'Has Morgan the mason been here?' he bawled out after Jonet and William, who were off with milking-stools and pails.
'No,' came quickly back over Jonet's shoulder.
'Who has been at work here?'
No audible answer came back this time, but, with a wondrous twinkle in her expressive eyes, and an unmistakable grin on her face, Jonet pointed with outstretched arm, in silence, to the younger brother striding on well in advance.
It was a revelation to Rhys. His countenance fell. The wisdom of the world did not rest on his individual shoulders. He stood there amazed, hardly sure whether to be vexed or pleased, angry or grateful. Content he certainly was not. He had been slyly circumvented, and that was irritating, however necessary the repairs had been.
Into the house he strode in quest of his mother. He heard her at work outside. Here a fresh enlightenment awaited him. She was endeavouring to set her garden beds in order, behind a good firm wall. Her task was no longer hopeless; she could sing over her work.
There was little need for Rhys to ask over again 'Who hath done this?'
Still less need for frowns and sullen looks.