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 branch that 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 feet in 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 had been 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 his breakfast, 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 a large 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 on the 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 said there 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 head and 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 piece of 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."