The Old Worcester Jug by Eglanton Thorne

MIDWAY in a long lane of houses, running east and west between Plymouth and Stonehouse, stood, some years ago, a small whitewashed house with bright green shutters and bright green door. It was hardly more than a cottage in size. The houses opposite were far larger, but the smaller dwelling had the advantage in respectability of appearance. It claimed attention, too, by the announcement painted in large letters over the door: JOHN GRIFFIN'S OLD CURIOSITY SHOP.

The house stood a little back from the lane, and a narrow flagged path led to the door. There was no shop frontage, but the window was filled with specimens of almost every variety of china and glass ware, and both shutters bore the words:

JOHN GRIFFIN, / Dealer in British and Foreign China / ALL KINDS OF OLD CHINA BOUGHT, SOLD, OR GIVEN / IN EXCHANGE. / [Illustration] / _REPAIRS NEATLY EXECUTED_

Small as the shop was, it was perhaps the most important of all in the lane. This fact, however, did not reflect great credit on its owner, since most of the shops in that dingy thoroughfare were pawnbrokers', or second-hand stores of one kind or another, with a disproportionately large number of public-houses. But John Griffin's shop had peculiarities of its own, and his circumstances were certainly superior to those of his neighbours.

Although the lane had a bad character, being the resort of the most degraded characters of the two towns to which it belonged, so that few persons of the gentler classes passed that way, unless drawn there by business or charitable intent, it sometimes happened that a carriage drove up to John Griffin's door; and on rare occasions ladies had been seen to pass in and out the narrow doorway, drawing their skirts closely round them as they stepped through with an air of fastidious caution.

To any one possessed by the china mania, "THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP" offered many attractions. Packed into its limited space were varieties of almost every china ware. The dealer prided himself on his thorough knowledge of his business. He was also a connoisseur of the fragile and costly articles, in which he did a not inconsiderable trade. No trouble was too great for him to take, in order to increase his knowledge or add to his store of curiosities. He would often walk a long distance merely to look upon a rare specimen of antique china.

One cold, damp December evening, Griffin was in his shop, examining some cracked cups and saucers and a venerable teapot, which he had that day purchased at a sale. The place dignified by the name of shop was only the front room of the house. It was scarcely fourteen feet square; but the quantity of goods it contained exceeded all expectation. Not an inch of space was wasted. To enter required the utmost caution, so narrow was the passage left between piles of most brittle ware, and tables and chests loaded with all sorts of curiosities.

The upper part of the walls to the edge of the low ceiling was hung with plates and dishes. Some of these were brown and cracked, colourless and common in appearance; others were prettily painted with landscapes, flowers, or figures. Many of the ugliest and shabbiest articles seemed to have gained places of high honour, showing that in respect to valuable china, it is not wise to judge by looks.

John Griffin did not deal exclusively in china. Standing against the back wall, and well-laden with goods, were three carved oak cabinets, richly-coloured by age; old pictures and quaintly wrought mirrors leaned against them; clocks of ancient form stood on the mantel-shelf; second-hand books lay in piles on the floor, and even a few broken-ribbed umbrellas were stowed away behind the door. The shop always seemed to be in the most hopeless muddle; but there was method in the confusion, and Griffin himself had never any difficulty in finding the article he wanted.

The china-dealer was by no means the terrible personage his name might suggest. He was a short, square-set man, about sixty years of age, with a large head, well covered by curly grey hair, keen grey eyes, made the keener by the round, thick-rimmed spectacles he wore, and the earnest intent expression of a man whose aims in life have all set into one narrow channel. He did not look unamiable this evening as he stood in his shop talking to himself, as was his habit. He had just taken a large, well-thumbed book from a drawer close at hand, and was comparing a mark that his quick eyes had discovered at the bottom of the cup, with one printed on the page before him.

"I thought so," he said, in a tone of triumph; "this is real old Dresden, and no mistake. Pity there should be that chip; but a little china clay and a touch of the brush will soon set that right, and few people will be the wiser. I didn't throw my money away when I bought that."

He gave a low chuckle of satisfaction at the thought. Just then he became conscious of a faint, somewhat hesitating knock at the door.

"Who's there? " asked Griffin; and as there was no response, he put down the cup, went to the door and opened it.

A woman stood in the narrow passage, with a little girl by her side.

"Do you buy old china? " she inquired.

"Yes, I buy it, ma'am, if it's worth buying," he replied, looking wonderingly at her.

She was a tall, slight woman, with pale, emaciated face, lit up by glittering dark eyes. She wore a thin black shawl, and a widow's bonnet, which was at the last degree of shabbiness. Evidently she was very poor, yet Griffin instinctively addressed her as he was wont to address his lady customers. Miserable as she looked, her pure refined speech, and the grace of her manner at once told him that she was a lady. Griffin's dealings with gentlefolks had taught him to distinguish between a real lady and a "would-be-fine" one.

"I have some china here, which I wish to dispose of," said the lady, taking from her child a large bag, which she seemed to carry with difficulty, though she was better able to support its weight than her mother.