The Old Worcester Jug by Eglanton Thorne

CHRISTMAS was again drawing near. It was almost a year since little Maggie came to John Griffin's home, and he and his wife held her as dear as if she had always belonged to them, when one afternoon Colonel Platten, on his return from a visit to Stoke, passed through the lane in which the old china-dealer lived. What had brought him that way he could scarcely tell; and as he walked along, with his upright, military carriage and proud, stern face, he looked with disdain on the dingy tenements and strange, uninviting shops on either side the way.

Though he still maintained his soldierly bearing, the colonel was beginning to be painfully conscious of increasing years. He felt himself, too, to be a lonely as well as an old man. Since his daughter's marriage, his home had seemed to him a dreary, desolate place; for his boys were often away, and then the large, well-furnished rooms, empty and silent, had a comfortless, lonesome feeling. He had long retired from the army, and without occupation, he found time hang heavily on his hands. He knew that he was sure of a welcome at his daughter's home, but he shrank from intruding too often on the young couple. Besides, young Mrs. Thornton appeared to find a variety of engagements and pleasures in her new estate, and had not much leisure to bestow upon her father.

So Colonel Platten was returning home on this winter afternoon with no pleasurable anticipations. The day was gloomy, and his thoughts were suited to it. He was brooding over the dulness and weariness of his present life, when suddenly his eye was caught by an object which in a moment recalled with startling vividness certain earlier, brighter days lying far back in his history.

He was passing the old curiosity shop, and it was the Worcester jug that arrested his attention, still occupying a conspicuous place amid the many articles in the window. Its appearance struck him as familiar. As he glanced at it, he thought it remarkably like a certain jug that had belonged to his first wife. It was a family relic which had descended to her, and she had guarded it with care, taking great pride in its beauty and antiquity. He had been wont to see it stand on a chiffonier in his wife's drawing-room, in company with certain Oriental bowls and plates, then just coming into demand as fashionable ornaments. After his wife's death he had allowed his daughter to consider these curiosities as her own property, and to his annoyance the girl had taken with her the greater part of the old china, amongst it the Worcester jug, when she wilfully quitted her father's house, and by so doing incurred his lasting displeasure.

The old colonel felt startled at seeing again, as he fancied, this jug which had belonged to the daughter whom he had cast off and forgotten,-no, not forgotten,-he had found it impossible to forget her, though he had striven to do so. Of late the thought of the child whom he had dearly loved, ay, and still loved-for love will not soon die, though we do our best to kill it-had constantly haunted his mind. He had even secretly endeavoured to find out if she were still living, but his efforts to trace her had proved of no avail. How he would act in the event of his discovering her, he had not yet decided. He would not own to himself that he was ready to forgive her; but he felt an irrepressible longing for some tidings of her. So it was little wonder that he started and grew pale and tremulous at the sight of that old Worcester jug.

He went close to the window and looked at it with an eager gaze. Yes, it seemed exactly the same. But he must examine it more closely. So the tall stately colonel strode into the shop, and by an impatient tap of his cane on the floor quickly brought Griffin to the spot.

"What can I do for you, sir? " asked the old china-dealer.

"I want to look at that jug that you have in the window," said the gentleman.

Griffin reached the jug with alacrity. He was anxious to find a purchaser for it. It had remained on his hands for some time, because he was determined to have his price for it, and had refused several offers which he considered too low. It was not on his own account that he was anxious to make so large a sum by it. He had long resolved that whatever money the jug might fetch should be Maggie's.

"That's the jug you mean, sir? " he said, as he placed it in the colonel's hands. "Real old Worcester, and quite perfect too."

Colonel Platten's hands trembled as he turned the jug round and round, and examined it closely. As far as his recollection served him it might be the very same jug.

"It is strange," he said; "this jug seems to be exactly similar to one which I had once in my possession."

"Did you lose it, sir, or was it broke? " asked the dealer, looking greatly interested in the answer.

"I lost it, or at least it was removed from my house," said the colonel, stiffly. "I am wondering whether this may by any possibility be the same. Can you tell me if it is an unusual thing to find two jugs of this kind of exactly the same shape and pattern?"

"A most unusual thing, I should say, sir," replied Griffin, with the air of one whose opinion was of weight; "you see, this is a very old jug, considerably more than a hundred years old, I should think. These pictures and flowers were painted by hand. It's quite a work of art, as one may call it, sir. There may have been many jugs made after a similar design; but I don't suppose there was ever one painted exactly like it. You're sure the pictures are the same, sir?"

"Yes, I know them well," replied the colonel, with a deep-drawn sigh; "will you tell me how this jug came into your possession?"

"There's the old Worcester mark, you see, sir," said John Griffin, turning the jug bottom upwards, and choosing to ignore for a moment the question for which he was not quite prepared; "do you remember if that was on the jug you had?"

"Yes, I believe so; I seem to recognize it," said Colonel Platten, curtly; "but will you be good enough to answer my question?"