Now they had a teapot. It had come, like everything else in that house, from their ancestors. It was not like their other china, blue, but golden—a coppery gold under an iridescent glaze that made it look like real gold at a little distance. And this teapot was not tall—and commonplace. It was low and long from handle to spout—and oval—with vertical fluting. And on each side was sculptured an imposing medallion within which was a blue rose. Always, when they sat at meat, this was between the two dear old ladies. And the one groped for it so perilously—in a certain affright—and the hand of the other trembled so when she poured from it, that I often interposed. Alas! it was more to preserve than to help; for you have perceived, no doubt, that I coveted the teapot. However, the old ladies were embarrassed by my help. They wanted to pour their tea for themselves, as their grandmother had done, out of this same pot. Nevertheless, they suffered my assistance with a grace which I remember even now for its gentleness. IV THE STORY AT LAST. ATTEND! Then, upon an idle day, searching one of the big stores in my city for a gift for them, I came upon the self-pouring teapot—not unmindful of the peril of the other one. I explained to the too polite clerk that I wanted something for my dear old ladies, and he assured me that I had discovered precisely the thing—that it had been invented with dear old ladies constantly in mind: the while he had been giving me the most deft “demonstration” I had ever beheld. Each act kept pace with some telling phrase. It was a huge, mechanical thing, of which, if one depressed a cylinder, the air was forced out of the spout, and ahead of it flowed the tea. The name of it was “Eureka.” I bought it and had the monograms of the dear old ladies graven unreadably on its triple-plated sides. On the day of its presentation I noticed a certain lack of joyousness in the gift. But I explained that to myself by the appalling shining impudence of the thing in the midst of their chaste colorlessness. I labored industriously to quench its brilliance by passing my hands over it at every opportunity. But the servant—alas! there was one now—invariably brought it to the table in a renewed state of polish which maddened me. However, I taught them how to “work” the machine, and they diligently learned; so that whenever I came it was religiously used, though with a retrogression of skill at which I marvelled until I learned from the maid that it was used _only_ when I was there, and in my absence was made immaculate, packed in its cotton wool, and put away in its gaudy box. Unhappily the blind one lifted the thing heavily to pour from it one day. I restrained her. She flushed a little and said: “I can’t and _can’t_ seem to get used to it. Seems as if I _must_ do it as grandmother did—which is ridiculous.”