'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.'