The Old Worcester Jug by Eglanton Thorne

ALTHOUGH when he awoke the next morning he felt very poorly, John Griffin insisted on rising and going about his work as usual. He had not been long in the shop, when little Maggie ran in, duster in hand, ready for her self-appointed duty. But, turning to the spot where the jug had always stood, she was surprised to find its place empty.

"Oh, grandfather," she exclaimed, "what have you done with my jug? I can't see it anywhere."

"Why, I've actually sold it at last, Maggie," he replied; "what do you think of that? " Though Griffin had felt rather doubtful how the child would take this news, he was not prepared to see such dismay as her face now expressed.

"Sold it? " she cried. "Sold mamma's pretty jug! Oh, grandfather, you don't mean that you have done 'that?"

"But, my dear, you knew the jug was for sale, did you not? " replied the china-dealer. "I put it in the window hoping some one would take a fancy to it and buy it."

"Yes, I knew that; but I did not think you would really sell it," replied the child, inconsistently; "and oh, how could you sell it and send it away without ever telling me? Now I shall never be able to dust it any more. " And Maggie burst into tears, and began to sob in the hearty, unrestrained way which gives such relief in childish sorrows.

The sight of her distress made old Griffin miserable. He had never seen Maggie cry thus before, and he felt as if he were a monster of cruelty.

"Come, come, Maggie; don't take on so," he said. "I did not think you would be so silly. Don't you want to know how much money I got for the jug? Look here," he added, opening a drawer as he spoke, "here it is-five bright sovereigns and five bright shillings! And it's all yours, Maggie; I don't mean to touch a penny of it. Isn't that better than keeping the jug?"

"No, I don't care for the old money! " cried Maggie, passionately. "I would much rather have had the jug. I wish the money were all at the bottom of the sea, rather than you should have sold the jug."

"Now, Maggie, you are a naughty girl," said Griffin, losing patience with her as her sobs redoubled in intensity; "you know I did it for your good, and it's very ungrateful of you to make such a fuss. I can't have you here, if you're going to make that noise; you'll frighten all my customers away."

It was the first time John Griffin had spoken to her so sharply; and, startled by the change in his manner, and not without a dim consciousness that she really was a very naughty girl, Maggie went sobbing to tell her grief to Mrs. Griffin.

Left by himself, Griffin felt almost as unhappy as the child. Many things combined to make him feel ill at ease. His bodily discomfort was considerable, and he had the fear of an illness before him; whilst his mind persistently dwelt on the Worcester jug, and the way in which he had deceived Colonel Platten regarding it. Yet he could not immediately resolve to set the wrong right, for the fear of losing his "little maid" caused him to shrink from telling her story to the colonel.

The sound of Maggie's sobs came to Griffin's ears from the inner room, and as he heard them he said to himself: "Poor little maid, I am afraid I was too hard on her. I did not think her heart was so set upon the jug."

At last the sound of sobbing died away, and there was stillness in the house. After a while Griffin heard a light step coming along the passage; then the door of the shop was pushed a little way open, and Maggie timidly looked in.

"Come in, my dear; don't be afraid," said old Griffin, encouragingly.

Maggie crept gently to his side, and said in a voice still suggestive of tears: "Grandfather, I'm sorry I was so naughty to you just now; will you forgive me?"

Old Griffin bent down and kissed her. "Of course, my dear, of course," he said; "don't think any more of what I said. I'm a cross old man, especially when I feel as I do this morning."

As he spoke, John Griffin thought that perhaps he ought to ask Maggie's forgiveness, for he could not feel sure that he had not wronged her a second time with respect to the old Worcester jug.

"Do you feel very bad? " asked the child, gently.

"Bad enough," returned the old man; "I can't breathe without pain. But there, there! It's no use making a fuss."