left her chair more hurriedly than usual.
Tom meant to be at home that evening, and was all ready to speak of
his plan for some Southern shooting, and he felt a sudden sense of
disappointment.

"Don't go away," he said, looking up as she passed. "Is this a bad
cigar?"

"No, no, my dear," said the old lady, hurrying across the room in an
excited, unusual sort of way. "I wish to show you something while we
are by ourselves." And she stooped to unlock a little cupboard in the
great sideboard, and fumbled in the depths there, upsetting and
clanking among some pieces of silver. Tom joined her with a pair of
candles, but it was some moments before she could find what she
wanted. Mrs. Burton appeared to be in a hurry, which almost never
happened, and in trying to help her Tom dropped much wax unheeded at
her side.

"Here it is at last," she said, and went back to her seat at the
table. "I ought to tell you the stories of some old silver that I keep
in that cupboard; if I were to die, nobody would know anything about
them."

"Do you mean the old French spoons, and the prince's porringer, and
those things?" asked Tom, showing the most lively interest. But his
grandmother was busy unfastening the strings of a little bag, and
shook her head absently in answer to his question. She took out and
handed to him a quaint old silver cup with two handles, that he could
not remember ever to have seen.

"What a charming old bit!" said he, turning it about. "Where in the
world did it come from? English, of course; and it looks like a
loving-cup. A copy of some old Oxford thing, perhaps; only they didn't
copy much then. I should think it had been made for a child." Tom
turned it round and round and drew the candles toward him. "Here's an
inscription, too, but very much worn."

"Put it down a minute," said Mrs. Burton impatiently. "Every time I
have thought of it I have been more and more ashamed to have it in the
house. People weren't so shocked by such things at first; they would
only be sentimental about the ruined homes, and say that, 'after all,
it was the fortune of war.' That cup was stolen."

"But who stole it?" inquired Tom, with deep interest.

"Your father brought it here," said Mrs. Burton, with great spirit,
and even a tone of reproach. "My son, Tom Burton, your father, brought
it home from the war. I think his plan was to keep it safe to send
back to the owners. But he left it with your mother when he was
ordered sudd