Mr. Seth had told Sammy that one reason his bowls and platters cracked was because they were baked too quick: that to bake a potter's kiln required forty-eight hours; that the baking must commence gradually, and be discontinued in the same way. Another reason was, that they were of unequal thickness; and the thin places shrunk before the thicker ones, and pulled them apart.
One morning, while the pot was drying, Sam came into the house, and heard his mother up garret. He thought she was making his bed, but, listening a moment, found she was rummaging round. Alarmed, he said,—
"Mother, what are you doing up there?"
"Doing? I'm hunting after a 'sley' that belongs to the loom."
"Come down, marm, and I'll come and find it."
"You find any thing? umph! You can't keep the run of your own clothes. I have to find your hat for you half the time. I expect now I'll have to move half the old trumpery in this garret."
Grown desperate, Sammy flung a mug of cold water in the face of the baby, who was sitting on the floor. The child set up a terrible screeching.
"Sam, what does ail that child?"
"I don't know, marm. Guess he's going to have a fit. He's holding his breath."
Mrs. Sumerford was down the ladder in an instant, and catching up the child, who was purple in the face from temper and strangulation, thumped him on the back, exclaiming,—
"Poor blessed baby! was he frightened 'cause his mother left him? Well, mother won't;" and the next moment, "Why, this child's all wet! Sam Sumerford, what have you been doing? Have you been throwing water on this baby?"
Sam, who was in the chamber, and had hid the pot in his bed, to change the subject replied,—
"Yes, marm, I—I'm trying to find it."
"Well, you look for it. I must go to the barn, and get some eggs for Harry's breakfast."
Harry had stood watch in the night at the fort, and was in bed.
Taking the child with her, Mrs. Sumerford left the house, when Sammy went and hid the pot in the pasture, in a hollow fence-log on high ground, and where a current of air circulated through that kept it dry.
Sammy thought it would be a fine thing to have his mother's name on the pot, or at least the words "For mother," and knew that, though it was dry, he could cut them in. He persuaded Mr. Seth to cut the inscription on a piece of bark taken from a young pine; and then, pasting the bark with flour paste to the surface to keep it from moving, he cut out the letters by the pattern, moistening the clay a little, that it might not crumble at the edge. The bark was quite thick, which served better for guiding the point of the tool with which he worked.
New difficulties now arose in respect to the baking. Uncle Seth had told Sammy it took forty-eight hours to bake a kiln of potter's ware, but, where the fire was all directed to one pot, that perhaps one day and one night would be sufficient.
Sammy perceived at once that he could nothope to do this without the knowledge of his companions; and, making a virtue of necessity, took them to the pasture, showed them the pot, and told them all his heart.
They instantly entered into his plans, promised to keep the secret, and do all they could to help him, and instantly set about preparations.
"Where can we bake it?" said Sammy. "We can't do it on the raft; 'cause we've got to keep a fire all night, and our folks won't let us be down to the river all night nor one minute after sundown."
"Bake it down to Cuthbert's house, in the big fireplace. Make a kiln right in that," said Mugford.
"They wouldn't let us stay there all night."
"What matter will it be," said Archie, "if we let the fire be at night, and then kindle it up in the morning? S'pose you put in a lot of hard wood when you left it: 'twould be all hot in the morning; 'twouldn't get cold; then there won't be no trouble."
"I don't know," said Sammy. "I'll ask Uncle Seth."
Mr. Seth, being appealed to, said he didn't thinkit would make any difference if they put in wood at night, kept it warm, and started the fire in the morning slowly; that the reason potters and brick-makers kept their kilns burning all night was to save time and wood; that it would require a great deal less wood to keep it going all night, than to let the kiln cool off, and start it again.
There was no need of going to the river for clay, as there was a pit in the pasture just back of the Cuthbert house, from which the settlers had dug clay to plaster the roofs of the block-houses. They therefore began to build the kiln with rocks and clay right before Mrs. Sumerford's door, part of them working on the kiln, and the rest making marbles to bake in it.
Mr. Seth had told them that the fire must not come directly to the pot: so they built a square of rocks and clay, and in the middle made a place in which to put the pot, marbles, and several bowls and platters that the boys made on the spot. In this little apartment they left openings to admit the heat, having fire on all sides of it: then they covered the top with two flat stones about four inches apart, and left below two holes to put in wood, and plastered the whole all over with clay.They then covered each end of the slit on top with flat stones and clay, except a short space in the middle left for draught, and which could be closed with a stone laid near for the purpose.
They had received general instructions from Uncle Seth, and were carrying them out in their own way with the greatest possible enthusiasm. There were quite a number of articles in the receptacle with the pot, that the boys made and moulded from the clay with which the kiln was built; but some of the boys had brought up some of the clay Sam had worked, and made platters and marbles.
The piece of land on which they had recently been burning the logs was full of the ends of limbs and half-burned brands, just the thing to make a hot fire and to kindle readily. They gathered many of these, and plenty of other wood; and, their preparations being all made at night, they kindled the fire at sunrise next day.
They made a regular holiday of it, roasting corn, potatoes, and eggs in a separate fireplace constructed for the purpose; and Scip came occasionally to partake of their cheer.
They borrowed Mrs. McClure's big skillet, andMrs. Sumerford made bread for them: this was on the second day, when the fire had been burning long enough to make plenty of ashes and coals. They swept the hearth of their fireplace clean, put the dough into the skillet, turned it bottom up on the hearth, and covered the skillet with hot coals. With the coals on top and the hot hearth beneath, it baked splendidly; and they had their dinner before the kiln.
Harry shot two wild turkeys, and gave them one; and they baked it, and had a great feast, and kept the fire up three days; and when on the forenoon of the fourth day they opened it, the pot came out without a crack, and baked to a bright red.
The little stems of the cedar and beech were baked to a coal; and Sammy picked them out, leaving the impression sharp and clear.
He then mixed up some lamp-black that Solomon Lombard, the Indian trader, had given him, and filled the letters that composed the motto, which brought them out finely in contrast with the red ground on which they were cut. The other articles fared quite otherwise: many of the marbles split in halves, some cracked, othersblistered or fell to pieces; but a few came out whole and fair.
It was found, however, that the marbles and dishes made of clay brought from the river were the ones that stood the baking and were bright red, while the others were lighter-colored. Mr. Seth said they stood the fire because the clay had been worked more, and that the deeper color was due to the greater quantity of iron in the river clay.
Sammy had taken his pot to the pasture among the bushes, to fill the letters with black, and was joined by the other boys as soon as they had cleared the kiln.
Their conversation, as was often the case, turned upon the virtues of Uncle Seth, without whose advice it was allowed Sammy would never have succeeded in making his pot.
"What a pity," said Dan, "such a good man should be a coward!"
"He isn't a coward," said Sammy.
"Yes, he is. Didn't he shut himself up in the mill when the Indians attacked the fort, scared to death? and didn't his own brother Israel say it was the first time he ever knew a fort saved by a coward?"
"What is a brave man, what ain't a coward?"
"Why, a man what ain't scared of any thing."
"Then there ain't any brave men, and every man in the Run is a coward; for there ain't one of 'em but's afraid of something,—afraid to go into the house where McDonald and his folks were killed. Mr. Holdness nor McClure wouldn't go in there in the night, sooner'n they'd jump into the fire: don't you call them brave men?"
"Yes."
"Uncle Seth isn't afraid to walk up on a tree that's lodged, and cut it off, and then come down with it, or jump off. He isn't afraid to go under a tree that's lodged, and cut the tree it's lodged on; he'll ride the ugliest horse that ever was; walk across the water on a log when it's all white with froth; and when there was a great jam of drift stuff stopped the river, and was going to overflow the cornfield, he went on to the place, and cut a log what held it, and broke the jam; and there wasn't another man in the Run dared do it. He said he'd lose his life afore the water should destroy the corn."
While Sammy was defending Uncle Seth from the charge of cowardice, his face reddened, hiseyes flashed fire, his fists were clinched, and he threw his whole soul into the argument, and carried his audience with him.
They resolved on the spot that Uncle Seth was not a coward, thoughhe was afraid of Indians. They could not endure the thought that an imputation so disgraceful in their eyes as that of a coward should rest upon the character of a man whom they so dearly loved.
It is perhaps needless to inform our readers that Sammy did not find the "sley" on that eventful day when he threw the water in the baby's face; but his mother got the baby to sleep, and found it. On the morning of the third day, she had just entered the door of the kitchen with a pail of water in her hand, when she encountered Sammy (followed by Louisa Holt, Maud Stewart, Jane Proctor, and a crowd of boys) with the bean-pot in his hand, which he placed upon the table with an air of great satisfaction.
It was some time before the good woman could be brought to believe that Sam made it. She knew that of late he had been much at the mill with Mr. Seth, and supposed he must have made and given it to him; but, when she becameconvinced of the fact, the happy mother clasped him in her arms, exclaiming,—
"Who says Sammy's fit for nothing but mischief? Who is it says that? Let him look at that pot, as nice a one as ever a woman baked beans in, and a cover too. Harry has made pails, tubs, a churn, and a good many other things; but he never made an earthen pot, nor any man in this place. My sakes! to think we've got a potter among us! what a blessing he will be! There's not another woman in the settlement has got a bean-pot."
"Mrs. Sumerford, only see the printing and the pictures on it," said Maud Stewart.
"Pictures and printing! I must get my glasses."
After putting on her spectacles, the happy mother expressed her astonishment in no measured terms.
"'For Mother:' he's his mother's own blessed baby. But did you truly make the letters, and the leaves on there, your own self?"
"Yes, mother: I did it alone in the woods; only Mr. Seth made the letters on some bark for me, but I put 'em on the pot."
"Now I'll bake a mess of beans in it, just to christen it. Girls, you help me pick over the beans; and I'll put 'em on to parboil afore we sit down to dinner, and have 'em for supper. I want you all to stay to dinner and supper both. The boys can play with Sammy; and the girls and I'll make some buttermilk biscuit for supper, and a custard pudding.
"Girls, I'm going to draw a web of linen into the loom; and you can help me, and learn how; play with the baby and the bear: baby's bear'll play real good; he's a good creature. He'll tear all the bark off the tree with his claws; but, when he's playing with baby, he'll pull 'em all into the fur, so his paw is soft as can be. Harry, Elick, and Enoch'll be home from the scout; and what think they'll say when they come to know that Sammy's made a pot, and his mother's baked beans in it?"
"Mother, may I ask Uncle Seth to come to supper? I want him to see the pot, 'cause he told me how to fix the clay, and bake it."
"Sartain: I'd like to have Mr. Seth come every night in the week. This pot isn't glazed, to be sure; but I'll rub it with tallow and beeswax: I've heard my husband say that was the way the Indians used to do their pots."
"Mr. Seth said the Indians used to make pots, mother."
"Sartain, dear, the Indians clear back; but now they get iron ones of the white folks, and people reckon they've lost the art. If you look on the side of the river where the old Indian town used to be, where you go to get arrow-heads, you'll find bottoms of pots washing out of the banks, and sometimes half of one."
The good woman stuffed the pot thoroughly with tallow and wax, dusted some flour over it, and put it in the beans and pork.
Mrs. Sumerford had no oven; but that did not in the least interfere with baking the beans. With the kitchen shovel she threw back the ashes and coals on the hearth, and took up a flat stone under which was a square hole dug in the hearth (the house had no cellar), lined with flat stones. Into this hole she put wood and hot coals till it was thoroughly heated: then she cleaned the cavity, put in the pot, covered it with hot coals, and left the beans to bake; for there never was a better place,—that is, to give them the right flavor.
The boys could not leave till this importantoperation was performed; when, finding the mill was in motion, they concluded to go there, and invite Uncle Seth to supper, and, after having a swim, and a sail on the raft, escort him to Mrs. Sumerford's. The mill had not yet ceased to be a novelty; and they loved dearly to watch the grain as it dropped from the hopper into the shoe, and from the shoe into the hole in the upper stone.
It was also a great source of amusement to go up into the head of the mill, and hear it crack, and feel it jar and quiver when the wind blew fresh, and put their hands on the shaft as it revolved. They were more disposed to this quiet pastime, from the fact that they had been prohibited the use of powder and lead for the present.
When Harry, Alex, and Enoch came home, nothing was said about the bean-pot, though it was hard work for Mrs. Sumerford, and especially for the girls, to hold in.
"Come, mother," said Harry, "we're raving hungry: ain't you going to give us any supper?"
"I should have had supper on the table when you came, but Mr. Seth's coming: the boys havegone after him, and I knew you would want to eat with him."
It was not long before they all came in; and after putting the dishes on the table, and other provisions, Mrs. Sumerford took from the Dutch oven the biscuits, a custard pudding she had baked from a kettle, and then, placing a bean-pot in the middle of the table, exclaimed with an air of ill-concealed triumph,—
"There! Harry, Elick, Enoch, look at that pot, and tell me where you suppose it came from."
They examined it with great attention; and, the more they looked, the more their wonder grew.
"It was made by somebody in this place, of course," said Alex; "because nobody has been here to bring it, and nobody could go from here to get it. I guess Mr. Honeywood made it, because he's lived in Baltimore where they make such things."
"Guess, all of you; and, when any one guesses right, I'll say yes."
"I," said Enoch, "guess Mr. Holt made it, 'cause he came from one of the oldest settlements, where they have every thing; and he made the millstones."
Harry, who had been examining it all the while, thought he recognized Uncle Seth's handiwork in the inscription, and said,—
"I think, as Elick does, it must have been made here, because there's no intercourse betwixt us and other people; and no regular potter would have made it that shape; it would have been higher and straighter, like some I saw at Baltimore when we went after the salt: so I guess Uncle Seth made it."
"Come, Mr. Blanchard, it's your turn now."
"I guess little Sammy here made it."
This assertion raised a roar of laughter; and, when it subsided, Mrs. Sumerford said,—
"Yes; Sammy made it."
"O mother!" cried Harry, "you needn't try to make us believe that, because it's impossible."
Sam had ever been so full of mischief, that it was new experience for him to receive commendation from his brothers; but now it was given him with a liberality amply sufficient to remunerate him for its lack in the past. A proud boy he was that evening; but he bore his honors modestly, and his face was redder than the surface of the pot on which he had bestowed so much labor.
When the cover was removed, much to the surprise of Mrs. Sumerford, it was found that the pot had not lost any portion of its contents.
"Why, I expected to find these beans dry,—most of the juice filtered out,—'cause it wasn't glazed; but I don't see but it's about as tight as an iron pot, though, to be sure, I rubbed it with wax and tallow, and dredged flour over it."
"That pot," said Mr. Seth, "is very thick,—as thick again as one a potter would make,—was made of good clay, quite well worked, and hard baked; and it is no wonder that it would not let any thing as thick as the bean-juice through it. Good potter's ware, if it isn't glazed, will hold water a long time: it won't leak fast enough to drop; it will hold milk longer still; and after a while the pores will become filled up, and 'twill glaze itself, especially if anybody helps it with wax as you have. I wish every woman in this Run had plenty of earthen dishes, pots and pans, if they were not one of them glazed."
"If there's so little difference, why ain't the unglazed just about as good?"
"Because you can't keep 'em so clean: after a while, the unglazed ware gets soaked full ofgrease, butter, milk, or whatever you put in it, and becomes rancid; you can't get it out, and it sours and taints whatever you put in it: that bean-pot will after a while; but, when ware is glazed, nothing penetrates, and you can clean it with hot water, scald it sweet. There's another trouble with ware that is not glazed: if you put water in it, and heat it on the fire, the water swells the inside, and the fire shrinks the outside; and it is apt to crack."
"Uncle Seth, you said, when we made the dishes down to the river, that we made brick. What is brick?" asked Sam.
"It's made of clay and sand worked together; and this brick mortar is put into a mould that makes each brick about seven and a half inches long, and three and a half inches wide, and two and a half inches thick; then they are dried and burnt hard in a kiln; and in old settled places they build houses of 'em, chimneys, ovens, and fireplaces: they don't make chimneys of wood and clay, and fireplaces of any stone that comes to hand, as we do."
"Did you ever see a house made of brick?"
"Yes, a good many. Israel and I made andburnt a kiln of bricks, and had enough to make a chimney, fireplace, and oven, in our house where we used to live; and, if this terrible war is ever over, I mean to make brick, build a frame house, and put a good brick chimney, fireplace, and oven, in it. Israel's wife misses her oven very much."
"I never had an oven, nor saw one; but I've heard of 'em, and I expect they are good things. I think a Dutch oven is a great thing for us wilderness-folks; but I suppose the one you tell of is better," said Mrs. Sumerford.
"I guess it is better. Why, Mrs. Sumerford, if you had a brick oven, you could put a pot of beans, twice as many biscuits as you've got in that Dutch oven, a custard, and an Indian pudding, and ever so many pies, in it all at once, and shut up the oven, and then have your fireplace all clear to boil meat, fry doughnuts or pork, or any thing you wanted to do."
"It must be a great privilege to be able to do so many things at once: I can't boil and bake more than one thing at a time now, except beans or potatoes, because I have to bake in a kettle."
"If you had a brick oven, you could bake a pumpkin, or a coon, or beaver, or joint of meat, ora spare-rib. Why, by heating the oven once, you could bake victuals enough to last a week; and then, any thing baked in a brick oven is as good again as when it is baked in iron. These beans wouldn't have been half so good if they'd been baked in an iron pan set into the Dutch oven or a kettle, because that place in the hearth is what you may call an oven."
"What kind of moulds do the potters in the settlements have to make their things of?" asked Sammy; "or do they make 'em in holes in the ground or on a basket?"
"No, indeed! they make 'em on a wheel."
"Oh, do tell me about it, Uncle Seth! tell me all you know."
"That won't take long. What is called a potter's wheel means not only a wheel, but a good many more things with it; but they all go by the name of the potter's wheel.
"In the first place, there's a rough bench made; and then there's an iron spindle goes through this bench, and not far from the bottom is a crank; and below this crank, about three inches from the lower end, a wheel is put on it as big over as the bottom of a wash-tub, with a gudgeon at the endthat goes into a socket in a timber. Upon the other end that comes up about a foot above the bench, a screw-thread is cut, and a round piece of hard-wood plank is screwed on the top of the spindle about a foot over; on this the potter puts his lump of clay, and smashes it down hard to make it stick fast.
"There's a treadle fixed to this crank on the spindle, just as there is to your mother's flax-wheel. The potter puts his foot on this, sets the clay whirling round, sticks his thumb into it and his fingers on the outside, and makes it any shape he wants. After the vessel, whatever it may be, is made, he takes off the finger-marks, and shapes it inside and out more to his mind, with little pieces of wood cut just the shape he wants; then takes it off the wheel, and puts it away to dry."
"Does it take him a good while to make a pot?" asked Harry.
"No, indeed! he'd make a pot as large as that bean-pot in five minutes, and less too. A potter'd make a thousand of four-inch pots in a day. In their kilns they burn thousands of pieces according to size, of all kinds at once; as it don't take much longer, nor is it any more work, to burn a thousand pieces than two hundred."
"That isn't much like me, two or three days making one pot," said Sammy.
"Sometimes, instead of having a crank on the spindle, they put a pulley on it, and have the wheel on the floor, and a band run from this big wheel to the pulley; but then it takes another hand to turn the big wheel."
"O Uncle Seth! how much you do know, don't you?"
"I don't know much about pottery, Sammy, because it's not my business; but I've seen a little of it, and it's the most interesting work to see a man doing, that I ever looked at. I've seen their kilns, and seen them bake their ware, but it was a good many years ago: so you must not take all I say for gospel, 'cause I may have forgotten. I always take notice of what I see, because sometimes it might be a benefit. I've taken more notice of brickmakers and masons: I can make brick; I think Israel and myself could build a chimney, between us, and make an oven and a fireplace. It wouldn't be like one made by a mason, but would answer the purpose, and be a great comfort here in the woods."
"We don't know any thing," said Mrs.Sumerford; "and no wonder we don't, here in the woods with wild beasts and wild Indians."
If our young readers will call to mind that these frontier people had never seen many of the most common conveniences of daily life, nor witnessed any of the usual mechanical employments, they will perceive at once how intensely interesting the conversation of Uncle Seth must have been to this family-circle, and also how much mankind can dispense with and yet be happy.
To no one of the circle was it more absorbing than to Sammy, who longed to know more about the matter, and asked what the glazing was made of, and how they put it on.
"As I told you once before, my lad, I don't know much about that; because it's one of their secrets that they don't care to let folks know, though I've seen some put it on. When I was a boy, and lived with my grandfather in Northfield, Mass., afore we went into the woods, I've seen an old English potter by the name of Adams make a kind of glaze that's on your mother's milk-pan. He used to take lead, and heat it red-hot till he made a great scum come on it, which he would skim off till he burnt it all into dross; then hepounded that all fine, and mixed it with water, clay, and a little sand, about as thick as cream, and poured it into the things he wanted to glaze, rinsed it round, and then turned it out; sometimes he put it on with a brush. What little water there was would soak into the ware, and the lead would be on the outside; then he put 'em into the kiln, and started the fire. When the pots got red-hot the lead would melt; and I s'pose the sand melted some too, and run all over the inside, and made the glaze. I don't know as I've got it just right, but that's as near as I can recollect; and I know I'm right about the lead.
"He said that in England they flung a lot of salt into the kiln to glaze some kinds of ware; but he didn't, and his glaze was just like that on your mother's pan."
"What an awful sin," said Mrs. Sumerford, "to burn up salt!"
"Oh, what a worse sin," said Harry, "to burn up lead! I should rather go without pots and pans all the days of my life: I'm sure there are ash and beech whorls enough in the woods to make bowls of."
"Indeed," said Mr. Seth, "salt and lead are notsuch scarce articles in the settlements as they are amongst us, I can tell you."
Some who read these pages may think these boys to be very much inferior to themselves, and be almost inclined to pity them; but are you sure, that, considering the advantages both parties have had, they may not be far your superiors? Notwithstanding all your advantages, is it not probable, that, turn you right out in the world, you would either beg or starve?
But turn one of them out into the woods, with a rifle, tomahawk, flint and steel, and I would risk him: he would do neither.
After the conversation referred to in the preceding chapter, there was a pause; and Harry, well knowing Mr. Seth's habits, filled a pipe, and handed it to him.
While he was enjoying his smoke, Mrs. Sumerford washed up her dishes with the help of the girls, and the boys related to each other the incidents of the scout.
Sammy, on the other hand, sat with his hands clinched over one knee, as still as a mouse, occasionally casting a glance towards Mr. Seth; and, the instant the latter laid by his pipe, he leaped from his stool, and, running up to Mr. Seth, cried out,—
"O Uncle Seth! will you make me a potter's wheel, and show me how to make a pot on it, and show me how they fix the glaze, so I can make mymother and all the neighbors bean-pots, bowls, and milk-pans, and glaze 'em just like the potters do?"
"I can't, child! I couldn't make a wheel, because there's a crank that must be made of iron, and we haven't got any iron. If I should make a wheel, I couldn't show you how to make a pot on it, for I don't know how myself. A potter's trade is a great trade, takes years to learn it. It's not every one who can learn it; and I have only happened to see them work a few times in my life."
"You could make a windmill without hardly any iron; and you're going to make a bail to take off the millstone without one mite of iron, when Mr. Honeywood said 'twas impossible. Everybody says you can do any thing you be a mind to. I should think you might help me."
Adopting the method he had ever found to be most effective with his mother, Sammy burst into tears; and so did the girls, who sympathized with him.
"Dear me! what shall I do with the child?" exclaimed Uncle Seth, whose whole heart went out to a boy so interested in a mechanical pursuit.
"Do help him if you can, Mr. Blanchard. I'm sure if he wants to think about or do somethingbesides killing Indians, and risking his life on rafts, I do hope you'll gratify and encourage him, if it's only for the sake of his mother, and tell him something to pacify him."
"Well, Sammy, if I can't make you a wheel nor tell how to use it, there's one thing I can do: I can show you how to mould brick, and you can have a brick-yard and a kiln, and make your mother a brick oven that will be worth three times as much to her as the bean-pot; and she can bake beans, bread, and meat in it."
"I don't want to make no brick oven. I wouldn't give a chestnut-burr for a thousand brick ovens. I want to do what the potters do."
"Well, I'll tell you all about how the potters work their clay; and then you can make a good pot or milk-pan on a mould as you do now, and I'll make moulds for you. I'll keep thinking about a wheel; and perhaps we may have to go to Baltimore or Lancaster for salt or powder, and can get some iron: then I'll make a wheel; or perhaps I shall think of some way to make it without iron."
In this manner Mr. Seth continued to pacify Sammy, who, wiping up his tears, got up in hisbenefactor's lap, and wanted to know when he would show him how to fix the clay.
Mr. Seth replied, "To-morrow morning," well knowing he should have no peace till it was done.
Sammy then wanted to know when he would tell him about the glaze; to which he answered that it was no use to think about that till the Indian war was over, as neither lead nor salt could be spared for the purpose, and if the clay was well worked, and the articles well baked, they would do good service without any glaze.
Harry, Alex, and Enoch now took their rifles, and went home with the children; but Mrs. Sumerford persuaded Mr. Blanchard to tarry all night.
"What do you think has got into this boy, Mr. Blanchard?" said the mother, after Sammy had gone to bed, "that he should set out all at once in such a fury to make things of clay?"
"Well, Mrs. Sumerford, almost everybody in this world has a turn for some one thing more than another; and you know that all your boys have a turn for handling tools: Elick and Enoch have, though not so much as Harry."
"That's true, Mr. Blanchard; and they take itfrom their father: he could make almost anything; he would make a handsome plate out of an ash-whorl; and he made me a churn that he dug out of a round log, and swelled the bottom in, then put hoops on; it was the handsomest you ever did see."
"The child's got that natur in him; but he's been so full of other things since the war broke out, been stirred up all the time, that it never came out till they began to build that raft. He was the head of that; but when he got hold of the clay, and started the notion of making dishes to play with, he was like a man who is digging a well, and all at once strikes water. He found the thing that suited his turn; and it became real earnest with him, though it was nothing but play to the others. When the rest of 'em wanted to make dishes out of wood and bark, he said, 'Let's make 'em out of clay.' He didn't know what he was fumbling arter in the dark, didn't know he was chalking out his whole life; for, mark my words for it, sooner or later that boy'll be a potter, and no power on earth can hinder it. Mary Sumerford, I believe there's a higher Power has to do with these things; and I verily believe we haveour own way least when we think we have it most."
"From my soul I believe as you do, Mr. Blanchard, and always did."
"I know how it is: he's had a call to do that thing, and you'll see how 'twill be. I know all about it: it's no new thing to me, it was just so with me when I began to work wood. If he could be in the settlements, he would learn a potter's trade in no time; but what we shall do with him here, I'm sure I don't know."
"Then you don't think he'll give it up. Boys, and my boys, are apt to take hold of some new thing pretty sharp for a time, and then give it up, and go into something else."
"He'll not give it up as long as the breath of life's in him: it's clear through him, in his marrow and in his bones, and must and will come out."
"But I don't like to have him down to the river: the Indians might carry him off."
"I'll get him to go to the old Cuthbert house: there's good clay there, and the spring where Cuthbert got his water."
The next morning Mr. Seth said to Sam,—
"Your mother don't like to have you down tothe river: it's too far away; the Indians might come; we don't any of us think it's safe. You must play with your clay at the Cuthbert house: it's near the garrison, and then you'll all be safe."
"It isn't play," said Sammy, straightening him self up: "what makes you call it play? It isn't foolish play to make a bean-pot and things for folks to use, and that they have to buy at Baltimore: it's real work. It isn't a bit like making mud-puddin's, cob-houses, or playing marbles or horse, or having a war-post and making believe kill Indians."
"Indeed it's not," said Uncle Seth, more delighted than he cared to express, and patting the young enthusiast on the head.
"I don't want to go to the Cuthbert house, 'cause it's handsome down to the river; and the raft's there, and the fireplace, and water, and plenty of wood to bake the pots; and the clay down there is real soft, and just as blue as indigo, and feels greasy; and I can cut it with my knife, and it won't dull it one mite."
"I know that; but it's not so good clay to make pots as the gray at the Cuthbert house. It will do to make bricks by putting sand with it; but it'sliable to crack, blister, and melt in the fire, 'cause there's so much iron in it."
"It don't look so red when it's burnt, that Cuthbert clay don't."
"Well, then, you can bring up a little of that from the river to color it: 'twon't take but a mite. There's more wood lying round Cuthbert's door than you can burn in six months; then you can have the house to dry your ware in, and to work in when it rains, and the great fireplace to build your kiln in."
"What shall I do for water?"
"There's a spring on the side of the hill where Mr. Cuthbert got his water; and there's a great trough in the kitchen that he used to salt pork in, and you can have that to put your clay in, and a table. I'll ask Nat to let you have that to make your things on."
When Mr. Seth concluded, Sammy expressed himself reconciled. He then told him to dig the clay, and pick out any little sticks or gravel-stones he found, put it in the trough, pour in water enough to cover it, and let it soak till after dinner, when he would come down, and tell him what to do with it.
With the help of his mates, Sammy was not long in filling the trough with clay and water when they went to haul wood. The settlers hauled their fire-wood as they wanted it, and did all their work in companies for safety.
After dinner Mr. Seth, with all the boys at his heels, went to look at the clay, and told them to strip up their trousers, get into the trough, and tread the clay by turns with their bare feet, while he sat on the door-stone to smoke his pipe.
The boys entered upon the work with great good-will; but the longer they tramped, the stiffer the clay grew as it absorbed the water, and the harder the work became. In the course of fifteen minutes they asked,—
"Isn't it trod enough, Uncle Seth?"
"Not yet."
They then wanted to put more water to it, but Mr. Seth would not permit that. The clay grew more dense: and the boys began, one after another, to get out of the trough. They suddenly recollected that they were wanted at home, till at the end of a half-hour only Will Redmond, Archie Crawford, and Sammy were left. Mr. Seth then looked at it, rubbed it between his fingers, andtold Sammy to let it lie till supper-time, then give it another treading, and he would tell him what to do next.
When the time came, Sammy could not get a single boy to help him. Their interest in pottery had evaporated. They had the cattle to drive up, chores to do, and plenty of occupation. Not so, however, with Sammy: his enthusiasm lay deeper. He got into the trough, and trod as long as he could see, till his legs ached, and he perceived that the clay became much tougher and finer. Just as he was about to go, he saw Uncle Seth coming from the mill, and they went home together.
When Uncle Seth came the next morning to look at the clay, he said,—
"You see, my lad, we always do every thing with a better heart when we understand the reason for doing it."
He then took a piece of clay, placed it on the table, and cut it in halves with a knife, and made Sammy notice that there were a good many little holes and bubbles in it, and some little hard lumps, and sometimes he picked out a little gravel-stone.
"If," said he, "these air-bubbles are not removed, when the ware is put into the kiln, that air will expand with the heat, and burst the clay; if there are stones, they will crumble; if there are sticks they will make steam, swell, and cause a flaw. The potters work their clay more than a woman does her dough: it is a great deal more work to prepare the clay than it is to do all the rest. After they have worked their clay, they let it lay in a heap to settle together, and break the bubbles, and close the holes: sometimes they dig it a whole year beforehand, and let it lie and ripen, as they call it."
"I don't care how hard I work, if I can only make a real good pot."
"That's a manly principle. You know how hard we all worked to build the mill; and see what a blessing it is. Every thing, my lad, comes from labor: it's the root and foundation of every thing worth having. The Indians won't work, and see what a miserable life they lead."
Mr. Seth now made some of the clay into large lumps, and, taking up one, slapped it down on the table with all his force three or four times, and then kneaded it, and made Sammy take noticethat when he kneaded it he folded the dough back on itself so as to keep the grain in one direction; and then cut it in halves, and Sammy saw that the air-bubbles were closed up.
He told Sammy, if he just stuck together several lumps, just as an eave-swallow does to make her nest, and made a dish out of it, that when it came to dry it would be full of seams, a seam for every lump. He then gave him a mallet, and told him when he was tired with slapping he could pound it with the mallet.
"Why couldn't I put it in Mr. Cuthbert's hominy-block that is right here before the door, and pound it same as we used to the corn? I could get the boys to help, and pound up a lot."
"That would be just the best thing that ever was; and get them to help you all you can the first going-off, while it is a new thing, for they'll get sick of that sooner than they did treading the clay in the trough."
Sammy found it was just as Mr. Seth said: the boys thought it was nice fun at first; but they soon became tired, and one after another found their folks wanted them, or they had something to do at home. In vain Sammy begged them to stay; but, no, they could not.
"You'll want me to go 'long with you some time, and then I won't go," said Sammy, and began to cry.
Soon Mr. Seth came along with some tools in his hand, with which he had been working at the mill.
"What's the matter, Sammy?"
"The boys have all gone off, and won't help me; and I can't lift the pestle. I wanted to pound all what was in the trough, and they ain't pounded more'n half of it."
"Don't cry, lad: I'm going to the house, and I'll send Scip to help you."
He felt so bad to have all his mates leave him, that he could not recover himself immediately and Scip (with whom Sammy was a great favorite) found him in tears.
"What de matter wid my leetle Sammy?" cried Scip, taking the lad in his arms, and wiping off his tears.
"The boys won't help me,—Archie won't, nor Will; and I can't lift the pestle."
"Nebber mind dem. Scip help you much you want: you tell Scip what you want."
Scip was a powerful fellow; and, though he hadalways avoided the hominy-block before the mill was built, he now stripped himself to the work, and soon pounded what remained of the clay that had been trod in the trough, then carried it into the house. Sam cut it up into lumps with a tomahawk; and Scip would take them up, and slap them down on the table with a force that filled up the pores of the clay, and made it compact.
Sammy hugged Scip, and told him he never would scare him again, would give him half of all the maple-sugar he got, make him an earthen mug to drink out of, and give him a lot of his hens' eggs.
It is not probable that Sammy would have obtained much help from his companions, except for two reasons; one, that they could not have a very good time without him, and also that he (by his influence with Uncle Seth, and through him with Israel Blanchard) could obtain the company of Scip on their expeditions.
Thus it was for their interest to help Sammy, in order that they might have him and Scip to go with them. Sammy knew this, and made the most of it while they were disposed to make the least of it, and help him as little as would answer the purpose.
Sammy found that this clay was a very different material from any he had used before: it was fine, tough, and did not stick to his hands in the least; and with a mallet he could flat it out into broad sheets, and roll it with a rolling-pin as his mother did her pie-crust.
As Mr. Seth became interested in Sammy's work, he recollected many things that at first did not occur to him, and told Sam that the potters put handles on their wares after they were partly dried; that they rolled out a piece of clay of the right shape, and then stuck it on with a little "slip" (that is, clay and water of the consistency of thick cream), smoothed it with a wet sponge; and after the wares were baked it would not show, but all look alike, and that a rag would do as well as a sponge. Mr. Seth had offered to make moulds of wood for him to mould his vessels on, but Sammy resolved to do it himself; and, as he knew that the quality of the clay would improve by lying, took time to think over the matter, and collected a number of hard-shelled pumpkins, gourds, and squashes, which suited his fancy in shape, boiled them, and scraped out the inside with a spoon instead of waiting for the meat to rot, or trusting to the wood-ants.
He wanted to make a bean-pot for Mrs. Stewart, and especially for Mrs. Blanchard, because Uncle Seth would eat of the beans in that, and, in respect to it, wished to do his best.
He could not brook the thought of making a pot, that was, in truth, to be a present to Uncle Seth in acknowledgment of favors received, and at the same time ask him to make the mould to form it on. The boy likewise felt, as every one does who has accomplished any thing, that he now had a character to sustain.
This is the operation of right and wrong notions and doings with a boy. When he has done one or two good things, he naturally feels anxious to do more, and maintain and add to the reputation he has obtained.
On the other hand, when he has done several bad things, and feels that he has lost character, he grows reckless: it becomes up-hill work to get back, and he finally gets discouraged. Thus it happens to him as the Scriptures declare: "For he that hath, to him shall be given; and he that hath not, from him shall be taken even that which he hath."
The boys wanted Sammy to go hunting with bows and arrows, as they were not allowed any more powder for gunning at present; but he recollected how they had disappointed him in respect to the hominy-block, and went to the mill, hoping something might drop from Uncle Seth that would aid his thought.
The good man having constructed the crane and screw with which to lift the upper millstone, and swing it off the spindle, was deliberating upon the method in which he should make a bail by which the screw was to be attached to the stone. He knew that among the trees that grew on the banks of the stream or among the bowlders on the hillside, where roots of trees were turned from their natural course by various obstructions, it was not difficult to find a root or branchthat would form the upper part or crown of the bail; and then, by cutting a mortise in each end, he could attach two strong straight pieces of wood to drop over the edge, and be fastened to it by wooden pins, thus forming a kind of wooden chain similar to the brake on the driving-wheel of the wind-shaft.
He knew if such a root or branch was found, it would be a rough affair, not a true curve, would probably be crooked, at least one way; and that it was not at all probable that one would be found large enough to hew to a square edge, and that here and there portions of bark would need to be left on. Should he make the crown from a large, slightly sweeping stick, it would be necessary to cut the wood so much across the grain, there would not be sufficient strength.
Mr. Seth was sitting flat on the floor, with his back to the wall, chewing a chip. Sammy, who also had a burden on his mind, seated himself at a little distance, waiting patiently for a proper opportunity to speak.
At length Mr. Seth began to talk to himself: "I know what I'll do. I won't get a natural crook; 'twill be rough, crooked, full of bunches,and won't come to the stone as it should. It will look just like cart and sled tongues that I have seen people make out of a crotched tree; and I always despise 'em. I won't make it in pieces either. I'll take a tough piece of wood, and bend it to exactly the shape I want; then I can finish it up smooth. Of course it won't be quite as strong as a natural crook, but I'll make it larger."
"O Uncle Seth! how can you bend such a great piece of wood?"
"Ha! you there, my little potter? You can do any thing, my lad, if you only have pluck and patience."
"Then," thought Sammy, "I can find some better way to make pots, if I have pluck and patience."
"Sammy, have you got your rifle with you?"
"No, sir. They don't let the boys have powder and bullets now."
"Well, I'm going home to get the oxen to haul a walnut-butt: run down to your house, and ask Harry and the other boys to go into the woods with me. Israel'll go too. And tell Harry to bring his broad-axe: I want him to help me."
After hauling home a walnut-butt twenty feetin length, Mr. Seth rolled it upon blocks, and began to hew the bail from the large end of it; hewing the wood to a proud edge, and leaving a much greater quantity of wood in the middle, where the screw was going through, than at the ends.
Israel Blanchard and Harry began to make a form on which to bend this great piece of timber by treenailing logs together, and hewing them in the form of half the millstone the bail was to lift, or rather little more than half as room must not only be left for the stone to turn easily in the bail, but also for the head of the screw between the bail and the stone, and also at the ends, as the holes for the pins that attached it to the stone could not be very near the end, but space must be left to admit treenails to prevent splitting.
On the sides of this form they fastened strong uprights opposite each other, at proper distances, and strong yokes to slip over the ends of them, and fastened by pins through the uprights, that could be put on and taken off at pleasure; and made a number of large wedges to drive under the yokes.
It was now sundown; and Sammy, who hadbeen much more interested in watching the work than he would have been in hunting, went home to milk, and reflect upon the matter nearest his heart, having enjoyed some little opportunity to converse about it with Uncle Seth.
Sammy did not like the pumpkins and gourds as forms to mould his dishes on; neither did he like a mould of wood, or a basket. He knew the basket would leave the outside rough.
He sat down in the yard to milk his cow, and began; but became so absorbed in thought, that the cow put her foot in the pail all unnoticed by Sammy, who kept on milking mechanically.
"Why, Samuel Sumerford! are you out of your senses? Don't you see that cow has got her foot in the pail? What in the world can you be thinking of? Now go give that milk to the hogs, and get a clean pail.—I declare, I don't know what has got into that child: he was always tearing round, couldn't live without half a dozen boys round him, always complaining that he couldn't have no good times, till sometimes, betwixt him and that little sarpent of a Tony, I was afraid I should go distracted; and now he goes right down to the Cuthbert house the moment he gets hisbreakfast, or up to the mill with Mr. Seth; and there he stays. He don't seem to care about company, nor about his hens, nor any play. I don't believe he's taken a bow and arrow nor a gun in his hand this ten days; and seems all the time in a study."
"I'm sure, mother, I should think you'd be glad of it," said Enoch: "you couldn't take any peace of your life for him; at any rate, all the rest of us are glad."
"So am I, Enoch; but it seems so kind of unnatural!"
If the cow did put her foot in the pail, and if while it was there Sammy was leaning his head against her, he got an idea that after sleeping on he resolved to carry out in practice. But scarcely had he despatched his breakfast when several boys made their appearance with bows and arrows, and wanted him to go with them on a ramble.
"Can't go."
"What's the reason?" asked Stiefel.
"Don't want to."
"If you don't go with us never, we won't help you tread clay."
"I'll go some time: don't want to go to-day."
The boys went off; and Mrs. Sumerford said, "Sam, what made you so short with the boys? I know they didn't like it. If you wanted to work with your clay, why didn't you tell 'em that was the reason you didn't want to go to-day? then they would have gone down to the Cuthbert house with you."
"I knew they would, marm; and that was just the reason I didn't tell 'em. I didn't want 'em down there: I wanted to be alone to contrive something. Mother, if you was going to draw a piece of linen into the loom, and study out a new figure that you never wove before, would you want all the neighbors in, gabbing?"
"No, I'm sure I shouldn't."
Sammy went to his workshop; and his mother began to wash the breakfast-dishes, saying, "Well, these are new times: I shouldn't think I'd been talking with Sam Sumerford."
The first thing Sammy did was to gather up all the pumpkins, gourds, and squashes he had been at so much pains to select and dig out, and throw them on the woodpile: he had brought with him a piece of ash board (a remnant that was left when Harry made a drum, and had given him), also alarge piece of thick, smooth birch-bark pressed flat as a board, and Harry's large compasses. He sat down at the table, and began to talk to himself:—
"I heard my brother say, and tell Jim Blanchard, he didn't want to eat other people's cold victuals, but he liked best to build his own campfire. I don't want to eat anybody's cold victuals neither. I'll make my own moulds: I won't ask Uncle Seth to make 'em. If I can't make 'em, I won't try to be a potter."
Sammy had found that the bean-pot he had made for his mother was about the right size, but the shape did not suit: he knew that everybody who looked at it would see that it was just the shape of a pumpkin. To use his own expression, it was too "pottle-bellied;" and the mouth was not large enough to admit a piece of pork the right size. The cover of this pot dropped inside the rim of the pot; and, as nearly all the settlers baked their beans in a hole under the hearth, it was not so good a form for keeping out the ashes, as to have the cover shut over the rim, with a flange on the inside of it.
With the compasses he struck out a circle onthe table, the exact size of the bottom of his mother's bean-pot, of which he had the measure, and, boring a hole in the centre, stuck up a round, straight willow stick considerably longer than the height of the original vessel. Around this stick and in this circle he built up a mass of clay as high as the stick, and much larger in circumference than the old pot.
His object in putting the stick in the centre of his circle was to obtain a guide, a plumb-line centre from which to work.
"When they build a haystack," said he, "they always set a pole in the middle, and then they get all sides alike."
Having thus provided plenty of material to go and come upon, he ran home, and got his mother's pot, and placed it on the table beside his pile of clay; then with the compasses marked on a piece of bark the size he intended to have the mouth of his pot, and cut it out, levelled the top of the clay, and, making a hole exactly in the centre of the bark, slipped it over the upright rod and downward till it rested upon the surface of the clay; and put some flat stones upon it to keep it in place.
He now had the centre of the top and bottom, and by measuring found the centre of the side, and marked it in four places; and with those guides began with his scalping-knife to slice off the clay, form the sides and swell and taper of the vessel, and by placing a rule across the mouth obtained another guide, till he thus formed a model to suit his eye. Sometimes he took off a little too much in one place, and made a hollow: then he filled it with clay and cut again, until he felt that he could make no further improvement.
It was of much better proportions than the original, which was manifest as they sat side by side: still the capacity of the vessel represented by the mould was about the same. If it was a little deeper, and had a larger mouth, it was less bulging in the middle, tapering gradually each way.
Sammy cleaned up the table, and was walking round it, viewing his pot from different standpoints, once in a while making some trilling alteration, or smoothing the surface with a wet rag, when he was greatly surprised by the entrance of his mother.
"O mother! did you come to see me work?"
"Not altogether, my dear. Nat Cuthbert saidthere was a pair of wool-cards in the chamber, that he would lend me. Run up, and look for them."
Sammy soon returned with the cards, when his mother said,—
"Had you rather be down here alone, than at play with the boys?"
"Yes, marm: I'm having a nice time."
"What made you throw all those punkins, squashes, and gourds away, my son, after you had taken so much pains to boil and scrape the inside out?"
"'Cause they wasn't the right shape. They had their bigness all in one place. The punkins had their bigness all in the middle, the squashes and gourds at the bottom. They wasn't good moulds, marm."
"Wasn't the moulds the Lord made good enough for you to work from?"
"The Lord don't make bean-pots, mother; he only makes squashes and punkins and such like: if he did, he'd make 'em right, 'cause he makes the beans, flowers, and every thing right. Marm, there's both pots: now which do you think is the best shape? Truly now, marm."
"Well, Sammy, I think this last is the best shape, and it has a larger mouth to take in a good piece of pork. Come, you'd better go home with me. It's only about an hour till dinner-time."
"Has the mill been going this morning?"
"Most all the forenoon, but the wind is nearly gone now."
"Then Uncle Seth hasn't touched his bail; but he'll work on it this afternoon, and I'll see him."
He now made a profile just the shape of the outside of his pot, from the thin piece of ash-board, then set it off an inch from the edge, and cut the other side to correspond: thus the inside of the profile gave the outside of the mould, and the outside of the profile the inside of the vessel to be made. He then placed the great compasses each side on the middle of the mould, and by that measure cut out another birch-bark pattern: thus he had the measure of the diameter in three places, bottom, middle, and top. After putting the profile and pieces of bark carefully away, he tore down his mould, flung the clay in with the rest, laid away the stick for future use, and ran home to dinner.
He had worked out all his plans in his headand in part with his hands, knew he could do it, and felt easy; could go to the mill now. But to have gone in the morning, and left that idea undeveloped—he would not have done it to see Uncle Seth make a dozen bails.
When he came near the mill he met Uncle Seth, Israel Blanchard, Mr. Holdness, Cal, and his brother Harry, who had been to dinner with Israel, coming to help Mr. Seth bend the bail that he blocked out in the stick the day before, and had not meddled with since: there having sprung up a "mill-wind," he had been occupied in grinding. Thus Sammy was in season.
A fire was made in the block-house, and water heated. The part of the tree on which the bail was made being covered with straw, hot water was poured on it till it was thoroughly steamed: then all those strong men lifted the whole stick, and put the finished end on the mould between two uprights, put a yoke over, and Uncle Seth drove a wedge between the yoke and the bail, bringing it snug to the mould, and gave the word, "Lower away." They now gradually let down the heavy unhewn end of the stick that was in the air, the great leverage bringing it down easily,for the bail was as limber as a rag. Slowly the heavy timber came down, Uncle Seth meanwhile driving wedges under the yokes, and Sammy pouring hot water on the portions designated by the former, till the end of the stick struck the ground.
The end of the mould was instantly lifted, and large blocks that lay ready put under it, which permitted the end of the stick to come down far enough to bend that portion of the bail that formed the crown, the most important part of the whole affair.
"Over with him," said Uncle Seth. The whole form that had previously stood on its edge was instantly upset, lying flat on the ground, stakes driven to hold it, and the remaining portion brought to the mould, secured by wedges, and the long end of the stick sawed off.
The mould was now again set upon its edge, more water poured on, and a final drive given to all the wedges, and the operation completed.
"Indeed, brother," said Uncle Seth, passing his hand carefully over the hot wood, "there's not the sign of a 'spawl' on it: the wood is not strained nor rucked in the least. A smart pieceof timber that: I knew 'twas afore I cut it, just as well as I know now. I've had my eye on that tree for more'n a year."
"How did you know it?" asked Sammy, who was not disposed to permit any opportunity to obtain information to pass unimproved.
"I knew by the way it grew, and the ground it grew on. The limbs came out straight from the tree, and turned down: a tree that grows that way is always of tougher wood about bending than one when the limbs run up like a fir. Then it grew on moist, loamy land; and trees that grow on that kind of land have wood more pliant than where they grow on coarse, gravelly land.
"How much more workmanlike that looks than any natural crook full of bunches and hollows! Not that I would say any thing agin nat'ral crooks: they are great things sometimes when a man's at his wits' ends, specially in ship-building and often in mill-work."
"What are you going to do to it next?" asked Sammy.
"Nothing, my lad, right away: it must remain in the press two or three days, that it may become set so that it won't straighten."
When Mr. Seth found that the bail was well seasoned and set, he took it out of press, cut the holes in the ends to receive the pins that were to hold it to the stone, and the large hole in the centre by which it was to be hung to the head of the screw, worked it off smooth, and oiled it.
He then made a washer or wooden circle to lie between the shoulder on the head of the screw and the under side of the bail, in order that the screw might turn more easily.
Screws of this size are always turned by putting a lever into holes, generally four made in the head of them.
There were two objections to this method in the present case: one was, that the bail interfered with turning the screw, another, that it would be necessary to make the head of the screw much bigger, and require a larger space between the bail and the stone than Mr. Seth cared to have. Therefore he left the top of the screw square, and made a lever to fit over it like a wrench over a bolt.
It was soon known among the boys that Mr. Seth had got the bail most done, and would be likely to try it. Israel Blanchard and Mr.Holdness were seen by the children going towards the mill; and they followed suit.
The hopper, shoe, and covering boards were removed, the stone laid bare, and the crane with the bail swung over it, the pins that confined the latter to the stone thrust in; and Mr. Seth, standing on the stone, turned the screw, and lifted both himself and the stone as easily, Sam Sumerford said, as a squirrel would wash his face.
It was then swung over a trap-door in the floor, into which the lower edge of the stone dropped; and they turned it over as easily as a griddle in its bail. No more would have been required to place the stone in a position to be picked, than to have put some blocks beneath it, and turned back the screw. The hole in the floor saved the labor of lifting the stone so high as would otherwise have been necessary, and also required a less length of screw.
"This stone," said Uncle Seth, after examining it, "don't need picking, and I didn't expect it did. I only wanted to see how the thing would work. Wonder what Mr. Honeywood'll think about a wooden bail when he comes back from the scout."