The Dear Little Teapot

		I

There once was a Dear Little Teapot who was very much loved by her
mistress.  The mistress was a young lady who studied art at a small
college in town.  The teapot knew she was loved because her mistress
told her so.  Each evening, the teapot brewed the young lady's
camomille tea, filling the tiny kitchen with a pungent, reassuring
aroma.  And when the tea was poured, the young lady would savour it,
sipping tentatively at first, then drinking fully.  As she did so, the
Dear Little Teapot could see the tension drain from her face.  Her
mistress would close her eyes and sigh.  Then she would look over at
the teapot, smile, pat its round, pink ceramic side, and say, "You're a
dear little teapot."

And there were morning teas, too, which were more hurried affairs, but
still deeply satisfying.  The Dear Little Teapot delighted in the way
her mistress came alive after the first cup.  And there were more
formal teas as well when guests would arrive and the Dear Little Teapot
would be in the center of a circle of bright, chattering friends the
young lady had invited to her room.  On one of these occasions, a
handsome young man had remarked on what a fine cup of tea he had just
been served.

"Thank you," the young lady said.

"You certainly know how to serve a fine tea," said the young man.

"Oh, it's nothing," said the young lady.  "It's all in the teapot.
I love my dear little teapot."

The young man was charmed and smiled dazzlingly.  The Dear Little
Teapot was so proud she could have brewed Darjeeling out of thin air.

But it was the last cup of camomille in the evening that she liked to
brew best.  It was just the two of them then, her young mistress and
she.  And even if, as it sometimes happened in the mornings, her
mistress forgot to rinse her out in her rush to get to her classes, she
never forgot to rinse the teapot thoroughly in the evening.  She would
run warm water through the teapot, rub and pat it dry with a soft,
clean towel, and put it in a special cupboard near the stove for the
night.

The Dear Little Teapot would fall asleep there, happy and peaceful.
She was by herself in the cupboard--that is, there were no other dishes
there, just the sugar sack and boxes of aromatic teas.  The cups and
saucers, plates and bowls slept across the tiny kitchen in another
cupboard, but there were very few of them at any rate.  A student
artist does not have much to spend on service and crockery.  But if the
Dear Little Teapot was at all lonely in her special cupboard, she was
altogether unaware of it, for every day she knew she bought
satisfaction, encouragement, and comfort to her mistress.

Then, one day, the cupboard was not opened.  The Dear Little Teapot
could hear noises and strange voices through the door, but could see
nothing.  Then suddenly the door flung open and a Huge Man with a huge
hand reached inside.  The teapot was terrified.  But thank goodness the
huge hand passed her by and scooped up the tea boxes and sugar instead.  
Then the cupboard door banged shut and all was darkness again.

The Dear Little Teapot didn't know what to make of this.  She sat for
hours in the dark, too terrified to think.  When, toward evening, her
wits began to return to her, all she scould think of was brewing the
evening tea.  Shouldn't she be out of the cupboard by now?  Shouldn't
the kettle be whisting?  And where was her mistress?  Shouldn't she be
wandering distractedly around the tiny room until all was ready?  And
the tea!  The tea was gone!  How could the Dear Little Teapot brew tea
when the Huge Man had taken it all?  Maybe she would just sit there on
the table filled with boiling hot water.  Would that be enough?  Would
her mistress be content?  Would she smile?

The Dear Little Teapot was dismayed at the thought of just sitting
there, full of hot water and no tea, but when she thought that maybe
her mistress might not use her at all, she fell into a complete panic.
When at last the cupboard door opened, she almost cheered with relief.

But it was not her mistress who opened the door.  It was some strange,
Gruff Woman, older, rounder, and with a nasty crease between her eyes.
The eyes themselves searched the cupboard like a scouring pad, barely
looking at the teapot.  "Well," the Gruff Woman said, looking
dissatisfied, "at least it's clean."

Then she reached inside and pulled out the teapot.

"Hmph," she said.  "What am I supposed to do with this?"  She gazed
critically at the pink ceramic for several seconds.  The Dear Little
Teapot was mortified.  "Well," the woman said at last, "if she'd wanted
it she'd've taken it with her."  And with that she shoved the teapot
into a paper sack.

The Dear Little Teapot almost lost her lid.  She was being joustled to
and fro.  Then, just as suddenly, she was thrust back into the light
and placed on a shelf with several other objects.  The Dear Little
Teapot was thoroughly confused.  She knew she hadn't gone outside--only
out of the kitchen and down some stairs--yet this was not her
mistress's house.  The Gruff Woman put her on the shelf--not caring
that her lid was askew--then turned on her heel and left the room,
turning out the lights with a sharp slap at the wall switch.  The Dear
Little Teacup barely got a glance at her neighbors before the lights
went out: there was a tall, dark blue beer stein with a strange green
top, a somewhat tarnished brass handbell, and a hand-painted demitasse
cup and saucer.

It was from them that she learned the awful truth.


		II

When the room had grown quiet and she was quite certain the Gruff Woman
would not return, the Dear Little Teapot ventured to ask her neighbors
what was going on.  She turned first to the beer stein who, with his
deep blue glaze, seemed the most authoritative and protective of the
lot.

"Pardon me," she said quietly but clearly, "but what has happened?  Why
am I here?"

She waited for a reply, but none came.  Ordinarily, the Dear Little
Teapot would probably not have bothered the stein again since she was
so unaccustomed to having other objects nearby.  But she was sincerely
upset and desperate to know where her mistress had gone.

"Excuse me again," she began, "but what is going on?  Where is this
place?"

"You won't get a word out of him," came a voice on the other side of
her.  "Don't even try."

It was the demitasse cup.

"Oh," said the teapot.  "Then maybe you can help.  What has become of
my mistress?  Why am I here?"

"Why am I here!  Why am I here!" sang the bell.  "Why!  Why!"

"Oh, hush!" the cup said sharply.

The Dear Little Teapot was startled by their voices.  The bell clanged
so loudly she was sure the Gruff Woman would hear, and the demitasse
cup spoke just like a person herself.

When the teapot recovered her nerve, she asked again, "Can you help?
Can you tell me what's become of my mistress?  Where has she gone?"

"How should I know where she's gone?" said the cup.  "She's gone.
That's all there is to it."

"But what about me?" asked the teapot.

"Well, what about you?"

"Why am I here?"

"Isn't it obvious?"  said the cup.  "You've been left."

The Dear Little Teapot was shocked.  "Oh, no.  My mistress would never
leave me."

"Oh, really?" said the demitasse scornfully.  "Then why are you here?
Why are all of us here?  Of course, personally, I think we're much
better off.  It's much more dignified."

"Dignified!  Dignified!" rang the bell.

The demitasse gave it a look of disgust.  "Dignified for some, that
is," she said.

"I don't understand," said the teapot.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I much prefer being on display.  Of
course, I can't speak for the saucer," she said with a slight nod
downward, "but frankly, I was getting tired of being used.  The
Demitasse are meant to be objects d'art," she said and lifted her head
proudly.

"We're not objects d'art," said the saucer beneath her.  "We're
knick-knacks."  The cup glowered down at him but didn't reply.  The
saucer didn't say another word.

"But what will happen to me?" asked the Dear Little Teapot.

"You'll probably end up like him," sniffed the cup disdainfully.

"Like whom?" the teapot asked carefully.

"Him!  Him!" the brass bell clanged. "You'll end up like him!"

Of course, the handbell couldn't be more specific, but there was
certainly something alarming in his voice.

"Like Stein," said the cup.  "Take a look.  Take a good look."  Her
voice was not pleasant.

The Dear Little Teapot did take a good look, and this time she paid
attention to the odd green top of the proud blue porceline.  It was
highly irrecular and twisted, like a knot of leaves and vines.  Then,
to her horror, she realized what it was.  She gasped.

"Yes," intoned the demitasse, "a planter.  Mouth stuffed full of dirt
and weeds growing out of it.  You'll probably end up like him."

"Him!  Him!  Him!" the handbell clanged.

The Dear Little Teapot felt cold all over.  Neither she nor the other
knick-knacks said another word all night.


	III

The next day came and went without the Gruff Woman even appearing in
the room.  The knick-knacks were utterly ignored.  They weren't even
dusted.  The second day seemed about to end up the same, but late in
the afternoon the Gruff Woman came in, marched straight to the shelf,
took the brass bell by the handle and rung it briskly.  Then she put it
back on the shelf and put herself in a large chair.  She did this all
without ever changing expression.

Within a few minutes, a second woman came in pushing a small cart which
carried a pot of coffee, one cup and saucer, and a small creamer.  The
second woman left the cart next to the chair and left without saying
a word.

The Gruff Woman picked up a book lying on a table next to the chair and
began to read.  The Dear Little Teapot was puzzled.  Clearly, the woman
had called for the coffee, but she seemed to be deliberately ignoring
it.

"Hey, Teapot," someone said.  The teapot was so startled she almost
spoke.

"Hey," the voice said again.  She looked and saw that it was the
coffeepot.

"Watch this," said the coffeepot.

Soon, a small whisp of vapor emerged from the spout and curled its way
toward the Gruff Woman.  When it reached her nose (or so the teapot
guessed, for the woman had her back to her in the chair), the woman's
left hand reached out and took the coffepot by the handle.  The woman's
hand poured a full cup, picked it up and brought it to the woman's
lips.  The Dear Little Teapot could hear the woman take the first sip
and thought she heard a tiny sigh.  All this was accomplished without
the Guff Woman's eyes ever leaving her book--or for that matter, her
giving any sign at all that she knew what she was doing.

"Works every time," said the coffeepot smugly.

"But . . ." began the Dear Little Teapot, then caught herself.  She'd
almost spoken in front of a person!  The coffeepot, on the other hand,
chattered carelessly on.

"How do I do it?" he said.  "Easy." He chuckled.  "They're all the
same."

"Who's all the same?" asked the Dear Little Teapot, unable to contain
herself.

"Drinkers!"  the coffeepot exclaimed.  "Make 'em want you, and they're
yours!"

"But," the teapot dropped her voice, "can't they hear us?"

"Do you think they want to?" asked the coffeepot.

"But I've never spoken in front of a person before," said the Dear
Little Teapot.  "I . . . I didn't think I could."

"Oh, talking isn't such a problem," said the coffeepot.  "But getting
people to listen, now that's a trick."

"It's a trick!  It's a trick!" rang the bell.  There was sudden silence
in the room and the Gruff Woman turned her head, scowling.  She looked
right and looked left, pursed her lips, then turned back to her book and
coffee.

"Well," said the demitasse cup, "there you have it.  People don't listen
because common objects never have anything to say."

"Maybe you don't have anything to say," said the coffeepot, "but I could
tell you things that would make your glaze crack."

"Hah!" said the cup, "What could a coffeepot possibly know?  Unless it
was how to leave a stain."

"Stain?" said the pot, growing indignant.  "What do you know about
stain?  Up there on your shelf, useless and unemployed.  When was the
last time someone enjoyed a hot cup of coffee from your brims?"

"We are demitasse," huffed the cup.  "We are meant to be admired,
not 'used.'"

"Some of us are," mumbled the saucer beneath her.

The Gruff Woman got out of her chair and left the room, but everyone
was so involved in the conversation that only the Dear Little Teapot
noticed.

"Look," the coffeepot was saying to the cup, "I don't want to spoil
your little niche in life, but it isn't all it's cracked up to be.
There's more than this room or that tiny little shelf.  There's a whole
wide world out there."

"And what if there is?" replied the cup.  "Is there any more happiness
or satisfaction?  Just because it's big doesn't mean it's good."

"But the opportunities!"

"The risks."

"How do you know if you stay cooped up in here all the time?"

The demitasse turned to the Dear Little Teapot.  "We've had this
conversation before.  He's always trying to get me to ride that damned
cart of his."  She turned to the coffeepot.  "I know my place and I'm
quite happy in it."

"Well, maybe so.  But not everyone would be.  Some people want to bust
out, go places, do things."

"Get out!" the bell rang.  "Get out!  Get out!  Bust things!"

"Will you hush?" the cup said harshly to the bell.  "Now look at what
you've done," she said to the coffeepot, "you've got him all excited."

"Can you really go outside?" asked the Dear Little Teapot.

"Do it all the time," said the coffeepot.  "Whenever the Missus trots
over to the neighbor's for tea on the lawn."

"Tea?" said the teapot, feeling a sudden lift in her heart.

"Of course, she only drinks coffee.  That's why I go along.  But the
neighbor lady . . . "

"Could you take me with you?"  The Dear Little Teapot shocked even
herself by asking.

"Good heavens!" gasped the demitasse cup.  "What on earth are you
thinking?"

"Why, uh, sure," the coffeepot stammered, "I'm sure I could, uh, that
is . . ."

"You'll do nothing of the kind!" said the demitasse.

"Don't go telling me what I can and can't do," said the coffeepot.  "I
won't be boxed in by your narrow view of life."

"But you can't take this little teapot . . ."

"Excuse me," said the Dear Little Teapot.  "I really hate to interrupt,
but it is me we're talking about."

"My dear," said the demistasse cup, sounding for the first time sincerely
concerned, "you don't know what you're asking."

"No, I don't," said the Dear Little Teapot, "but what are my choices?"
And she nodded in the direction of the silent blue beer stein.

The demitasse cup took a deep breath, but then only closed her eyes and
sighed, shaking her head.

The teapot turned to the coffeepot.  "Can you do it?" she asked.  "Can 
you take me with you?"

"Yes," said the coffeepot.  He looked at her in admiration, nodding 
slightly.  "I can do it."

"Good.  The very next time, then.  Take me with you.  Take me out."

The Dear Little Teapot might have regretted her decision if she had had
time to consider it carefully.  But there was no time, for, true to his
word, the coffeepot arranged for his "Missus" to have tea with her
neighbor, and to take the teapot with her.

And there was no time for regrets, for they went the very next day.


		IV

"I'm so glad you agreed to a little tea-time," said the Neighbor Lady.
"I would so hate for there to be any hard feelings between us."

"No need for that," said the Gruff Woman.  "She left of her own free
will."

The Dear Little Teapot was barely listening.  She was dazzled by the
out-of-doors, the sunlight, the towering clouds in the sky, and the
smells.  So many smells!  On their way across the lawn on the
coffeepot's cart, a familiar aroma had nearly tipped her over with
its pungent strength.

"Oh!  What is that?" she exclaimed.  "I know it, but I can't name it."

"That's jasmine," said the coffeepot.  "It's in bloom on the trellis
over there by the cottage."

"Of course!  Jasmine."  The Dear Little Teapot marveled at the
blossoms.  "I've brewed jasmine tea, but this--this is so strong.  And
the flowers are so small!"  She saw flecks of color darting in and out
of the blooms and hovering near them.  "What are those?"

"Bees," said the coffeepot. 

"Ah.  And bees make honey, don't they?"

"Well," said the coffeepot, "I don't know about honey."  He smiled down
at her.  "But I bet you do."

Indeed she did.  Honey as aromatic and variable as the tea itself.  She
was lost in a rapture of recollection as they arrived at a small round
table with a parasol.  It was set on the lawn between the main house
and a smaller cottage out back.  The Neighbor Lady, in a dark blue
dress with white dots, rose to greet the Gruff Woman as they trundled
up.

The two women chatted about their gardens and their homes and the
difficulty of finding good tenants and the possibility of rain.  The
Dear Little Teapot was feeling content and dreamy, filled once again
with hot water and a good strong Earl Gray.

"Are you listening?" asked the coffeepot.

"Hmmm?" she replied.

"I was wondering what you think of the world outside."

"Oh, it's marvelous!" the teapot effused.

"Yes, it is a wonder, isn't it," he said, breathing the tang of the
fresh-mown lawn.  Then he looked at the teapot.  "And instructive,
too."

"What do you mean?" asked the teapot.

"Have you been listening to our two fine ladies?" he asked.

"Well, I wasn't sure I should, and . . ."

"Listen.  You could learn a few things.  The world is a wonder and a
fine thing, but there are lessons to be learned as well.  Some of them
are sharp, but might be worth the pain."

The Dear Little Teapot was puzzled by this advice and by the
coffeepot's suddenly serious tone.  What could be painful on so
fine a day?  She turned her attention to the women.

"And on such short notice, too," the Neighbor Lady was saying.

"To tell the truth," the Gruff Woman said, "I was about to ask her
to leave myself.  It's one thing when you have a detached unit like
yours," and she made a vague gesture across the lawn, "but when
it's in your own home, well, you've just got to be more careful."

"Really?" said the Neighbor Lady.  "Did you have any trouble?"

"Oh," said the Gruff Woman, "just what you'd expect from her sort.
People coming and going at all hours.  Guests in her room.  And that
young man always hanging about, asking for her."

"Oh yes, I see," said the Neighbor Lady, looking as if she saw
something quite different.

"I was after her constantly about the house rules.  As soon as a guest
would arrive, I'd march right up there and remind her again."

"How annoying."

"I just cannot abide the intrusion.  Not in my own home."

"Or even," said the Neighbor Lady, pouring herself the last of the tea,
"in your own room."

The Gruff Woman gave her a steady look, but the Neighbor Lady seemed
fascinated by the contents of her teacup.

"Well," the Gruff Woman said at last, "she's your concern now, though
how she can afford it on a student stipend is beyond me."

The teapot felt a sudden chill.

"Oh," the Neighbor Lady said with a twinkle in her eye, "I don't expect
any problem there.  She seems to have come into her own lately.  Bought
all new china and drapes.  She's really fixed the place up nicely."

"Fancy that," said the Gruff Woman flatly.

"Yes, I believe her work is finally beginning to move."

Could it be?  Could they really be talking about her?  Could the
Neighbor Lady's new tenant really be the Dear Little Teapot's own
mistress?

"Well, with new china and all," the Gruff Woman was saying, "I guess
she won't be coming back for this."

In horror, the Dear Little Teapot watched as the Gruff Woman reached
forward.  She grasped the teapot by the handle and lifted up between
them.

The Neighbor Lady smiled simply and said, "Why don't you ask her
yourself?" and she nodded in the direction of the cottage across the
lawn.

The Gruff Woman turned around, still holding the teapot in her hand,
and together they saw a young lady just coming out of the door.  She
turned her back to them to lock it, her long hair swinging behind her
and shining in the sunlight.

"It's her!" the Dear Little Teapot shouted, quite forgetting herself.

As if she had heard, the young lady turned and glanced up at the group
around the lawn table.  But she didn't stop.  She simply smiled, waved
briefly, then walked briskly away, clutching her sketch book beneath
her arm.

"Hmph," said the Gruff Woman.  "Late for class again."  And she turned
and put the teapot on the table.

The two women started talking again, but the Dear Little Teapot didn't
hear a word they said.  She was boiling with emotions.  Surely her
mistress had seen her, but she had said nothing.  But now that the
teapot knew where to find her, surely she could somehow manage to be
returned.  But why had her mistress not spoken?  Was she in too much of
a hurry?  Mornings were always a hurry, she remembered.  Oh, to be part
of that rush and bustle again!  She would be!  She must!

"Teapot?" someone said.

"I must be returned," she said, "I must!"

"Teapot?"  It was the coffeepot.  "Are you all right?"

"Why didn't she recognize me?" the teapot asked.  "Why didn't she look
and see me and take me back?"

The coffeepot looked sadly at his friend.  "Were you listening?" he
asked.  "Did you hear what they said?"

"Oh, yes, yes, she has a whole new house.  But she still needs me, I'm
sure of it."

"I don't think so," said the coffeepot.

The Neighbor Lady and the Gruff Woman were standing up.  They seemed to
be saying good-byes.

"It's time to go back now," the coffeepot said.  "Maybe we'll come out
again soon.  You'll see.  It won't be so hard the next time."

"No!" cried the Dear Little Teapot.  "I want to be with her!  I want to
be returned!"

"That's a whole different household, now," the coffeepot said.  "You
can't go back.  You wouldn't match."

"I didn't match before and it didn't matter," the teapot said
desperately.  "I always pleased her.  That's all I want.  I just want
to please her."

The coffepot sighed and shook his head.  "You can try too hard to
please some people."

The Dear Little Teapot turned angrily to him.  "You're just jealous,"
she said.  "You could get them to send me back, but you're just
jealous."

"Come back on the cart.  We'll go back to the Missus' house," he said.

"I won't go back!" the teapot insisted.  "Leave me here.  Make them do it!" 

"Do you really want that?" the coffeepot said, getting angry.  "Do
you really want to get overlooked and left behind again?"

The teapot said nothing.

"You're wrong, anyway," the coffepot said at last.  "I can't do it."
The Dear Little Teapot glared at him, but he didn't flinch.  Instead
he glared right back and said, "I can't do it.  But you can."

"How?" she demanded.

"It's what you really want, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Then that's what will happen."  And he closed his eyes and didn't say
another word.

The two women finally said good-bye.  The Gruff Woman tidied up the
coffee cart, and after a little futzing around, began to push it
briskly across the lawn to her own house next door.  The Dear Little
Teapot watched it go from her place on the table.  The Neighbor Lady
watched, too, but after the Gruff Woman went inside, she turned and
went back into her own house.

The Dear Little Teapot was left alone on the table with the bees
buzzing in the flowers and the clouds piling higher and higher in the
sky.  But all she could think of was her mistress.  She was determined
to be returned.


	V

After what seemed like an hour on the table alone, the Dear Little
Teapot's anger began to cool and her fear began to mount.  The morning
was growing colder and the wind began to gust.  When a deep rumbling
erupted from the towering clouds, she got genuinely frightened.
Would she be left out here in a thunderstorm?

But as the sky darkened, a boy emerged from the Neighbor Lady's house
and walked quickly and scowling toward the table.  The wind whipped his
pants around his legs.  He picked up the teapot and headed toward the
cottage.

'Could this be it?' the Dear Little Teapot thought.  'Will I finally
be returned?'

The boy hammered on the door and waited.

'Oh, no,' thought the teapot.  'She's gone.  Doesn't he know she's
gone?  What a stupid child!'

The boy hammered again, and when there was still no answer, he said
something vulgar.  Then he bent down as if to put the teapot on
the small concrete slab that served as a porch.

'No!' thought the Dear Little Teapot, 'Not here!  Don't leave me
out here in the rain and the storm!'

And, strangely enough, the boy hesitated.  He stood back up and
looked around.  The kitchen window above the trellis with the
jasmine blossoms was open just a few feet away.

'Yes!' thought the teapot, 'There!'

And the boy sidled over to the window and, stretching as far as he
could, barely managed to place the Dear Little Teapot on the
windowsill.

It was not a very bright thing to do.

But the boy, his chore discharged and feeling chilled by the
approaching storm, turned and ran back to the house without looking
back.

Sitting half on, half over the windowsill, the Dear Little Teapot was
horrified.  This was not at all what she had wanted.  She could just
barely see into the kitchen where, indeed, there were entirely
different pots and pans on the stove and dishes with a dark, unknown
pattern in the sink.  Nothing was familiar, and she herself felt out of
place.

A gust of wind blew straight through the kitchen and out the window
where the teapot sat, making her rock nauseatingly on the edge of the
sill.  Apparently, the young woman had left some other window open in
the house.  With each strong gust, the wind could whistle right through,
pushing the Dear Little Teapot further and further over the edge.

At last she was certain that one more gust would send her spilling over
the edge onto ground below.  She had one last thought as she teetered
there, and that was, 'If only I might have fallen inside.  Then at
least I'd be home.'

But the wind wasn't blowing that way, and with a sad resignation, the
Dear Little Teapot felt one final push, and she was falling toward the
darkness below.


* * *

Oh, the endings I could tell you now!  I could tell you:

The handsome young man who had so admired the way the young lady brewed
tea had also had his heart crushed by her thoughtlessness.  He wandered
by her new home from time to time in the hope of catching a glimpse of
her, or perhaps just to see the furnishings through a lighted window.
Anything to remind him of the happier times he had spent with her.

He was passing by on just such a hopeless mission when he saw the
teapot perched precariously in the window.  At first he did not realize
the peril the Dear Little Teapot was in for he was lost in the
melancholy thoughts of that distant happy evening.  But when he saw the
teapot teeter and fall, he dashed forward, catching it just before it
hit the ground.

"Ah, little teapot," he said.  "Has she neglected you, too?"

He cradled the teapot in his hands and began to cry soundlessly.

The Dear Little Teapot suddenly felt a complete change overtake her.
It was as if she had been rinsed with fresh cold water.  Her mistress
had abandoned her and cared no more for her teapot than she did for her
other things.  But this kind young man was different.  He was careful
and gentle and full of sorrow and could use a nice hot cup of tea.  She
nestled herself in his hands and felt her pink ceramic glaze grow
warm.

"Come," said the nice young man, "I will take you home."

And he did, and they lived together from that day on, and never visited
the house of their former mistress again.


* * *

Or I could tell you:

The wind blew stronger and a cold rain began to spatter down.  The
Dear Little Teapot lay in the bushes below the window, her lid several
inches away and broken in two.  Her handle was chipped.  She felt
like simply closing her eyes and never opening them again.

But then a hand reached in and picked up first one piece of the lid
and then the other.  Then the hand pulled aside the bushes and reached
in and pulled the teapot out and held it up.

"Oh, it's you!  It's you!" a joyful voice exclaimed and hugged the 
Dear Little Teapot close.  "Where have you been?  I have been so
lost without you!"

It was her mistress!  She had hurried home from classes to avoid the
storm but seen the glint of the pink ceramic lid just barely peeking
out from under the bushes.

She hurried inside and placed the teapot on the table where it was
warm and dry.

"Oh, I've missed you so," said the young woman.  "I should have been
more careful.  I should have been sure to take you with me.  Oh, and
look, you're chipped and your lid is broken.  But that doesn't matter.
You're my little teapot and I'll soon have you fixed up as good as
ever."

And indeed she did.  From that day on, the young woman kept the
teapot in the prominent place in the kitchen where they could see
each other every day.  And there were many days of cheerful talk,
and many quiet evenings of camomille tea.  And even in the morning,
when she was rushed, the young woman always took the time to rinse
her teapot and pat its pink ceramic sides with a warm, soft cloth.

After all, she was her Dear Little Teapot.


* * *

But no, that didn't happen.  Neither ending happened.  What happened is
this:

The teapot plummeted to the ground and was shattered to bits.  It was
not noticed and the pieces lay in the dirt behind the bushes for years.

Eventually, the cottage was torn down to make way for a driveway and a
new fence.  The two neighbors had had a falling out and no longer
spoke, and the fence ensured that they would no longer even have to see
each other.  Whether the teapot's remains were crushed by the bulldozer
that razed the little cottage, or buried in the rubble, or paved over
by the new driveway, I couldn't say, but they were never seen again.
The young lady had long since left the college and moved to another
town.

The moral, my friends, is in what the coffeepot said: