"I'll tell you what I think. If I had a tea table to match the living-room furniture, and it sat beside the hearth, and on it a chafing dish to cook in, and the willow ware to eat from, we could have little tea parties in there, when we aren't very hungry or to treat a visitor. It would help make that room `homey,' and it's wonderful how they harmonize with the other things."
"How much willow ware have I got to `bestow' on you?" inquired the Harvester. "Suppose you show me all of it. A guilty feeling arises in my breast, and I fear me I have committed high crimes!"
"Oh Man! You didn't break or lose any of those dishes, did you?"
"Show me!" insisted the Harvester.
The Girl arose and going to the cupboard he had designed for her china she opened it, and set before him a teapot, cream pitcher, two plates, a bowl, a pitcher, the meat platter, and a sugar bowl. "If there were all of the cups, saucers, and plates, I know where they would bring five hundred dollars," she said.
"Ruth, are you getting even with me for poking fun at them, or are you in earnest?" asked the Harvester.
"I mean every word of it."
"You really want a small, black walnut table made especially for those old dishes?"
"Not if you are too busy. I could use it with beautiful effect and much pleasure, and I can't tell you how proud I'd be of them."
The Harvester's face flushed. "Excuse me," he said rising. "I have now finished furnishing a house; I will go and take a peep at the engine." He went into the kitchen and hearing the rattle of dishes the Girl followed.
She stepped in just in time to see him hastily slide something into his pocket. He picked up a half dozen old white plates and saucers and several cups and started toward the evaporator. He heard her coming.
"Look here, honey," he said turning, "you don't want to see the dry-house just now. I have terrific heat to do some rapid work. I won't be gone but a few minutes.
You better boss the decorator.
"I'm afraid that wasn't very diplomatic," he muttered.
"It savoured a little of being sent back. But if what she says is right, and she should know if they handle such stuff at that art store, she will feel considerably better not to see this."
He set his load at the door, drew an old blue saucer from his pocket and made a careful examination. He pulled some leaves from a bush and pushed a greasy cloth out of the saucer, wiped it the best he could, and held it to light.
"That is a crime!" he commented. "Saucer from your maternal ancestors' tea set used for a grease dish. I am afraid I'd better sink it in the lake. She'd feel worse to see it than never to know. Wish I could clean off the grease! I could do better if it was hot. I can set it on the engine."
The Harvester placed the saucer on the engine, entered the dry-house, and closed the door. In the stifling air he began pouring seed from beautiful, big willow plates to the old white ones.
"About the time I have ruined you," he said to a white plate, "some one will pop up and discover that the art of making you is lost and you are priceless, and I'll have been guilty of another blunder. Now there are the dishes mother got with baking powder. She thought they were grand. I know plenty well she prized them more than these blue ones or she wouldn't have saved them and used these for every day. There they set, all so carefully taken care of, and the Girl doesn't even look at them. Thank Heaven, there are the four remaining plates all right, anyway! Now I've got seed in some of the saucers; one is there; where on earth is the last one?
And where, oh unkind fates! are the cups?"
He found more saucers and set them with the plates.
As he passed the engine he noticed the saucer on it was bubbling grease, literally exuding it from the particles of clay.
"Hooray!" cried the Harvester. He took it up, but it was so hot he dropped it. With a deft sweep he caught it in air, and shoved it on a tray. Then he danced and blew on his burned hand. Snatching out his handkerchief he rubbed off all the grease, and imagined the saucer was brighter.
"If `a little is good, more is better,' " quoted the Harvester.
Wadding the handkerchief he returned the saucer to the engine. Then he slipped out, dripping perspiration, glanced toward the cabin, and ran into the work room.
The first object he saw was a willow cup half full of red paint, stuck and dried as if to remain forever. He took his knife and tried to whittle it off, but noticing that he was scratching the cup he filled it with turpentine, set it under a work bench, turned a tin pan over it, and covered it with shavings. A few steps farther brought one in sight, filled with carpet tacks. He searched everywhere, but could find no more, so he went to the laboratory.
Beside his wash bowl at the door stood the last willow saucer. He had used it for years as a soap dish.
He scraped the contents on the bench and filled the dish with water. Four cups held medicinal seeds and were in good condition. He lacked one, although he could not remember of ever having broken it. Gathering his collection, he returned to the dry-house to see how the saucer was coming on. Again it was bubbling, and he polished off the grease and set back the dish. It certainly was growing better. He carried his treasures into the work room, and went to the barn to feed. As he was leaving the stable he uttered a joyous exclamation and snatched from a window sill a willow cup, gummed and smeared with harness oil.
"The full set, by hokey!" marvelled the Harvester.
"Say, Betsy, the only name for this is luck! Now if I only can clean them, I'll be ready to make her tea table, whatever that is. My I hope she will stay away until I get these in better shape!"
