'Then I'll build one when I'm a man, 'deed I will,' came promptly.
The stranger, amused by William's earnestness, put some few questions, in his turn, respecting his father's death, his name, and occupation, ascertained whence arose his peculiar fancy for building, and suggested that if the church had attracted him so much he should contrive to visit the ruins of Caerphilly Castle, which he would find much more wonderful as a building; adding that he would have to cross a drawbridge to get into the castle.
'Why, mother and Rhys go to Caerphilly market every week. They never told me of the wonderful castle, whatever! But I'll go myself,' cried William, his imagination fired, and his indignation rising under the supposition that he had been kept wilfully in the dark. It did not occur to him that familiarity had taken the wonder out of the ancient pile for his elders.
They had reached the foot of the steep ascent to the farm, which William pointed out with some pride as his home, and there the stranger—who said he was on his way to the vicarage—took leave of him, saying that his name was Morris, and perhaps they might meet again some day, for he was interested in stone, but it was ironstone and not for building. However, before he went, he gave the boy a word or two of advice.
'Remember,' said he, 'you have a character to build before you think of building houses and churches, and a boy may begin to build that.'
'How?' was asked, William's grey eyes opening wide.
'By fearing God, and doing his duty. But there are bad characters as well as good ones, and every act of disobedience, of untruthfulness, of indolence, goes to build up the evil in place of the good.'
He had left William something to ponder. That was a memorable encounter.