'Well, Mother, that's where you're wrong,'
Frank Sterndale waved his spoon at her. 'I can write
my name, and so can all the melting team, now. Jess's been
helping us. We've learnt to
make our marks, drawing out the letters in my clay pit. Now
what do you think of that?'
Ben stared from one to the other.
He knew well enough what his father was talking about.
