"You see, my lad, we always do every thing with a better heart when we understand the reason for doing it." He then took a piece of clay, placed it on the table, and cut it in halves with a knife, and made Sammy notice that there were a good many little holes and bubbles in it, and some little hard lumps, and sometimes he picked out a little gravel-stone. "If," said he, "these air-bubbles are not removed, when the ware is put into the kiln, that air will expand with the heat, and burst the clay; if there are stones, they will crumble; if there are sticks they will make steam, swell, and cause a flaw. The potters work their clay more than a woman does her dough: it is a great deal more work to prepare the clay than it is to do all the rest. After they have worked their clay, they let it lay in a heap to settle together, and break the bubbles, and close the holes: sometimes they dig it a whole year beforehand, and let it lie and ripen, as they call it." "I don't care how hard I work, if I can only make a real good pot." "That's a manly principle. You know how hard we all worked to build the mill; and see what a blessing it is. Every thing, my lad, comes from labor: it's the root and foundation of every thing worth having. The Indians won't work, and see what a miserable life they lead." Mr. Seth now made some of the clay into large lumps, and, taking up one, slapped it down on the table with all his force three or four times, and then kneaded it, and made Sammy take notice that when he kneaded it he folded the dough back on itself so as to keep the grain in one direction; and then cut it in halves, and Sammy saw that the air-bubbles were closed up. He told Sammy, if he just stuck together several lumps, just as an eave-swallow does to make her nest, and made a dish out of it, that when it came to dry it would be full of seams, a seam for every lump. He then gave him a mallet, and told him when he was tired with slapping he could pound it with the mallet. "Why couldn't I put it in Mr. Cuthbert's hominy-block that is right here before the door, and pound it same as we used to the corn? I could get the boys to help, and pound up a lot." "That would be just the best thing that ever was; and get them to help you all you can the first going-off, while it is a new thing, for they'll get sick of that sooner than they did treading the clay in the trough." Sammy found it was just as Mr. Seth said: the boys thought it was nice fun at first; but they soon became tired, and one after another found their folks wanted them, or they had something to do at home. In vain Sammy begged them to stay; but, no, they could not. "You'll want me to go 'long with you some time, and then I won't go," said Sammy, and began to cry. Soon Mr. Seth came along with some tools in his hand, with which he had been working at the mill. "What's the matter, Sammy?"