The thing that Derry Drake had on his mind the next morning was a
tea-cup. There were other things on his mind--things so heavy that he
turned with relief to the contemplation of cups.

Stuck all over the great house were cabinets of china--his father had
collected and his mother had prized. Derry, himself, had not cared for
any of it until this morning, but when Bronson, the old man who served
him and had served his father for years, came in with his breakfast,
Derry showed him a broken bit which he had brought home with him two
nights before. "Have we a cup like this anywhere in the house,
Bronson?"

"There's a lot of them, sir, in the blue room, in the wall cupboard."

"I thought so, let me have one of them. If Dad ever asks for it, send
him to me. He broke the other, so it's a fair exchange."

He had it carefully wrapped and carried it downtown with him. The
morning was clear, and the sun sparkled on the snow. As he passed
through Dupont Circle he found that a few children and their nurses had
braved the cold. One small boy in a red coat ran to Derry.

"Where are you going, Cousin Derry?"

"Down town."

"To-day is Margaret-Mary's birf-day. I am going to give her a
wabbit--."

"Rabbit, Buster. You'd better say it quick. Nurse is on the way."