CHAPTER XXIV. PONT-Y-PRIDD.
It was a glorious day for the self-taught architect. The hanging woods on either bank of the river held nearly as many spectators as trees, whilst along the narrow roads came a motley multitude on foot or horseback, or in cumbrous, top-heavy leather carriages, drawn by four horses (less for state than necessity), poor as well as rich having assembled from all parts to witness the opening of the new bridge that was to do so much for the county.
'To witness my triumph,' William Edwards phrased it. But then, too much diffidence was not the family failing. And, for a self-taught man, it was a triumph.
There was no room for two carriages to pass abreast, but the few there assembled crossed alternately, the Viscount's prancing horses leading the way. Then there was a rush of people, mounted and on foot; horses, ponies, mules, and asses scampering across pell-mell in such wild confusion and entanglement, amid shouts and untranslatable cries, as certainly tested the stability of the structure. And such congratulations greeted the builder as were calculated to turn more seasoned heads than his.
Davy, full of brotherly pride and affection, had brought his mother on a pillion behind him; and there, surrounded by her children and her grandchildren, the old dame, overcome by her emotion in contrasting the present with the past, and witnessing the great work of her son and his reception by the gentry, fairly sobbed aloud, the big tears rolling down her tanned and wrinkled cheeks.
'Name o' goodness, mother, I don't be knowing what you have got to cry for, whatever. People do be looking at you!' remarked Rhys curtly, on a hint from Cate.
''Deed, I do be crying for joy. I never expected to be seeing a day like this.'
'Do leave mother alone, Rhys,' quickly remonstrated Davy in an undertone. 'Her heart do be full, and it must run over, look you.'