"My great uncle taught me." The old man had a habit of retreating into his workshop and Greg had followed him as often as he could slip out of the house. The elder Gregory Goyle had tolerated his namesake as long as Greg was quiet and willing to work. "Useful things," he added after a moment of thought, "not spindly little tables that you're afraid to touch."
Greg snorted. "Not hardly." The Ferguson twins were essentially harmless but he doubted that they'd be able to resist the temptation of a pretty young thing slumbering in their store what with the hag blood in their veins. Hell, they were probably lurking around drooling at her from the shadows. There was a reason why they weren't allowed to work the floor unless their formidable mother was around to keep them cowed properly.