CHAPTER IX.

The Worcester Jug finds a Purchaser.

CHRISTMAS was again drawing near. It was almost a year since little Maggie came to John Griffin's home, and he and his wife held her as dear as if she had always belonged to them, when one afternoon Colonel Platten, on his return from a visit to Stoke, passed through the lane in which the old china-dealer lived. What had brought him that way he could scarcely tell; and as he walked along, with his upright, military carriage and proud, stern face, he looked with disdain on the dingy tenements and strange, uninviting shops on either side the way.

Though he still maintained his soldierly bearing, the colonel was beginning to be painfully conscious of increasing years. He felt himself, too, to be a lonely as well as an old man. Since his daughter's marriage, his home had seemed to him a dreary, desolate place; for his boys were often away, and then the large, well-furnished rooms, empty and silent, had a comfortless, lonesome feeling. He had long retired from the army, and without occupation, he found time hang heavily on his hands. He knew that he was sure of a welcome at his daughter's home, but he shrank from intruding too often on the young couple. Besides, young Mrs. Thornton appeared to find a variety of engagements and pleasures in her new estate, and had not much leisure to bestow upon her father.

So Colonel Platten was returning home on this winter afternoon with no pleasurable anticipations. The day was gloomy, and his thoughts were suited to it. He was brooding over the dulness and weariness of his present life, when suddenly his eye was caught by an object which in a moment recalled with startling vividness certain earlier, brighter days lying far back in his history.

He was passing the old curiosity shop, and it was the Worcester jug that arrested his attention, still occupying a conspicuous place amid the many articles in the window. Its appearance struck him as familiar. As he glanced at it, he thought it remarkably like a certain jug that had belonged to his first wife. It was a family relic which had descended to her, and she had guarded it with care, taking great pride in its beauty and antiquity. He had been wont to see it stand on a chiffonier in his wife's drawing-room, in company with certain Oriental bowls and plates, then just coming into demand as fashionable ornaments. After his wife's death he had allowed his daughter to consider these curiosities as her own property, and to his annoyance the girl had taken with her the greater part of the old china, amongst it the Worcester jug, when she wilfully quitted her father's house, and by so doing incurred his lasting displeasure.

The old colonel felt startled at seeing again, as he fancied, this jug which had belonged to the daughter whom he had cast off and forgotten,—no, not forgotten,—he had found it impossible to forget her, though he had striven to do so. Of late the thought of the child whom he had dearly loved, ay, and still loved—for love will not soon die, though we do our best to kill it—had constantly haunted his mind. He had even secretly endeavoured to find out if she were still living, but his efforts to trace her had proved of no avail. How he would act in the event of his discovering her, he had not yet decided. He would not own to himself that he was ready to forgive her; but he felt an irrepressible longing for some tidings of her. So it was little wonder that he started and grew pale and tremulous at the sight of that old Worcester jug.

He went close to the window and looked at it with an eager gaze. Yes, it seemed exactly the same. But he must examine it more closely. So the tall stately colonel strode into the shop, and by an impatient tap of his cane on the floor quickly brought Griffin to the spot.

"What can I do for you, sir?" asked the old china-dealer.

"I want to look at that jug that you have in the window," said the gentleman.

Griffin reached the jug with alacrity. He was anxious to find a purchaser for it. It had remained on his hands for some time, because he was determined to have his price for it, and had refused several offers which he considered too low. It was not on his own account that he was anxious to make so large a sum by it. He had long resolved that whatever money the jug might fetch should be Maggie's.

"That's the jug you mean, sir?" he said, as he placed it in the colonel's hands. "Real old Worcester, and quite perfect too."

Colonel Platten's hands trembled as he turned the jug round and round, and examined it closely. As far as his recollection served him it might be the very same jug.

"It is strange," he said; "this jug seems to be exactly similar to one which I had once in my possession."

"Did you lose it, sir, or was it broke?" asked the dealer, looking greatly interested in the answer.

"I lost it, or at least it was removed from my house," said the colonel, stiffly. "I am wondering whether this may by any possibility be the same. Can you tell me if it is an unusual thing to find two jugs of this kind of exactly the same shape and pattern?"

"A most unusual thing, I should say, sir," replied Griffin, with the air of one whose opinion was of weight; "you see, this is a very old jug, considerably more than a hundred years old, I should think. These pictures and flowers were painted by hand. It's quite a work of art, as one may call it, sir. There may have been many jugs made after a similar design; but I don't suppose there was ever one painted exactly like it. You're sure the pictures are the same, sir?"

"Yes, I know them well," replied the colonel, with a deep-drawn sigh; "will you tell me how this jug came into your possession?"

"There's the old Worcester mark, you see, sir," said John Griffin, turning the jug bottom upwards, and choosing to ignore for a moment the question for which he was not quite prepared; "do you remember if that was on the jug you had?"

"Yes, I believe so; I seem to recognize it," said Colonel Platten, curtly; "but will you be good enough to answer my question?"

He spoke in the severe, commanding tone of one accustomed to be obeyed. But, though his imperious manner might draw forth words, it failed to elicit the truth.

His resentment of the colonel's tone strengthened Griffin's first impulse to withhold all information concerning the purchase of the jug, and the child, whom it had been the indirect means of introducing to his home.

"You want to know how it came into my possession, sir?" he said, deliberately. "Let me see. I bought it of some one, I suppose; but it's a long time agone now."

"Will you try to remember of whom you bought it?" asked the colonel, in a tone of eager earnestness.

"Really, sir, I can't say," returned old Griffin. "I need have the brain of a Philadelphia lawyer to remember all the folks as comes to me with china to sell."

"Then you cannot explain how this jug came into your hands?" said the colonel.

Griffin stubbornly shook his head. He was not going to tell this fine, proud gentleman all about his little Maggie, if he knew it.

The colonel looked very disappointed.

"Will you buy the jug, sir?" asked the china-dealer.

"Yes, I will buy it," said Colonel Platten; "what is the price?"

"Five guineas, sir," said old Griffin; "this sort of china is very rare now, and I cannot ask less."

"I daresay it is worth it," said the gentleman, absently, and drawing some money from his pocket, he paid the sum forthwith. "Send it to my house as soon as possible, if you please,—Colonel Platten's, Lockyer Street."

And the colonel turned and left the shop without seeing the startled, confused look which came to the old man's face as his customer gave his name.

Colonel Platten! The same name as that written in his little maid's books. Then no doubt that jug was the very one which the colonel had missed. But how had it come into the possession of the poor widow of whom he had purchased it so cheaply? Had she stolen it and the books, too, from the colonel's house? No, he could not believe it of her. She was a lady, he was sure of that. He remembered that she had spoken of the jug as a family relic. Could it be that she was related to the old colonel? What a mystery it all seemed, to be sure! Perhaps if he had told the colonel the truth about the jug, he would have claimed little Maggie as belonging to him. As he thought this, Griffin said to himself that he was glad he had kept back the truth. He could not bear to think of losing the child whom he held so dear.

But Griffin could not long congratulate himself on the deception he had practised. His conscience awoke, and began to trouble him. A year ago he would have seen no harm in concealing by evasive words a fact he did not wish to confess. But of late he had been learning of the Son of Man, and trying to do His works. A sense of shame came over him as he realised how readily and unwittingly he had fallen into the power of temptation. He had wronged both God and man by telling a lie.

Unhappily, John Griffin tried to find excuses for what he had done. The colonel's manner had been so unpleasant that he was naturally provoked by it. It was surely well for Maggie that he had kept silence. The little maid was perfectly happy with him and his wife; she would not welcome any change that should remove her from their home.

But though he tried hard to convince himself that he had not after all done anything so very bad, old Griffin could not feel at ease concerning the matter. He was alone in the house, his wife having gone to Devonport to see a friend, and taken Maggie with her, so he had plenty of leisure to reflect upon what he had done.

At last, he resolved that when he carried the jug to Colonel Platten's house that evening, he would ask to see the colonel, and fully explain to him the circumstances under which it had come into his possession. Having thus resolved to do the right thing, old Griffin's mind was relieved of its burden.

When Mrs. Griffin and Maggie had come home, and the child, sleepy and tired, was being put to bed, Griffin set off to carry the Worcester jug to Colonel Platten's. He had said nothing to his wife about his having sold it, feeling unwilling to hear her discuss the matter that night.

As he went along, Griffin was rehearsing in his mind all he would say to the colonel. But he might have spared himself the trouble, for when he reached the house he was informed that Colonel Platten was not at home; so all he could do was to leave the jug and come away.

"Well, I meant to tell him," he muttered to himself as he went down the street; "it's not my fault if he's not at home." And he tried to persuade himself that he had done enough, and might now let the matter rest.

It was a keen winter's night. The wind blew from the north, and was icy cold. Griffin buttoned his coat tightly around him, but the sharp blast caught his breath and chilled him through and through. As he struggled on, panting and wheezing, he was painfully conscious that old age was coming upon him apace. When he reached home, his wife chid him for going out on such a night without his woollen comforter. She gave him some warm posset, hoping thus to ward off the effects of exposure; but Griffin had caught a severe cold, which rapidly developed, in spite of all her precautions.

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