Clarice showed the basket and the gold chain. Her mother handled both with wondering admiration, asking many a question. At last she threw the chain around her neck.
"It's gold," said she. "It's worth much. If you could pick up the like of that every day, you might let the old weed-basket drift."
"I had rather gather weeds till my back was broken doing it, than ever find another," said Clarice.
The dame took this for a child's exaggeration; observing which, Clarice said, sadly,—
"Why, don't you see how it came to shore? There's been a wreck in the storm last week. Oh, may-be I've found all that will tell of it!"
"What's that in your hand?" asked the dame, who spied the ring.
Clarice half opened her palm; she did not like to let the ring pass from her keeping, and all this while she had stood doubting whether or not she should show it to her mother.
Dame Briton took it quickly. The dull glitter of greedy eyes fell on the mild lustre of the pearl, but found no reflection.
"A ring!" said she, and she tried to fit it to her little finger. It would not pass the first rough joint.
"Try it," said she to Clarice.