"After all, does it matter?" said a Dutch jar of Haarlem. "All the
shamming in the world will not MAKE them us!"

"One does not like to be vulgarized," said the Lady of Meissen,
angrily.

"My maker, the Krabbetje,[Footnote: Jan Asselyn. called Krabbetje,
the Little Crab, born 1610, master-potter of Delft and Haarlem]
did not trouble his head about that," said the Haarlem jar,
proudly. "The Krabbetje made me for the kitchen, the bright,
clean, snow-white Dutch kitchen, well-nigh three centuries ago,
and now I am thought worthy the palace; yet I wish I were at home;
yes, I wish I could see the good Dutch vrouw, and the shining
canals, and the great green meadows dotted with the kine."

"Ah! if we could all go back to our makers!" sighed the Gubbio
plate, thinking of Giorgio Andreoli and the glad and gracious days
of the Renaissance: and somehow the words touched the frolicsome
souls of the dancing jars, the spinning teapots, the chairs that
were playing cards; and the violin stopped its merry music with a
sob, and the spinnet sighed, thinking of dead hands.

Even the little Saxe poodle howled for a master forever lost; and
only the swords went on quarreling, and made such a clattering
noise that the Japanese bonze rode at them on his monster and
knocked them both right over, and they lay straight and still,
looking foolish, and the little Nymphenburg maid, though she was
crying, smiled and almost laughed.