She began to think, woman-like, of that home she had left; in her mind
it was like a deserted living thing. And the poor sticks of furniture
all standing aghast and alone, the door open and flapping in the wind!
And when she remembered a blue pitcher,--a squat little blue jug that
had come from France,--left on a shelf by the window with some red
leaves in it to do duty as a bouquet,--so relieved was she now of her
fears for the lives of them all that she must needs shed tears of regret
for the little blue pitcher,--the squat little blue jug that came from
France. And how had she selected so ill among her belongings as to what
she should bring and what leave? Fifine had a better frock than that
serge thing; it would not wear so well, but her murrey-colored pelisse
trimmed with the sarcenet ribbon would have added warmth enough. If it
were not such a waste of goods she would make over her paduasoy coat for
Fifine, for she loved to see a small child very fine of attire. But
precious little time she would have for remodeling the paduasoy coat,--a
primrose-tinted ground with dark red roses, that had been her
"grand'maman's" when new. "I wonder if I expected to live always in a
hollow tree, that I should have left that pair of sheets, new ten
hundred linen, the ones that I have just woven," she arraigned herself
indignantly, as she mentally went over the stock in the pack. "And did I
think I should be so idle that I must bring instead so much spun-truck
so as to weave others. To think of those new linen sheets! And then too
that lovely, quaint little jug--the little squat blue jug that came from
France!"

Oh, no; Odalie was not at all lonely during the long watch through the
night, and did not lack subjects of meditation. The time did not hang
heavily on her hands!

It hardly seemed that an hour had passed when Hamish, in obedience to
some inward monition, turned himself suddenly, looked up, stretched
himself to a surprising length, then sat up by the fire, motioning to
her to close her eyes.

His face was compassionate; perhaps he saw traces of tears about her
eyes. He could not know why she had been weeping, or he might have
accounted his sympathy wasted. For Hamish looked upon crockery as
inanimate and a mere manufacture, yet endowed with a perverse ingenuity
in finding occasions to come into disastrous contact with a boy's
unsuspecting elbow, and get itself broken and the boy into disgrace. He
had his gentle inter