“My grandfather used to make pots on a wheel,” said the gipsy, and she laughed low, and showed her white teeth in the moonlight; “ah! but he knew how to do them, and he had charms to say to them when he threw them. And one of his cups would make you wise if you drank out of it, and another would give you your true love’s heart if she drank from it, and another would make you forget everything—yes, even your true love, and all your mirth and all your sorrow, and I think that was the best cup of all;” and again the gipsy laughed in the moonlight, and sang a little song to herself as she sat herself down before the potter. “Now this is real child’s talk,” said the potter very impatiently. “’Tis easy to say your grandfather knew how to do all this, but why should I believe you? and because your grandfather may have been able to throw a bowl upon the wheel, that doesn’t make you know anything about the craft, or how it is done.” “Nay, but he taught me too,” said the gipsy. “Give me a piece of your clay, and let me come to your wheel and you shall see.” At first the potter thought she was talking nonsense, but to his great surprise she took hold of the clay in her little brown hands, and moulded and modelled it with the greatest skill. Then she placed it on the wheel and threw a little jug, and he wondered to see how deft she was. “Now I will make you a little bowl,” she said, and then she made jugs and pots and jars, far more quickly and skilfully than the potter could have done. “And now I will colour them too,” she cried. “See, I shall catch the colour from the moon, and to-morrow you can put them into your kiln and bake them, and you may be sure that you have never had such pots there before.” Then she put her little brown hands out into the moonlight, and they were covered with rings which glittered and shone, but as she held up her palms to the moon’s rays, it seemed to the potter as if they too were full of some strange glittering liquid. “And now,” she said, “see, I will put it on to your pots, and I should think I had taught you that I know more about your trade than you do yourself.” And she took the pots in her hands and rubbed her palms over them, and she traced patterns on them with her fingers. The potter looked at her and felt almost angry, but she only laughed in his face.