In the olden time a rich and fanciful Mason had visited the colonies with one of the expeditions sent out by the Virginia Company of London.  He was an artist of no mean repute, and during his stay in the new world had made sketches of the strange beautiful scenery, and studies from the wild picturesque life which captivated his imagination.

After his return to England, he perfected these drawings from memory, and some years later crossed over to France, and had them transferred to china at fabulous cost.  The result was very beautiful, for each piece showed small but exquisite portrayals of life and scenery in the new world.  The scenes were varied, and depicted in soft, glowing colors, and with a finish that made each a gem.

On one cup a hunter followed the chase through the silent forest; another showed a dusky maiden dreaming beside a waterfall; a third, a group of deer resting in a sunny valley; a fourth, a circle of braves around a council fire.

When, in after years, the grandson of the artist had married a bride with Indian blood in her veins, the punch-bowl had been added as a special compliment to the lady, and the china had been sent a wedding gift from the Masons of England, to the Masons of Virginia.  The bowl was very graceful, and contained on one side a lovely representation of the landing at Jamestown, with the tranquil, smiling river, the vessel in the offing, and the group of friendly red men on the shore; on the other was, of course, depicted the rescue of Captain John Smith by the Indian girl.  The bowl was finished at top and bottom with wreaths of Virginia creepers, forest leaves and blossoms.

To bring out this precious heirloom in honor of a guest was making him of consequence indeed.

Jim knew all about it, and when he caught sight of the pretty tea-table he understood the girl’s intention and shot a quick, grateful glance across to her from his brown eyes.  A whimsical memory of a superb breakfast he had once seen served to a man about to be hanged obtruded itself, but he banished it loyally.  As betook the cup with the dreaming maiden on it from Mrs. Mason’s hand, he said gratefully: 

“How good of you to have out the beautiful old china in my honor.  When I was a boy, I always imagined that coffee from these cups tasted different—­had a woodsy, adventurous flavor.  I think so still.”

It was a merry meal, despite the shadow in the background, for the gentlemen taking their cue from Pocahontas vied with each other in talking nonsense, and depicting ridiculous phases of camp life in the tropics with Jim always for the hero of the scene.  And Jim, shaking off the dismal emotions peculiar to farewell visits, responded gallantly, defending himself from each sportive attack, and illumining his exile with such rays of promise as occurred to him.  He knew these old friends were sorry to lose him, and trying to lessen the wrench of parting; and being a quiet, self-controlled man—­more given to action than speech, and with a deep abhorrence of scenes, he appreciated their efforts.