The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1879-05-21
AN OLD PLATE.

CrleQ MIS-. t1uuCeI. WOulu tlluOSl
be willing to bet that we shall find and
irons there. Please stop the horses, Mr..
Ereke. I must 60 in"
Mr.. Freke obediently drew rein, and
the glossy bays arrested their trot before
the whitewashed gate, which hung, he
noticed, by single hinge. The house,
shabby and defaced as it looked, was
evidently no common farmstead. 1t had
been somebody's residence once, and
still wore that look Of better days gone by
which, to the experienced bric-a-brac
hunter, suggests coDwebbed cupboardS
and low-raftered garrets full of cherished
odds and ends. Mrs. Hunter tapped
smartly once or twice, then turned with
a laugh to Mr.. Freke, who, having tied
his horses, had followed up the walk.
"It is no. use," she said; "these
country people never use the front rooms
of their houses. I shall go round to the
kitchen door. / always try to make an
excuse for getting into the kitchen, and
this time we have legitimate one, us
nobody answers us here"
So round the house she went, over
weeds and grass tussocks, and low-grow-
ing briers which caught at her silken
skirts as she passed, and knocked at the
kitchen door, which was fastened only by
a heavy iron latch. Once, twice; then
boldly lifting the latch, she went di-
rectly into the kitchen-a large square
room, with windows on two sides, and
q floor of worn, uneven boards, which
sloped in unexpected rises and descents,
and made walking uncertain pastime to
unaccustomed feet. A fireless stove oc-
cupied the deep chimney, on one side of
which stood wooden settle cushioned
with faded calico. Rows of milkpans
tilted on their sides stood on the window
sills; there was a sink painted red, q
table, two or three cane chairs, and IN
the wall fy-specked certificate of men,
bership in the Bible Society, bearing
date many years back. Over these arti-
cles Mrs. Hunters experienced eye darted
in seconds space; then only pausing to
say, in whisper, "That'S rather nice
old settle, isn't it?" she walked rapidly
across the room to cupboard, whose
half-open door showed gleam of crock
ery inside, and presently exclaimed :
"There, didn't I tell you so, Mr.. Freke?
Here is find! Do you see that large
plate on the upper shelf? Old burnt
china, as I am alive, of the finest kind,
and real beauty! Who would ever
have expected such thing in a house
like this? All dusty, too; I don't sup
pose they use it, or care for it in the
least. People of this sort never do.
Well, I cali this luck"
She had the plate in her hands by this
the marks on the bottom. 1t was rather
a dish than a plate, being large enough
almost to merit the high-sounding
plaque" of the modern .jargon. Its
pattern of blue, pale crimson, black and
gold had grounding of blue SO light as
to be almost white. A tiny heraldic
shield, inserted into the design on one
side, bore twisted monogram in
faint lines of black, blue and gold,
and altogether, despite a crack and
more than one nick on its rim, the old
plate was uncommon enough to excuse
Mrs. Hunters excitement. She was still
examining it. regardless of dust OF
gloved fingers, when clear young voice
rom doorway uttered these words: :"
beg your pardon, but did you want any,
thing?"
Mrs. Hunter jumped. Mr.. Freke
jumped also. His 6 feeling" for china
was feeble; certainly it would never have
led him to enter a strangers house un-
hidden and rifle its cupboards, and q
sudden sense of guilt sent the blood furi.
usly into his face. In the doorway be-
hind them stood girl in a gingham
dress, with white apron tied about a
very slender waist, and thick rolls OF
bright hazel hair twisted round pretty
head, out of which looked a pair Of grave
and astonished brown eyes. A remark
ably pretty girl, and lady too; voice
and accent testified that, as well as the
gentle se.fpossession with which she
now confronted these unlimited guests.
Mrs. Hunter recovered first. Women
generally do on such occasions.
81 beg your pardon" she said, with
her pleasantest manner. eve knocked
several times without being able to make
any one hear, and at last we ventured to
walk in. Then l saw this curious old
plate on the shelf, and couldn't resist
Do you use it, may l ask, or is it of any
particular value to you9 If not, / might
be glad to buy it, if your-mother were
inclined to sell. It's a queer old thing,
but have some which almost match it,
and should like this"
cit belongs to my aunt-Mrs. Marsh, j
replied the young lazy, briefly. Il don't
think she would wish to part with it,
There was no invitation to linger in
voice or manner. Evidently she ex.
pected them to 60 at once.
"Is your aunt at home?" asked the un-
daunted Mrs. Hunter. II should like
to see her if she is"
mo, she is not at home" The tone
was perfectly gentle and polite, but still
with the underlying reserve and sur.
prise which made Mr.. Freke feel so un
comfortable. Mrs. Hunter apparently die
not share his sensations.
II must come again some day wher
she is at home," she went on. 1T i:
really delightful old plate. What ART
these letters on it; do you know?
can't make them out"
"The letters are B. H. II. They stant
for Barbara Holdsworthy Hagen" sale
the girl, coming step nearer.
"Was she a relation of your aunt's?'
"Her great-grandmother. Allow me
it seems to be dusty taking the plat
from Mrs. Hunters unwilling fingers.
"And was YOUR aunt VeIy fond O