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 not hope 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 think it 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, and Mrs. 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, others blistered 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, his eyes 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, though he 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.