LADIES' COLUMN.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 6120, 5 March 1898, Page 3

LADIES' COLUMN.

A BIT OF BLUE CHINA. ILtmgman'aHagtzine.) V " Anyway she has not got a blue ohina teapot in - her family over 100 years old, ■with all her fandangleinents, and new silk mantle and high ways. Yes ; I can hold •up my head with the best of 'em as long as there's a piece of china bearing the date 1770 on it in our family." Some auch thoughts as these were passing through the bram of Maria Bradshaw, spinster, as she watched her guest (who had been sharing with her the early farmhouse tea), down the trim garden path, bordered on either side by lad's love, wallflowers and bachelor's buttons. When the little white gate at the bottom clicked, she turned round and went into the house. The kitchen she entered was spotlessly clean, everything shone with polishing, and the; old fashioned brass candlesticks on the mantleshelf reflected the faces of those who approached them like large full moons. Maria sat down for a few minutes before she commenced to "side away." The •white damask tablecloth, with its purity of colour and fineness of texture, would have graced the table of a duchess, and the china out of which the tea, with its rich thick cream, had been drnnk, would have made the mouth of a connoisseur water. But, beautiful as it was, it faded into insignificance by the side of a blue china teapot, "which had evidently been reached down from a shelf for closer inspection. Of a rich blue colour and exquisite in design, its shape left nothing to be desired, and in spite of its age there was not a visible crack. The handle was unique, repre: senting a violin and bow, the china strings stretched across in a marvellous fashion, and were covered with gold. For upwards of a hundred years this heirloom had been in the Bradshaw family, and the washing and dusting of it had been taken up by the women of each succeeding generation as a sort of sacred duty. Many a trembling daughter had set it safely away with a devoutly thankful heart, that once more ahe had accomplished her task without a craok or break. The tradition' respecting it was that it had been given to' a great-great-grand-mother by Samuel Johnson himself, in recognition of some service that her husband had rendered the great man. Be that as it may, there was no donbt of the length Of time it had teen in the family, and as Maria looked at it she passed her long, capable fingers affectionately over it. Mrs Martin, who had been having tea with her, lived at the next farm half a mile away. She was a pretentious woman, thinking that her year at " Miss Swallow's high. clasß boarding school for the. daughters of the surrounding gentry " had made her very superior to niost of her neighlours, and in her heart she rather despised Maria Bradahaw's plain speech. But she ■would willingly have parted with the home-acre and a couple of her best cows to have had in her family a teapot like Maria Bradshaw's and the prestige of the Johnsonian tradition. "It gives her a pull over the rest of U3," she would say to herself, " there's no mistake, china that,oldin a family gives folks to understand that they ain't mushroom sprung." Mrs Martin, when talking to herself or thinking, allowed herself a freedom of speech and a license in grammar which would much have surprised some of her neighbours acouatomed to her mincing style, had they heard it. There had been, rumours in the neighbourhood about great men from London coming to see the Bradshaw china, and some one said that " she had heard that a china fancier had offered over a hundred pounds for the teapot, and laid the bank notes on the oak table in the best parlour for Maria to pick up, if so be she would be disposed to part with it." This, however, was hearsay, for Maria was very close about her own affairs, and all would have been surprised had theylmown ih» state of her coffers. They little guessed how often the ribbons on her bonnet had been washed and ironed to make them appear new, or how frequently the Waok silk gown (once her mother's company robe) had been sponged and renovated by her skilful fingers, nor did they imagine when she laughingly said "that the village things were good enough for her," that she ■would have enjoyed a day in the busy, bustling town as well as her neighbours, and that the half-crown fare was the hindrance. No— these were things that she -would have died sooner than hWe revealed, and such are often among the minor tragedies of a woman's life. She had lived alone at Mill Hayfield Farm since her mother's death six years ago, and was forty years of age, but looked 1 younger, having that clear, fresh complexion which women ■who live in the country often have, and auburn hair touched here and there with grey. As a girl, Maria Bradshaw had been talked of as the belle of the surrounding villages, and as a woman she was still beautiful. Why she had not married was a matter of curiosity to many; her name had been coupled with that of several young farmers, but whether any of them proposed, no one knew from Maria's lips ; that some had loved there was no doubt ; it was said that three or four still lived in a state of single blessedness on her account. Be that as it may, when anyone joked her about the subject she would smile and say "marriage was not for her." When her father died, many years ago, there was a mortgage on the farm, and it had been the one aim of mother and daughter to pay off the debt and to regain sole possession of the property which had been in the family for generations. Year by year they economised and saved every available shilling; untilJE2oo of the .£4OO had been paid; then came Mrs Bradshaw's long illne3S and heavy doctor's bills, and the savings of years had to be drawn on to meet the extra expenses entailed. On her deathbed she had said, " Maria, you'll pay the debt, I know, but I shall die easy if you promise me;" and Maria had replied ; • "I promise, mother; God helping me." " There's another thing, too, child. Never part with the teapot, unless the workhouse stares you in the face ; then yon'll be justified in letting it go, but only under suchlike circumstances. There's nobody in all the countryside can boast of china like ours; and as to the teapot — well, I sometames wonder if it isn't equal to some of the things in heaven. " Oh, mother ! "reproachfully. " I do, Maria. Now, read me that bit in Revelations, about the new city, and harps, and vials and precious stones. I ■ dare say, if those translators had been quite up to their work, some of those things meant precious china. But it don't matter ; poor men ! they did their best. I like to think that there'll be those sort of things up there. I, can appreciate them, you see, having been used to them down here." So the daughter read of the Eternal City, ■with its foundations of jasper, emerald and sapphire, and its gates of pearl and streets of pure gold ; and as she read, the woman, whose life had been one of anxiety, care and concealed poverty (the hardest of all), opened her eyes, and said, Avith a smile of exquisite peace, " It's just lovely to think of enjoying all these things, and no worry about keeping 'em clean and bright, nor fear of breaking 'em. Ki3B me, my child. I'm going through the gates of pearl, and very soon Til be walking along the streets of gold. Yes; heaven's better than earth." , . , 'i. , , It was thus that Maria's mother had entered tho gates of the unseen. Since her death her daughter had economised far more than during her life, and there now only remained .850 of the borrowed money to pay. How thanirful she was ! How she sang the Te Deum in her heart, as she made the butter and milked the cows ; and Bhe even ventured on a new bonnet! Had she realised how fresh and sweet hei face looked 'neath the pretty pinl ribbons she might have been tempted t< invest in it before, for there is in eyerj woman's heart the natural desire to 100l her best. „ , . As soon as Mrs Martin was well out oi sight, Maria donned the pink bonnet ant ■tarted off to the lawyer's in her httl< phaeton. , The family lawyer who had had chargi of all the Bradshaw's affairs had died, an< had beenflucceeded by-<* younger-man cap

able and shrewd, who had become veiy interested in the mother and daughter's desire to possess their own again. How often had old Bess, the fat pony, stcod Outsida his office door whilst inside Maria sat in the grimy, dusty room, going ovt r musty deeds and lengthy documents, but never had she pulled up with such great pleasure as she did on that sunny afternoon in July when slio went in to pay her last instalment but one of MO. '•'I hope next year at 'this' time I shall have paid all," she said, cheerfully. "I hope you will. You deserve your farm, Mi3s Bradahaw. You a,,:e a very plucky woman, if you don't mind me telling you so," replied the 1 lawyer, eyeing her critically. " And an uncommon goodlooking one, too," lie added to himself . " Oh, no, I don't uiiudat all ; but if you realised what a Aveight this loan has been you would not wonder at my efforts to get it removed; and I feel quite lighthearted now about it." ' "You look it." "Do 1 ? I must not carry my heart on my sleeve like, this, though ; but when one feels specially Happy it is difficult not to look' it ;" and she laughed a pretty, ringing laugh, which made all the fusty, musty old parchments locked away in tin boxes prick up their oars in astonishment. Such an uncommon sound iu a lawyer's office, a happy laugh ! They were more used to wrangling and disputing3, and loud words and pleadings, but a genuine laugh onfc of pure happiness was ' indeed rare. Perhaps Mr Barcruft thought so, for again ho looked at his client, and, their eyes meeting, the laugh became infectious. " Why should you be afraid to let your happiness be Been, Miss Bradshaw ?" .She hesitated a moment before replying, then said, "Well, you seo, none of the neighbours or people in the villaj/63 know of this loan, and if I suddenly begin to look as though a load were lifted from me they would giioss there had been something, and for my father's and mother'3 sake I prefer it should never ba known. Unfortunately we ni-e rather a proud family." •' Then you must look happy gradnally." Again they laughed, and after thanking him for his kindness and trouble she left. She did not know that a pair of keen eyes peered through the wife blind and watched ' her pony phaeton down the narrow, quiet street, till it tai'ried the corner atn'd was j lost to sicht. • .'Months went by, and the green of summer hacV changed to 'tho red and russet tints of autumn, and already tho leaves rugtled under the feet of those who walked 'neath the elms and beeches in the country lanes. It was the 3rd of October — Maria Bradshaw thought she would remember that date as long as she lived— bright, I sunny and warm, so warm that it seemed like a second summer, and the sunshine and heat together decided Maria to turn ont an old oak. chest, whose contents had not seen daylight for many long years. In the littlo top room the sun shone through the latticed windows, showing tip the dust in crevices and corners, an old chmtz cover was on the top of a three-legged chair, and a small chest of drawers had the two hind feet off, and in consequence slanted towards the wall. As she pulled the oak chest towards her she noticed all these things in an incidenta lsorb of way, but ere she left the room she felt^ that they were engraven on her memory for ever. She unfastened the rusty lock with trembling fingers, and the first article she took out was her grandmother's wedding bhawl, nowyellowwith age, the second, her own mother's wedding dress. '" I suppose 1 shall never want a wedding garment ; but, oh ! it's nice to belong to somebody. They think I don't care — much they know ! Why . Now, Maria, don't make a fool of yourself over old wedding clothes," she soliloquised as she felt a suspicious moisture in her eye. Sho kissed her mother's faded gown, then laid it on one side and dived down again, bringing out an old-fashioned workbo'x, two or three old book3, and various other mementoes of the past, At the very bottom she found a packet.of deeds, neatly tied together and dated. She wondered to what they related, as she thought she knew about every law transaction and every deed in her family. Any way, she must open them and see. Over and over again she read through the papers as one in a dream ; in a far off way she heard the grandfather's clock on the stairs strike two, three, four and five, and still she sat on. The sun faded slowly out of sight, and the light grow dimmer, but she never moved. It could not be true, it was too cruel. " Oh, God, it must not, cannot be true !" she cried iuher heart's agony ; the words danced before her eyes : "I promise to pay to Jonathan Day tho sum of being a loan lent me in time of trouble, and if lam unable to make tho aforesaid payment during my life, I charge my wife and children to maks it after my death to the aforementioned JonathanDay's son and daughter, supposing him to be dead as well as myself." Here followed the signature of William Bradshaw and that of an old farm labourer, also dead, as witness. Then below a lot oi" quaint wording about "this being a loan of a friendly nature between U3 two, no lawyer has been employed to draw out this paper, but we've done it ourselves, and furthermore, for old friendship's sake, the aforesaid Jonathan Day promises never to press for payment ; but I, William Brad;haw, will regard it as a debt of honour to be paid in fall by my descendants to his descendants, this document to be destroyed the day the debt is paid, and not until then." The grammar and persons were hopelessly involved in this unique, strange agreement, if such it could be called (and what faith •in each man's honour it all . implied !) ; but of these things Maria saw nothing. All she realised was that it was a debt of honour incurred by her grandfather, that she was bound in honour to pay, and that she had no money with which to pay it. Slowly and painfully she rose from her sdat on the floor and went downstairs with the document in her hand. The kitchen looked cheerless, the fire had gone out, the little maid (who came early in the morning and left again at night) having gone for a holiday, so there was nothing for it but relighting it herself. Whilst doing it the thought suddenly struck her. "No one living knows of this money owing. Why should I ever mention it ? If 1 had not turned out this old chest I should not have known. I will keep my own counsel." But Maria Bradshaw had a conscience, and all night long she lay tossing on her bed, and during her intervals of sleep, debt3, yellow parchment and blue china teapots were mixed up in inextricable confusion. She awoke weary and unrefreshed, dreading the day's duties. A couple of weeks went by, weeks of conflict and strife, such as Maria had never known. As she went about her daily work, frequently when alone she would take down the teapot and look at it with hungry eyes, and then put it back again with an expression of despair on her face that would have haunted anyone who had seen it. '• There's nothing for it but the teapot," she would say softly to herself. "The money's owing fair and square enough, but — — Well, no one knows, and Then another day would drag wearily " I must get them used to it somehow, for I'll never tell— never," she would say at other times; "anyway, I'll got inyself used without it. So one fine morning she took down the teapot from the place of honour it had occupied in the kitchen ever since she could remembor anything, and filled up the gap as best she could, but try as she would she could not keep her eyes from the shelf and her heart ached. The day after she had' removed it Mra Martin called, ostensibly to bring a specimen of duck's eggs, in reality to learn how it was that no one had seen Maria fqr nearly three weeks. The first thing she noticed was the absence of the teapot. « ", Mai " a >" she exclaimed, excitedly, Where's the blue teapot ? Year in yeai out I've been in this kitchen, and never missed it before. You surely hayen J fc broken "^ in a horrified tone. Dear m 0) no," replied Maria^airily,

"but somehow lately I've been feeling, that it's not very safe there, Sara's so careless. It gave me quite a turn the other- week when I watched her dusting those shelves, sto I've p-.it it away safer like. You can see it if you Avant to— it's upstairs." " La, no, Maria ! Not but what the sight of it is always a treat, but I felt; sort of scared not seeing ifcin its usual place." " Naturally you would ; so now you can ju&t tell any'of the neighbours so that they won't bo scrired. Bless me, I suppose I can do as I like with my own ! The teapot don't belong to the whole country side," she replied, somewhat sharply. "No, of course not; bnc the wholo country side has taken a pride in it, and no wonder." After a little more general conversation about the price butter was fetching, tho winter's prospects from a farmer's point of view, &c, Mrs Martin took her departure. Was it only four months since Maria bad watched her down the garden path? It seemed more like four years, so much misery had been crowded into the last throe weeks. / "It will be just lite taking a piece out of myself! How cn.n I let it go?" she moaned. " Set, mother would havp saidl was justified. It's not the workhouse, but it's honour and right. I won't delay any longer, I'll tako the papers to Lawyer Barcroft this very day and got his advice," Rut she did not, and another week of conflict passed. "Little children, keep yourselves from idols." This was the verse which Maria read as her morning text on Oct. 31, from her " Daily Portion Book." " Strange," she murmured. " Idol3 ! Meaning, I suppose, things one sets great store by. No, it can't mean that, but something one ought to bo willing to give up if necessity arises, such as — my teapot. Well, it must go oft. if I'm not to turn in rny grave. Right is right, and honour is honour, and. l will write to the London man to-day after seeing Lawyer Bancroft." Jaine3, the farm lad, who did duty for coachman, stableman, groom, and gardener, was somewhat surprised when his iniatress told him to put Bess in by ten o'clock. : . . . , : " The missus is going to town uncommon early; what ? s up, I wonder?" was his inward comment. : . When Maria was quietly seated in the familiar office, the lawyer was struck with her changed appearance, and asked if. she had been ill. '" Not physically, but mentally/' she replied with a wan smile, and forthwith plunged at once into the finding of the papers and their contents, and her entire ignorance of the loan. He read through the yellow documents ahe handed him without saying a single word, and when he had finished he looked over lu'3 spectacles and said : " Eemarkable ! most remarkable ! Truth certainly is stranger than fictior. There is no doubt, Miss Bradshaw, that this money is owing, but lam exceedingly sorry that you should be the descendant on whom this debt of honour falls." " Not sorrier than thfi descendant herself," she answered, trying to smile. " Now I must tell you what took place iu this office last week. It sounds more like a story-book than real life— the coincidence, I mean. This very Jonathan Day's grandson came to ask me to negotiate a loan for him. He is in great distress through the wrong doings of an unprincipled scamp, and he has a wife and four children, and evidently thiugs are at a very low ebb with them. In the course of our conversation he happened to say: 'Ah! if only somebody or bodies to whom my grandfather lent money years ago would pay it me, what a godsend it would be !• I don't even "know who it was, grandfather would never tell the name (so my father said), but always spoke of it as a private debt of honour, to be returned when convenient by the man or his descendants ; but, so far, there's not been honour, or money enough, . I don't know which, to return it, and it's never been paid to this day. Why, even a hundred would be as a gift from heaven, and the JE2OO — the sum lent — would enable me to pay my widowed mother what I owe her; but few people are honourable,' he concluded, wearily. And now here you area living proof that honour still exists. Don't you think it all very remarkable ?" "It is, and I wish I could repay this loan all at once, bnt. I cannot ; but " — hesitatingly — " there's the blue china teapot which has been in our family over 100 years, a gentleman from London, a dealor in old china I fancy, offered me .£IOO for it, and a fairly large sum for some plates, so I thought of writing him to-day — he left me his address, if ever I should change my mind." " That teapot ! Why it is worth ,£2OO, I should say, and cheap at that ; if you will allow me, Miss Bradshaw, I think I can get you that sum for it ; china such as that is so rare, that a fancier would give almost any price for it ; and a client of mine" (' the Lord forgive the lie ' under his breath murmured the lawyer) "I know will." "Oh! thank you, but — does he — live — here?" " Oh ! I see, you don't want it to be known that you have parted with it ; no, of course not, not likely. Oh, that is right enough, it will never bo seen in this neighbourhood — miles away from here," he replied, with a twinkle in his eye which Maria in her anxiety was too troubled to notice. " How quickly you guessed my thoughts ! — is that because you are a lawyer ?" and she even smiled. " Partly, and partly because of something else," and this time he smiled, and there was a look in his face that she had never seen before. "You may rest assured, Miss Bradshaw," he contumed, " that not a creature except our two selves and the purchaser (the Lord, forgive me again) will know anything about the transaction. Your family have always been the very soul of honour in all their dealings, and you are keeping up the family tradition." "It is you who have always been so kind to us, I don't know how to thank you, but I shall be most grateful if you will arrange this for me. I am afraid lam rather foolish, I did not know I should mind parting with it so much " — here her voice faltered and she stopped. " Naturally you feel it. lam driving past your farm to-morrow afternoon, and if you will allow me I will drop in for a cup of tea on my way, and take the teapot back with me in my gig, and nobody will be any the wiser." So it was settled. When Maria Bradshaw left the office, Lawyer Barcroft took 'off his spectacles, leaned back in his chair and thought somewhat after this fashion. " She's a grand woman, a woman any man might be proud to call wife, dear, brave soul ! I'd like to have placed a cheque for .£2OO in her hands at once, but her pride would have been up in arms. Never mind, she'll have it all the same. Yes— l care for her more than any woman since Janey died," and his face took on a softei look as he uttered the name and unlocked a drawer in his desk and took out a faded photograph, old-fasluonod. Yes— it was old-fashioned, but it was the face of a girl pure, sweet, and good, scarcely out of hex teens, and he held it reverently as he gazed on it.' Few, if any, knew the pa3t historj of Lawyer Barcroft's life, and fewer still imagined that it contained a love story, ful of sweetness and pathos. His youug wife had died in giving birtfc to her first child, and mother and .baby gir were buried in the same grave. Their en caeement had been almost a boy and gir. one, and their love the growth of years and when James Barcroft; looked for tht last time on the iace of her whom he hoc loved since he was a lad of eigoteen he iel that life held little, if any, good for hmi TMs was awards of twenty-five years ago and he was now fif ty- two , and tam tha time he had lived a lonely life, caring littl< for woman's society, and having the naim Ol Ss\TZu^> " " how false tho measurement >*»lly ! Ih first time he had seen Maria Bradshaw h was struck by her straightforward sinipli city, her true nobility of character^ and £ knew, as none other did of the WJ**™™ quiet self-sacrificea which she-had mad.

i for years, and the moredie saw of her the more he liked' her, until he had begun to ■.listen for the . fat pony's well-known , ambling trot,' 'and wish with an anxiety : which surprised himsett" that it would stop d t his door. ; Maria had no idea of 'the feeling she had 1 created in the heart of the greyhaired man with the quill behind hie*ear, but, somehow, she always carried away slighter heart and happier face after, a. visit to hun, and yet she could have scarcely hawo eaid why, but the fact remained. When Mr Barcroft entered the "house place" of Mill Hayfield F&rm the next day with the rows of shining brasses, polished candlesticks and bright lire, he thought he had seldom seen a cosier sight, and Maria had actually made tea in the blue teapot. " This is an honour," he said, "to give a crusty old lawyer tea out of such an ancient piece of china; I can truthfully say I have never before been so honoured." " But you are not a ' crusty old lawyer,' and — well — you deserve it," she replied, and laughed. ■■■ ■ ' Tlio tea tasted specially good, the homemade bread and butter was delicious, and Maria in a pretty lilac gown seemed just the one to handle such a teapot. "There's an irresistible charm; about all this, these blue and red tiles, and these oak chairs and — everything/ 1 said the lawyer as he glanced round j " you wouldn't like to leave the old spot, Toxpeet?" "No — I suppose I should not, but of course since my mother died I often feel lonely." . " Yes, you will." Silence for the space of a few moments, then Maria said abruptly, " Well ! I find plenty of work, and that is the best cure for most things." " Yes, I. suppose it is." Another jmuso, which Maria broke, saying, "I will put the teapot in a small hamper." " Yes. By-the-bye, here is the .£2OO in bank notes ; my client said he could trust me to get the genuine article for him, and I was to pay the full value, so if on seeing it lie offers more, you shall have it," and as he spoke he laid the crisp, new notes on the table. • ! As Maria looked at them she could scarcely realise that her teapot was worth so much, and said hesitatingly, "But — suppose it is not as valuable as you think — I think it can't be — then I should be in your debt." "And would that be so dreadful ?" The colour canio to her cheek as she met his gaze. " I don't like being in debt to anyone." " I hope you will never consider yourself in my debt — it is the other way about." " How ? I don't understand you." "Perhaps some fine day I might find courage to tell you," and his voice trembled slightly. She took the notes in silence, then said softly, "It is worth the sacrifice to do justly.'' " And to love mercy/' he added, " as you do." Long they sat talking, and when Mr Barcroft rose'tol go he was surprised to'find thathi3 "cup of tea" had extended over two hours. A3 he drove away with the teapot safe in his keeping he said to himself, "Into my safe it goes, and there it remains until " And Maria — though she had thought sleep impossible the night the blue teapot went out of the house, went to bed and slept soundly, and strange to say her dreams were not of her lost idol, but of her debt to Lawyer Barcroft. Weeks passed away, and young Jonathan Day had been made happy, the document had boon destroyed — with the exception of a little piece which Maria kept as a moinento), and between his brave, tired little wife and Maria a firm friendship had begun. She and hor husband looked upon her as an angel in human form. It was December, the week preceding Christmas, when once more Lawyer Barcoft found himself at Mill Hayfield Farm ; this time he had come with the definite purpose of asking Maria to be his wife. His visit was quite unexpected, and he found her busy in the dairy, her sleeves rolled up to her elbow, and a snowy white apron covering her dress, when he looked in at the door and said softly, " May I come in, Miss Bradshaw ? " As she turned round and saw who stood there, in her pretty confusion she made as bewitching a picture as any man could look upon j needless to say the effect upon her wooer. " Why ! of course you may come in, Mr Barcroft ; I didn't know it was you standing there. I can't shake hands — I've been 'patting the butter/" she said laugh ingly. "What an exquisitely clean spot 1 ." he exclaimed as he glanced round. " I am proud of my dairy." " You may well be. What rich looking milk !" " May I give you a glass ?" "Thank you, I should enjoy one." So she reached down a glass, and as she offered it him he smiled and said, " I drink to your health and happiness." "Thank you," she replied simply. Then they took a turn outside and inspected the cow-house, and had a general look round. "You will stay and have a cup of tea?" They lingered over tea in a pleasant, homely fashion, no allusion being made to the absence of the teapot by either of them, and when, at length, the little maid had taken all away, Mr Barcroft said : " Miss Bradshaw, I have come here to-day with a purpose, and that is — " a pause in which each heard distinctly the beating of their own heart — "to ask you to come and share my home. I honour and love you more than any woman I have seen since my girl wife died, now over twenty-five years ago, and though few have guessed or known it, I have been very lonely ever since, but even knowing you has changed my life, and — oh ! Maria, I love you," and as ho spoke he leaned forward gently- and touched her hand. She did not speak for a moment or two ; then she said, softly : " Lawyer Barcroft, do you know that I am in my forty-first year?" "Then you look young enough to be in your thirty-first j but do you know that I am fifty-two ?" " Ah ! but it is different for a man." "No it is not ; but can you care for me a . bit. Age has nothing to do with it, and if ever a man honoured a woman I honour i you, Maria. You are a queen amongst : women, but you are so humble you don't know it. I shall always feel that if you say yes to my pleading that I am not , worthy of your love, but every day I would j , try to become more so." She had kept her eyes on the floor whilst he was speaking ; she now looked up, and l meeting his gaze replied softly, " I think I must have loved you and not known it, for • — I love you now, but— well ! I don't know > when I began." It was a quiet, pretty wedding, and took i place at the old church on the top of the ) hill, where Maria had worshipped every r Sunday morning for years. I "To think that Maria Bradshaw should I marry after all, and a professional man i too, my ! she's done well for herself," re- , marked Mrs Martin to a neighbour. : But the universal feeling was that I Lawyer Barcroft had done well for himself, r and that Maria would make a wife in a L thousand. I It was a warm, sunny evening in July, when they returned home. Tea was daint tily set, and in the centre of the table, 1 surrounded by exquisite roses of varying - shades and colour, was a blue china teal pot! , Maria looked at it with tears in her eyes, ) then she turned in astonishment to her I husband and said, "James, where did it t come from ? and " " From the safe in my office, where it , has been ever since it left your care b dear." ' 3 Then the truth dawned upon her liko a ) flash. "Then the £200 was yobs-how could - you deceive me so ? " a "Because when people are bo proud they a have to be humbled, and my wife is such - a proud body I thought I must humble her b a bit or I never dare venture to marry : &gi^ e dS ke he > assed ** «*

Inside i were some papers, and on the top was written -A wedding girt; to my deaiwife, Maria Bradshaw Barcroft." She glanced hurriedly at them, and saw they were the titlo deeds of the farm • the mortgage had been. paid, and once jUain Mill Hayfield was owned by a Bradshaw. "Now don't say one word, darling, for had it not been for that blua china, teapot I am afraid I should never have dared to ask you to become my wife ; it has been fcho best friend I ever had, and I love it as much as you do, for your sweet sake." The teapot still has au honoured place in Lawyer Barcroft's drawing-room, and two bonny children — a boy and a girl— often wonder " how that teapot helped father to have mother for his wife !"