The dark old kitchen lay open, door and
window, to the still opulent sun, and from the pantry and a corner
cupboard came gleams of color, to delight the eye. Here were riches,
indeed: old India china, an unbroken set of Sheltered Peasant, and, on
the top shelf, little mugs and cups of a pink lustre, soft and sweet as
flowers. Many a collector had wooed Nicholas Oldfield to part with his
china (for the fame of it had spread afar,) but his only response to
solicitation was to open the doors more widely on his treasures,
remarking, without emphasis:--
"I guess they might as well stay where they be."
So passive was he, that many among merchants judged they had impressed
him, and returned again and again to the charge; but when they found
always the same imperturbable front, the same mild neutrality of
demeanor, they melted sadly away, and were seen no more, leaving their
places to be taken by others equally hopeful and as sure to be
betrayed.
One creature only was capable of rousing Nicholas Oldfield from that
calm wherein he went ticking on through life. She it was who, by some
natal likeness, understood him wholly; and to-night, just as he was
sitting down to his supper of "cream o' tartar" biscuits and smoking
tea, her clear voice broke upon his solitude.
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