"I'll have that back agen, old man," the woman muttered to herself. "Just wait till you're asleep. Now then," she cried aloud to sundry clayey imps who were at work fetching and carrying the plastic mass with which they were daubed, "keep a hye on this bairn, all on yer. If Bill Jones's dawg comes anigh, let go at him." Saying this, she joined "father," who under the next shed was puffing away as he worked, a puff being emitted as each brick was made in its mould, and turned out upon a board. "When's she comin' agen about that there kid?" growled father. "Wait and see," said the woman surlily, as she attacked a mass of clay, as if it were so much dough pinched off pieces, and roughly shaped them into loaves a little larger than a brick ready for the man to mould. Then there was a pause, during which the puffs of smoke came with beautiful regularity from the brickmaker's mouth, and as a boy approached, it almost seemed as if he were going to stoke father, and put on some more coals; but he only dabbed down a mass of clay which he had carried upon his head, whose shape was printed in the lump which left a portion amongst the boy's hair. "Think it were Bill Jones's dawg as took Lamby's kid, mother?" growled father at last. "Think? I'm sure on it," said mother. "It were there one minute, and it were gone the next. Where could it ha' gone if he hadn't took it." The machinery stopped, for father took his pipe out of his mouth, wiped his lips with the back of his clayey hand, which was all the cleaner afterwards, father's lips having the character of a short stubbly bristled brush. Then he thought for a minute; the machinery began to go once more, a puff of smoke was emitted from his lips and he replied: "Dunno!" "I think Lamby's gal, July, dropped it in the canal, and was 'fraid to tell," said the girl in the clay robe shrilly. "You hold your noise, and look alive wi' them lumps," growled father, who made as if to strike the girl, whereupon she ducked down to avoid the expected blow, dodged away to a safe distance, put out her tongue, and said, "Yah!" and the other children--four--all engaged in carrying clay, laughed and ran to avoid blows. They varied in age from five to fourteen, and were all richly clothed in clay, which coated them from their hair--tangled and hardened with the worked-up adhesive soil--to their very toes, which printed their shapes in the moist ground they trod.