Yet we did not mind the trouble.

And we had all got our shoes and stockings off.

It is impossible to go on being cross when your feet are in cold water; and there is something in the smooth messiness of clay, and not minding how dirty you get, that would soothe the savagest breast that ever beat.
After a bit, though, we gave up the idea of the huge platter and tried little things.

We made some platters--they were like flower-pot saucers; and Alice made a bowl by doubling up her fists and getting Noel to slab the clay on outside.

Then they smoothed the thing inside and out with wet fingers, and it was a bowl--at least they said it was.