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John crossed to the cooper to borrow two extra barrels and paid with coin and a favor to be named later. He stopped at the brewer on the east lane, who had a face like a cheerful pumpkin, and bought a pair of quarter casks of something amber that smelled like patience and trouble. He returned by way of the seamstress, who had a bolt of cheap linen for makeshift banners and one narrow strip of bright cloth that Fizz, later, would demand be made into a "formal napkin."
Back at the forge, the work turned joyful. The main table became a batter station. Jem and Jerr cracked eggs with thumps that reverberated in their arms, poured milk from a tall earthen pitcher, and sifted flour through their fingers like snow. Fizz hovered over the bowl and announced each stage as if calling a ceremony.
