THE RED RUGS OF TARSUS
I fell in love with the green pitcher and basin in my bedroom. Mrs. Chambers took me to the pottery. In a cellar, without much light, the potter was working at his wheel. He was making an amphora of the common kind women and donkeys carry to the fountains. His right arm was inside the jar. He worked the wheel with his foot, and with his left hand guided the rude uneven course of the paddle- like affair which was molding a lump of clay into shape. With the very slightest pressure, the potter was able to change radically the con- tour of the clay. It was the first time I had ever seen the Potter and the Wheel. I un- derstood.
In the courtyard was a scrap heap piled high with all sorts of broken and rain-soaked bits of discarded vessels. I spotted a little squat vase, just my color of green. You know the soft shade the under side of apple leaves take on when you lie in a hammock under the apple- tree and half close your eyes as you look up [46]
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