Children -- Death -- Juvenile fiction; Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Farm life -- Juvenile fiction; Siblings -- Juvenile fiction
Elizabeth took the box, seeming from some cause or other
tongue-tied. She sat looking out through the open door at the
storm in a mixture of feelings, the uppermost of which was
vexation.
"I hope more than one end of this box may be trusted," she
presently roused herself to say. "I have no idea of giving
half trust to anything."
"Yet that is quite as much as it is safe to give to most
things," said Winthrop.
"Is it?"
"I am afraid so."
"I wouldn't give a pin for anything I couldn't trust
entirely," said Elizabeth.
"Which shews what a point of perfection the manufacture of
pins has reached since the days of Anne Boleyn," said
Winthrop.
"Of Anne Boleyn! -- What of them then?"
"Only that a statute was passed in that time, entitled, 'An
act for the true making of pins;' so I suppose they were then
articles of some importance. But the box may be trusted, Miss
Haye, for strength, if not for agreeableness. A quarter of
agreeableness with a remainder of strength, is a fair
proportion, as things go."
"Do you mean to compare life with this dirty box?" said
Elizabeth.
"They say an image should always elevate the subject," said
Winthrop smiling.
"What was the matter with the making of pins," said Elizabeth,
"that an act had to be made about it?"
"Why in those days," said Winthrop, "mechanics and
tradespeople were in the habit occasionally of playing false,
and it was necessary to look after them."
Elizabeth sat silently looking out again, wondering -- what she
had often wondered before -- where ever her companion had got
his cool self-possession; marvelling, with a little impatient
wonder, how it was that he would just as lief talk to her in a
blacksmith's shop in a thunder-storm, as in anybody's drawing-
room with a band playing and fifty people about. She was no
match for him, for she felt a little awkward. She, Miss Haye,
the heiress in her own right, who had lived in good company
ever since she had lived in company at all. Yet there he
stood, more easily, she felt, than she sat. She sat looking
straight out at the rain and thinking of it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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