In Homespun | Page 6

to bring up that dish in their apron and to break it on their
knee as they came up the stairs, and take it in and show it to her.
'Don't say another word about it,' says my aunt, as kind and hearty as
you please.
Things not being as bad as she expected, it made her quite willing to
put up with things being a bit worse than they had been five minutes
before. I've often noticed it is this way with people.
'You're a good girl, Jane,' she says, 'a very good girl, and I shan't forget
it, my dear. Go on down, now, and make haste with your washing up,
and get to work dusting the china.'
And it was such a weight off my mind to feel that she didn't know, that
I felt as if everything was all right until I got downstairs and see those
three pieces of that red and yellow and green and blue basin lying on
the carpet as I had left them. My heart beat fit to knock me down, but I
kept my wits about me, and I stuck it together with white of egg, and
put it back in its place on the wool mat with the little teapot on top of it
so that no one could have noticed that there was anything wrong with it

unless they took the thing up in their hands.
The next three days I waited on aunt hand and foot, and did everything
she asked, and she was as pleased as pleased, till I felt that Sarah hadn't
a chance.
On the third day I told aunt that mother would want me, it being
Saturday, and she was quite willing for the Widow Gladish to come in
and do for her while I was away. I chose a Saturday because that and
Sunday were the only days the china wasn't dusted.
I went home as quick as I could, and I told mother all about it.
'And don't you, for any sake, tell Sarah a word about it, or quinsy or no
quinsy, she'll be up at aunt's before we know where we are, to let the
cat out of the bag.'
I took all the money out of my money-box that I had saved up for
starting housekeeping with in case aunt should leave her money to
Sarah, and I put it in my pocket, and I took the first train to London.
I asked the porter at the station to tell me the way to the best china-shop
in London; and he told me there was one in Queen Victoria Street. So I
went there.
It was a beautiful place, with velvet sofas for people to sit down on
while they looked at the china and glass and chose which pattern they
would have; and there were thousands of basins far more beautiful than
aunt's, but not one like hers, and when I had looked over some fifty of
them, the gentleman who was showing them to me said--
'Perhaps you could give me some idea of what it is you do want?'
Now, I had brought one of the pieces of the bowl up with me, the piece
at the back where it didn't show, and I pulled it out and showed it to
him.
'I want one like this,' I said.
'Oh!' said he, 'why didn't you say so at first? We don't keep that sort of
thing here, and it's a chance if you get it at all. You might in Wardour
Street, or at Mr. Aked's in Green Street, Leicester Square.'
Well, time was getting on and I did a thing I had never done before,
though I had often read of it in the novelettes. I waved my umbrella and
I got into a hansom cab.
'Young man,' I said, 'will you please drive to Mr. Aked's in Green
Street, Leicester Square? and drive careful, young man, for I have a
piece of china in my hands that's worth a fortune to me.'

So he grinned and I got in and the cab started. A hansom cab is better
than any carriage you ever rode in, with soft cushions to lean against
and little looking-glasses to look at yourself in, and, somehow, you
don't hear the wheels. I leaned back and looked at myself and felt like a
duchess, for I had my new hat and mantle on, and I knew I looked nice
by the way the young men on the tops of the omnibuses looked at me
and smiled. It was a lovely drive. When we got to Mr. Aked's, which
looked to me more like a rag-and-bone shop than anything else, and
very poor after the beautiful place in Queen Victoria Street, I