The Making of William Edwards Part 25

It was good advice, and wisely followed.

John Llwyd had seen a paper unfolded, but no gold; so what he had to tell did not count for much to hearers unconcerned.

But, coupled with the demeanour of Mrs. Edwards and her son, it put Mr.

Pryse on the tenter-hooks of uncertainty.

The thatching was completed, but no other little secret hiding-place was found, and discovery ended there.

It was the season for the general repair of fences and dry walls, and William was kept busy.

Winter was wearing away when, through his friend Thomas Williams, another stroke of good fortune came to him.

Though I have called the latter a carpenter, the word must be taken in its broadest significance; he was also a joiner, and he aspired to be a millwright. In the days when he served his long apprenticeship, a man was expected to master his craft in all its details and branches, and to bring his mind to bear upon it, if he had one. He was older than his friend, and the very nature of his occupation had enlarged the circle under his observation.

Unknown to any but William Edwards, his attic was stored with models of millwheels and machinery in various stages, at which he wrought when his workshop was closed.

One morning, whilst February's snow yet lay upon the ground, a substantial miller named Owen Wynn, whose old mill threatened to topple over into the stream, stopped his horse at the carpenter's door, and asked abruptly 'if that was one of the buildings a young man named Edwards had put up.'

Being answered in the affirmative, he asked permission to look over the place, adding--

'Sure, I have heard he is the best mason that ever put stone together in these parts, and I would like to be seeing for myself, whatever.'

Nothing loth, Thomas led the stranger over the whole premises (small, as _we_ should think), indicating the peculiar points of the builder's excellence.

'Yes, yes,' said he, 'I observe,' and straightway marched up the attic stairs uninvited.

The models arrested his attention. 'Hah, sure! you are a millwright, are you? Are those improvements?'

Thomas Williams modestly 'thought they were.'

'Then you and this Edwards could build a substantial mill between you?'

'Without a doubt, whatever.'

'Is the mason at hand?'

"Deed, my apprentice do be gone for him.' The prescient young fellow had already scented business.

St.u.r.dy and self-reliant as William might be, and older than his years, yet there could be no mistaking eighteen for thirty.

The miller started when he approached, his ap.r.o.n on, his hammer in his hand. He thought him extremely young to have obtained such repute.

However, before they separated, the two had been commissioned to build his water-mill and house, and a time appointed to find a suitable spot.

They were both conscious that it _was an undertaking_--with William a great one. They felt as if the making or marring of their lives was in their hands. But they were not daunted.

'If difficulties arise we must surmount them,' said William resolutely, before his plans were drawn. 'As I cannot get books I can read, I must be studying the castle again.'

There were no Welsh books of any technical value to him; English he was unable to read. Fortunately for him, the walls and towers and arches of Caerphilly Castle had been as the leaves of an open and intelligible book, a work on ancient masonry no printed volume could surpa.s.s.

He had need to study it well now, to learn the secret of the arch, and how to construct a tunnel to bear away the watery overflow from the mill-wheel.

Learn it the young mason did, and that effectually.

Hard at work were they and their men all through the summer months, the builders with stone and wood, and ere the frosts of autumn came to lay a destructive finger on the mortar, there was a goodly mill by the side of the river, storey rising above storey, and the tunnelled waterway firm and compact, only some woodwork and the flagstone roof to be added.

It had been a period of great anxiety to both young men, for besides the risks attending all experimental work, Edwards was uneasy respecting his mother's possession of the farm, and Thomas Williams had resolved to seek Jonet for a wife if their work was a success.

Of any portion he might expect with her he knew nothing.

The corn had ripened for the sickle, but no lease had yet been found.

September shone upon the land, and the case became urgent.

One evening, when the masons had laid by their tools for the night, the good vicar had a visitor. William Edwards desired to see the Rev. John Smith most particularly.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HE FOUND MR. MORRIS SEATED AT THE TABLE AS WELL AS THE VICAR.--_See page 245._]

To his surprise, when he was ushered into the low-ceiled parlour, he found Mr. Morris seated at the table as well as the vicar, evidently examining a number of geological specimens by the light of a couple of candles.

William had met Mr. Morris several times of late chipping at rocks with a hammer, but did not expect to meet with him there, and could have dispensed with his presence.

'Well, Edwards, what is your business?' asked the vicar after the first salutations. 'You need not hesitate to speak out; Mr. Morris is as much your friend as I am. What is it? Anything concerning the fine mill you are erecting?'

'No, sir, it do be concerning the farm--and Mr. Pryse.'

The gentlemen exchanged glances across the table. The change in William's frank voice and manner had not been lost on them.

William laid his grandfather's will open before the vicar.

'We did be finding that last autumn hid in a small box under the thatch, sir.'

'You did not find the missing lease along with it, did you?'

'No, sir. And we cannot be finding it, high or low. But you will see, sir, the lease be named here more than once.' And drawing closer to the vicar he pointed with his finger.

'Yes, I perceive. Well, that certainly establishes the fact that you _had_ a lease.'

'Sure, indeed, sir. But do you be thinking it would serve instead of the real lease to stop Mr. Pryse from turning us out of the farm?'

questioned William, with a very anxious face.

'Um--a--um--a--well, I am not so sure about that. We might get an opinion if there was a lawyer about, not under Pryse's finger and thumb.

You must know, Morris,' said the vicar, turning to his friend, 'this young fellow's father gave mortal offence to Pryse by a blunt opinion that he was overreaching. He has owed the family a grudge ever since, and has done all in his power to oust the widow from her holding. You will remember the talk there was, six years ago, about the disappearance of a young man from Cardiff, who was supposed to have gone off in the mysterious _Osprey_ with money, not his own--some people said was "_carried_ off" perforce. Anyway, that was the farm-servant of Mrs.

Edwards, who was about to be married--for I read out the banns--and he had with him both his own savings and the money to pay the widow's half-year's rent. He was seen to enter Mr. Pryse's office. He ordered and bought things to set up farming, and _paid_ for some. In three weeks' time Mr. Pryse made a seizure on the farm for unpaid rent, declaring the man a defaulter. Fortunately, Mrs. Edwards had the means to meet his demands. Since then he has twice raised the rent, insisting that the widow is only a tenant at will, and last Martinmas served her with a notice of ejectment to come in force this present month, insisting that no lease exists. It so happens that both the father and grandfather died too suddenly to make any disclosures or arrangements.

Thus the lease is missing, and this will has only just come to light.

Look it over, and say what you think.'

'Take a seat, William. I did not observe that you were standing all this while,' he added.

Mr. Morris shook his head as he folded up and returned the doc.u.ment. 'To any unprejudiced person this settles all doubt that a lease exists, and the duplicate must be in the possession of his lordship or his agent.