Hereupon, heartened by her encouragement, I tried my hand at a set of dishes, platters and the like, for as I grew more expert at the art, my interest increased. So I laboured all the morning, working 'neath a tree upon the river-bank, and my pots set out to dry in the full glare of the sun all of a row, and I, in my heart, not a little proud of them. But turning to look at them after some while I saw divers of them beginning to crack and gape here and there with the sun's heat, whereon my vain pride gave place to sudden petulant anger, and leaping up I demolished them, one and all, with a couple of savage kicks.
"O Martin!" cries my lady, desponding, "Is all your labour wasted? Are you done?"
"No!" says I, clenching my teeth, "I begin now!" And down I sat to my clay-kneading again. But this time I worked it more thoroughly, and so began to mould my pots and pipkins over again, and she aiding me as well as she might. This time the thing came easier, at the which my companion did admire and very full of encouragement as the vessels took shape under my hands.
"Come, Martin," says she at last, "'tis dinner-time!"
"No matter!" quoth I.
"Will you not eat?"
"No!" says I, mighty determined. "Here sit I nor will I go eat till I can contrive you a pot worthy the name." And I bent to my work again; but missing her from beside me, turned to see her seated upon the grassy bank and with two roasted steaks set out upon two great green leaves, a delectable sight.
"Pray lend me your knife, Martin."
"What, have you brought dinner hither?" says I.
"To be sure, Martin."