And now the bushes grow thinner. They were coming upon a little open space fringed about with trees, and suddenly Thekla exclaimed, in an astonished voice,—
“Why, Max! Look! There are people in there. I can see them through the bushes!”
“People?” cried Max. “Stealing wood, no doubt. Quiet, Thekla! don’t make any noise: we’ll creep up, and catch them at it. They shall see what the Ranger says to such doings.”
So, like mice, they crept forward, and peeped through the screen of boughs. But there was no sound of chopping, and nobody was meddling with the wood. In fact, there was only one body visible,—an old, old man with snow-white hair. But there was a long row of clay figures in front of him, men and women as large as life; and they looked so natural, it was no wonder Thekla had made the mistake. Some were half-finished; some but just begun: one only seemed perfect,—the figure of a beautiful youth, with a crescent moon on his cap; and, even as they looked, the old man took a pinch of something, molded it with his hand, and stuck it on the side of the head, from which it hung like a graceful plume. Then he seemed satisfied, and began to work on one of the others.
“How lovely! but did you ever see any thing so queer?” whispered Thekla. “If we only dared go nearer!”
“Dared!” cried Max: “this is our wood, and we have a right to go where we like in it. Come on!” and he took Thekla’s hand, and drew her boldly forward.
There were two great jars standing there, which seemed to hold the stuff out of which the figures were made. The children peeped in. One was full of a marvelous kind of water, sparkling and golden and bubbling like wine. The other held sand, or what seemed like sand,—fine, glittering particles,—most beautiful to see. It was wonderful to watch the old man work. His lean fingers would twist and mold the sand and water for a second, and there would be a lovely head, an arm, or a garland of flowers. The forms grew like magic; and the children were so charmed with watching, that they forgot either to speak or to go away.
At last, the old man turned, and saw them. He didn’t smile, nor did he seem angry. He only stood, and fixed his eyes upon them in silence. Thekla began to tremble, but Max bravely addressed him:—
“What curious work this is you are doing!” he said. “Is it very hard?”
“I’m used to it,” was the brief reply.