patience of a Jack-gnat with your own brothers and sisters, let alone with a class of children.

And I thought you didn't like dirty, board-school brats.”

“They're not all dirty.”

“You'd find they're not all clean.”

There was silence in the workshop. The lamplight fell on the burned silver bowl that lay between him, on mallet and furnace and chisel. Brangwen stood with a queer, catlike light on his face, almost like a smile. But it was no smile.

“Can I try?” she said.

“You can do what the deuce you like, and go where you like.”

Her face was fixed and