Why couldn't we lift the pot with the tongs, and pour out what's at the bottom and run it into a mould." "Have you got a mould, Sep ?" he said.
"Yes, sir; three different sizes--up here on the shelf." I went to a corner of the back kitchen, and reached down three dusty clay moulds, one of which the doctor took and set upon the floor.
"You are right," he cried.

"There, take your tongs, and we'll catch hold of the pot together, and set it out here.

Then, both together, mind, we'll pour out what there is into the mould." It was easy enough.

We each got a good hold of the pot, lifted it out with its glowing feathery charcoal ashes half filling it, and then, after setting it down to get a more suitable hold, we tilted it sidewise, and then more and more and more, but nothing came out save some glowing ashes, which fell beyond the mould in a tiny heap.
"Higher still, Sep, higher, higher," the doctor kept on saying; and we tilted it more and more; but still nothing came till, just as we were about to turn it upside down, there was a flash of something bright and silvery, and a tiny drop of fluid metal ran out on to the mould, and down the side.
"That's it.

Up with it, Sep.