Hopper nodded gravely at the unfamiliar word, convinced that not only
were Muriel and her husband quite insane, but that they had inherited the
infirmity.

"The trouble has been," Muriel continued, "that Mr. Talbot and my father
both like the same kind of thing; and when one has got something the other
wanted, of course it has added to the ill-feeling. This has been going on
for years and recently they have grown more bitter. When Roger and I ran
off and got married, that didn't help matters any; but just within a few
days something has happened to make things much worse than ever."

The Hopper's complete absorption in this novel recital was so manifest
that she put down the revolver with which she had been idling and folded
her hands.

"Thank ye, miss," mumbled The Hopper.

"Only last week," Muriel continued, "my father-in-law bought one of those
pottery treasures--a plum-blossom vase made in China hundreds of years ago
and very, very valuable. It belonged to a Philadelphia collector who died
not long ago and Mr. Talbot bought it from the executor of the estate, who
happened to be an old friend of his. Father was very angry, for he had
been led to believe that this vase was going to be offered at auction and
he'd have a chance to bid on it. And just before that father had got hold
of a jar--a perfectly wonderful piece of red Lang-Yao--that collectors
everywhere have coveted for years. This made Mr. Talbot furious at father.
My husband is at his father's now trying to make him see the folly of all
this, and I visited _my_ father to-day to try to persuade him to stop
being so foolish. You see I wanted us all to be happy for Christmas! Of
course, Christmas ought to be a time of gladness for everybody. Even
people in your--er--profession must feel that Christmas is one day in the
year when all hard feelings should be forgotten and everybody should try
to make others happy."

"I guess yer right, miss. Ut sure seems foolish fer folks t' git mad about
jugs like you says. Wuz they empty, miss?"

"Empty!" repeated Muriel wonderingly, not understanding at once that her
visitor was unaware that the "jugs" men fought over were valued as art
treasures and not for their possible contents. Then she laughed merrily,
as only the mother of Shaver could laugh.

"Oh! Of course they're _empty!_ That does seem to make it sillier,
doesn't it? But they're like famous pictures, you know, or any beautiful
work of art that only happens oc