nding down a
beautiful salad-bowl, which Laura received in both hands with the
reverence due to a treasured possession. "It's the prettiest thing we
own," said Amy, feeling the smooth satiny surface lovingly, and holding
it up against her pink cheek. "Isn't it scrumptious, Laura?"

"Well," said Laura, "it's nice, but not so pretty as the tea-things
which belonged to Great-aunt Judith. They are my pride. This does not
compare."

"Well, perhaps not in one way, for they are family pieces, and prove we
came out of the ark. But the salad-bowl is a beauty. I don't object to
the care of china myself. It is ladies' work. It surprises me that
people ever are willing to trust their delicate china to clumsy maids. I
wouldn't if I had gems and gold like a princess, instead of being only
the daughter of a poor country clergyman. I'd always wash my own nice
dishes with my own fair hands."

"That shows your Southern breeding," said Laura. "Southern women always
look after their china and do a good deal of the dainty part of the
housekeeping. Mamma learned that when she was a little girl living in
Richmond."

"'Tisn't only Southern breeding," said Amy. "Our Holland-Dutch ancestors
had the same elegant ways of taking care of their property. I'm writing
a paper on 'Dutch Housewifery' for the next meeting of the
Granddaughters of the Revolution, and you'll find out a good many
interesting points if you listen to it."

"Amy Raeburn!" exclaimed Laura, admiringly, "I expect you'll write a
book one of these days."

"I certainly intend to," replied Amy, with dignity, handing down a fat
Dutch cream-jug, and at the moment incautiously jarring the step-ladder,
so that, cream-jug and all, she fell to the floor. Fortunately the
precious pitcher escaped injury; but Amy's sleeve caught on a nail, and
as she jerked it away in her fall it loosened a shelf and down crashed a
whole pile of the second-best dinner plates, making a terrific noise,
which startled the whole house.

Papa, in his study, groaned, and probably tore in two a closely written
sheet of notes. Mamma and the girls came flying in. Amy picked herself
up from the floor; there was a great red bruise and a scratch on her
arm.

"Oh, you poor child!" said mother, gauging the extent of the accident
with a rapid glance. "Never mind," she said, relieved; "there isn't much
harm done. Those are the plates the Ladies' Aid Society in Archertown
gave me the year Frances was born. I never a