Joshua beamed at her, making her blush even harder. “Say! Thet’s jest right!” He took a thick-leaded pencil from the pocket of his overalls and scrawled the words on his workbench, right above the name of the baby, and its birth and death dates. “Anna Jones, y’all is a smart gal! Thenkee!”

“’Tweren’t nothin’,” she murmured, as Josh’s sister Sue looked on with amusement. “How’s it possible t’ carve stone, anyways?” she continued. “I mean, it’s so hard—”

“Takes th’ right tools,” Josh replied with authority, as Sue lost interest and wandered off. He showed her the mallet and tiny chisel he was currently working with. “I gotta keep sharpenin’ the chisel, on account o’ it goes dull quick, which don’t happen near as fast if I was shapin’ wood. An’ I gotta use a soft wood mallet, not a metal hammer, on account o’ a metal hammer’d make the chisel bounce in th’ stone, an’ might could ruin th’ cut. Right now, I’m a-puttin’ in the detail on th’ feathers.”

He bent over his work, and delicately etched in one side of the quill of one of the feathers, moving his chisel a fraction of an inch at a time, leaving dust to be blown away, rather than chips of stone. “I’d druther work on marble, which’d be a lot purdier, but marble ain’t got a chance in hell in Ducktown.”

She furrowed her brows. “Why not?”

“The rain,” he replied, starting on the other side of the quill. “Jest makes marble melt. Eats at it. Makes it soft, too. There was a couple’a headstones that th’ famblies had ter replace—good thang they had money—’cause y’all couldn’t hardly read th’ names on ’em no more. Whatever’s in th’ rain is th’ same thin’ as keeps things from a-growin’, I reckon. So all th’ carvin’ I does fer Cavenel, I does in granite. Makes it a lot harder, ’cause granite’s harder than marble. I needs special chisels, I gots t’keep ’em sharp, an’ I gots t’ re-harden ’em regular.”

He finished the quill, and etched a few lines that suggested the vanes of the feather. “Now, I don’ wanter put in too much, ’cause thet’ll make it look unnatural. Jest ’nough that y’all look at it, an’ say t’yoreself, ‘Thet there’s a feather,’ an’ go on. It’d be better in marble.” He set the mallet and chisel aside and straightened up, shaking his hands vigourously. “I got a couple more feathers t’ go, an’ that’ll be th’ last o’ the carvin’. When I’m done carvin’, I’ll polish her up, same as y’all’d sand wood ter make it all sleek. Then all this’ll be smooth an’ shiny.” He picked the chisel and mallet back up, then looked at her intently. “Is y’all really innerested in this, Anna May Jones?”

She flushed, and temporized. “Wall, it’s innerestin’ cause y’all’s the one a-doin’ it. I don’t reckon it’d be as innerestin’ if ’twas that Mistuh Cavenel what y’all’s doin’ it fer.”

He chuckled; the corners of his eyes crinkled up, and she suddenly feared he might pat her on the head and tell her to go help Sue or something.