The Last Phoenix by Linda Chapman Read Free Book Online

treetops.
    â€œMay I help you?” The warm voice was gentle but made Jess jump all the same. She and the others turned to find a short, slightly tubby man with thinning gray hair emerge from a nearby line of rosebushes, watching them with a quizzical smile. It was hard to tell his age. His face was lined and his back a little stooped, but his eyes seemed bright and youthful.
    â€œMr. Milton!” cried Milly.
    â€œWhy, it’s Milly Worthington, isn’t it?” said Mr. Milton, a twinkle in his eyes. “You’ll be here to collect those pots you fired, I’ll be bound, with your…friends?”
    â€œFamily,” said Milly. “Michael, Jason, and Jess.”
    Mr. Milton shook hands with each of them in turn. “I’m pleased to meet you. I’m afraid it’s not often I have so many visitors come to call.” He paused, and his smile grew hopeful. “Are the rest of you interested in pottery too?”
    â€œSort of,” said Jason cautiously.
    â€œWe wondered if we could have a quick look around the workshop,” Jess added.
    â€œOf course!” Mr. Milton nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll show you.”
    As Jess and the others followed him into the gardens,Jess’s eyes fell on a few of the nearby statues. They were all carved in a similar style. One looked like an enormous gargoyle perched on a stone pillar. She looked across the lawn and saw a stallion rearing up, its mane and tail flowing behind it. Nearer the house were two creatures that looked to be half-lion, half-bird. They were fighting, locked in combat.
    â€œHave you had these statues long?” Jason wondered aloud.
    â€œI made them myself,” said Mr. Milton shyly. “Many moons ago now.”
    Jess was impressed. “Really?”
    â€œI used to be a very busy artist indeed.” The old man seemed pleased by her interest. “I’m afraid my hands are a bit wobbly now, so I stick to restoring my statues to their original glory.”
    â€œLike that one!” Jason exclaimed.
    Jess saw he was pointing to a statue of a beautiful woman in the center of the garden. She stood spotless and white in the center of a circle of stone, surrounded by stone benches. “It looks brand-new and so real. Look at her face.”
    â€œI often do,” Mr. Milton confided. “It makes me feel less lonely.” He gazed sadly at the statue for some time, apparently forgetting the children were there.
    This guy’s fruit loops , Michael thought. Maybe we should go someplace else.
    â€œWas the model someone you knew?” asked Milly politely.
    â€œI did know her very well…” Suddenly, Mr. Milton roused himself, looking reassuringly normal and friendly again. “Sorry. You must forgive an old man and his memories. Oh, it is nice to have guests for a change. Now, come! Let me show you that workshop…”
    The children followed him into the small brick building. It was very warm inside. There was an electric oven built into the far wall with an old metal door. On the left side of the room there was a wide stone shelf that ran the length of the building with dusty bags of clay underneath and some pottery tools on top, and on the right side of the room there was a potter’s wheel and a stone bench—with some basic pots piled up waiting to be glazed.
    â€œWow!” said Milly, rushing to see. “They look all right, don’t they?”
    â€œIndeed they do.” Mr. Milton beamed. “You have a natural ability, Milly.”
    â€œThere you go, sis,” said Michael. “When your Annie audition flops you can make pots instead!”
    Milly leveled a glare at him, but broke off when Fenella swooped down and hovered in the open doorway. “Ohyes!” the bird cooed rapturously. “Feel the warmth!”
    Jason fanned his face nervously. “Have you been making something today, Mr. Milton?”
    â€œOh, no. Like I say,