| OCR Text |
Show Page 65 "Lifted it," he answered. I gasped, much to the rascal's delight. "'Twould be ill-advised to be so light-fingered in Virginia," I scolded, when I found my tongue, "lest you find yourself in the stocks." He turned and grinned at me. "Not much booty to lift. No place to fence the booty, and no money to get fer it either. I know not one bloke who has two farthings to jingle in his purse." He scampered ahead of me toward a cluster of buildings surrounded by a partially-completed palisade. I hurried to catch him up. "Is the pipkin all you'll be wanting today, miss?" asked William James, the potter, handing me the reddish-colored pot. We had found Master James working in a small shed near his pond at the far end of the company compound. "Aye," I answered. "But tell me please, for what is the company compound used?" "You, Twig," William called. "Take me blunger here and set yourself to stirring up that clay in me pond while I show Mistress Douglas around." Twig, who I deemed would sneer at such an order, looked as though the potter had given him a gold coin. Perhaps Twig's talk of running off to England was mere blather and he had dreams of some day becoming a potter. |
