For the felspar is soft, and imbibes water; and in the course of time the water causes it to break up, decay, and change from stone to a soft white clay, while where it is hard, burning and pounding will do the work that nature has not quite finished yet.
Mr Temple did not go so far as to commence a pottery, for there was no need, the manufacturers being ready to purchase all the clay that the works could produce; and when Dick and Arthur Temple finally settled down to business, it was to find Will Marion their father’s right-hand man.
Later on some further investigations were made of the mineral deposits in the seals’ cave; but, good as they were, Will Marion shook his head at them, and Mr Temple took his view. The tin looked promising; but tin and copper mining was so speculative a venture that it was determined to keep only to the china-clay, which brought prosperity to all.
The lads often visited the haunts of their old adventures in company with Josh, who was still venerable Uncle Abram’s head man; and it was only necessary to hint at the desire for an evening’s fishing to make Josh declare, that as long as there was a gashly boat in the bay, they should never want for a bit of fishing.
But Josh never forgave Will in his heart for deserting the fishing business.
“Oh, yes! I know all about the gashly old clay, Master Rickard, sir,” he would say; “and it’s made him a sort of gentleman like; but I can’t seem to see it, you know. He was getting to be as fine a sailor as ever stepped, and look at him now; why, he wouldn’t be satisfied to sail anything commoner than a yacht.”
Dick remained the same frank merry fellow as ever; and even when there was a thick crop growing on his cheeks and chin, which he called brown mustard and cress, he was as full of boyish fun as ever.
It was Arthur in whom the greatest changes had taken place. Contact with the world had rubbed off the stiff varnish with which he had coated himself. He had learned, too, that a lad can command more respect from his fellows by treating them with frankness than by a hectoring haw-haw display of consequence, and a metaphorical “going about with a placard on the breast saying what a superior young being I am ism.” In fact Arthur Temple’s folly had all gone, and he had developed into a true English gentleman, who could be refined to a degree, but in time of need lend a hand in any of the many struggles of life.
Will, too, refined greatly, and one of the Sunday sights down at Peter Churchtown was to see Aunt Ruth Marion waiting at her door, while the bells were going, for Will to come and take her to church, while Uncle Abram in his best blue coat, with crown-and-anchor buttons, smoked his pipe to the last minute and then trotted after them along the cliff path to the pew close under the reading-desk.
“Yes, Abram,” she used to say, “our Will has grown to be as fine a gentleman as ever stepped; but you always spoiled him, you did; and I don’t know what he would have done if it had not been for me.”