“That must indeed be rather inconvenient for you,” Lady Bromley observed, as she regarded the quaint old foot-rest critically. “It is queer how tenacious of heirlooms some people are,” she added reflectively; “I know of some attics and storerooms that are full of just such things, and they are of no use to any one; but, having been purchased and prized by some remote ancestor, they are regarded as sacred, and it would be thought desecration to either dispose of or destroy them. But, Gerald, this cricket is made of solid mahogany! If it was repolished, the brass claw feet nicely cleaned and laquered, and the top handsomely upholstered, it would really be a very pretty thing.”
Gerald laughed.
“That involves a good deal of reconstruction, and I am afraid I do not care enough for it to take all that trouble, especially as I never use anything of the kind,” he smilingly responded, and then they drifted to some other subject. A few days later, when he returned at his usual hour for dinner, his friend lifted a doubtful face to him.
“Gerald,” she said plaintively. “I have ruined your cricket! Look!” she continued, removing her feet from it, when he saw that the bright, intricate patchwork, which had been the work of Miss Winchester’s patient fingers, was all discolored.
“I was trying, this afternoon, to remove some spots of iron-rust from a couple of nice handkerchiefs, and I did not like to trust the work to any one else,” her ladyship continued. “Suddenly the bottle of acid slipped from my hands, the contents were spilled upon the cricket, and the color all taken out of the cover, as you see.”
“Never mind; pray do not give it another thought,” replied the young man indifferently, “that patchwork was years and years old—it has served its day and generation.”
“May I fix it over for you?” questioned his companion. “I will have it done nicely, and then it will make a pretty ornament for my room as long as we remain here.”
“Certainly; do with it as you like,” heartily replied Gerald. “I would like to give it to you, since it seems to interest you so much, but I’m afraid Aunt Honor’s ghost would haunt me for being so unmindful of her wishes.”
“Oh, I do not want you to give it to me; but I would like to make it a more presentable piece of furniture,” said her ladyship, and there the matter rested.
But the next day, when she was alone, she looked it over carefully, to consider just how she would repair it. Taking her scissors, she cut away a portion of the patchwork covering, and then laughed out amusedly as another, faded and worn, was revealed to her.