Chapter III: Part 3

THAT day it happened that Tig found Arsan, the old man, sitting in the sun outside his hut; so he came near and the old man called him and bade him sit down. Tig had often heard people say that Arsan knew many things, so he made up his mind to ask him about the pond.

“How is it that our pond has gone dry?” Tig asked.

“What is it that the wise ones say?” said the old man.

“They say that the water-spirits are angry and have gone away,” Tig answered; “and they have bidden my father and all the folk to offer sacrifices and to dance and sing. And all has been done as they have said; but the spirits do not come back. Will they come back, thinkest thou, grandfather?”

“Nay, I do not think they will come back,” said Arsan.

“Then shall we have no water to drink?” asked Tig.

But Arsan answered: “Now heed and I will tell thee! ’Tis not the first time I have known the water-spirits to go away. Once before I have seen this thing happen: not here, seest thou, but in another village where I dwelt once. Oh, ’twas dire! The water dried up, and there was none for man or beast. And all that we could do availed naught--ay, though we offered sacrifice of cattle, it availed naught.”

“Did the Medicine Men come then?” Tig asked.

“Ay, they came.”

“And what did they say?”

“They said it was not enough. They called to mind a custom of our fathers that was wont to be observed of old time when the gods were angry; and they chose out a youth and slew him as a sacrifice. But it availed not; the waters did not return.”

“And what did the folk do then?” Tig asked.

“What did they do? Why then at last they sought counsel of the old men that had wisdom, and knew how to make a right dwelling place for the water-spirits.”

“Was not our pond a right place for the water-spirits?” Tig asked.

“Now listen, boy, and I will show thee. How is it with us? Do we dwell always in one place? Nay, thou knowest we do not. We shift with the cattle and go from place to place; we cannot abide in one place always. So do the spirits. It is true that after a while we come back to our village here; and so, perchance, might they return, if we should be content to wait for them; but meantime the folk and the cattle would have no water to drink. So what’s to do? Why we must make them a new home. That’s what we must do--make them a new home!”

“Why don’t the Medicine Men make it?” Tig asked.

“Speak not of them, boy,” said Arsan. “They know their own ways. I am an old man, but I know not the ways of them. I bethink me of the old times that are past long ago, and of what our fathers did to prepare a dwelling-place for the water-spirits.”

“What did they do, grandfather?” Tig asked.

“Nay, now, be content. I have said enough,” the old man answered.

But that night when Tig was in the hut with his father, he said to him, “Father, I have been talking with Arsan. He knows how to make the water-spirits come back and fill up our pond again.”

“Oh, he knows, does he?” said Garff. “Then he must tell us.”

_Chapter the Seventeenth_

_How they made the Pond anew_

SO on the next day Garff called some of the men of the village, and they went to the chief’s hut and told him that Arsan knew of a way to bring back the water-spirits and fill up the pond again. The chief was glad when they told him this, and he sent to the old man, asking him to come to the council and make known his plan. Arsan came willingly. The men sat round in the chief’s hut, and Arsan stood up and spoke.

“It is many years ago,” he said, “I was a young lad then, but I remember. The spirits of the water did quit the pool where we were wont to drink. Suddenly they went, no man knew why; nor would they return, though we danced without ceasing for a night and a day, and sang and offered cattle in sacrifice to the gods. Then it was said by one of the Medicine Men that the high gods were angry and that the killing of cattle would not appease them. So the folk took a goodly youth and bound him hand and foot and slew him for a sacrifice. But still the water came not again.

“Then arose one of the folk, an old man that had understanding, and he said: ‘Are not the spirits even as we? Do we abide always in one house? Shall not the spirits desire to leave their old dwelling-place and seek a new one? Do we not know that the deer on the hills abide now in one place and now in another: and the wild geese, do they not fly from one place to another? and do not the bees go forth in bands when the time is come for them to seek a new resting-place? So do the spirits of the water. They seek a new place to dwell in. Let us make them a dwelling-place.’

“So when our fathers heard these words, they made haste to prepare a dwelling-place for the water-spirits after a manner that I remember and can show. Many days they toiled; and when the work was finished, they feasted and danced all night and sang the ancient songs. And in the morning, lo! the waters were returned.”

Then the chief said: “So this manner of making a new place for the spirits of the water is known to thee, and thou canst tell it.”

“It dwells in my mind, and I can tell it,” said the old man. “But every one must work and do as he is bid for many days. The hunting-gear must be laid aside, and every man must work.”

So the chief and all the men laid aside their hunting-gear and set to work. And this is what Arsan made them do.

First he walked out with all the men to a place on the top of the hill, close to the village, where there was a flat place that was a little hollowed out like a saucer; and he set the men to work with hoes to scratch up the earth to make the hollow place deeper and wider. They gathered up the earth in baskets, and some of it they threw away down the hill, and some they laid around the rim of the hollow and trod it down hard.

Then Arsan sent the men with good, sharp knives of flint to cut down reeds and rushes and bracken and tough grass, and bind them into sheaves and bundles; also he bade them cut birch twigs and elder twigs and tie them into bundles, too. And when they had got large piles of bundles ready, he showed them how to lay the bundles on the ground in the hollow place, packing them tight and close together, like a thick mat, or like thatch.

And when this was done, he sent the men in parties and some of the women with them who knew where there was good clay to be found; and bade them dig out clay. Wherever they could find good clay down in the valley, they had to dig it out and bring it to the top of the hill. It was very hot and dry weather, and the people hated the hard work and were very angry with Arsan. But the chief and Garff worked hard and cheered up the other men, and they all worked together.

When they got the clay up to the top of the hill, Arsan showed some of the cleverest men and some of the women how to spread it thickly over the bundles, laying it and daubing it well over. And some did this while the rest brought more and more clay; until at last the whole of the hollow place was thickly spread with clay, puddled and trodden hard; and the outside edge of the bundles all round was covered, so that the hollow place was like a big saucer of clay.

And Arsan bade the people bring up some smooth, flat stones from the bed of the river, and these they laid upon the clay at the bottom of the hollow, and packed them round with more clay, and laid more stones of the same sort around the edge, and so made all firm and strong. There only needed the water to fill up the clay saucer and make a pond of it.

Then on the day when their task was done, they made a big feast and ate and drank; and at sunset they began the dancing, and danced the whole night long, some dancing while the others rested; and they sang the song for rain, and its chorus, and the corn song and its chorus. And early in the morning when they had sung the rain song again, they sent men with torches to look at the new pond. And soon the men came back running and leaping and crying out: “The waters are returning!” and next morning they found that the new pond was half full of water, and after two nights more it was quite full.

So they all praised the wisdom of Arsan; and it was a story among them for years and years to tell how Arsan had shown them the way to make a dwelling-place for the spirits of the water.

_Chapter the Eighteenth_

_DICK AND HIS FRIENDS: Dew-Ponds_

“I CALL it stupid to talk about there being water-spirits in a pond,” said Joe.

“Well, I don’t know that I agree with you,” said Uncle John. “Of course that isn’t the way we explain things nowadays; but if you had lived in those times, I daresay you would have thought as other people thought.”

“But it wasn’t spirits that made the water run out, was it?” Joe asked.

“No, I don’t think it was,” said Uncle John. “What I should like to know is--can any of you think what did make the water run out?”

“Did the sun dry it up?” asked Dick.

“Perhaps there was a spring and it stopped running,” said David.

“I don’t fancy you have guessed right, either of you,” said Uncle John. “That pond of theirs was a dew-pond filled by dew--filled from the clouds; and it went dry not because there wasn’t plenty of dew in the air to keep it filled up, but because the pond leaked, and the water ran out faster than it could come in.”

“So I suppose when they made the new one with fresh clay, it was watertight and didn’t leak,” said Dick. “But I don’t understand now how the dew could fill it up.”

“And I don’t understand why they put the bundles of fern and brushwood underneath,” said David.

“It isn’t at all hard to understand, really,” said Uncle John. “You see there is always a great deal of moisture in the air. Sometimes it is high up, and then we call it clouds; and sometimes it is low down, and we call it mist or dew. But there is always plenty of it--a never-ending supply. Of course you know how it comes to be there?”

“The sun draws it up.”

“Yes, the sun draws it up. The sun is always sucking up water from the earth, from the sea and from rivers and lakes and ponds, and from puddles in the road and from clothes hung out to dry. And the warmer the sun is during the day, the more water it sucks up into the air. But in the night when the air is cool, some of this water comes back again: it forms into drops and settles on the grass or on cabbage leaves, or on a book which you may have left out all night on the garden seat. You know that if you go out early in the morning and walk in the grass, you get your boots sopping wet. So if you could find a place that was hollow so that water could gather in it; and if you could keep it cool like a cabbage-leaf, so that the water would settle in it; and if you could make it watertight below so that the water wouldn’t leak out, you would have a dew-pond.”

“Why should it be on the top of a hill?” Dick asked.

“I suppose because the higher up you go, the more chance you have of getting into the clouds and the moist air; dew falls more abundantly on the sides of hills.”

“But why did those people put the bundles of fern and stuff under the clay?” asked Joe. “That didn’t help to make it water-tight did it?”

“No,” said Uncle John, “but it helped to make it cool. If you want water to form out of vapour, you must give it something cold to form on. Breathe on a cold window-pane, and see how the tiny drops of water settle on the cool pane from the water-vapour in your breath. If you were to take a cold basin and set it out of doors at night when the dew is falling, you would soon find the drops of water trickling down its sides.

“This is just what those people did, only theirs was a larger plan.

“They made their pond, as we read, and finished it one day before evening. Then what happened? All day long the heat of the sun had been warming the ground round about, but it could not warm the thick moist clay so much as it warmed the turf of the hill-side.

“Then, after the sun went down, everything became cooler. But the clay pond was still the coolest thing there; and the packing of reeds and brushwood kept the heat of the earth from passing into it from below.

“So the dew began to settle in drops upon the cold clay and upon the smooth stones, and it trickled down the sides. As we said, there is always plenty of moisture in the cool night air; and all you need to do is to provide the proper place for it to collect in. So it was with the dew-pond in our book.

“One by one the drops formed and ran together, as soon as they had found something to run into; and millions and millions more joined in, coming as vapour and settling down as water until the pond was full.

“And so long as the clay bottom of the pond kept whole and sound, the dew-pond would hold water, making up at night what it lost by day. But if once the clay were broken or worn through, the water would run away into the ground, and the pond would never fill up again; partly because it would not hold water, and also because once the brushwood became soaked, it would fail to act in keeping the clay cool.”

“Was that why the first pond failed?” asked Dick.

“I expect it was. I expect the clay bed had in some way become worn through, so that the pond would not hold water. And the people guessed quite rightly that the only way to mend matters was to make a new pond, though, as Joe says, they gave an odd sort of reason for it.”

“Do people make ponds in that way now?” Joe asked.

“Yes, I believe so; though not many people know much about it, since there are so many other ways of getting water possible nowadays. But I have heard that in some parts of the country there are old men who know how to make dew-ponds.”

“Do any of the dew-ponds that those people made exist now?” Dick asked.

“I believe so, certainly. They are to be found on the hills, here and there in different parts of the country. But some learned men say they were made in later times than those of Tig’s people. But I will tell you what we will do. To-morrow we will have a long walk upon the hills and visit a pond which I believe is an ancient dew-pond; and we will have a picnic there, and then see what we all think about this question.”

“When those people had a feast,” said David, “what did they drink? Only water?”

“I don’t know,” said Uncle John. “But I should think they drank some kind of beer or spirit--not very strong, perhaps, because drink has to be well brewed and kept long if it is to be made strong. They may have made beer out of corn or even out of heather-tips, or perhaps they used honey and made mead: we do not know. The only thing we can say is that there are hardly any people in the world who do not make a drink of some kind from grain or from some part of a plant; and therefore these old people of ours most likely did the same.

“If Dick will reach me Stevenson’s Poems from the second shelf there, I will read you one called _Heather Ale_, which will make a good ending to all this dry talk about dew-ponds.”

_Chapter the Nineteenth_

_THE STORY OF TIG: How Gofa made Pottery_

IT has been said before that Gofa did all the work of her own household, not only cooking the food, but also making the clothes, and preparing the skins out of which the clothes were made. Also she made the baskets for storing and carrying the food in, and the pottery, too; and when her stock of household pots had become low, she used to set to work to make a fresh lot. And this was how she did it. She went down into the valley to a place by the river where there was good clay. She took with her a large basket and a rough-and-ready trowel made out of the shoulder-blade of a deer. She dug out the clay, enough to fill the basket, and carried it home on her shoulders.

When Gofa was ready to make pottery, she first prepared the clay by mixing it with coarse sand, which also she had brought from the river-side. She moistened the clay with water when she added the sand, and kneaded it thoroughly with her hands, just as if she were making dough. She was always careful to mix the sand and the clay in the right proportions; for clay without sand, or with too little, was apt to crack when it came to be baked, and with too much it was not stiff enough to mould well into shape. She always saved the bits of any pots that were broken, and having pounded them up until they were quite small, she mixed them up with the new stuff. By long practice Gofa knew just how to prepare the clay for use.

Having got the clay ready, Gofa took a lump of it in her hands and laid it on a stone slab which served her as a working bench. Then, with her fingers and a smooth stone, and a stick shaped into a kind of blade, she worked up the clay into a little bowl, building up the sides against the stick, and smoothing the inside with her pebble. But for the larger jars and pipkins she had another way. She took a round basket shaped like a basin and set it before her. Then she took a piece of clay and rolled it with the flat of her hand on the bench until she had made it like a very long, thin, clay sausage. Then she picked this up and began to coil it round from the bottom of the basket, inside, pinching and pressing it with her fingers and the pebble until it was flat and smooth. Then she rolled out another piece and coiled this round as before, gradually building up the sides of the pot and pinching the coils together as she went on. At length, by adding coil to coil, she raised the sides and neck of the pipkin, which she then smoothed and finished off outside with the wooden tool.

All this time Gofa kept turning the pot she was making round and round upon the stone.

“Why do you keep on turning it round and round, mother?” Tig asked.

“So that I can see what I am doing,” said his mother. “The pot would be very ugly if one side bulged out more than the other, wouldn’t it? I turn it round and round so that I can keep it even and right.”

“Who taught you how to make pots, mother?” Tig asked.

“My mother taught me. She was a famous potter. People used to come to watch her when she was at work, but they could not make pots like hers; she had a rare hand in turning. I cannot turn them as she could.”

“I think you turn yours beautifully, mother,” said Tig.

All the pots alike, before they were baked, had to be decorated. This Gofa did with a bone awl, engraving a pattern of lines and cross-lines and dots upon the soft clay. She had also a little stamp of bone with which the dots could be put on in threes.

When Gofa had finished a batch of pots, she and Tig carried them into the hut to dry, and generally on the next day she found that even the larger ones had dried enough in the air to enable her to lift them out of their basket foundations. Then she took each one in turn and scraped and rubbed it outside with a wooden tool, very carefully and lightly.

After this she took them to where she had a fire burning out-of-doors upon the ground. She raked away the fire to one side, and set the pots where the fire had been, standing them all upside down, and ranging them together in as small a space as possible. Then she piled up sticks and pieces of dried fir tree wood about the pots, and laid little faggots all round, and raked up the hot ashes and set fire to the pile. And she and Tig carried fresh fuel as the fire burned, and kept it going until they could see the pots all red hot. And then they let it sink gradually and die down of itself; and there were the pots baked hard and sound, and fit for use as soon as they were cold.

Once Gofa had set to work making pottery, she used to make a good batch at a time; she did not stop making and baking as soon as she had finished just what she wanted at the time. For she liked to have a store of pottery at hand; and if she did not want to use them all herself, she could always exchange one or two for something useful that she might happen to want.

When Gofa or any of the other women wanted to make a large pankin for holding water or milk or meal, she used to make a tall basket, like a bucket, of osiers and reeds, and daub it inside with clay. The clay was laid on thickly and then smoothed and trimmed with the stone and the wooden blade; and the wide neck and the rim were moulded by hand. She did not attempt to lift the pankin out of the basket mould, but set the whole thing in the fire as it was; and the fire burned off the basket work, and left the marks of the reeds showing all round on the outside like a pattern. And very likely it was the look of this pattern on the pottery which first gave the women the notion of graving a design upon the smaller vessels which they made entirely by hand. The women generally took pains to make neat patterns by using different simple tools of wood and bone, and sometimes they tied a piece of twisted cord round a vessel, and impressed its mark upon the clay. Sometimes they did not use a tool at all, nor even a twisted cord, but made little dents round the neck of a jar with the thumb nail, and made the pattern in that way.

_Chapter the Twentieth_

_How Tig went Hunting the Deer_

WHEN TIG was a boy and used to play at hunting, the chief of his friends was Berog. Berog and he were of the same age and equal in strength; and, though Tig was the better marksman with the bow and arrow, Berog had the greater skill with the sling. By this time they were both tall and strong lads. Each of them had been out hunting several times with the men, and sometimes they had made little expeditions by themselves. But once in the autumn, after the corn had been gathered in, they planned to have a real hunt of their own. They saved some food to take with them, but not much, because men always hunt best when they are hungry. Tig had a new, full-sized bow, that he had made himself, and his quiver full of flint-headed arrows, and his stone axe slung at his side. Berog had his sling and a bag full of smooth, round stones, and in his hand he carried a club. And so they set out together.

They did not want to be seen, so they followed a track into the forest that was not much used by the men of the village. The sun had not yet risen; the air was keen, and white mists hung about the hills. Their plan was to make first for the swamps in the valley, so as to get a shot at some of the birds that lived among the reed beds. They had explored the way before, and had marked trees or laid guide stones where the track was doubtful; and so they lost no time in getting down the valley.

As they crossed the hill-side, they saw two hares cantering away across the open ground, and Berog slung a stone or two at them, but without success. When they came to the thickets at the bottom, they walked warily, for they saw the track of a wild boar, and they had no wish to meddle with him. Birds of many kinds were seen. Away over the water ducks were flying high in a trail; kites and buzzards soared higher still; and far away in the distance, like a silvery flag against the sky, some wild swans were coming over. Grebes and coots were swimming about in a backwater of the river seen through the reeds, and a great grey heron rose from the swamp ahead of the boys, and flapped away, uttering a loud squawk.

The boys crouched among the reeds. Tig fitted an arrow to his bow, and Berog put a stone into the web of his sling. So they waited for a long time without moving. All at once the sound of rushing wings was heard, and then a splash and rush of water, as a skein of wild ducks flew down near by. The boys waited eagerly, and in a moment three ducks appeared, swimming out from behind a clump of reeds. Tig shot and missed, and his arrow struck up a spurt of water. Berog slung a stone at the birds as they rose, and hit one, which fell quacking and scattering feathers upon the water. At once Berog tucked up his sark, and waded out to capture the duck; but it was only wounded, and was too quick for him, and made its escape among the thick reed beds.

After this the boys waited for some time without a chance of another shot; so they left the river-side, and made their way through the thickets into the woods, and out on to the open hill-side. Now Tig took the lead; for with his bow and arrow he hoped to get larger game than water-fowl. The boys moved along at a quick pace, keeping within the cover of the rocks and bushes, in order to hide their movements. Two or three times they entered the woods again, to cross the deep glens that divided the hills; and they forded the streams that rushed in torrents down the depths. At last they climbed up a steep craggy place; and, when they reached the top, they lay down flat and spied the ground in front. Before them stretched a broad hill-top, and here they hoped to see some game. Presently Tig moved on, creeping on all fours, and peeped from behind a rock. Away in the distance was a troop of wild horses, some of them feeding and some cantering and wheeling about in play; and as Tig watched them they took fright at something near them, and galloped off out of sight.

Then Berog crept up, and they both moved on across the ridge, carefully screening their movements and taking cover behind the rocks and bushes of heather. When they came to the edge, they lay down again to spy. Then Tig’s eye picked out, far down below them, an object like a withered branch of a tree sticking up out of the heather. He called softly to Berog, who looked also, and they both agreed that three or four deer were lying down there in the hollow of the hill-side. Then Tig plucked some blades of grass as he lay, and threw them lightly into the air to see how the wind blew, so that he might keep it in his face in working round towards where the deer lay. If once he were to move where the wind might blow the scent of him towards the animals, they would be sure to take alarm and move away.

Then Tig turned and went down behind the ridge, moving at a quick trot, and worked his way round to a point, as nearly as he could guess it, close to the hollow where the deer were lying. Berog stayed behind on the hill-top to watch the deer and see if they should move.

When Tig reached the bottom, he crept on all fours for some distance through the heather, and then lay down to spy. He raised his head gently. There was the stag lying with its back towards him about a hundred yards away. Tig studied the ground and noted every boulder and every tuft of rushes between him and the stag, and then, lying flat on the ground, he began to crawl towards the nearest stone. High up on the far hill-top Berog was watching the stag; but he could not see Tig. So Tig crept on and on, holding his breath when he moved, until he reached the point where he could see the stag quite plainly. It was lying in an open green space, wide awake, and it kept turning its head from side to side as if it were on the watch for its enemies; but it did not see Tig. When Tig saw its antlers moving, he knew that it was looking around, and he lay still. But every now and then the stag turned back its head to scratch its back with its antlers and brush away the flies that kept teasing it, and then Tig crept up a little nearer and got an arrow ready in his bow.

All at once the wary stag took alarm. It heard or smelled that an enemy was near, and got up on its feet. Then, as the stag stood for a second sniffing the air, Tig leaped up and took aim and shot at it with all his might. The stag gave a leap forward and bounded away down the slope; but the arrow had pierced it deep behind the shoulder, and Tig knew that if only he could follow, he was sure of his game. He waved a signal to Berog, and set off at full speed in the blood-stained tracks of the stag.

The other deer of the herd gathered and fled over the hill, and Tig saw the wounded one try to take refuge with them; but they turned on it savagely and butted it away. Then Tig and Berog kept up the chase, and at last, in a thicket at the edge of the forest, they came upon the poor stag lying dead. They dragged the body into the open, and then, while Tig stayed by to guard it, Berog went off to the village for help.

_Chapter the Twenty-first_

_Tig becomes a Man_

BEFORE nightfall Berog came back with some of the men carrying torches and poles. They tied the stag’s hind legs and its fore legs together, and thrust a pole through, and so carried it home, and Tig and Berog marched behind. And when they reached the village, all the people turned out to cheer them. And on the next day Gofa and some of the women skinned the deer and cut up the meat. Every part of the deer’s body they kept for some use or other--the meat for food, the hide for making into leather, the bones to be broken for marrow and some to be carved into tools, the brains for greasing and curing the hide, the sinews to be dried and shredded into thread; and the antlers Gofa gave to Tig, because he had won them. And though before that day Tig would have had to wait on the women while they were cutting up the stag, and run errands for them, yet now he did not. He lay outside the hut all day, and ate his meals when they were brought to him, and behaved just like any of the men of the village.

For, after this first big hunt on his own account, Tig reckoned himself a boy no longer. And soon after this, he became a man, according to the custom of his tribe. That is to say, the Medicine Men, who were the rulers of the people in all matters of custom and religion, took him in hand to make a man of him. By their orders he fasted several days, and kept apart from the people, that he might learn the will of the gods. Then the Medicine Men took him and some other boys of his age, and led them into a grove where they said the gods dwelt; and they taught the boys the names of the gods and how to call upon them. And they tried each boy’s courage, and bade him remember always to be brave and endure pain without flinching; and they said that to be a coward is worse than death, and that it is better to die than to give in or run away.

After this Garff gave Tig a man’s weapons--a battle-axe and a dagger of flint, and a shield such as men used in warfare; and Tig went also to an old man of the village who was clever at tattooing, and he tattooed Tig on his shoulders and chest and arms; and after that Tig felt that he was really a man.

_Chapter the Twenty-second_

_DICK AND HIS FRIENDS: Dick’s Pottery and how he made it_

WHILE they were reading about Gofa making the pots, Dick thought he would like to try his hand at this sort of work; so, after the reading, when they went out, he got a trug and a trowel from the tool-shed and said that he should go and look for some clay.

“David and I are going fishing,” said Joe; “and when we have caught some fish, we are going to make a fire up at the hut and cook them. If you were a hunter, you would come too; making pottery is women’s work.”

“All right,” said Dick; “but if ever you were to be wrecked on a desert island, you might have to do women’s work, as you call it.”

However, Joe and David got their fishing rods and set off. Dick went down to the river too, but he could not find clay anywhere; so he came back and asked the gardener. The gardener said that a farmer was having a field drained close by, and the men were digging out lots of clay. So Dick went down to the field and filled his trug with clay, and then he made another journey to the river for fine sand. However, he did not find it easy to mix up the clay properly; for it was lumpy and hard, and when he put water to it, it was sticky. But, after a time, he got some mixed with the sand into a stiff paste, and then he was ready to try his hand at making a pot. He made several attempts at shaping the clay into a cup and tried to mould up the sides, using a flat stick and a smooth little stone that he had picked up by the river. But he did not succeed very well, as the clay was apt to break or get out of shape, and several times he squeezed it all up and began again. At last he contented himself with making quite a small cup which he could mould into shape with his fingers, pinching it and trimming it very carefully with his wooden tool. This one seemed good; so he made another a little larger, and then set them aside while he made a fire.

He collected a quantity of chips and sticks, and soon had a bright fire burning. After it had burned for about twenty minutes and made some hot ashes, Dick pushed the fire to one side, and set the cups upside down on the hot place. It was not easy to build up the fire again, because it had fallen away and was nearly out; and when he put on fresh fuel, the smoke got in his eyes. Also he poked his best cup with a big stick that he was putting on the fire, and dented its side; but it was too late to mend that, and he went on stoking up. He kept the fire going till he thought the pots must have become red hot among the ashes, and then he let it die down. He wondered whether he might try to get the cups out before they were cool; but he decided that it was best to leave them until the whole thing had cooled down. Just then, Joe and David came back, without any fish, and when they had heard what Dick had been doing, and had seen the fire, they all went in to tea.

When they came out after tea, they found the ashes still quite hot; but they got a garden rake and raked them off, and there were the two cups baked light brown and quite hard. The one that had been damaged was also much cracked; but the other one was sound except for one little crack, though it was not very shapely. Dick took it off to show to Uncle John.

“That’s a good one,” said Uncle John, “but if you had let them dry longer before putting them into the fire, they wouldn’t have cracked; and then you have forgotten something: what is it?”

Dick looked at his cup, but he could not tell what it was that he had forgotten.

“Why, the ornament,” said Uncle John. “When we pay that visit to the British Museum, you will see that the pottery of the old time always had ornament on it--or very nearly always. And I suppose you found it hard to make a bigger one? I daresay anybody would until he had had a great deal of practice. Even the old people that we have been reading about, who were so clever at making pots, had to build up their big ones on a wicker frame.

“There is something very interesting about the wicker-work frames, and you ought to remember it. It is this--baskets were made before pottery. In the very early days, before people could make pottery at all, they had, at any rate, rude sorts of baskets. And, I daresay, they sometimes tried to warm their food in baskets beside the fire. No doubt the baskets often caught fire and the food was spoiled. Then some woman who had her wits about her thought of daubing the basket with clay to make it resist the fire. The next thing was to plaster the clay inside the basket instead of outside, and next to burn the wicker off altogether; and so, in course of time, they learned how to make vessels of clay without any framework at all, except for the very large ones.”

That evening they spent some time making their bows. David was making his out of the stem of an ash sapling that the gamekeeper had given him; but Joe had got a branch of real yew for his and was whittling it down with great care. Dick’s father had sent him a set from London--a bow made of hickory with a stout gut bowstring, half a dozen arrows, and a bracer to wear on his left wrist as a protection from the string when shooting. It was very useful to have these to copy from; but Dick was not content to have only a ready-made bow, and he also got a good ash stick and set to work to make one for himself.

_Chapter the Twenty-third_

_THE STORY OF TIG: How Tig made Friends with the Lake People_

THE men of Garff’s village were masters of all the land round about. They had the ground that they had cleared of trees for growing corn, and the open spaces on the hills where their cattle fed: and beyond, they had their hunting-grounds in the forests and over the moors, for miles and miles around. It was not often that any of them travelled beyond the bounds of their own ground, unless they were making a journey, such as Garff and his party undertook when they went to buy flints from Goba, the spearmaker.

One day in the summer, when Garff and Tig and some of the others were away on a hunting expedition in the forest a long way from the village, Tig wandered away alone into the woods; for there had been a big hunt for two days before, and the men were all resting in the camp, while the women cut up the meat. Tig had no need to kill any game, but he liked to be in the woods watching the ways of the wild creatures, especially the birds; and on that day he had not taken any weapon except a light spear. When he had gone some distance, he sat down to rest and watch. In front of him was a thicket of holly trees; and presently he heard a jay in the hollies, jarring and scolding as jays do when they spy an enemy. So Tig kept still and watched. Then the jays set up a loud screech and flew across towards the tall trees; and then Tig saw a dog come out into the open, followed by a lad. The lad gazed around him and then went back among the trees; but his dog had scented Tig, and it began to bark and growl, bounding out into the open. So Tig stood up and called to the lad, who at once turned round and came forward. They went towards one another and made a sign of peace, and then the lad begged Tig to help him, for he said that he was in great trouble. Close by, his father was lying wounded and unable to move; and he could neither help his father home, nor yet leave him to go and bring help from their village.

“Are you then far from your village?” Tig asked.

“Well-nigh a day’s journey,” said the lad. “We are of the Lake People and dwell over yonder among the hills. And yesterday we were out, my father and I, looking to some traps, when we came upon the fresh track of a roe-buck. So we followed the track and came upon five bucks, away down below there; and my father shot and wounded one. But it was lightly hit and got away from us, so we set the dog on its trail and followed it even here. And after all it escaped us; but what is worse, my father fell down a rocky place near by, just when we thought we had got our buck safely. And he is sorely hurt and has lain here all night; for I could not leave him, nor was there anyone to help us.”

So Tig followed the young man in among the bushes, and there he saw the man lying, covered with a skin cloak. He told Tig that his name was Dobran, and when Tig told him his name, he said, “I have heard of thy people and have even visited thy village long ago. This is a sore mischance that has befallen me; but truly we should have taken warning! For as we came forth yesterday, Feannog, the grey crow, croaked at us thrice, and a fox crossed our path in the woods: and these be evil omens both. But now if thou wilt in great kindness help my son to get me home, thou shalt have a warm welcome from my people, and I will try to reward thee in any way thou mayst desire.”

So Tig and the youth, whose name was Gaithel, planned how they might help the wounded man. They cut down two young trees for poles and slung the skin cloak upon these, to make a sort of litter, and on this they laid Dobran, and then lifted it and carried it between them. The way was rough and difficult, and they made very slow progress with their heavy burden; but at last, after a long climb up a wooded hill-side, they came out upon the top of a ridge overlooking a deep valley. In the bottom of the valley there was a lake, surrounded by thick woods, and near to one side of the lake a little island. The island was covered with huts, and joining it to the shore there was a kind of pier or gangway. Also Tig saw, what he had never seen before, a canoe on the water, and some people paddling about in it.

Then the wounded man pointed and said:

“See, yonder is our village where we dwell.”

“Do you keep cattle on the island?” Tig asked, for he could see a man driving cows along the gangway.

“Yes,” said Dobran, “we house the beasts there too. Sorely crowded are we, and there has been talk this long while of some of the folk going away and building a village on a lake that we know of, two days’ journey from hence.”

“Is there, then, another island in the other lake, like this one here?”

“Island! Nay, none--and here is no island! What thou seest yonder our fathers, that were before us, built long ago. For they felled timbers and staked them on the bottom of the lake and builded their houses thereon, and dwelt there, even as we dwell.”

When they came to the waterside, they laid the wounded man down on the ground. Then Gaithel put his hands to his mouth and gave a peculiar call, and the people in the canoe heard it and came quickly to the shore. They lifted Dobran in and paddled away with him to the landing place; and Gaithel and Tig walked beside the shore and along the gangway. When they got to the village, they were met by a crowd of the Lake people; for Dobran had spread the news of how Tig had helped him, and all the people were eager to welcome the stranger who had shown kindness to one of themselves. But Gaithel took Tig at once to the hut where Dobran was lying. His wife had already bound up his injured limb, and she was then preparing supper; and she brought food and set it before them, broiled fish and porridge and curds. After supper many of Dobran’s friends came into the hut to see him, and they stayed chatting with him till late; but at last they all went home, and the household settled down to sleep.

_Chapter the Twenty-fourth_

_How Tig saw the Lake People’s Village_

ON the next day, Gaithel took Tig and showed him the village; and Tig saw what he had taken to be an island was really a large and solid platform made of tree-trunks laid close together. There was a paling of stakes at the edge of the platform next the water, all round; and within the paling were the huts, built close together side by side in rows with narrow alleys in between, and sheds for the cattle, built of poles and wattled and daubed with clay like the huts. Besides their cattle the Lake People had some sheep, which they prized greatly on account of the wool, from which the women span yarn for weaving into cloth. At the place where the gangway joined the platform there was a gate of bars in the paling, and also a rough stairway going down to the canoes that were drawn up alongside. In an open place in the middle of the village was a fire burning on a large open hearthstone; and Gaithel said that nowhere else on the island was anyone allowed to have a fire, for fear of burning down the huts. In another place was a shoot for rubbish, to which the people had to bring their household refuse and tip it into the lake. Then Gaithel took Tig down to the landing stage, and showed him the canoes that were moored there; “I know someone who would like to see these canoes of yours,” said Tig. “He is a man in our village, called Crubach. He is lame. He makes troughs in the same way as you make canoes, by burning out a tree trunk, only of course they are much smaller; my mother has one to dip hides in when she is curing them.”

“My uncle is making a canoe in the wood now,” said Gaithel. “He has been at work on it for weeks and weeks. Shall we go and see him at it?”

So they went together into the wood where Gaithel’s uncle was at work. He had felled a stout oak tree and had got a portion of the trunk cut off. This was to be his canoe, and he had already begun to shape it fore and aft and to hollow it out. He had a little fire of dry chips and sticks burning in one place on the top of the log; and in another place, where he had had the fire burning the day before, he was hacking away at the charred wood with his stone axe. There was another man at work with him, and this man was hacking at the bows of the canoe; but his axe would not make a deep cut in the hard oak wood, and he was getting on very slowly.

Gaithel’s uncle left off work to speak to Tig. He stood up and wiped his face which was all hot and grimy.

“My boat will be a beauty when she is finished;” he said, “a rare one! Have you any like her in your village?”

“We haven’t any boats in our village,” said Tig.

“What--no boats? How do you do to get on the water then?”

“We haven’t any water,” said Tig, “at least not a lake--only a pond.”

“Well, yours must be a strange village! No lake and no boats! However, your men must be spared some heavy work if they don’t make dug-outs; though, look you, a man may make five or six bark canoes or wicker canoes in less time than it takes him to make one dug-out. But then a log canoe will outlast you four of the other, let alone being a deal more comfortable. So never mind the labour and the sweat, say I; make a good dug-out.”

Then he took up his axe and went to work again.

Then Gaithel took Tig back to the lake, and they got into a canoe and rowed on the lake. In the canoe was a spear with a long, fine-pointed head made of bone, barbed on both sides. This, Gaithel said, was a fish-spear; and he showed Tig how it was used in spearing large fish when the Lake People used their drag-net. The nets were kept at home, so that the women might see that they were kept properly mended.