ried to
trace it, but have never succeeded. Stolen, I fear, by some dishonest
servant."

"I beg your pardon, Cousin Sophronia," said Margaret, blushing. "I have
the old Vanderdecken porringer, if it is the one with the cow on the
cover."

"_You!_" cried Miss Sophronia, opening her eyes to their fullest extent.

"Yes," Margaret replied. "There it is, on the sideboard. I have eaten
bread and milk out of it ever since I can remember, and I still use it
at breakfast."

Speechless for the moment, Miss Sophronia made an imperious sign to
Elizabeth, who brought her the beautiful old dish, not without a glance
of conscious pride at the wonderful blue polish on it. There was no
piece of plate in the house that took so perfect a polish as this.

Miss Sophronia turned it over and over. Her eyes were very green.
"Margaret Bleecker. On the occasion of her christening, from her
godmother," she read. "Yes, this is certainly the Vanderdecken
porringer. And may I ask how you came by it, my dear?"

"Certainly, Cousin Sophronia. Aunt Eliza Vanderdecken gave it to me at
my christening; she was my godmother, you see."

"A most extraordinary thing for Eliza Vanderdecken to do!" cried the
lady. "Eliza Vanderdecken knew, of course, that she was meant to have
but a life-interest in the personal property, as she never married. I
cannot understand Eliza's doing such a thing. I have longed all my life
for this porringer; I have associations with it, you see, lifelong
associations. I remember my Grandmother Vanderdecken distinctly; you
never saw her, of course, as she died years before you were born."

"Yes," said Margaret, gently, but not without intention. "And I, Cousin
Sophronia, associate it with Aunt Eliza, whom I remember distinctly, and
who was my godmother, and very kind to me. I value this porringer more
than almost any of my possessions. Thank you, Elizabeth; if you would
put it back, please. Will you have some more tea, Cousin Sophronia?"

"Let me give you another bit of chicken, Sophronia!" said Mr. Montfort,
heartily. "I think we have had enough about porringers, haven't we?
There are six or seven, I believe, in the strong closet. One of 'em was
Adam's, I've always been told. A little gravy, Sophronia? You're eating
nothing."

"I have no appetite!" said Miss Sophronia. "You know I only eat to
support life, John. A side-bone, then, if you insist, and a tiny bit of
the breast. William always says, 'You must live,' and I supp