"If I should build a pot right up from the
bottom with soft clay," replied the man, "it would all sink down to
the floor with its own weight. We must leave each pot to dry a little
before we add much to it."
Lawrence noticed how skilfully he applied one
end of a roll to the mass, and pressed it in, working it towards him,
around the edge of the pot; leaving no chance for an air-bubble to hide
away in it, and expand and crack the clay when afterwards subjected to
heat; shaping and smoothing all with his hand, and rounding the top into
a dome. The boy watched and admired, and said at length he thought it
"quite an art."
The man had just pressed the end of a roll upon
the back of one of his monsters, and he left it sticking out ludicrously
like a tail, while he answered, "It 's no art; it 's only a notion. It
takes a little gumption, and a deal of patience,-- that 's all."
"I 'd sooner be the man down stairs," replied the
artist. "He has no care on his mind but to hear the bell, and go to
dinner. But I 'm all the while in trouble,-- fearing my pots won't come
out right, dreading they may crack, or something, and I 'll be shown the
gate." And, seizing hold of the tail, he proceeded to work it around
towards the side until it had disappeared in the mass.
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