She was very happy; but her happiness was faintly threaded with
the sorrow inseparable from all change.
Presently her mother came in, carrying a small basket.
"Here is something for you, Rachel. One of the boys from the
harbor brought it up. He was bound to give it into your own
hands--said that was his orders. I just took it and sent him to
the right-about--told him I'd give it to you at once, and that
that was all that was necessary."
She spoke coldly. She knew quite well who had sent the basket,
and she resented it; but her resentment was not quite strong
enough to overcome her curiosity. She stood silently by while
Rachel unpacked the basket.
Rachel's hands trembled as she took off the cover. Two huge
pink-spotted shells came first. How well she remembered them!
Beneath them, carefully wrapped up in a square of foreign-looking,
strangely scented silk, was the dragon teapot. She held it in her
hands and gazed at it with tears gathering thickly in her eyes.
"Your father sent that," said Isabella Spencer with an odd sound
in her voice. "I remember it well. It was among the things I
packed up and sent after him. His father had brought it home
from China fifty years ago, and he prized it beyond anything.
They used to say it was worth a lot of money."
"Mother, please leave me alone for a little while," said Rachel,
imploringly. She had caught sight of a little note at the bottom
of the basket, and she felt that she could not read it under her
mother's eyes.
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