring Rhys to reason. Good-night, Willem. Go to bed peacefully. And don't be building up a wall of stony thoughts against your brother, don't.'

These were his parting words to the chafing lad, as they stood by the gateway, but, as he descended the hill in the full light of the moon, he said to himself, 'Better repair a breach between brothers than build up a wall to repel a fancied enemy.'

It was in this spirit the man addressed himself to Rhys the next morning, whilst helping Lewis to transfer the lime from the panniers to the freshly-dug potato ground, and the unturned stubble of oats and barley. He said he had observed signs of discontent between the brothers the previous night, and on other occasions, and expressed a desire to know if any real cause for discord existed. It was so very serious a thing for brothers in one house to bicker and quarrel; small differences were so liable to grow into great ones, even to enmity and hatred.

Rhys listened uneasily, fidgeted, puckered his brows, and at last jerked out, 'Look you, Robert Jones, that boy Willem is the plague of my life.

He will not take orders from me. And who else should give orders if I am to manage the farm? Davy and Jonet obey. But he do think of nothing but picking up stones and building; and that will not make a good farmer or till the land, or pay the rent. He was mending walls on Thursday when he should have been digging potatoes. We may thank Cate Griffith they were all up and safe from last night's frost. She took up the spade he threw down.'

'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?'