'Now then, lazyback! What do you be doing there?' called out Rhys, who carried a spade on one shoulder and a wicker basket in his hand, which he tossed down at his brother's feet. No answer coming, he called out again, 'What do you be doing there?'
'I do be thinking,' came composedly from William.
'Thinking, indeed! I wish you would be thinking about your work. What can you have to think about, whatever?'
''Deed, nobody knows my thinks,' replied the boy, without turning round.
'You will very soon know my thinks,' retorted Rhys, 'if you do not pick up your basket, and get to your weeding. You are one of the "late and lazy who will never be rich." Come, stir you.' And, as if to enforce obedience, Rhys raised his disengaged hand and struck the other a sharp blow across the shoulders.
At once William turned round, his cheeks and eyes aflame. Rhys thought he was about to strike him back again.
Instead, he gave the empty basket a kick that sent it flying over the ridges, and was out at the narrow gateway in an instant, with a defiant air that seemed to dare Rhys to lay hands upon him again, or attempt to draw him back.
That day he was seen no more upon the farm until nightfall, when he was sent to bed supperless as a punishment.
He was up betimes in the morning, and had the fire alight before any one else was astir. He was having a wash at the spring when Ales came into the farmyard.
'Name o' goodness!' exclaimed she, 'what's got you out of bed so soon? Want your breakfast, I suppose?'