before I answered; I was away off somewhere imagining I had a
hundred dollars to spend, so she went down cellar for the butter
herself."

Marjorie walked away with a self-rebuked air; she did dread to pass that
open sitting-room door; Uncle James had come in in his shirt sleeves,
wiping his bald head with his handkerchief and was telling her
grandfather that the hay was poor this year; Aunt Miranda was brushing
Nettie's hair and scolding her for having such greasy fingers; and her
grandmother had a pile, _such_ a pile of sliced apple all ready to be
strung. Her head was turning, yes, she would see her and then she could
not know about dates or have a lesson in reading poetry! Tiptoing more
softly still and holding the skirt of her starched muslin in both hands
to keep it from rustling, she at last passed the ordeal and breathed
freely as she gained Miss Prudence's chamber. The spirit of handling
things seemed to possess her this afternoon, for, after finding the
Bible, she went to the mantel and took into her hands every article
placed upon it; the bird's nest with the three tiny eggs, the bunch of
feathers that she had gathered for Miss Prudence with their many shades
of brown, the old pieces of crockery, handling these latter very
carefully until she seized the yellow pitcher; Miss Prudence had paid her
grandmother quite a sum for the pitcher, having purchased it for a
friend; Marjorie turned it around and around in her hands, then,
suddenly, being startled by a heavy, slow step on the stairs which
she recognized as her grandmother's, and having in fear those apples to
be strung, in attempting to lift it to the high mantel, it fell short of
the mantel edge and dropped with a crash to the hearth.

For an instant Marjorie was paralyzed with horror; then she stifled a
shriek and stood still gazing down through quick tears upon the yellow
fragments. Fortunately her grandmother, being very deaf, had passed the
door and heard no sound. What would have happened to her if her
grandmother had looked in!

How disappointed Miss Prudence would be! It belonged to her friend and
how could she remedy the loss?

Stooping, with eyes so blinded with tears that she could scarcely see the
pieces she took into her hand, she picked up each bit, and then on the
spur of the moment hid them among the thick branches of hemlock. Now what
was she to do next? Could she earn money to buy another hundred-years-old
yellow pitcher? And if she co