'Name o' goodness, mother, I don't be knowing what you have got to cry for, whatever. People do be looking at you!' remarked Rhys curtly, on a hint from Cate.
''Deed, I do be crying for joy. I never expected to be seeing a day like this.'
'Do leave mother alone, Rhys,' quickly remonstrated Davy in an undertone. 'Her heart do be full, and it must run over, look you.'
Evan Evans and Ales stood by, dressed in their Sunday best for the great occasion, a newly-breeched boy by the hand.
'I do be wishing Jane Edwards would not be washing the new bridge with her tears, Evan--'deed, I do,' whispered Ales to him.
'Ah, yes, it do be a bad baptism,' he echoed, shaking his head, which had been crammed with superstition on shipboard. 'And I do be hoping the rain will keep off, for the clouds be gathering over Garth Mountain, look you.'
The rain did keep off for two or three hours, until long after the hand-shaking and speech-making were over, and the great people had dispersed, and all who had not stayed behind to feast were on their way homewards, thankful they would be able in future to cross the river dry-shod and out of danger, whatever the hour or the weather, the 'cleverness' of the Widow Edwards' son being on every tongue.
That son, however, had been surfeited with praise, and was moving amongst the crowds in irritable reaction seeking for some one he failed to find--some one whose approbation would have o'ertopped the highest.
At last, when he was ready to bite his lips with vexation, a boy, who came riding hastily from the Cardiff Road, put a letter in his hand, and lingered as if waiting for an answer.
'DEAR FRIEND,--We hear your meritorious work is complete, and send you our heartfelt greetings; but we are in great trouble, for Uncle Rosser had a fit last night, and has not spoken since. Aunt is full of grief. She has sent to Bristol for my cousin, for the apothecary says uncle cannot live. You will pardon our absence to-day; and believe me, your sincere well-wisher,
Two hours later he had left the feasters and was in the saddle, muffled in a thick riding-coat, speeding on to Cardiff through driving rain and the darkening shades of evening.
When he drew rein at the baker's door he was too late for all but consolation. The blind man had opened his long-closed eyes on the glorious wonders of eternity.
