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148
The Country of the Pointed Firs
·
Sarah Orne Jewett
138
“You
see
for
yourself
what
beautiful
rugs
she
could
make;
now
I'm
going
to
show
you
her
best
tea
things
she
thought
so
much
of,”
said
the
master
of
the
house,
opening
the
door
of
a
shallow
cupboard.
“That's
real
chiny,
all
of
it
on
those
two
shelves,”
he
told
me
proudly.
“I
bought
it
all
myself,
when
we
was
first
married,
in
the
port
of
Bordeaux.
There
never
was
one
single
piece
of
it
broke
until--
Well,
I
used
to
say,
long
as
she
lived,
there
never
was
a
piece
broke,
but
long
at
the
last
I
noticed
she'd
look
kind
o'
distressed,
an'
I
thought
'twas
'count
o'
me
boastin'.
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.”
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