Passers-by, or people having business with the turf-cutter, lingered to watch the young mason at his work, as the walls gradually rose above the foundations, until firm, even, and compact as if laid by a master-hand, with a couple of rooms in the rear and an undivided attic over all, the whole stood fair to view. But even before Thomas Williams had laid the last rafter, or the thatched roof was on, or the casements were glazed, the owner might be seen at his bench plying plane or saw to make the whole substantial and complete.
The situation had been well selected. Proximity to Robert Jones' premises was as good as a modern advertisement to both young builders. Then it was on the main road to church, and was certain to arrest attention and inquiry.
Rhys stood before it the Sunday after completion, along with Cate and her father, feeling something like pride in his self-taught brother for the first time. He had taken a critical survey of all, back and front, when he heard Robert Jones calling out to him from his own low doorway—
'Look you there now! What do you think of that? Didn't I be telling you not to spoil a good builder to make a bad farmer?'
'Indeed you did, and I think you were right. But where he did be learning it all does be puzzling me.'
'Ah, well, you wait and see. The little one will be the big one in the end.'
The rest of the family had come up, Mrs. Edwards between William and Davy, Jonet having dropped behind with handsome Thomas Williams.
Congratulations came thick and fast, even from strange voices.
Rhys grasped his brother by the hand, and pressed it warmly.
'I did never be thinking you could do this, Willem, whatever. I do be pleased and proud to see it.'