better and more religious, especially if He granted this prayer.
She bent her head lower, and breathed:
"Oh, God, please let Granny's tea-set not be broken. I fell on the road in Brancepeth with it this morning and I've been afraid to look at it all day. Please, God, it rattled terrible, but even if it was broken, I know Thou canst mend it in a twinkling if only Thou will'st. I know it's only a tea-set but Gran set great store by it, and it's all I have of her, and please, God, it's apple-green and it's in the covered basket behind the door—please don't leave it broke. Amen."
She was breathless. She did not rise from her knees at once. She would give God time.
When, at last, she took the basket up and set it on the trunk she could hardly find courage to open it. Cautiously she removed the canvas cover, and examined the cups, each wrapped separately, one by one. Green and smooth, and glowing like jewels, she set them out. Twelve of them without a chip, except, of course, the old, old chips that scarcely showed and did not count at all. The sugar bowl, fat and round, like a crinolined old lady with her hands on her hips. The milk jug with its generous curling lip. But dare she look at the tea-pot, most precious of all? She had seen Granny drain the last drop from its curly spout, her head in its frilled cap thrown back, both hands clasping the pot. Cautiously she undid it from its wrapper. Not a chip!
Safe. Darling old tea-pot. Darling tea-pot. Darling, darling God.
Oh, but she was grateful to Him! Her whole body quivered with love and gratitude. She could not bear to part with the pot tonight. She would lay it on the other pillow, next the wall where it could not roll off. It would
