t. She was conscious of a feeling
which she could not name: Billy was not used to being called "these
people" in precisely that tone of voice. William Henshaw, too, raised
his chin. He, also, was not in the habit of being referred to as "these
people."

"My name is Henshaw, Miss--Greggory, I presume," he said quietly. "I was
sent here by Mr. Harlow."

"About the teapot, my dear, you know," stammered Mrs. Greggory,
wetting her lips with an air of hurried apology and conciliation. "This
gentleman says he will be glad to buy it. Er--my daughter, Alice, Mr.
Henshaw," she hastened on, in embarrassed introduction; "and Miss--"

"Neilson," supplied the man, as she looked at Billy, and hesitated.

A swift red stained Alice Greggory's face. With barely an acknowledgment
of the introductions she turned to her mother.

"Yes, dear, but that won't be necessary now. As I started to tell you
when I came in, I have two new pupils; and so"--turning to the man again
"I thank you for your offer, but we have decided not to sell the teapot
at present." As she finished her sentence she stepped one side as if to
make room for the strangers to reach the door.

William Henshaw frowned angrily--that was the man; but his eyes--the
collector's eyes--sought the teapot longingly. Before either the man or
the collector could speak, however; Mrs. Greggory interposed quick words
of remonstrance.

"But, Alice, my dear," she almost sobbed. "You didn't wait to let me
tell you. Mr. Henshaw says it is worth a hundred dollars to him. He will
give us--a hundred dollars."

"A hundred dollars!" echoed the girl, faintly.

It was plain to be seen that she was wavering. Billy, watching the
little scene, with mingled emotions, saw the glance with which the girl
swept the bare little room; and she knew that there was not a patch or
darn or poverty spot in sight, or out of sight, which that glance did
not encompass.

Billy was wondering which she herself desired more--that Uncle William
should buy the Lowestoft, or that he should not. She knew she wished
Mrs. Greggory to have the hundred dollars. There was no doubt on
that point. Then Uncle William spoke. His words carried the righteous
indignation of the man who thinks he has been unjustly treated, and the
final plea of the collector who sees a coveted treasure slipping from
his grasp.

"I am very sorry, of course, if my offer has annoyed you," he said
stiffly. "I certainly should not have made it had