The spirit of adventure was on the boy. He thanked the man and did 'go on,' until he stood still with amazement, for there the full river came leaping down, in broken falls, from rock to intercepting rock, some fifteen feet in all; but they might have been fifty for what the home-kept boy knew.
Strange is the fascination of living, leaping water. He stood there gazing spellbound, lost in admiration, listening to the tumultuous uproar, as the swift waters came rushing and flashing downwards, striking themselves against the rocks into angry foam that William mentally compared to suds when Ales was washing, only he never had seen washing on so large a scale. If there were finer cascades in the world he had not seen them. He was fascinated by what he did see, and lingered long.
'I wonder if Rhys or Davy ever saw these falls?' he said to himself; 'they never told me. They tell me nothing. But I will find out things for myself.'
The fisherman was rising from his stone when William again drew near. He had his rod and basket in hand prepared to go.
'Well, what do you think of the falls?'
'Oh, 'deed, and they was wonderful—and terrible. I was thinking how soon they would drown a man.'
'Yes, or a boy either. Which way are you going?'
'By the riverside, through the wood as far as the ford.'
'That will not be safe at this hour. You might slip into the stream. You had best go back the way you came.'
'I—I dare not,' stammered William.