She made a swift, crude sketch of the well-known Stiegel pitcher shape.
"My goodness, you drawed one just like it! It looked like that."
"Then, Aunt Rebecca, you gave that man a bargain. That was a real
Stiegel pitcher and worth much more than a dollar!"
"My goodness, what did I do now! You mean it was worth _more_ than
that?" The woman was incredulous.
"You might have gotten five, perhaps ten, dollars for it in the city.
You know Stiegel glass was some of the first to be made in this
country, made in Manheim, Pennsylvania, way back in 1760, or some such
early date as that. It was crude as to shape, almost all the pieces are
a little crooked, but it was wonderfully made in some ways, for it has
a ring like a bell, and the loveliest fluting, and some of it is in
beautiful blue, green and amethyst. Stiegel glass is rare and valuable
so if you have any more hold on to it and I'll buy it from you."
"Well, I guess! I wouldn't leave you pay five dollars for a glass
pitcher! But I wish I had that one back. It spites me now I sold it. My
goodness, abody can't watch out enough so you won't get cheated. Where
did you learn so much about that old glass?"
"Oh, I read about it in a _book_ last year," came the ready
answer.
Aunt Rebecca looked at the girl, but Amanda's face bore so innocent an
expression that the woman could not think her guilty of emphasizing the
word purposely.
"So," the visitor said, "they did put something worth in a book once!
Well, I guess it's time you learn something that'll help you save
money. All the books you got to read! And Philip's still goin' to
school, too. Why don't he help Amos on the farm instead of runnin' to
Lancaster to school?"
"He wants to be a lawyer," said Mrs. Reist. "I think still that as long
as he has a good head for learnin' and wants to go to school I should
leave him go till he's satisfied. I think his pop would say so if he
was livin'. Not everybody takes to farmin' and it is awful hard work.
Amos works that hard."
"Poof," said Aunt Rebecca, "I ain't heard tell yet of any man workin'
himself to death! It wouldn't hurt Philip to be a farmer. The trouble
is it don't sound tony enough for the young ones these days. Lawyer--
what does he want to be a lawyer for? I heard a'ready that they are all
liars. You're by far too easy!"
"Oh, Aunt Rebecca," said Amanda, "not all lawyers are liars. Abraham
Lincoln was a lawyer."
"Ach, I guess he was no different from others, only he's dead so abody
shouldn't talk about him."