Then it was put upon a swiftly turning wheel， and whirled around until it seemed as if it must fly into a thousand pieces. A strange power pressed it and moulded it， as it revolved， and through all the dizziness and pain it felt that it was taking a new form.
Then an unknown hand put it into an oven， and fires were kindled about it fierce and penetrating hotter than all the heats of summer that had ever brooded upon the bank of the river. But through all， the clay held itself together and endured its trials， in the confidence of a great future. “Surely，” it thought， “I am intended for something very splendid， since such pains are taken with me. Perhaps I am fashioned for the ornament of a temple， or a precious vase for the table of a king.”