When they asked if they should use it when the folks was here to supper, time o' her funeral, I knew she'd want to have everything nice, and I said 'certain.' Some o' the women they come runnin' to me an' called me, while they was takin' of the chiny down, an'
showed me there was one o' the cups broke an' the pieces wropped in paper and pushed way back here, corner o' the shelf.They didn't want me to go an' think they done it.Poor dear! I had to put right out o' the house when I see that.I knowed in one minute how 'twas.We'd got so used to sayin' 'twas all there just's I fetched it home, an' so when she broke that cup somehow or 'nother she couldn't frame no words to come an' tell me.She couldn't think 'twould vex me, 'twas her own hurt pride.I guess there wa'n't no other secret ever lay between us."The French cups with their gay sprigs of pink and blue, the best tumblers, an old flowered bowl and tea caddy, and a japanned waiter or two adorned the shelves.These, with a few daguerreotypes in a little square pile, had the closet to themselves, and I was conscious of much pleasure in seeing them.
One is shown over many a house in these days where the interest may be more complex, but not more definite.
"Those were her best things, poor dear," said Elijah as he locked the door again."She told me that last summer before she was taken away that she couldn't think o' anything more she wanted, there was everything in the house, an' all her rooms was furnished pretty.I was goin' over to the Port, an' inquired for errands.
I used to ask her to say what she wanted, cost or no cost--she was a very reasonable woman, an' 'twas the place where she done all but her extra shopping.It kind o' chilled me up when she spoke so satisfied.""You don't go out fishing after Christmas?" I asked, as we came back to the bright kitchen.
"No; I take stiddy to my knitting after January sets in," said the old seafarer."'Tain't worth while, fish make off into deeper water an' you can't stand no such perishin' for the sake o'
what you get.I leave out a few traps in sheltered coves an' do a little lobsterin' on fair days.The young fellows braves it out, some on 'em; but, for me, I lay in my winter's yarn an' set here where 'tis warm, an' knit an' take my comfort.Mother learnt me once when I was a lad; she was a beautiful knitter herself.I was laid up with a bad knee, an' she said 'twould take up my time an'
help her; we was a large family.They'll buy all the folks can do down here to Addicks' store.They say our Dunnet stockin's is gettin' to be celebrated up to Boston,--good quality o' wool an'
even knittin' or somethin'.I've always been called a pretty hand to do nettin', but seines is master cheap to what they used to be when they was all hand worked.I change off to nettin' long towards spring, and I piece up my trawls and lines and get my fishin' stuff to rights.Lobster pots they require attention, but I make 'em up in spring weather when it's warm there in the barn.
No; I ain't one o' them that likes to set an' do nothin'.""You see the rugs, poor dear did them; she wa'n't very partial to knittin'," old Elijah went on, after he had counted his stitches."Our rugs is beginnin' to show wear, but I can't master none o' them womanish tricks.My sister, she tinkers 'em up.She said last time she was here that she guessed they'd last my time.""The old ones are always the prettiest," I said.
"You ain't referrin' to the braided ones now?" answered Mr.
