A fortnight later, Ted was interrupted in his rummage for “some of those preserves” by the sound of falling china, and stood ruefully contemplating the havoc he had wrought—on the shelf stood one of the new egg-shell cups, and near it lay its handle, broken cleanly off. “By Jove!” he exclaimed; “of all the kinds of bad luck, this is the worst.” He took the dainty bit of china in his big hands and stared blankly down at the two rough places which showed where the handle had been. “I wonder—” he began doubtfully. He carefully readjusted the handle, set the cup away, and tiptoed away from the closet.
This time the cup remained untouched for more than a month, for the part of the china-closet devoted to the new dishes was studiously avoided by at least three members of the Gordon family. Then one night, Robert, who, with Helen's assistance, was entertaining some friends at a chafing-dish supper, went to the china-closet in search of a corkscrew. In one hand he held the bottle of olives which he wanted to open, and with the other felt cautiously about on the top shelf—that was where the corkscrew had always been kept, he felt sure. His hand struck lightly against a dish, and the handle of a cup rattled down onto the shelf. “Oh, bother! One would n’t think that the little jar I gave that bowl would have disturbed even the cobwebs, and here I ’ve broken one of Mother's Sunday-go-to-meeting best cups. Heigh-ho!” He made room for his olive bottle on one of the lower shelves and picked up the damaged cup. “A clean cut,” he remarked sadly. “I certainly did good work!” Yes, the parts fitted together perfectly, there was scarcely even a crack; what if— He replaced the cup on the shelf, after he had fitted the handle into place, and went back to the dining-room, to find Helen triumphantly flourishing the missing corkscrew.
It was late in the fall before Hilda’s turn came. Coming breezily in from school one afternoon, she went to look for her mother. Her search led her at last to the kitchen, where she found the maid busily at work, but no Mrs. Gordon. “Has Mother gone out, Ida?” she asked eagerly of the rosy-cheeked German girl at the 1roning-board.
“Ya, she has gone to pay for some visits,” returned the girl, smilingly.
Hilda swallowed hard, to keep from laughing at the funny English, and to hide her disappointment over her mother’s absence. “Oh, dear!” she sighed, “if Mother ’s gone out to pay calls, she ’s sure to be gone till dinner-time, and I did so want to see her right away!" She walked disconsolately to the window and stood looking out over the bare garden.
“You see,” she explained to the sympathetic maid, “almost every one I know is going down the new roller-skating rink—it ‘s going to have its opening this afternoon—and I wanted to too; but I just know that Mother would n‘t like it a bit if I went without first asking her.”
Though Ida had very little idea of what an opening and a roller-skating rink really were. She sympathized deeply with the school-girl’s trouble, and, somewhat comforted, Hilda wandered aimlessly out of the kitchen. On her way toward the dining-room, her eyes fell upon the open door of the china-closet, and it occurred to her that a few of the salted pecans that were kept there might, in a measure at least, help her to bear her disappointment. Not finding them on the lowest shelves, she carried one of the heavy dining-room chairs out to the closet, and stepping on it, began to hunt higher up for the box in which they were kept. Either it had been moved or emptied and thrown away, for, instead of coming in contact with its rough surface, her hand struck some china, and there was a clatter of dishes. “I hope I did n’t break anything,” murmured Hilda and reached for the electric-light switch. The light disclosed three overturned tea-cups from the precious set, and one of them had lost its handle!
Hilda slipped down from the chair and seated herself on its edge—a dejected, hopeless little figure. At last she rose, mounted the chair once more, and set the dishes back into place. She picked up the handle and fitted it back into place: it fitted perfectly, and her face brightened with sudden hope. She carried the chair back into the dining-room, commenting aloud, as she set down, “I can do it all right if I don’t buy any more candy this winter.”
Then the whole Gordon family seemed to have forgotten the set of French china. Perhaps five of its members did so intentionally, because the thought of it brought them unpleasant recollections; but Mrs. Gordon, too, seemed to have forgotten the very existence of the new dishes which had at first been her pride and delight. At least she had not used them since the early summer. Certainly there was nothing farther from her thoughts as she took her place at the breaktfast-table on Christmas morning and returned the volley of good wishes with which her family had greeted her arrival.
“You ‘re ‘it,’ Mother,” announced Hilda. as soon as she could make herself heard. “You ‘re to open your packages first.”
Mrs. Gordon smilingly consented, and, selecting a package at random from the many heaped about her plate, cut the cord and undid its brown paper wrappings. A wooden box came to light.
