How the Third Floor Knew the Potteries | Page 6

If the heat is too great, they crack; if too little, they remain damp and
moist; if just right, they become firm and smooth all over, and pass into
the biscuit stage. Well! I took my three little lumps of clay, put one in
each oven, waited while I counted five hundred, and then went round
again to see the results. The two first were in capital condition, the third
had flown into a dozen pieces. This proved that the seggars might at
once go into ovens One and Two, but that number Three had been

overheated, and must be allowed to go on cooling for an hour or two
longer.
I therefore stocked One and Two with nine rows of seggars, three deep
on each shelf; left the rest waiting till number Three was in a condition
to be trusted; and, fearful of falling asleep again, now that the firing
was in progress, walked up and down the rooms to keep myself awake.
This was hot work, however, and I could not stand it very long; so I
went back presently to my stool by the door, and fell to thinking about
my dream. The more I thought of it, the more strangely real it seemed,
and the more I felt convinced that I was actually on my feet, when I
saw George get up and walk into the adjoining room. I was also certain
that I had still continued to see him as he passed out of the second room
into the third, and that at that time I was even following his very
footsteps. Was it possible, I asked myself, that I could have been up
and moving, and yet not quite awake? I had heard of people walking in
their sleep. Could it be that I was walking in mine, and never waked till
I reached the cool air of the yard? All this seemed likely enough, so I
dismissed the matter from my mind, and passed the rest of the night in
attending to the seggars, adding fresh fuel from time to time to the
furnaces of the first and second ovens, and now and then taking a turn
through the yards. As for number Three, it kept up its heat to such a
degree that it was almost day before I dared trust the seggars to go in it.
Thus the hours went by; and at half-past seven on Thursday morning,
the men came to their work. It was now my turn to go off duty, but I
wanted to see George before I left, and so waited for him in the
counting-house, while a lad named Steve Storr took my place at the
ovens. But the clock went on from half-past seven to a quarter to eight;
then to eight o'clock; then to a quarter-past eight -- and still George
never made his appearance. At length, when the hand got round to
half-past eight, I grew weary of waiting, took up my hat, ran home,
went to bed, and slept profoundly until past four in the afternoon.
That evening I went down to the factory quite early; for I had a
restlessness upon me, and I wanted to see George before he left for the
night. This time, I found the gate bolted, and I rang for admittance.

"How early you are, Ben!" said Steve Storr, as he let me in.
"Mr. Barnard's not gone?" I asked, quickly; for I saw at the first glance
that the gas was out in the counting-house.
"He's not gone," said Steve, "because he's never been."
"Never been?"
"No: and what's stranger still, he's not been home either, since dinner
yesterday."
"But he was here last night."
"Oh yes, he was here last night, making up the books. John Parker was
with him till past six; and you found him here, didn't you, at half-past
nine?"
I shook my head.
"Well, he's gone, anyhow. Good night!"
"Good night!"
I took the lantern from his hand, bolted him out mechanically, and
made my way to the baking-houses like one in a stupor. George gone?
Gone without a word of warning to his employer, or of farewell to his
fellow-workmen? I could not understand it. I could not believe it. I sat
down bewildered, incredulous, stunned. Then came hot tears, doubts,
terrifying suspicions. I remembered the wild words he had spoken a
few nights back; the strange calm by which they were followed; my
dream of the evening before. I had heard of men who drowned
themselves for love; and the turbid Severn ran close by -- so close, that
one might pitch a stone into it from some of the workshop windows.
These thoughts were too horrible. I dared not dwell upon them. I turned
to work, to free myself