As she spoke, the woman carried armfuls of dishes out to the table in the middle of the room. Some was worthless trash, but there were several pieces of rare Staffordshire, and some fine bits of old lustre-ware. In the last armful she carried to the table, were some valuable Wedgwood jugs and bowls.
“Us got an old pink set, in the front room, but us don’ use it now that us got a fine new chiny set,” said the woman, turning to go for a sample of the pink ware.
“You pick out what you want here, and I’ll go and see if the pink is genuine pink Staffordshire,” whispered Mr. Ashby.
So Mr. Fabian soon set aside all the real good pieces on the table, and in so doing noticed the table itself.
“Why!” gasped he to Polly, “I verily believe this is the real Hepplewhite!”
Instantly he began a close examination of it, and smiled as he examined. “With careful restoring you would have as fine a Hepplewhite as any in America,” he said to Polly.
“Oh, then do let us take it!” exclaimed Polly, eagerly.
The table started them examining other broken down, or criminally painted, objects of furniture in the shed, and when Mr. Ashby returned, carrying a plate of pink Staffordshire, those who had remained behind in the shed were greatly elated over something.
“Oh, Mr. Ashby! just see what we found!” cried Polly.
“While you were away I discovered a Hepplewhite table, Ashby,” explained Mr. Fabian. “And Polly got the girls to help remove all the paint-pots and trash from this bureau to make sure it was what she thought. Look!”