But where was he? That was not the way towards home. He stood on a wild heath, high above the valley of the Taff, with the mountain rising and stretching far away on his right hand, with here and there labourers tilling the red-brown upland fields, and children at work beside them, as he should have been working 'but for Rhys,' he told himself.
He did not know, and could not see it, but the Merthyr Tydvil road, such as it was, lay sunk between the heath and the receding mountain. He had only to gain that, and turn completely round, to find his way homeward.
He looked to the wooded declivity on his left, where birds were calling to their mates under the swelling pinky buds or pale-green opening fans, and the odour of wood violets came sweetly fresh in every breath he drew. A rabbit rose and scuttered past him, and made for the underwood, where the golden crosiers of trooping ferns were uncurling in their beauty. The river ran far below, ran with an inviting rush. One moment, and the boy had plunged into the wood. 'He would not hurry home to be struck by Rhys.'
He could easily find his way back with the river to guide him.
So, now slipping, now catching at the trunk of a tree to maintain a foothold, he scrambled nearer to the river's brink, where was no more perceptible path than what had been made by intruders like himself. Once there he fancied the water was more than commonly disturbed; it was here and there flecked with foam and swirled in eddies. 'Surely the river must be in flood,' he said to himself.
A little way off a well-dressed young man was seated on a stone, fishing with rod and line.
William had no shyness. 'Why does the water make such a noise to-day, and be so rough?' he asked.
'Don't you know? It is from the falls. The river is always noisy here. It is louder higher up the stream.'
'Oh,' said William; 'what are the falls?'
'Indeed you had better go on a bit farther and see for yourself, my lad. But be careful how you go.'