I had sometimes caught a glimpse of the small scullery-maid at
my boarding-house; but one day, slipping to the kitchen for a
cup of hot water, I had a queer bit of a chat with her. She was
scouring granite pots with a vim and vigor which were bound to
bring results, and all the while her face was as shining as her
finished work.
“Do you like them, Alice?” I asked.
“No, I hate them,” she replied emphatically.
“What makes you smile so over them, then?” I asked, curiously.
“Because they’re ‘character pots,’” the child replied at once.
“What?” I inquired, thinking I had misunderstood.
“‘Character pots,’ miss. You see, I used to only half clean
them. I often cried over them, but Miss Mary told me as how, if
I made them real shiny, they’d help to build my character. And
ever since then I’ve tried hard, miss; and, oh, it’s been so
much easier since I’ve known they were ‘character pots.’”
I said a word or two of encouragement, and went on my way,
knowing that I had been rubbing up against a real heroine.
Everyday life is brimful of disagreeable duties. Why not turn
them every one into “character pots?”--_East and West._
(344)