Hilda had not been looking at the dish, though her eyes had been unconsciously fixed upon it, and she now bent forward to examine it.  It was an oblong platter, of old blue and white crockery.  In the middle (which was now visible, as the “creature” had just transferred the last potato to his own plate, stabbing it with his knife for that purpose) was a quaint representation of a mournful-looking couple, clad in singularly ill-fitting aprons of fig-leaves.  The man was digging with a spade, while the woman sat at a spinning-wheel placed dangerously near the edge of the deep ditch which her husband had already dug.  Round the edge ran an inscription, which, after some study, Hilda made out to be the old distich: 

     “When Adam delved, and Eve span,
      Where was then the gentleman?”

Hilda burst out laughing in spite of her self.

“Oh, it is wonderful!” she cried.  “Who ever heard of Eve with a spinning-wheel?  Where did this come from, Farmer Hartley?  I am sure it must have a history.”

“Wa-al,” said the farmer, smiling, “I d’no ez ‘t’ hes so to speak a hist’ry, an’ yit there’s allays somethin’ amoosin’ to me about that platter.  My father was a sea-farin’ man most o’ his life, an’ only came to the farm late in life, ‘count of his older brother dyin’, as owned it.  Well, he’d picked up a sight o’ queer things in his voyages, father had; he kep’ some of ’em stowed away in boxes, and brought ’em out from time to time, ez he happened to think of ’em.  Wa-al, we young uns growed up (four of us there was, all boys, and likely boys too, if I do say it), and my brother Simon, who was nex’ to me, he went to college.  He was a clever chap, Simon was, an’ nothin’ would do for him but he must be a gentleman.

“‘Jacob kin stick to the farm an’ the mill; if he likes,’ says he, ‘an’ Tom kin go to sea, an’ William kin be a minister,—­’t’s all he’s good fer, I reckon; but I’m goin’ ter be a gentleman!’ says Simon.  He said it in father’s hearin’ one day, an’ father lay back in his cheer an’ laughed; he was allays laughin’, father was.  An’ then he went off upstairs, an’ we heard him rummagin’ about among his boxes up in the loft-chamber.  We dassn’t none of us tech them boxes, we boys, though we warn’t afeard of nothin’ else in the world, only father.  Presently he comes down again, still a-laughin’, an’ kerryin’ that platter in his hand.  He sets it down afore Simon, an’ says he, ‘Wealthy,’ says he (that was my mother), ‘Wealthy,’ says he, ‘let Simon have his victuals off o’ this platter every day, d’ye hear?  The’ ain’t none other that’s good enough for him!’ an’ then he laughed again, till he fairly shook, an’ Simon looked black as thunder, an’ took his hat an’ went out.  An’ so after Simon went to college, every time he come home for vacation and set down to table with his nose kind o’ turned up, like he was too good to set with his own kith and kin, father ’ud go an git the old blue platter and set it afore him, an’ say, ’Here’s your dish, Simon; been diggin’ any lately, my son?’ and then lay back in his cheer and laugh.”