Rensselaer Union, Volume 11, Number 35, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 May 1879 — AN OLD PLATE. [ARTICLE]

AN OLD PLATE.

“There, that’s a likely-liking house,” cried Mrs. Hunter. “I would almost be willing to bet that we shall lind andirons there. Please stop the horses, Mr. Freke. I must go in. Mr. Freke obediently drew rein, and the gtossy.b&ys arrested their trot bef6re fin Whitewashed gate, which hung, he noticed, bv a single hinge. The shabby and defaced as it looked, was widently no common farmstead. It ha£ been somebody’s “residence” once, and still wore that look of better days gone by which, to the experienced bric-a-brac hunter, suggests cobwebby cupboards and low-raftered garrelsjfuU of cherished odds and ends. Mtifr’ifubtei' lapped smartly once or twice, then turned with a laugh to Mr. Freke, who, having tied his horses, hftf followed up the walk. “It is no use,” she said; “these couptry, people never use the front ropnusj «f their .houses. I shall go rouftd tfhe kitchen door. I always try to make an excuse for getting into the kitchen, and this time we have a legitimate one, as nobody answers us So round the house she went, and kufcoked at the kitchen door, which wafc ’fastened only by a heavy iron latch. Once, twice; then boldly lifting the latch, she went directly into the kitchen—a large square room, with windows on two sides, and a floor off worn, uneven boards, which in unexpected rises and descents, and made walking uncertain pastime to unaccustomed feet. A tireless stove occupied the deep chimney, on one side of winch stood a wooden settle cushioned with faded calico. Hows of milkpaus tilted on their sides stood on the window-sills; there was a sink painted refk a table, two or three cane chairs, >nd on the wall a fly-specked certificate -of membership in the Bible Society, bearing date many years back. Over these articles Mrs: Haunter’s experienced eye darted in a second’s space; then only paused to say, in a whisper, “That’s rather a nice old settle, isn’t itF*‘she walked rapidly across the rdbqi to a cupboard, whose halfopen floor showeda gleam of crockery inside, and presently exclaimed: “There, didn’t 1 tell you so, Mr. FrekeP Here $s a tihd! Do you see that large plateimthe upper shelfP Old burnt chinas as I am alive, of the finest kind, and a real beauty! Who would, ever have expected such a thing in a house like thisP All dusty too; 1 don’t suppose they use it, or care for it in the least. People of this sort never do. Well, recall this luck.” She had the plate in her hands by this time, and was turning it over to examine the marks on the bottom. It was rather a dish than a plate, being large enough almost to merit the highsounding “ plaque” of the modern jar§on. Its pattern of blue, pale crimson, lack add gold had a grounding of blue so light as to be almost white. A tiny heraldic shield, inserted into the design on onuside, bore a twisted monogram in faint lines of black, blue and gold, and altogether, despite a crack and more than one niok on its rim, the old plate yas uncommon enough to excuse Mrs. Hunter’s excitement. She was still examining it, regardless of dust or glovedr fingers, when a clear young voice from a doorway uttered these words: “ I beg your pardon, but did you want anything?” Midi Hunter jumped. Mr. Freke jumped algo. His “feeling” for china was feeble; certainly it would, never have led him to enter a stranger’s house unbidden and ride its cupboards, and a sudden sense of guilt sent the blood furiously into his face. In the doorway behind them stood a girl in a gingham dress, with a white apron tied about a very slender waist, and thick rolls of bright hazel hair twisted round a pretty head, out of which looked a pair of grave and astonished brown eyes. A remarkably pretty girl, and a lady, too; voice ami accent testified that, as well as the gentle self-possession with which.she now confronted these uninvited guests. Mrs. Hunter recovered first. Women generally do on such occasions. “ I beg your pardon,” she said, with her pleasantest manner. “We knocked Several times without being able to make anyone hear, and at last we ventured to walk in. Then I saw this curious old, plate on the shelf, and I couldn’t resist— Do you use it, may I or T * B °f any particular value to youP If not, I might be glad to buy it, if your—mother were inclined to sell. «If u il* eer oW but I have some wnlhh Almost match it, and I should like this:”' “It belongs to my annt—Mrs y°u!»g lady, briefly. "I don’t think she would wish to part jwthit.” There was no invitation to lifiger in voice or manner. Evidently the expected them to goat once. “Is your aunt at home?” asked the undauntod Mrs. Hunter. “I should so like to see her if she is.” “No, she is not at hoihe.” The tone was perfectly gentle and pplite, but still with the underlying reserve and surprise which made Mr. Freke feel so uncomfortable. Mrs. Hunter appar- • ently did not share his sensations.

“I must oo in 4? again some day when she mat houie,” she. want ou. “It is really a delightful old plate. What are these letters on it; do you knowP I can’t make them out.” *VTho letters are B. H. H. The stand for Barbara Holdsworthy Hagen,” said the girl, coming a step nearer. “Was she a relation of your aunt’s P” “ Hdr great-grandmother. Allow me: it seems to be dusty”—taking the plate from Mrs. Hunter’s unwilling fingers. “ And was your aunt very fond of herP” inquired that lady, insinuatingly. “ She never saw her, I believe.” And putting the plate back on its shelf, she closed the door with a gentle decision. “ You must think us very impertinent to meddle with your plate without permission. And indeed we were; but please forgive me. It was fill my fault; my friend Mr. Freke here had nothing to do with it, and the truth is, that I am so foolishly fond of old ohina that 1 cannot keep my hands off it wherever it is.” The tone was very winning, and Raby’s face relaxed in spite of itself, Barbara Hagen Glenn was my girl’s rigme, but no one ever called her Barbara, not even Aunt Marsh, who had little tolerance for pet names or nonsense of any kind. Everybody said ‘ltaby,’ and the crisp little title seemed to suit her better than a longer and finer one could. She half smiled; and when Mrs. Hunter went on, still in the same charming tone —“ What an odd, and curious, and delightful-looking old house this is! It seems just the place for a story. lam devoted to these oldfashioned houses, and they are pulling them down so fast all over the country, jt is quite shocking. Do you think, if 1 came over sonje day, your aunt would let me go over ft?—it would be such a treat!”—the smile flashed into full, brilliant life, brightening the brown eyes so wonderfully that Mr. Freke, quite dazzled, said within himself, “ It is the most charming face 1 ever saw.” Raby was fond of the old house. It Vexed her often that her aunt cared so little for it, and dwelt on its inconveniences so much more than on its quaintness. No one save herself had ever seemed alive to its merits before. Mrs. Hunter had made a “ hit.” "I think aunt wouldn’t mind,” she said, half to herself, then. “If you like I will show it to you %ow. » But there is nothing to see except the house itself. That is really curious. 1 never met with another like it.” “Will you, indeed? How very kind!” cried Mrs. Hunted with a rapid, rapturous blink in Mr. Freke’s direction. Her imagination was already at work cheapening the treasures of the attic, as they followed their young hostess down the long entry which separated the kitchen from the front of the house. A large square room lay on either side of the entry. But here disappointment awaited Mrs. Hunter, for these rooms were altogether unfurnished. Up stairs they met the same experience; in the two occupied chambers the simplest furniture; dust and bare emptiness everywhere else. Even tho garrot held nothing to reward search—none of the spinning-wheels, or antique brasses, or eight-day clocks with broken cogs, which Mrs. Hunter’s soul coveted. Her taste for old houses was a simulated one. What she really cared for was their purchasable contents, and, failing these, her interest visibly flagged. In vain Raby, with a pretty graoiousness, pointed out the really curious points about the old dwelling. Mrs. Hunter listened without interest. Her thoughts were dwelling ou the old plate, and she did not notice, as did Mr. Freke, how excitement had quickened Raby’s bloom and brightened her eyes with positive beauty as she led the way from room to room with a cordial, simple grace, from which all reserve and stiffness had fled. * “And cow about that piece of china,” Mrs. Hunter said, suddenly» as they regained the kitchen. “Do you think your aunt would be likely to be in to-morrow? I must come over and talk with her about it; or perhaps, Mr. Freke, yon will come for me if the Holmans arrive and I am detained?” “ With pleasure.” Raby’s face olouded a little. “I do not think my aunt will sell the plate,” she said, in rather a constrained voice; “ but she will probably be at home.” “We can but try,” laughed Mrs. Hunter. “Good-afternoon Miss—Miss Marsh, and thank you ever so much.” She swept down the walk. Mr. Freke paused. “ It was very good of you to take so muoh trouble lor us,” he said in a tone whose sincerity Raby recognized. “ Very probably your annt may not care to sell toe plate—l should not myself if I owned suoh a one—but if Mrs. Hunter gives me the commission, I shall certainly come, for the pleasure of making another call upon you.” He lifted nis hat as he spoke, and with a courteous bow followed Mrs. Hunter down the path. “ That’s a real gentleman,” soliloquized Raby, as they drove oft. “ And she—l don’t know. She’s pretty, and her voice is pleasant, but somehow there’s a difference. I don’t think I like her—quite.” She had her own ideas about life, this little Raby, about “real” ladies and “real” gentlemen, and instinct helped her surely to conclusions usually arrived at only by the slow process of experience.

Mr. Freke did drive over next day. He was received very grimly by Aunt Sabina Marsh, whom he found intrenched, as it were, in front of her corner cupboard, and resolved not to cede her plate, or listen to any arguments whatever on the subject. This refusal, sooth to sav, caused no particular grief to the disloyal messenger He cared little for the plate, but a good deal for the chance of another chat with Raby, who was more piquantly pretty than ever, in the effort to hide her amusement at her aunt’s grim and defiant manners. Ernest Freke made one more call at the old house before he went back to town, but only one. “ 1 could fall in love with that girl,” he said to himself as he drove homeward; and lie made a little picture in his mind of Raby in a fresh morning dress, pouring coffee at the opposite end of a dainty breakfast table for two, with sunshine streaming through an open window behind, and touching with glints of gold all that beavftifm 'hazel hair of hers—a pretty picture. Ernest Freke was half artist, and his Imagination naturally conjured such scenes; but he shook his head. He could not afford to marry (that point was settled long ago), unless, indeed— But here he snook his head again. The chances were against his falling in love with a §irl who had money. He conld not o without the money, and he would not do without *the love, so he dismissed the idea of marriage. 'He was an honorable young-fellow at .heart, however, and ne would not go again to see Raby. “ Vv salt’s the user’ he told himself. "Better nat.” But Mrs.-

Hunter and her guests became wearisome to him after that* and presently he went back to town and to his business, in whioh he immersed himself. For a while Raby’s face floated before his eyes; but the image dimmed as months went by, and in time would probably have faded out altogether, nad it not boen recalled oddly and unexpectedly by the following oiromnstance. He was passing one day the shop of a taxidermist, an elderly man, with whom he had some slight acquaintance, when he heard his name called. “Did you want me, Mr. BalchP” putting his head in at the door. f‘l thought I heard your voice.” “ Oh, yes, Mr. Freke, 1 did want you very much, and I ventured to call and stop you,” replied Mr. Batch, hurrying out from an inner room. “ Excuse me; I just waited to put on my coat It’s about Mrs. Morpeth’s will, Mr. Freke.” “And who was Mrs. Morpeth?” asked Ernest, seating himself on a wooden bench. " Mrs. Morpeth, sir! Why, you must know, I think, or at least you will know her honse, the one with the queer steps, in Dunn street —the Raile4 House, as the neighbors call it” “Oh, that queer, handsome old house next to the junk shopP Ido remember. I have often wondered who lived there. And what did Mrs. Morpeth do about a willP” “Well, that’s just it, sir. I’m in a freat difficulty. Mrs. Morpeth left me er executor, sir, and I don’t know what to do about it. You see, sir, there’s a good bit of property—a very good bit She was clever, for a woman, very clever. And she bought up real estate here and there all over the city. And there’s the Railed House and what it holds; fifty thousand dollars, I should say it was worth, at the least; some folks think jtwill foot up sixty.” “That’s a nice sum, indeed. But what is your difficulty? Who are the heirs?” “ That’s just it, Mr. Freke—nobody can tell, sir. It is left to But I have a copy of the will here; I’ll show you.” The document, briefly drawn, but in strict legal form, devised all property of every description of which tne testator might die possessed “ to the child or children of my niece Esther Leßaron, eldest daughter of my sister Esther Platt. Ido not know their present name or residence.” That was all. Nothing could be more indefinite. " Have you done anything about finding these Platts. I mean Leßarons?” said Ernest, folding up the paper. “No, I haven’t. I don’t know how to begin about it. That was why I wanted to see you, Mr. Freke. Ought I to advertise?’’ “ I should think so, certainly. But are there no letters or papers in the house to give a clew?” “ 1 haven’t lit on any, sir. But then I haven’t searched regular. Could you spare time to step round there with me, Mr. Freke? I should be very grateful.” “I couldn’t to-day, but I might tomorrow.” So the appointment was made. The Railed Houstf had been a stately mansion in its day, with other stately mansions about it Now, with a junkshop on either side, and a row of sailors’ boarding-houses opposite, it looked like the wreck of a fine old frigate aground in the mud of some ignoble harbor. Inside, it held a mine of riches for jthe curiosity-lover. Nothing had been added and nothing taken away for a century past Claw-legged tables and chairs abounded, even in the kitchen; the Bedsteads bore aloft on their posts of carved mahogany heavy testers hung with oddly-patterned chintzes; carved presses, old silver candelabra, faded embroideries of a date long gone by, filled the rooms. Spidery looking-glasses, with gilt balls and eagles nodding atop, reflected this quaint interior. No papers were to be found, however, and as one receptacle after another was vainly searched, the little taxidermist grew disconsolate. “You would think the old lady burned up everything on purpose to make trouble,” he said; “wouldn’t you, now? What can a man do with all this confusion of Le Barons and Platts and Morpeths? They have all married and got different names long ago, most likely. Why, Mr. Freke, what is it? Wnat have you found, sir?” for his companion uttered a sudden exclamation.

There, on the shelves of a buffet which he had just opened, were ranged in splendid row platters and dishes and cups of magnificent India china, blue, crimson and gold, with on each the same little shield and monogram, in sharp, gleaming lines of color, which he had last seen in faded tints on the old plate in Mrs. Sabina Marsh’s cupboard months before. It was certainly the same; he recognized it instantly. But how came it here? And what was the link between this rich and lonely dead woman and Mrs. Marsh and pretty Raby in their quaint solitude and bare poverty P He made no distinct explanation to the puzzled executor, but advised him to defer advertising for a little; and the next day but one found him at the gate of the old house again. No bright girl face smiled a welcome this time; Raby had gone back to her school-teaching, and Aunt Sabina, grim as ever, received him. Her -distant and suspicious manner gradually thawed as she discerned the meaning of his questions. Mrs. Morpeth was her aunt, her mother’s sister. Her grandmother’s name was Platt, and her mother was the Barbara Holdsworthy Hagen of the china monogram. Yes, her mother; did marry a Le Baron. He was a Frenchman. He did not live very long after the marriage. Did he turn our badly? She could not say—it wasn’t for her to speak ill of her own father, but the family took offense, and never would have anything to do with , her mother afterward. No, she never saw her aunt, and she never wanted to. In her opinion, they treated her mother thamefully. Raby’s mother was older than she, two years older. She was dead now, and so was Mr. Glenn. Raby was the only child. Prove it? Why, of oourse she could; but why should sheP Everybody knew about the Marshes and the Glenns—everybody that had any business to, that was And pray why did the gentleman ask all these questions?—what ednoem was it of his,* anyway?” So Raby was the heiress. There wad a great deal of confusion, in Ernest Freke’s mind after this. He gave his best services- to proving Raby’s title, and putting her in possession of her great-aunt’s bequest, and for this end It was needful that thoy should meet; but these interviews wofe/)f a strictly business character. Ernest kept them so. "I won’t make up to a girl, now she is rich, whom I deliberately tnracd -away from- - when she was poor,” he said, to himsolf. Raby w;u» not a little aggrieved by this

turn of affairs. •* He won’t even let me thank him oomfortably,” she told her aunt “He just bows and goes away.” After a while she and Mrs. |i*nh came to the city, and then they met oftener. There were plenty of people to show attention to a young and beautiful heiress. Mrs. Hunter, among the rest, waa specially empressee in her civilities. Mr. Freke was always encountering Miss Glenn at dinners or at parties, and, after a while, he ceased to fight against the new and sweet inflnenoe which had oome into his life. He asked Raby to marry him, telling her the manfbl truth about himself, and leaving her to judge the matter. “ I don’t think yon were to blamemuch!” pronounoed Raby, lifting her soft eyes with a look which sent a thrill to all his tense nerves. " A man can’t always marry a girl even if he likes her. And yon hadn’t seen me but three times, you know. It was much more honorable in you to stop then than to go on a little longer and make me like you—more.” This “more” was irresistible. It caused an interruption. “ There’s one thing I would like so much to do,” resumed Raby, a little later. “ You’ll help me manage it, won’t you, Ernest? I want to send Mrs. Hunter one of those big plates, like that old cracked one which she wanted to buy. Do you think I might, and will you take it to her? It is a sort of debt, for if she hadn’t come curiosity-hunting that day, 1 might never have seen you, or heard of Aunt Morpeth or her will, or—” “ Bless the old plate, then!” interrupted Ernest Freke. “ Send Mrs. Hunter a new one, by all means;- but that old one we will have framed and hang up on our walls, and keep always, won’t we, Raby?” And they did.—harper’s Bazar.