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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/18499-8.txt b/18499-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b99cac0 --- /dev/null +++ b/18499-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9291 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Suzanna Stirs the Fire, by Emily Calvin Blake + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Suzanna Stirs the Fire + +Author: Emily Calvin Blake + +Release Date: June 4, 2006 [EBook #18499] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUZANNA STIRS THE FIRE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Brian Janes, Emmy and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + +SUZANNA STIRS THE FIRE + + [Illustration: "I've come to you, Mrs. Reynolds, to stay. I've + adopted myself out to you" + [_Page 83_]] + + +Suzanna Stirs the Fire + +BY + +Emily Calvin Blake + +_Author of "Marcia of the Little Home," etc._ + + + +Illustrations by F. V. Poole + + +[Illustration] + + +CHICAGO + +A. C. McCLURG & CO. + +1915 + +Copyright + +A. C. McClurg & Co. 1915 + +Published September, 1915 + +Copyrighted in Great Britain + + + +W. F. HALL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO + + + + +CONTENTS + + BOOK I + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I The Tucked-In Day 3 + + II The Only Child 27 + + III With Father in the Attic 40 + + IV The New Dress 55 + + V Suzanna Comes to a Decision 69 + + VI Suzanna Makes her Entry 82 + + VII Regrets 88 + + VIII Suzanna Meets a Character 99 + + IX A Leaf Missing from the Bible 119 + + X A Picnic in the Woods 132 + + + BOOK II + + XI The Indian Drill 161 + + XII Drusilla's Reminiscences 172 + + XIII Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett 185 + + XIV The Stray Dog 197 + + XV A Lent Mother 215 + + XVI Suzanna Aids Cupid 221 + + XVII A Simple Wedding 236 + + XVIII The Eagle Man Visits the Attic 253 + + XIX Suzanna Puts a Request 265 + + XX Drusilla Sets Out on a Journey 278 + + XXI Mr. Bartlett Sees the Machine 292 + + + BOOK III + + XXII Happy Days 307 + + XXIII To the Seashore 320 + + XXIV The Seashore 329 + + XXV Last Days 341 + + XXVI Suzanna and her Father 345 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + PAGE + + "I've come to you, Mrs. Reynolds, to stay. I've adopted + myself out to you" _Frontispiece_ + + The prettiest old lady she had ever seen 14 + + Very carefully he looked at the mended place 116 + + "We thought you might like a dog," began Suzanna 206 + + + + +BOOK I + + + + +SUZANNA STIRS THE FIRE + + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE TUCKED-IN DAY + + +Maizie wanted to sleep a little longer, but though the clock had but +just chimed six Suzanna was up and had drawn the window curtain letting +in a flood of sunshine. Maizie lay watching her sister, her gray eyes +still blurred with sleep; not wide and interested as a little later they +would be. Her soft little features expressing her naïve personality +seemed unsubtle, yet of contours so lovely in this period just after +babyhood that one longed to cuddle her. + +Suzanna stood a long time at the window, so long indeed that Maizie +feared she was lost to all materialities. Suzanna, wonderful one, who +could strike from dull stuff magic dreams; who could vivify and +gloriously color the little things of life; who could into the simplest +happenings read thrilling interpretations! What bliss to accompany her +upon her wanderings, and what sadness to be forgotten! + +Indeed Suzanna seemed oblivious. Certainly in spirit she was absent and +at last Maizie could bear the silence no longer. + +"Suzanna!" she cried. + +Then Suzanna turned. She did not speak, however, but placed a warning +finger upon her lips. Then she went swiftly to the closet and took down +her best white dress. She laid it tenderly on the back of a chair till +she had found in the lowest bureau drawer her white stockings and +slippers, then she brushed and combed her hair, confined it lightly with +a length of ribbon, washed her hands and face in the little bowl which +stood in one corner near the window and leisurely donned the white +dress. + +Maizie sat straight up in bed watching in amazement. At last Suzanna +glanced over at her little wistful sister, then in stately fashion +advanced toward the bed, till close to Maizie she paused. Tall and +slender she stood, with eyes amber-colored, eyes which turned to black +in moments of deep emotion. Her brown hair touched with copper sprang +back from her brow in waving grace; her delicate features called for +small attention, excepting her mouth which was softly curved, eager of +speech, grave, mutinous, the most expressive part of an expressive +face. + +Suzanna danced through life, sang her way to the hearts of others, left +her touch wherever she went; yet, beneath the lightness, philosophies of +life formed themselves intuitively, one after another, truer perhaps in +their findings than those which filtered through the pure intellect of +the grown-up. + +At length she spoke to Maizie. "You mustn't say anything to me, Maizie, +unless I ask you a question," she commanded, "because I'm a princess who +lives in a crystal palace in a wonderful country with oceans and +mountains." + +Maizie did not reply; what could she say? Simply she stared as Suzanna +moved gracefully about the room with the slow movements she considered +fitting a princess. + +At last she returned to the bed. She began: "Maizie, I wish you to rise, +dress thyself, then go into thy parents' room and if the baby is awake, +dress him as Suzanna, thy sister, did when she was here and not a +princess." + +Maizie rose and obediently dressed herself, ever watchful of Suzanna and +thrilled by the new personality which seemed to have entered with the +princess. When she was quite dressed, even to her little enshrouding +gingham apron, she asked: + +"Are you going to school today, Suzanna?" + +Suzanna fixed her eyes in the distance. + +"I'm here, Princess," corrected Maizie, "right in front of you. You can +touch me with your hand. And besides, I had to ask that question. It was +burning on my tongue." + +Suzanna did not stir. At last: "I'm not going to school today," she half +chanted. "A princess does not go to school. She wanders through the +fields and over the mountains and when she returns to her palace she +eats roses smothered in cream." + +"Oh," cried Maizie. "Rose petals are bitter and beside we only have +cream on Sundays." + +Suzanna turned away. Sometimes she found it a trifle difficult to play +with Maizie. She went slowly, majestically down the stairs and into the +little parlor. She regretted she had no train, since she might switch it +about as she walked. But she could _think_ she had a train, and ever and +anon glance behind to see that it had not curled up. + +In the parlor she stood and looked about her. Her physical eyes saw the +worn spots in the carpet, the picture of her father's mother, faded and +dim, her own "crayon," the old horsehair sofa and chair, and the piano +with its yellow keys and its scratched case. But with her inner eyes +she beheld a lovely rose-colored room, heaped with soft rugs and +satin-lined chairs; fine, soft-grained woods, and a harp studded with +rare jewels. + +At first she stood alone. Then by a slight wave of her hand she +commanded the appearance of many ladies and gentlemen who came and bowed +low before her. While she was still living in her vision, her father +descended the stairs and entered the parlor. He started at sight of +Suzanna all dressed in her best. + +"I'm a princess, father," said Suzanna. + +"A princess?" he repeated. + +Her father wore his store clothes, shiny and grown tight for him. Above +his winged collar his sensitive face showed pale and thin in the early +morning light. His eyes, brown, soft, were like Suzanna's--they had +vision. He smiled now, half whimsically and wholly lovingly at her. + +"An eight-year-old princess," he said. Then the smile faded, and he half +turned to the door. "Well, that's all right, your Majesty," he said. +"Continue with your play. I'm going up into the attic just for ten +minutes." + +"You'll be late for the store, won't you, daddy?" she asked, anxiously, +forgetting for the moment her rôle. + +He turned upon her quickly. "Late for the store!" he cried, "late to +weigh nails, sell wash boards, and mops. What does that matter, my dear, +when by my invention the world will some day be better." Suddenly the +passion died from his voice. He stood again the tall shabby figure, +somewhat stooped, with long fine hands that moved restlessly. "Ah, well, +Suzanna," he went on, "weighing nails brings us our livelihood." + +Suzanna went and stood close to him. She put her small hand out and +touched his arm. "Daddy," she said, earnestly, "this is my tucked-in +day. I'm going to have two of them. Perhaps you can have a tucked-in day +sometime when you can work for hours at your invention." + +Again he smiled at her. "Where did you get your tucked-in day, Suzanna," +he asked. + +"Why, it's a great beautiful white space that comes between last week +and this. It's all empty, that big space, and so I have filled it in +with a day of my own. If mother will let me, I'm going to have two +tucked-in days. On the first I'm a princess, and on the second, I shall +be an Only Child." + +"Very well, little girl," said Suzanna's father. "And now I hear others +moving about upstairs. Will you stay to breakfast with us, Princess?" + +"Oh, yes," said Suzanna, who began to feel the healthy pangs of hunger. +"I suppose perhaps I had better set the table." + +A half-hour later the house was in a bustle. The baby was crying, Peter, +the five-year-old, was sliding in his usual exuberant manner down the +banisters, and at the stove in the kitchen, Mrs. Procter, the mother, +was filling pans and opening and closing the oven door with quick, +somewhat noisy movements. + +When in time all were gathered about the dining table, they were an +interesting looking family. Mrs. Procter, young, despite her four +children, wore a little worried frown strangely at conflict with her +palpable desire to make the best of things. She darted here and there, +soothing the baby with a practiced hand, pouring her husband's coffee, +helping voracious Peter, her busy mind anticipating all the day's tasks. +Suzanna loved and admired her mother. She loved the way the luxuriant +dark hair was wound round and round the small head. She loved the rare +smile, the soft blue eyes fringed in black lashes. She liked to meet +those eyes when they were filled with understanding, when they seemed to +speak as plainly as the tender lips made just for lullabies--and +encouragements when the inventor-father stumbled, lost his belief in +himself and in his Machine. + +Maizie, younger than Suzanna by only a year, looked like her +mother--sweet, very practical, always in a wide-eyed condition of +surprise at Suzanna's wonderful imagination; a dependable little body +who rarely fell from grace by reason of naughtiness. + +Peter, a strange composite of his dreamy father and practical mother, +sat near the baby. Peter had had a twin, a little girl, who died when +she was three years old. Sometimes, even now, Peter cried himself to +sleep for Helen. + +The baby, now crowing in his armchair beside his mother, was a bright +little chap of not quite a year. Too plump to even try his sturdy legs, +he was oftentimes very much of a burden to his devoted sisters. + +Mrs. Procter's eyes had taken in at once Suzanna's finery, but Mrs. +Procter knew Suzanna; besides she did not always ask a direct question. +Suzanna's mind worked clearly, but it worked by its own laws. So now the +mother waited and toward the end of the meal she was rewarded for her +patience. Suzanna put down her fork and began: + +"Mother, this is my first tucked-in day to do as I please in. I know +Monday's supposed to be wash day, but you said it wasn't a big wash and +I did all the sorting Saturday night. I am all fixed up for a princess, +and something inside me tells me I must wander about my palace and +perhaps find paths leading to far-off snow countries." + +It was Maizie who looked now questioningly at her mother. Could it be +that Suzanna would be given her own way? In truth the entire table +awaited breathlessly Mrs. Procter's answer. It came at last: + +"Very well, Princess, you may have your tucked-in day." + +There followed a short silence. At last: + +"Mother, I must be honest with you," said Suzanna, "there are to be +_two_ tucked-in days. In my next space I want to be an Only Child." + +Again her mother agreed. Rarely could she deny Suzanna her jaunts into +the land of dreams. + +So after breakfast, quite free, Suzanna left the house. The little town +lay quiet, except for the rhythmic noises coming from the big Massey +Steel Mills. Suzanna looked in their direction and stood a moment +watching the sparks coming from the big round chimneys. Over across +fields were the tumble-down cottages occupied by the employees of the +Massey Steel Mills. Suzanna did not often go in their direction. The +squalor made her unhappy and set in train so many questions she was +quite unable to answer. + +The day was early July with a spicy breeze that promised its delight for +many hours. Suzanna walked out into the road, and turned to gaze at the +little home in which she had been born. She loved it with its many +memories. She fancied it held its head high because it sheltered her +father's great Machine. At length she turned south toward the country. +She breathed deeply as she went, feeling how wonderful it was to be a +princess and to wander about as she pleased. + +Throbbing with life and the beauty of it, the marvel of it, she began to +dance. Strange thoughts flowed through her, strange understandings, +that, little child as she was, she could find no words for. Only it +seemed color lay within her, rich color for a thought of love; a wistful +rose shade for a passing desire, a brilliant orange for the uplifting +knowledge that just to be alive was great. She stopped to gather a +passion flower because with its deep purple, its hidden heart that she +could very gently discover and gaze into, it fitted into her mood. + +Oh, to be big, grown up! All these brightly winged thoughts uplifting +her, some of which puzzled her, some that frightened her, she would +quite understand then! In those far-off years of absolute knowledge +there would be no limitations; no commonplaces, only miracles. You could +make what you wished then of all your days. + +She came at last upon a little house lying far back from the road. It +was like a toy house, and had stood open for years. The Procter children +had often played in the rooms of the small house, and once when Peter +was a baby he had fallen down the stairs, and his twin Helen, anguished +because he was hurt, had cried piteously until they were home again. + +Now Suzanna opened the gate, mended, she noticed, and hanging straight, +and started down the garden path. Lovely old-fashioned flowers--pansies +and phlox and pinks and balsam were all in their happiest bloom. Suzanna +wondered who watered and tended them. As she lingered beside a pansy +bed, the door of the little house opened and a rather frail little old +lady came out, followed by a maid who carried a chair that was filled +with pillows. She set the chair under a tree midway in the garden +between the house and the road. The old lady sank into it and the maid +deftly covered her with a large woolen shawl; then saying some word, and +placing a small silver bell on the grass within easy reach of the lady +in the chair the maid left. + +Suzanna stood, unable to run. Someone then had moved into the tiny +house. And who? Suzanna knew everyone in the village of Anchorville, and +the old lady was a stranger. Suzanna gave up the question and started +back toward the gate when the old lady suddenly turned and saw the +child. + +[Illustration: The prettiest old lady she had ever seen] + +"Come here," she called, and Suzanna perforce obeyed. When she stood +near the small figure in the chair she waited, while she decided that +this was quite the prettiest old lady she had ever seen. The wavy silver +hair lying under a white lace cap, with two little curls falling on +either side made the blue eyes seems like a very little baby's at the +stage when they're deciding just what color they shall be. Like Suzanna, +the lady was dressed in white, flowing as to skirt, and trimmed with +quantities of fine old lace. On her hand was one ring, a lovely +moonstone. Suzanna at once loved that ring, not because it was a piece +of jewelry, but because it did look like a stray moonbeam that the rain +had fallen on. + +"And who may you be?" asked the old lady at once. + +Now something about her hostess called out all of Suzanna's colorful +imagination. She felt an instant response to this personality. + +"I am a princess, the Princess Cecilia," she answered promptly. + +"Ah," the old lady straightened up and a sudden, vivid change became at +once manifest in her manner. "Draw closer to me." + +Suzanna obeyed, moving till she touched the old lady's hand that rested +on the wings of the old-fashioned chair. + +"You should be a princess," said the old lady, "for I am a queen!" + +Suzanna gazed without at first speaking. "A real one?" she whispered at +last. + +"A real queen," returned the old lady. "It's not generally known by +those who serve me, nor even suspected by my own son who lives yonder in +the big house on the hill. But I'm the real queen of Spain, deposed from +the hearts of her people, from the hearts of her own nearest." + +Suzanna nodded. She looked over toward the hill. "That's Bartlett +Villa," she said; "the people only live there part of the year. I know +Mrs. Bartlett, she's the richest lady in Anchorville, but I didn't know +her mother was a queen." + +The old lady didn't appear to be particularly interested. She went on: +"It's not generally known, I believe, that I am a queen." After another +pause: "Over yonder is a camp chair. Bring it hither." + +Suzanna found the chair at one end of the garden. Quickly she brought it +and sank herself upon it gracefully as became a princess of the blood, +but she was surprised a moment later to meet reproval in the eyes of the +queen. + +"It's not permissible to seat yourself in the presence of royalty," said +the queen, rather sternly. + +"But, I, too, am royalty and you told me to get the chair," said +Suzanna. "Of course, I thought it was to sit on." + +"You are merely a princess," returned the old lady. "I am your queen, +and you must await my permission to recline." + +Suzanna rose. + +"Ask permission," said the queen, "and perhaps I shall allow you to seat +yourself." + +"May I sit down?" asked Suzanna. + +The queen inclined her head graciously. "You may," she returned. So once +more the little visitor resumed her seat. Then for a long time the old +lady sat with folded hands and looking off into the distance. She was +very, very still. Only the lace on her bosom moved gently to show that +she breathed. Suzanna thought perhaps she had better go. But she feared +to rise lest she again meet with reproof. + +At last the queen remembered her guest. + +"I wish to traverse my garden and in the absence of my lady-in-waiting I +request your arm, Princess Cecilia," she said. + +Suzanna rose quickly and bending her small arm, she offered its support +to the old lady, who though now standing very straight and slender, +still was scarce two heads taller than her visitor. She slipped her +blue-veined hand within Suzanna's arm and they began a friendly walk up +and down the path. + +"Once," began the queen, "when I lived beyond the snow-capped mountains +within my own palace, I was not so lonely as I now am. There was one who +afterwards became my king, with whom I walked by the sea. We saw +together the sapphire sparkle of the water, the golden yellow of the +sands; but in reality we beheld only one another's face." + +By this time they had reached the gate and both stopped and stood +looking down the quiet road. But the little old lady still clung to +Suzanna's arm and her eyes had a far-away look. + +"And after a time," went on the queen, "we were wedded and lived +together in my palace and we were happy as the birds; happy and less +care free. And always we found our greatest happiness in walking by the +sea or in climbing the mountains; I sometimes clinging to his ready hand +or skipping before him. And once we ran away from all the pomp and +ceremony that was merely surface and we found a little house right at +the edge of town, and there together for some months we lived. There, +too, our little prince came to us, and from there he went away. + +"And one day my king, too, left, and my little prince forgot me, and I +am alone. Queen as I am, I am alone!" + +Suzanna was silent. Indeed, she was at a loss just how to offer comfort. +When Helen, Peter's twin, went away her heart had ached, and when a +little baby, soft and cuddly had gone away forever, Suzanna had wept for +days and far into the nights. This queen, she found was very sad, and +very longing, and very lonely, three things she thought queenhood exempt +from, sadness, and longing and loneliness. + +Once more they turned, and walked down the garden path till they reached +the chairs under the tree. The queen sank again among her pillows and +Suzanna was about to use her camp chair when the queen spoke in her old +commanding manner: + +"I am hungry, serf," she cried. "Go, prepare my food! All the dainties +that you can find. I wish cream beaten to a froth and peaches, halved +and stoned. I wish strawberries still wet with dew and reposing in their +green leaves." + +"But," began Suzanna, "I can't get strawberries for you." + +The old lady rose to her full height. "Wilt begone, serf?" in stern +accents she cried. "Wilt begone and prepare what I demand?" + +Now Suzanna had a very firm idea of her own standing as a princess. Had +she not earlier in the day impressed Maizie? And now, was this stranger, +even though she were a queen, to demand menial service of one of royal +blood? Suzanna thought not. So she said firmly, though gently: + +"I am not a serf, if that means a slave! I am a visiting princess, the +Princess Cecilia. I will not go into your kitchen and prepare food." And +then forgetting her rôle, she assumed her ordinary voice. "Why, this +morning I didn't even warm the baby's bottle, because mother said I +needn't seeing that I was a princess and living in my own tucked-in +day." + +"'Tucked-in day!'" responded the queen. "What do you mean by that?" + +"Why, it's my very own day, a day tucked in between last week and this +week," said Suzanna. + +The old lady's eyes wandered away again looking into distant countries, +Suzanna had no doubt, and she hoped the strawberries were forgotten. But +alas, she was wrong, for in a few moments the queen, bringing her eyes +back to Suzanna's face recalled her desire: + +"I will have my strawberries," she began peremptorily. And then with a +complete change of voice; one with some satire in its tone she +concluded: "Dost think because thou art a princess thou art exempt from +all service in the world?" + +"A princess does not work," said Suzanna wisely. + +"I would have you know," said the queen, "that all those of the world +must give service in one way or another. Dost think that when in my +palace I reigned a queen I gave no service? There were those who loved +me and needed me. As their queen did I not owe them something in return +for their love? And could I leave their needs unrelieved?" + +"But," faltered Suzanna, "you were a queen!" + +The old lady's eyes lit with a sudden fire. "And 'twas because I +reigned a queen," she answered, "that I must do more than those of less +exalted station. In my kingdom there were little children, there were +the old, and there were the feeble, and there were the poor. Could I go +about unconcerned as to their welfare?" Her voice suddenly softened. She +put out her hand, now trembling with her emotion, and drew Suzanna close +to her. "My sweet little princess," she said, "no one in all the world +stands alone. A little silver chain binds each one of us to his fellow. +You may break that chain and you may feel yourself free, but you will be +a greater slave than ever." + +"I think I understand," said Suzanna, and indeed she had a fair meaning +of the other's words. "The chain runs from wrist to wrist and is rubber +plated." + +With a sudden change of manner the old lady spoke again, going back to +her former imperious manner: "Am I thus to starve because no slave +springs forth to do my bidding?" + +At this important moment the maid reappeared. She came swiftly down the +garden to the old lady. She paused when she saw Suzanna. She had a very +gentle face, Suzanna decided, and when she spoke to the old lady it was +tenderly as one would speak to a child. Suzanna decided that she liked +her. + +Said Suzanna: "The queen wants her strawberries wet with dew and buried +in their own green leaves." + +"The queen," returned the maid, "shall have her luncheon." + +"And the Princess Cecilia," said the queen, "shall eat with me, Letty." + +Suzanna was very glad to hear this since for a long time past she had +been hungry, and had been thinking rather longingly of the midday dinner +at home. + +The maid left, but in a very short time she came into the garden again +and announced that lunch was ready in the dining-room. + +"Walk behind me," said the old lady, and Suzanna took her place behind +the queen. In that sequence they went down the path, up the four steps +leading to the little house, through the open door, and paused in a +short, narrow hall, through which Suzanna and her sister and brother had +often walked. + +"Place your coat here," said the old lady, indicating a black walnut +hall-tree. + +Suzanna did as she was bid and then followed her hostess into the +dining-room, to the left of the small hall, where a table +flower-decked, stood set for two. + +Suzanna sat down at the place the queen indicated and waited +interestedly. In time the maid brought on a silver tray with little cups +of cream soup, and then cold chicken buried in pink jelly, a most +delicious concoction. Finally there was cocoa with whipped cream and +marshmallows and melting angel food cake. + +The old lady ate daintily, and long before Suzanna's appetite was +satisfied she announced that she was finished and demanded that the +princess rise from the table with her. She did not mention the +strawberries. With a little sigh Suzanna obeyed. And now, instead of +returning to the garden, the old lady led the way into the parlor, which +lay to the right of the hall. She went straight to the picture that hung +above a marble mantel. Below the picture in the center of the mantel +rested a crystal vase containing sprays of lilies of the valley. + +"This was my king," murmured the old lady, and Suzanna looked up into +the pictured face. "I like him," she said immediately; "has he gone far +away?" + +At these words the old lady suddenly sank down into a chair and covered +her face with her hands. She began to cry softly, but in a way that +hurt Suzanna inexpressibly. She stood for a moment hesitant. The sobs +still continued and then Suzanna, deciding on her course, went to the +little shaking figure and put her hands softly on the drooping +shoulders. + +"Can I help you," she asked. "Just tell me what to do for you." + +"Nothing," came the muffled tones, "there is no one to do for me; no one +to do for me in love. I am alone, forgotten." + +"Haven't you a brother or a sister?" in a moment she asked softly. + +"No one," said the little lady. + +"Oh, then," said Suzanna pityingly, as a dire thought came to her, +"there's no one to call you by your first name!" + +And then the old lady lowered her hands and looked into Suzanna's face. +"No one," she said sadly, "and it's such a pretty name, Drusilla. It's +many long years since I was called that." + +"I'd hate to come to a time when no one would call me Suzanna," Suzanna +said, and she leaned forward and touched the blue-veined hands. "May I +call you Drusilla?" she asked. + +"That would be sweet of you," said the little old lady. She seemed less +of the queen now than before, just a fluttering, little creature to be +tenderly protected and cared for. + +The maid came in at this moment. She went straight to the old lady. + +"I think," she said gently, "that you must take your nap now. This is +the day for Mrs. Bartlett's call." + +The queen rose quite obediently. Suzanna said at once: "Well, I must be +going. But I'll come again. Good-bye, Drusilla." + +"Good-bye, dear," returned "Drusilla" sweetly. "I'd like to have you +kiss me." + +Suzanna lifted her young face and kissed Drusilla's withered cheek. + + * * * * * + +Once out in the road and going swiftly toward home, Suzanna pondered +many things. She thought of what the old lady had said about the little +silver chain binding one to another; that no one really stood alone--no +one with a family, at least, Suzanna decided. It was a big thought; you +could go on and on in your heart and find many places for it to fit--and +then she reached her own gate and felt as always a sense of happiness. +No matter how happily she had spent the day, there was always a little +throb which stirred her heart when she went up the steps leading to the +rather battered front door of the place she called home. + +Maizie opened the door. She was as happy in beholding Suzanna returned +as though weeks had parted them, for she knew Suzanna's aptitude for +great adventures. Always they came to her, while another might walk +forever and meet no Heralds of Romance. + +"Did something happen, Suzanna?" she began eagerly. + +"Yes, I found a queen and we had lunch together," Suzanna responded. +"I'll tell you all about it when we're in bed." + +"Are you going to play at something tomorrow?" + +"Tomorrow I shall be an Only Child," said Suzanna. "Don't you remember?" + +"And not my sister?" asked Maizie. + +Suzanna caught the yearning in Maizie's voice. + +"Well," she said, "I'll be your closest friend, Maizie." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE ONLY CHILD + + +Breakfast the next morning was nearly concluded when Suzanna made her +appearance, but she met with no reproof. She had anticipated none, for +surely an Only Child was entitled to many privileges; no rules should be +made to bind her. + +Her father was gone. It was a day of stock-taking at the hardware store, +and his early presence had been requested by his employer, Job Doane. +Suzanna's mother and the children still lingered at the table. + +"Good morning, Suzanna," said Mrs. Procter, while the other children +gazed with interest at their tardy sister. + +"Good morning," Suzanna returned as she took her place; then, "Will you +remind Maizie that I am an Only Child today?" + +"You hear, Maizie," said Mrs. Procter smiling. + +"Mustn't any of us speak to her?" asked Peter. + +"No one but her mother," said Suzanna addressing the ceiling. + +She went on with her breakfast, eating daintily with the small finger on +her right hand cocked outward. Maizie stared, fascinated. Countless +words rushed to her lips, but she had been bidden to silence, and she +feared, should she speak to Suzanna, dire results would follow. Suzanna +might even go away by herself in pursuit of some wonderful dream, and +leave Maizie out of her scheme of things entirely. + +So Maizie waited patiently. + +"Since you sent Bridget away on an errand of mercy, Mother," Suzanna +began later, "I'll help you with the dishes." + +In Suzanna's estimation the family boasting an Only Child boasted also +servants. + +"I'll be glad of your help," said Mrs. Procter, "and since Bridget is +away, perhaps you will be kind enough to make your own bed and dust your +own room." + +Suzanna's face fell. Maizie put out a small hand and touched her sister. +"I'll help you," she said, "if you want me to." + +"Very well," said Suzanna, and together the children went upstairs. + +In the little room shared by the sisters, Suzanna went to work. +Ardently she shook pillows and carefully she smoothed sheets, while +Maizie, with a reflective eye ever upon Suzanna, dusted the dresser and +hung up the clothes. + +"Is your mother well this morning?" asked Suzanna politely. + +"Why, you saw her," Maizie cried off guard. "She didn't have a headache +this morning, did she?" + +"I'm speaking of _your_ mother," said Suzanna. "You belong to an +entirely different family from me." + +"Well," said Maizie after a time, "she's not suffering, thank you." + +"Have you any brothers and sisters?" pursued Suzanna in an interested +though rather aloof tone. + +"Oh, yes," said Maizie, trying hard to fill her rôle satisfactorily. "We +have a very large family, and once we had twins." + +Suzanna looked her pity. "I'm so glad," she said, "that I'm an Only +Child. This morning I was very joyous when I had whipped cream and +oatmeal." + +"You just had syrup, Suzanna Procter!" cried Maizie. + +Suzanna cast a scathing look at her sister: "I had whipped cream!" she +cried, "because I am an Only Child!" Then falling into her natural tone: +"If you forget again, Maizie, I can't even be a friend of yours." She +continued after a pause, reassuming her Only-Child voice, "That's why I +wear this beautiful satin dress and diamond bracelets and shining +buckles on my shoes." + +Now Maizie saw only Suzanna's lawn dress, rather worn Sunday shoes with +patent leather tips; she saw Suzanna's bare arms. + +"Maybe you'd like, really, to wear a white satin dress and bracelets and +buckles, but you know you haven't got them, don't you, Suzanna?" she +asked. + +Suzanna did not answer, plainly ignoring Maizie's conciliatory tone, and +so finding the silence continuing unbroken, Maizie changed the subject. + +"Will you play school with me this afternoon, Suzanna?" + +Suzanna thought a moment: "I don't just know. I may go and play with +some of the other girls today, and, remember, if I do that a friend +can't get mad like a sister can." + +Maizie began to whimper. + +"All right, if you're going to act that way, I am going off to see +Drusilla," with which statement Suzanna turned and went downstairs. + +Maizie came running down after her. "Mother, mother," she called loudly, +"I don't like Suzanna when she's the Only Child." + +Mrs. Procter, busy with the baby, looked up. She was a little cross now. +"I wish, Suzanna," she said, "that you would learn to be sensible and +not always be acting in plays you make up." + +Suzanna, who a moment before had bounded joyfully into her mother's +presence, now paused, the light dying from her eyes. She looked at her +mother and her mother, uncomfortable beneath the steady gaze, spoke +again with an irritation partially assumed. + +"I mean just that, Suzanna," she said. "Maizie can't easily follow all +your imaginings; and I have enough to do without always trying to keep +the peace between you." + +Suzanna stood perfectly still. The color rose to her temples, while the +dark eyes flashed. Waves of emotion swept through her. Emotions she +could not express. At last in a tense voice she spoke: "I wish I wasn't +your child, Mother." + +"Go at once to your room," said Mrs. Procter, "and stay there till I +tell you you may come down again." + +With no word Suzanna turned, went slowly up the stairs again, drew a +chair to the window and sat down. She was flaming under a bitter sense +of injustice. With all the intensity of her nature for the moment she +hated the entire world. + +Time passed. She heard sounds downstairs, Maizie going out to play in +the yard with Peter; her mother singing the baby to sleep, and still +Suzanna sat near the window, and still her small heart beat resentfully. + +Later, she heard her father's voice. Perhaps he cared for her. But even +of this she was not sure. Then she sat up very straight. Someone was +coming up the stairs. + +It was Maizie. The little girl slowly opened the bedroom door, peeped +cautiously in, and then on tiptoes approached Suzanna. "Mother says," +she began, "that you're to come down to lunch." + +"I don't want any lunch," said Suzanna. The bright color still stained +her cheek. "You can just go downstairs and eat up everything in the +house, and be sure and tell mother I said so." + +Maizie looked her awe at this defiant sister. Downstairs she returned to +deliver verbatim Suzanna's message. + +Suzanna sat on. From bitter disillusion felt against everything in her +world her mind chilled to analysis. Her mother loved her, she believed, +and yet--she did not complete her swift thought; indeed, she looked +quickly about in fear of her disloyalty. She had once thought that +mothers were perfect, rare beings removed worlds from other mere +mortals. Hadn't she, when a very small girl of four, been quite unable +to comprehend that mother was a mere human being? "Mother is just +mother," she had said in her baby way, and that sentence spelled all the +devotion and admiration of a pure little heart for one enshrined within +it. + +And now mother had fallen short. Mother had disappointed that +desperately loving, intense soul. The tears started to her eyes. It was +as though on this second tucked-in day an epoch had come marking the day +for all time, placing it by itself as containing an experience never to +be forgotten. + +After a time she realized she was hungry. So she went quietly to the top +of the stairs, but no sound came up from below. + +Some clock struck one, and then Suzanna heard running footsteps mounting +the stairs. She sat straight and gazed out of the window. She knew the +moment her mother entered the room, but she did not turn her head. + +Mrs. Procter approached until she stood close to Suzanna. She looked +down into the mutinous little face. She had come intending to scold, +but something electric about the child kept hasty words back. + +At length: "Aren't you going to speak to me, Suzanna?" she said. + +Suzanna did not answer immediately. That strange, awful thought that her +very own mother had been unjustly irritable held her tongue-tied. At +length words, short, curt, came: + +"You weren't _all right_ to me this morning, Mother," she said, raising +her stormy eyes. "Yesterday you were nice to me when I was a princess. +Today you were cross because Maizie couldn't understand, and she never +understands. You never were cross about that before." She gazed straight +back into her mother's face--"I'm mad at the whole world." + +What perfection the child expects of the mother! No human deviations! +Mrs. Procter sighed. How could she live out her child's exalted ideal of +her! She looked helplessly at Suzanna. The eyes lifted to hers lacked +the wonted expression of perfect belief, of passionate admiration. That +this first little daughter, so close to her heart fibers, should in any +degree turn from her, pierced the mother. She put her arms about the +unyielding small figure. + +"Suzanna, little daughter," she whispered. "Mother is sometimes tired, +but always, always she loves you." + +The response was immediate. With a little cry Suzanna pressed her lips +to her mother's. All her reticence was gone. This mother who enfolded +her stood once more the unwavering star that guided Suzanna's life. + +"You see, little girl," Mrs. Procter said after a few moments, "mother +sometimes has a great deal to think about--and baby was cross." + +"Oh, mother, dear, I'll help you," cried Suzanna. "I'll always be good +to you and when I'm grown up I'll buy you silk dresses and pretty hats +and take you to hear beautiful music." + +Later they went downstairs together. In the kitchen Maizie was amusing +the baby as he sat in his high chair. She looked around as Suzanna +entered: "Are you going to see Drusilla now," asked Maizie. + +"Who's Drusilla?" asked Mrs. Procter with interest. + +Now Suzanna had not told her mother of her new friend. She had wished to +keep in character, and a princess, she felt, was rather secretive and +aloof. But now the renewed closeness she felt to her mother opened her +heart. + +"Yesterday when I was a princess, living my very own first tucked-in +day, I walked and walked, and at last came to a little house with a +garden," she said, "and there was an old lady with no one to call her by +her first name--and so I'm going to call her Drusilla." + +"Is she a little old lady with white hair, and curls on each side of her +face?" asked Mrs. Procter. + +"Yes," said Suzanna. + +"Why, she's Mr. Graham Woods Bartlett's mother, and she's a little--" +Mrs. Procter hesitated believing it wiser to leave her sentence +unfinished. + +"A little what, mother?" asked Suzanna anxiously. + +"Oh, she has fancies," evaded Mrs. Procter. "For instance, there are +times when she thinks herself a queen." + +"What was the word you were going to use, mother?" persisted Suzanna. + +"Well, then, Suzanna, such a person is called a little strange." + +"Then I'm a little strange, too," said Suzanna. + +"But you're a child, Suzanna," said Mrs. Procter, "and Mrs. Bartlett is +a very old lady." + +"Does that make the difference?" asked Suzanna. "If it does, I can't +understand why. I think that an old lady, especially if she's lonely and +if she grieves for her king who went far away from her, has just as much +right to have fancies as a little girl has." + +"Well, I don't know," said Mrs. Procter, turning a soft look upon +Suzanna. + +Maizie, who had been standing near listening intently, now spoke: "A +girl I know had a grandfather who thought he was a cat and every once in +awhile he meowed, and he liked to sit in the sun. He thought he was a +nice, gentle, Maltese cat, and when he wasn't busy meowing he was awful +sweet to the children, and played with them and took care of the little +ones; but the big people thought they'd better send him far away, +because it wasn't right that he should think himself a cat." + +Suzanna's eyes flamed in anger. "I think they were cruel," she cried, +"not to let him stay at home. I know the girl whose grandfather he was. +Her name's Mary Holmes, and she cried because they sent her grandfather +away. But she didn't tell me why." + +"I'm her special friend on Wednesday recess day," said Maizie bashfully, +"that's why she told me." + +"I like old people," Suzanna continued. "I like Drusilla, and I like +Mrs. Reynold's mother that once came to see her, and I like old Joe, the +vegetable man, who made whistles for us last summer. They all seem to +understand you when you talk to them, and they can see things just like +you can." + +"Well, I've heard it said," said Mrs. Procter musingly, "that old people +are very much like the young in their fancies. Maybe that's why you +enjoy them, Suzanna." + +"Well, mother," Suzanna was very much in earnest now, "can't you always +tell everybody who has an old lady or an old gentleman living with them +that if they're not loving to old ladies and gentlemen, their silver +chain will break?" + +"Silver chain?" cried Maizie, puzzled. "I don't know what you mean, +Suzanna." + +"Why, every one of us," Suzanna explained carefully, "carries a little +silver chain which binds him to everyone else, but especially, I +suppose, to our very own father and mother and brothers and sisters." + +"Where is the chain?" asked Maizie. + +"It runs from your wrist to mine. It stretches as you move, and it's +given to everybody as soon as he's born. Sometimes it's broken." + +"Well, Suzanna," said Maizie solemnly, "then you've broken the silver +chain that ties you to me and to Peter and the baby and to daddy and +mother. You don't belong to us any more--you're an Only Child." + + * * * * * + +Maizie's literalness drew a new vivid picture for Suzanna. She had cut +herself from those she loved. She looked through a mist into Maizie's +face, the little face with the gray eyes and straight fine hair that +_would_ lie flat to the little head, and a big love flooded her. She +went swiftly to the little sister and lifted her hand. She made a feint +of clasping something at her wrist. "Maizie," she said, "I put the chain +on again. You are once more my little sister." + +"Not just your closest friend, but your little sister, with a silver +chain holding us together?" Maizie asked. + +"Always," said Suzanna. "I don't think after all that it's any fun to be +an Only Child." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +WITH FATHER IN THE ATTIC + + +A special Saturday in the Procter home, since father expected to spend +the afternoon in the attic working at his invention! Once a month he had +this half-day vacation from the hardware store. True, to make up he +returned to work in the evening after supper, and remained sometimes +till midnight, but that was the bargain he had made with Job Doane, the +owner of the shop, and he stuck bravely by it. + +The house was in beautiful order when father arrived at noon. He went at +once to the dining-room. Suzanna and Maizie, putting the last touches to +the table, greeted him cordially. + +"We have carrots and turnips chopped up for lunch," announced Maizie +immediately. + +"And baked apples, with the tiniest drop of cream for each one," +completed Suzanna. + +"And the baby has a clean dress on, too," Maizie added, like an +anticlimax. + +Mr. Procter exclaimed in appropriate manner. He seemed younger today, +charged with a high spirit. His step was light, he held his head high; +his eyes, too, were full of fire. The children knew some vital flame +energized him, some great hope vivified him. + +"Sold a scythe to old Farmer Hawkes this morning," he began, when they +were all seated around the table, the smoking dishes before them. He +smiled at his wife and the subtle understanding went around the board +that it was ridiculous for father, the great man, to waste his time +selling a scythe to close old Farmer Hawkes; also the perfect belief +that Farmer Hawkes was highly favored in being able to make a purchase +through such a rare agency. + +Luncheon concluded, father rose. The children pushed back their chairs +and stood in a little group, all regarding him with longing eyes. + +"Well, children," he said at last, "if things go well with me upstairs +and I can spare an hour, I'll call you. But don't let me keep you from +your work, or your play. Ball for you, I suppose, Peter, since it is +Saturday afternoon," he finished facetiously. Well he knew the +fascination of the attic and its wonder Machine. + +And Peter didn't answer. Let father have his joke; they both understood. + +Father went singing joyfully up the stairs. The children listened till +they heard the attic door close, then all was silent. + +Suzanna found a book, and at Maizie's earnest request read a chapter +from it aloud, while Peter descended into the cellar on business of his +own. + +"I'd rather you'd tell me a story of your own, Suzanna," said Maizie, +when the chapter was concluded. + +"Well, I can't make up stories today," said Suzanna. "Today is father's +day, and I'm thinking every minute of The Machine." + +"It's going to be a great thing, isn't it, Suzanna?" said Maizie, in an +awed voice. + +"Yes, and nobody in the world could have made it but our father," said +Suzanna solemnly. "Father was made to do that work, and the whole world +will be better because of his invention." + +"The whole outside world?" asked Maizie, "or just Anchorville?" + +"Oh, the whole world," said Suzanna, and then as Peter once more made +his appearance: "Peter, take your tie out of your mouth. Father may call +us upstairs at any moment, and you must look as nice as nice can be." + +Peter obediently removed his tie from between his teeth, and just then +the awaited summons came. + +"Children! You may come up and bring mother." + +Suzanna ran out into the kitchen. Mother had her hands in a pan of dough +and was kneading vigorously. She looked up at Suzanna's message and +replied: "You children run up to father; I'll come when I can. Go +quietly by the bedroom door, the baby's asleep." + +Upstairs then the children flew. At the top they paused and looked in. +Father was standing close to The Machine; he turned as they appeared, +and with a princely gesture (Suzanna's private term), invited them in. + +The attic was dimly lit. Shadows seemed to lurk in its corners. It was +an attic in name only, since it held no stored treasures of former days. +It stood consecrated to a great endeavor. The children knew that, and +instinctively paused at the threshold. They got the sense that big +thoughts filled this room, big ambitions for Man. + +They approached and paused before The Machine. It stood high, +cabinet-shaped, of brilliantly polished wood whose surface seemed to +catch and hold soft, rosy lights from out the shadows. Above The Machine +rose a nickel-plated flexible arm, at the end of which hung a sort of +helmet. Some distance back of the arm, and extending about a foot above +the cabinet, were two tubes connected by a glass plate; and beneath the +plate, a telescope arrangement into which was set a gleaming lens. + +Mr. Procter opened a door at the side of the cabinet. The children, +peering in, beheld interesting looking springs, coils, and batteries. He +shut the door, walked around to the front of the cabinet and opened +another and smaller door. Here the children, following, saw a number of +small black discs. The inventor reached in, touched a lever, and +immediately a rhythmic, clicking sound ensued. + +Next he drew down dark shades over the low windows. The filmed glass +plate above the cabinet alone showed clear in the eclipse, as though +waiting. + +"Now, Suzanna, come!" + +Suzanna, at some new electric quality in her father's voice, sprang +forward. He procured a chair, placed it directly before the cabinet, +drew the flexible arm till the helmet rested perhaps four inches above +the child's head but did not touch it, pulled forward the telescope and +focused its lens upon her expectant face. + +"Watch the plate glass," he said in a tense whisper, and Suzanna kept +her eyes as directed. + +A moment passed. No sound came but the rhythmic ticking. The inventor's +face was white. His eyes, dark, held a gleam and a prayer. Another +space, and then very slowly a shadowy line of color played upon the +glass set between the two tubes; color so faint, so delicate, that +Suzanna wondered if she saw clearly. + +But the color strengthened, and at last all saw plainly a line of rich +deep purple touched with gold. It remained there triumphant upon the +glass, a royal bar. + +Silent moments breathed themselves away, for the test had come and it +had not failed. Suzanna, at last moving her gaze from the color +registered, turned to her father. She saw, with a leap of the heart, +that his eyes were wet. He seemed to have turned to an immovable image, +and yet never did life seem to flow out so richly from him. + +Peter broke the quiet. "What does it mean, daddy, that color?" he asked. + +Suddenly galvanized, Mr. Procter ran to the stairs outside. His voice +rang out like a bell. + +"Jane, come, come!" + +Mrs. Procter, in the kitchen, caught the exultant note in his voice. She +was stirring batter for a cake, but she flung down the spoon and ran up +the stairs. + +"Oh, Richard, what is it," she cried, as she reached him. His eyes, +half frightened, half elated, looked into hers. + +"I will show you," he cried. He took her hand and led her to The Machine +before which Suzanna still sat. + +The wave of color still persisted on the glass. "See," he said, +"registered color, for which I have worked and worked, died a thousand +deaths of despair, and been resurrected to hope. This afternoon the +color seemed promised, and so in fear and trembling I placed Suzanna +before the machine." + +"Oh, my dear, my dear, after all these years!" She lifted her face and +kissed him solemnly. + +And then Peter repeated his question, to which before there had been no +answer. + +"What does the color mean, daddy?" he asked. + +"Two colors recording in that manner means great versatility; purple +means the artist, probably a writer." + +Peter looked his bewilderment. His mother, smiling a little, reduced the +explanation to simpler form. Even then Peter was befogged. + +The inventor went to a remote corner and brought forth a large book +containing many pages. This he placed upon a small table, and the +children and their mother crowded about him, eager to see and to hear. + +Mr. Procter lit a side lamp so the light fell upon the book, then he +turned the pages slowly. Blocks of color lay upon each, some in squares +alone, some merging into others like a disjointed rainbow. Above each +block, or merged block, were writings, interpretations of color meaning, +word above word; many erasures, as though fresh thought thrust out the +integrity of early ones. + +Mr. Procter spoke to his wife. "Till the machine showed the +possibilities of ultimate success, I have said nothing even to you of +its inception. Now, however, I may speak. + +"It may sound strange, but from the time I was a very young boy, I've +seen others in color. That is, a vivid personality never failed to +translate itself in purple to me; a pale one in blue. It was out of that +spiritual sight that I built my theory of color. It took me years, but +time after time have I proved to my own complete satisfaction that each +individual has a keynote of color; a color explaining his purpose." + +A thousand questions of details, of practicalities that his theory did +not seem in the rough to touch, rushed to Mrs. Procter's lips; but she +could not voice one, she could not quench his uplifted expression and, +indeed, so great was her belief in him that she had faith that he would +overcome all obstacles. + +He went on: "After I had my system of color worked out, I began to plan +my machine, then to build it, and now--" He covered his face with his +hands. Suddenly he took them down, turned to his children and with eyes +alight, cried: + +"For the progress of humanity have I worked, my children. To read men's +meanings, the purposes for which they live, have I created this +machine." + +The children, deeply stirred with him, gazed back into his kindled face. +His magnetism lifted them. For humanity he had worked, should always +work, and with him they understood that this was the greatest service. +With him they rose on the wings of creative imagination. Desire ran deep +in each small heart to do something for the benefit of man. Not money, +not position, but love for one's fellows, work for one's fellows! Never +in all their lives were they to forget this moving hour in the attic. +Its influence would be with them for always. + +After a moment Maizie spoke: "How does The Machine know your color, +daddy?" + +The inventor smiled. "It has an eye, see?" He pointed to the lens in +the telescope. Then he opened the small door. "In this place it has +sensitized plates; this helmet, too, is highly sensitized." He paused +and then laughed at himself as he saw the mystified expressions of his +children. "Well, let us try Maizie. I know her color, but let's see what +the machine says." He turned out the lamp. "Come, Maizie," he said. + +So Maizie seated herself before the machine and watched to see what the +glass plate should say of her. The plate remained for a moment clear, +then slowly there grew a feather of color. Smoke color, a sort of dove +gray, it was and so remained, despite its neutrality, quite plainly +visible. + +Mr. Procter lifted the helmet, hushed the machine. He went to his book, +took it to the window, raised the shade a trifle and peered down. "As I +knew," he said. Then closing the book and turning to his small daughter, +he went on: "My little Maizie will some day nurse back to health those +who are weary and worn; she will be patient, full of understanding, and +she will be greatly beloved." + +Maizie's face grew luminous. "And so I'll do good too, just like you," +she said, with a beautiful faith. + +"You will do good, too, my daughter," he answered, with exquisite +egotism in his inclusion. + +Peter, eager-eyed, looked up at his father. + +"Do you think I have a color, too, daddy?" he asked. + +"Yes, Peter. Take your place." + +Peter did so. + +For him there grew a tongue of sturdy bronze. In the dim light it waved +across the surface of the glass plate. + +And Mr. Procter said: "In time our little boy Peter will build great +bridges." + +"That four horses can walk across, daddy?" Peter cried in ecstasy. + +"That a hundred horses can walk across, and a big engine pull safely its +train of cars." + +Then again into the inventor's eyes leaped a radiance. He placed his +hand lovingly upon the machine as though it were alive, and indeed so it +seemed to be, for into it he had put his finest ideals, his deepest +hopes for the development of man. + +"A few months more of work," he cried. "And then it will be ready to +give to the world." + +Someone came lightly up the stairs. A head appeared, then a body, then a +hearty voice: "May I come in?" it asked. + +Mrs. Procter swung the door wide to Mr. Reynolds, neighbor across the +way. He entered with a little hesitation. He was a large man with a +heavy brick-colored face, yet with eyes that had preserved some spirit +of youth. Mr. Reynolds was as great an idealist as his friend, the +inventor, though his idealism gave out in totally different directions. +He read all sorts of books, but reacted to them with originality. His +imagination only grasped their meanings, not his intellect. He worked in +another town, several miles from Anchorville, in a large chair factory, +and several times a week in the evening he stood upon a soap box on a +street corner, and amused a mixed audience by his picturesque setting +forth of what he thought was wrong with the world; also what methods he +believed would, if employed, straighten out the tangles. + +Since he spoke "straight from the shoulder," as he put it, touching +dramatically upon the hand of wealth as causing the tangles, he had +called down upon himself the wrath of the town's richest man, old John +Massey, owner of the Massey Steel Mills. Twice Mr. Massey had threatened +the eloquent and fearless orator with arrest, and twice for some unknown +reason he had refrained from carrying out his threat, and the +authorities of the town complacently allowed Mr. Reynolds to continue +his pastime. + +"I knew you were at home today," said Mr. Reynolds, "and I must see the +machine." He looked at the joyous face of the inventor. + +"Why, have you been trying it out?" he cried. + +"Yes, and with a fair degree of success. Of course, I realize it may not +always work as it did today. Indeed, the colors are not so strong as I +expect eventually to get them." + +"A great piece of work," said Mr. Reynolds, advancing to the middle of +the room and falling into the orator's attitude. "I've thought of it +every day since you told me of it. When I see men in the factory working +at jobs they fair hate, because they and theirs need bread--and breaking +under the bondage--Oh, I say, Procter, I wish you could bring the +machine to perfection soon and get others to believe in it." + +Mr. Procter's eyes lost their light. "That's it, to make others +believe!" + +Mrs. Procter went to her husband. She put her hand on his arm and looked +up into his face with a gaze of perfect faith. "A big purposeful idea +like yours, that's going to make humanity happier, can't fail but some +day to be brought to the world's attention. Never lose faith, my man." + +The shadow of discouragement fell swiftly from him. + +"And, now," she continued before he could speak, "all wait here a little +while. The baby's still asleep," she flung over her shoulder as she left +the room. + +Shortly she returned bearing a large tray which she set down on the +table. Then she lit the side lamp; it cast a soft glow over the room. +"Now all draw close," Mrs. Procter invited. + +So they drew chairs near the table. There was milk for the children, +little seed cakes, thin bread and butter, and cups of strong tea for the +inventor and the visitor. + +The children, sipping their milk and eating the little sweet cakes, +listening to the talk of their father and Mr. Reynolds, their expressed +hopes for the success of the machine and its effect upon humanity, gazed +at the invention. The sense of a community of interest filled them. They +felt that they, each and all, had put something of everlasting worth +into The Machine, just as it had put some enduring understanding into +them. + +"I feel," whispered Suzanna to Maizie, "as though we were in church." + +Mr. Reynolds caught the whisper. "And well you may, little lassie," he +returned. "Your father is a fine, good man with no thought at all of +himself, and some day," finished Mr. Reynolds, grandly, "his name will +go rolling down the ages as a benefactor to all mankind." + +A tribute and a prophecy! The children were glad that Mr. Reynolds had +such clear vision. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE NEW DRESS + + +An influence vaguely felt by all the Procter family lingered for days +after father's Saturday afternoon at home. And then ordinary hours +intruded and filled the small lives with their duties and their +pleasures. Still shadowy, deeply hidden, the influence of the visionary +father lay. Even small Maizie awoke to tiny dreams, her literalness for +moments drowned out. + +At school, Maizie and Suzanna were perhaps the least extravagantly +dressed little girls. Exquisitely clean, often quaintly adorned with +ribbons placed according to Suzanna's fancies, it still could be seen +that they came from an humble home. + +Still, in their attitude there was toward their companions an +unconscious patronage, felt but hardly resented by the others, since +Suzanna and Maizie gave love and warmth besides. + +And this unconscious feeling of superiority sprang from "belonging" to a +father who worked in his free hours that others out in the big world +might some day be glad he had lived! This idealism lent luster even to +his calling of weighing nails and selling washboards to the town of +Anchorville. + +Jenny Bryson, in Suzanna's class, bragged of her father's financial +condition, and indeed she was a resplendent advertisement of his +success. + +Suzanna listened interestedly. She gazed with admiration at the velvet +dress, the gold ring, and the pearl neck beads. She loved them all--the +smoothness of the velvet, the sparkle of the gold, the soft luster of +the pearls. But she felt no envy. She loved the adornments with her +imagination, not with desire. And though she could not say so to Jenny, +she rather pitied her for not having a father to whom a future +generation would bow in great gratitude. + +Then too, as mother said, if you merely bought clothes, you lost the joy +of creating. Witness the ingenious way, following Suzanna's suggestion, +that mother had draped a lace curtain over a worn blue dress, and +behold, a result wonderful. + +It was fun then to "make the best of your material," as mother again +said. Mother, who, when not too tired from many tasks, could paint rare +word pictures, build for eager little listeners castles of hope; build, +especially for Suzanna, colorful palaces with flaming jewels, crystal +lamps, scented draperies. + +Joys sometimes come close together. Father's day, then Sunday with an +hour spent in the Massey pew with gentle Miss Massey, old John Massey's +only child, setting forth the lesson from the Bible, and then the +thrilling announcement by the Superintendent that a festival was to be +given by the primary teachers some time in August, the exact date to be +told later. + +Miss Massey, taking up the subject when the Superintendent had finished, +thought it might add to the brilliance of the affair if Suzanna were to +recite. So she gave Suzanna a sheet of paper printed in blue ink, with a +title in red. "The Little Martyr of Smyrna," Suzanna spelled out. + +"You are to learn the poem by heart, of course, Suzanna," said Miss +Massey, "and if you need any help as to emphasis or gesture, you may +come to me on any afternoon." + +Suzanna flushed exalted. "I don't believe I'll need any help, thank you, +Miss Massey," she said. She could scarcely wait then till she reached +home to tell her mother the great news. + +"You'll have to study hard," said Mrs. Procter after she had read over +the verses, "but Suzanna, you have nothing suitable to wear." + +"The lace curtain dress, mother?" asked Suzanna, hopefully. + +"Beyond repair," returned Mrs. Procter. + +Father, sitting near, looked around at his small daughter. "I have two +dollars that I couldn't possibly use. Take them for a dress, Suzanna." + +"But, dear--" began mother, and went on haltingly about a pair of new +shoes she believed father had been saving for. + +But father did not hear, and so behold Suzanna and her mother the next +day at four o'clock in the afternoon in Bryson's drygoods store deciding +upon a pink lawn and a soft valenciennes lace. And later, green cambric +for a petticoat. And then on Wednesday the cutting out of the dress with +suggestions and help from Mrs. Reynolds, the very kind neighbor across +the way. On Thursday, baking day, mother put in every waking moment +between the oven in the kitchen and the sewing machine in the +dining-room. + +"Mother dear, don't work so hard," Suzanna begged once. She held the +fretful baby in her arms and tried to soothe him. He was always fretful, +it seemed, when mother was very busy. + +"The dress must be finished this week," said Mrs. Procter, basting away +furiously. + +"But there's two weeks yet to the festival, mother," said Suzanna, as +she hushed the baby against her shoulder. + +"Next week, Suzanna, the bedrooms must be thoroughly cleaned, the +carpets taken up. O, please take the baby out into the yard and keep him +amused." + +Two red spots burned on Mrs. Procter's cheeks. Suzanna saw them. +Ardently she wished mother would stop and rest. Such driving haste, such +tenacity, meant later a nervous headache with mother put aside in a +darkened room. Suzanna sighed as she took the baby out into the yard. + +She put him into his carriage and wheeled him about till he fell asleep. +Then she called Maizie to watch him, while she tiptoed back into the +dining-room. Her mother still sat, dress in hand. Now she was drawing +out the bastings. The red spots still burned. + +"The baby's asleep, mother," whispered Suzanna. She longed ardently for +the return of the loved one who could laugh and say something funny +about sleep claiming the baby when he had made up his small mind to +remain exasperatingly wide awake. + +But instead--"Take out the stockings, Suzanna, and darn them. I'll call +you when I need your help for supper. Keep your eye on Peter." + +That was all. Suzanna lingered, but no further word came. + +Suzanna dragged a low rocking chair into the yard, emptied the bag of +freshly washed stockings on the ground beside her, selected a pair of +Peter's, slipped the egg down, threaded her needle and began the task of +filling in the huge holes. Then she called Maizie from beside the still +sleeping baby. + +"Maizie," she began, "listen to me say two verses of 'The Little Martyr +of Smyrna.'" + +Maizie sank down at her sister's feet. She listened in awe as Suzanna +dramatically repeated the first part of the poem. Her gestures were +remarkable, her voice charged with feeling. + +"It's beautiful, Suzanna," said Maizie. "Everybody will listen and look +at you in your new dress." + +"O, it isn't a dress, Maizie," cried Suzanna, the while her small +fingers dexterously wove the needle in and out. "It's a rose blossom. +And when I recite in it on the last day of school my heart will be a +butterfly sipping honey from the flower." + +"I thought it was only a pale pink lawn at ten cents a yard," said +Maizie. She spoke somewhat timidly now, fearful of Suzanna's scorn. + +"You think everything is just what it is," answered Suzanna +reproachfully. "Go see if the baby is still asleep, and look down the +road for Peter." + +Maizie went off obediently, but she returned in a moment with the news +that the baby still slept and Peter was playing near Mr. Reynolds' gate. +She seated herself as before. She wanted to hear more of Suzanna's +fancies, but Suzanna remained silent, having been chilled a little by +Maizie's practicality. So Maizie put out her hand and touched her +sister. "Will the petticoat be a petticoat?" she asked, and wondered +excitedly into what beauty Suzanna's imagination would transmute this +ordinary piece of cambric. + +Suzanna's spirits rose again. "It'll be a green satin cup for the rose," +she answered, gazing dreamily before her. She let Peter's stocking fall +to the ground while she clasped her hands ecstatically. "O, Maizie, it's +almost too much joy! To wear a flower dress and to recite something that +makes you so happy and yet you want to cry too." + +Maizie nestled a little closer. "Do you think, Suzanna, when the green +petticoat's nearly worn, that it'll come down to me?" + +Suzanna pondered this for a moment. "Yes, it'll go down to you, Maizie, +but not for years and years," she answered, finally. "Things do last so +in this family." + +Maizie, by a sad little shake of the head, agreed with this statement, +and the sisters were silent. In different manner, however, for Maizie +simply accepted an unpleasant fact, while Suzanna worked mentally to a +solution of any situation. She found the solution at last. + +"I'll tell you what I'll do, Maizie," she said. "Once a month, when we +love each other madly, I'll let you wear my petticoat." + +"I hope it'll come on Sunday when we love each other that way," said +Maizie, wistfully; "I'm sure mother wouldn't let you lend the petticoat +to me for an every-day." + +"We can fix that, too," said ready Suzanna. "Some Friday you can begin +to fuss about washing Peter. I'll have to wash him myself if you're +_too_ mean. And Saturday morning you can peel the potatoes so thick that +mother'll say: 'Maizie, do you think we're made of money! Here, let +Suzanna show you how to peel those potatoes thin.' And then I'll be so +mad I'll give you a push, and I won't speak to you for the rest of the +day." + +"Yes, go on," said Maizie, her eyes shining. + +"And then on Sunday morning, just before breakfast, you'll come to me +and put your arms around my neck and say: 'Dear, sweet, _lovely_ +Suzanna, I'm so sorry I've been so hateful. I'll go down on my knees for +your forgiveness. _And I'll sew on all the buttons this week!_'" + +Maizie drew away a little then. Suzanna went on, however. "And I'll say: +'Yes, dear sinner, I forgive you freely. You may wear my green petticoat +today.'" + +There fell an hour of a never-to-be-forgotten day when the pink dress +lay on the dining-room table, full length, finished, marvelous to little +eyes with its yards and yards of valenciennes lace that graduated in +width from very narrow to one broad band around the bottom of the skirt. +Suzanna, Maizie, Peter, and even the baby bowed before the miracle of +beauty. + +"How many yards of lace are on it, mother?" asked Suzanna, for the sixth +time, and for the sixth time Mrs. Procter looked up from her sewing +machine at which she was busy with the green petticoat and answered: "A +whole bolt, Suzanna." + +The children at this information stared rounder-eyed and then turned to +gaze with uncovered awe at Suzanna, the owner. + +"Do you think, mother," asked Maizie, "that when I'm older I can have a +pink dress with no trimming of yours on it?" + +"We'll see," said Mrs. Procter, who knew how strictly to the letter she +was held to her promises. + +Now Suzanna reluctantly left the dress and went to her mother. "Mother," +she cried, softly, "when I recite 'The Little Martyr of Smyrna' up on +the big platform, I'm afraid I won't be humble in spirit. It's too much +to be humble, isn't it, when you've got a whole bolt of lace on your +dress?" + +Mrs. Procter, quite used to Suzanna's intensities, answered, running the +machine deftly as she spoke: "Oh, you'll be all right, Suzanna. The +minister means something else when he preaches of being humble. What +bothers me now is how to manage a pair of shoes for you. Yours are so +shabby." + +"Can't I wear my patent leather slippers?" + +"You've outgrown them, Suzanna. They're too short even for Maizie, you +remember." + +"I could stand them for that one time, mother." + +"No," said Mrs. Procter decidedly; "I should be distressed seeing you in +shoes too small for you." + +"Mother, you could open the end of my patent leather slipper so my toes +can push through and then put a puff of black, ribbon over the hole!" +The idea was an inspiration, and Suzanna's eyes shone. + +Mrs. Procter saw immediately possibilities in the idea. Years of working +and scheming and praying to raise her ever increasing family on the +inadequate and varying income of her inventor husband had ultimated in +keen sensibilities for opportunities. "Why, I think I can do that," she +said. "I'll make a sort of shirred bag into which your toes will fit and +so lengthen the slipper and cover the stitching with a bow. I hope I can +find a needle strong enough to go through the leather." Her face was +bright, her voice clear. She was all at once quite different from the +weary, dragged mother of the past few days, determined against all odds +to finish the dress so the cleaning might be started the following week. + +Suzanna gazed delightedly. With the fine intuition of an imaginative +child she understood the reason for the metamorphosis. It was the +quickening of the senses that rallied themselves to meet and solve a +problem that brought a high glow; stimulated, and uplifted. She herself +was no stranger to that glow. + +She put her arms about her mother's shoulder. + +"Isn't it nice, mother, to have to think out things?" + +A little puzzled, Mrs. Procter looked at Suzanna. Then her face cleared. + +"O, I understand. It is--can you understand the word, +Suzanna--'exhilarating' sometimes." + +"I feel what the word means, mother--like catching in your breath when +you touch cold water." + +"Exactly. Now please get the slippers." + +Suzanna ran upstairs. Returning, slippers in hand, she found the other +children had left. + +"Has Maizie got the baby?" Suzanna asked anxiously. + +Her mother smiled. "Yes, I carried him out to the yard. He's kicking +about, happy on his blanket." + +Suzanna, relieved, handed the slippers to her mother. + +"And I brought my old black hair ribbon. That will do for the shirring, +won't it, mother?" + +"Nicely." + +Together they evolved, worked, tried on, completed. + +"It's more fun doing this than going to Bryson's and buying a new pair, +isn't it, mother?" + +"Well, I believe it is, daughter." + +"I feel so warm here--" Suzanna touched her heart--"because we're doing +something harder than just going out to the store and buying what we'd +like." + +Mrs. Procter gazed at her handiwork reflectively. "Well, it does make +you feel that you've accomplished a great deal when you've created +something out of nothing." + +Mrs. Procter rose then, touched the new dress lovingly, and said: "So, +we can put it away now, Suzanna; it's quite finished. The petticoat +needs just a button and buttonhole." + +Suzanna stood quite still. At last she looked up into her mother's face +and put her question: "When will you begin to cut the goods out from +under the lace, mother?" + +Mrs. Procter, her thoughts now supperward, spoke abstractedly: "Oh, +we'll not do that." + +There was a silence, while the room suddenly whirled for Suzanna. +Recovering from the dizziness, with eyes large and black and her face +very pale, Suzanna gazed unbelievingly at her mother. For a moment she +was quite unable to speak. Then in a tiny voice which she endeavored to +keep steady, she asked: "Not even from under the wide row round the +bottom, mother?" + +"No, Suzanna," Mrs. Procter answered, quite unconscious of the storm in +the child's breast. She moved towards the door. + +"But, mother, listen, please." Suzanna's hands were locked till they +showed white at the knuckles. "If you don't cut the goods away the green +petticoat won't gleam through the lace! You see, it's a rose dress and a +rose has shining green leaves, just showing." + +The plea was ardent, but Mrs. Procter was firm. Indeed she did not +glance at Suzanna. The reaction from her days of hard and continuous +work was setting in. She merely said: "Suzanna, we must make that dress +last a long time. I made it so that it can be lengthened five inches. We +can't weaken it by cutting the goods away from under the lace. Now, +dear, go and see that the children aren't in mischief. I must start +supper." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +SUZANNA COMES TO A DECISION + + +The children were playing contentedly in the road, Suzanna assured +herself. And finding them so, she wandered disconsolately back to the +front porch, where seated in a little rocking chair she stared straight +before her. She felt as one thrown suddenly from a great height. One +moment she had been thrillingly happy, the next, the bitter fruit of +disappointment touched her lips. So events occur lightningly quick in +this world. The day itself was as beautiful as it had been an hour +before, yet its sun had ceased to shine for little Suzanna, since the +crowning touch of The Dress, the poetic completeness of it, was denied +her. + +Years ago it seemed she had wakened in the morning after dreaming of a +rose gown with its glimpses of cool green flickering through rows of +open lace; but no more could she dream, since that lace was now +condemned to blindness, unable even to hint at concealed beauties, and +this because Economy, the stern god of the Procter home, so ordained. + +Two tears at last found their slow way down her cheek. Not the least of +her woe was caused by the realization that now the dress was +ingloriously what Maizie had termed it, a pale pink lawn at ten cents a +yard, bearing no appeal to her imagination, fulfilling no place in +Suzanna's great Scheme of Things. + +Suzanna's distress, as the days passed, did not abate. She never spoke +of the dress, nor did she go to look at it as it hung shrouded in cheese +cloth in the hall closet upstairs. No longer did she look forward with +delight to the day when feelingly she should recite the troubles and the +heroism of "The Little Martyr of Smyrna." + +Instead she went quietly about performing her customary duties, finding +for the time no real zest in life. + +Mrs. Procter, innocent of the cause of Suzanna's listlessness, spoke no +word. She wondered why the child had lost interest in the festival, +indeed in all things pertaining to the occasion. It was difficult, she +finally decided, to know how to cope with a child so complex, so +changeable. She determined to treat the new mood with indifference, as +being the most potent method. So she asked of Suzanna the performance of +daily duties just as usual. When she discovered Suzanna gazing at her, +Maizie close beside her with the same degree of reflection in her gray +eyes, Mrs. Procter grew uncomfortable, then a trifle irritable. Both +children seemed to regard her as an alien, one, for the time, quite +outside their pale. + +Suzanna, then, had taken Maizie into her confidence. + +"One needs be clairvoyant," Mrs. Procter told her husband one evening, +"to know what passes through small minds." + +"Clairvoyant and full of patience," he answered, looking up from his +color book. "I can remember even now my own sensations when at times my +mother failed to go with me into my land of dreams." + +Mrs. Procter cast her memory back over the events of several days. + +"I can't think what has so changed Suzanna," she said at last; "I've +disappointed her, I fear, about something or other. Dear me, what +insight versatile children do demand in a mother. And Suzanna takes +everything so very seriously. And Maizie stares at me too, with a little +bewildered expression. It's strange that Maizie, with all her +literalness, can understand at times Suzanna's disappointments when her +fancies are not given due value. For, of course, it is some fancy of +Suzanna's that I've either not noticed, or perhaps laughed at." She +paused to smile at her husband. + +"Such children come of giving them an inventor father, an 'impractical +genius,' as I've heard myself in satire called." + +She flushed up angrily at this. + +"You've done wonderfully well," she said, and believed the assertion; +just as though at forty to weigh nails correctly and to sell so many +yards of garden hose a week was a fine measure of success. "And your +name will go ringing down the ages." She would never let him lose +confidence in his own powers. Circumstances alone had thrown him into a +mediocre position in a small town, but they should never hold him down. + +He grew beneath her look; beneath her belief in him. And so the +conversation ended on the personal note; ended with hands clasped and +fond eyes seeing each the other's charm after many years. + +Suzanna, arranging the pantry the next morning, sought her mother +upstairs with a domestic announcement. + +"The vinegar bottle is empty," she said. + +"And the gherkins all ready," cried Mrs. Procter. "Will you run over to +Mrs. Reynolds and ask her for some vinegar, Suzanna?" + +Listlessly, Suzanna returned downstairs, and from the pantry procured a +cup. Slowly she left the house, walked down the front path and across +the road to Mrs. Reynolds' home. Arrived there, she went round to the +back door and knocked with slack knuckles. + +Mrs. Reynolds, a white cloth tied about her forehead, opened the door. +She gave out redolently the pungent odor of the commodity Suzanna sought +to borrow. + +Mrs. Reynolds was stout and comfortable looking ordinarily. A quaint and +interesting personality, sprung from Welsh parentage, she fitted into +the life of Anchorville only because of a certain natural adaptability. +She seemed to belong to a wilder, more passionate people than those +plain lives which surrounded her. + +Suzanna knew her tenderness, her tragic depressions. She loved her deep +voice, her resonant tones, all her quick changes of mood, and her +occasional strange ways of expression, revealing her understanding of +men and women's vagaries. + +Mrs. Reynolds adored Suzanna. She had said often there was one thing she +coveted from her neighbor, and that was her neighbor's child. + +Mrs. Reynolds had no children and in that deplorable fact lay her +keenest unhappiness. + +She greeted Suzanna cordially. + +"Come in, Suzanna, come in," she said. "I've been using vinegar and red +pepper all morning," she continued, as she went her way to the pantry +with Suzanna's cup. "I've one of my old headaches." + +"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Suzanna, with immediate sympathy. "Have you +been worrying?" + +"Not more than usual, Suzanna," said Mrs. Reynolds with a sigh. "Here's +your vinegar. Hold it steady. Vinegar's a bad thing to spill." + +"Thank you," said Suzanna, politely, as she received the cup. And then: +"I don't see why you should worry. You have no children. It's mother's +many children that sometimes give her worry." + +"Your mother'd have worries even without you all," returned Mrs. +Reynolds. "Won't you sit down a spell, Suzanna?" + +"No, I can't, mother's waiting." Suzanna walked toward the door, pausing +on her way to glance about her. "My, but you're very clean here," she +said, appreciatively. "Your cleanness is different from ours. Ours +doesn't show so." + +"There's no little hands to clutter things up," said Mrs. Reynolds, but +her voice wasn't glad. + +Suzanna, intuitively sensing the real trouble, said: "Reynolds slammed +the door this morning, Mrs. Reynolds. We heard the slam in our +dining-room and my mother jumped." Suzanna quite innocently borrowed +Mrs. Reynolds' way of referring to her husband. + +Mrs. Reynolds' face darkened. "Yes, I know he did. That man is getting +more like a bear every day." + +"He liked our twin that went away, Mrs. Reynolds. He wasn't like a bear +when he played with her." + +At this statement Mrs. Reynolds suddenly threw her apron over her head +and sobbed: "That's just it, Suzanna, that's just it; there aren't any +little cluttering fingers about." + +Suzanna set the vinegar cup carefully down on the table, the while her +keenly sensitive mind worked rapidly. Those gifts which by dint of their +frequency in her own home seemed rather overdone were actually missed +here! A strong, deep sympathy for Mrs. Reynolds' disappointment grew +within her, but did not entirely crowd out the thought that through this +very disappointment her own burning desire might be brought to pass. She +now went swiftly and touched the weeping woman. + +"Mrs. Reynolds," she began, "will you tell me how you feel about +cutting pink goods away from under lace. Can you afford to do that?" + +Mrs. Reynolds' apron came down with a jerk, and for a second she stared +her perplexity at the upturned, earnest little face. Then with quick +understanding which revealed her real mother-spirit, she answered: "Why +land, Honey-Girl, Reynolds makes pretty good money at times. I guess we +can do about as we please in most simple ways." + +"Well, then, keep your apron down," advised Suzanna; "and just think +this thought over and over: 'Reynolds is not going to be cross any +more!' Thank you again for the vinegar, I must be going now." + +It was not without misgiving that Suzanna started immediately to put her +secret plan into execution. And her judicious side urged the completion +of all details before she said anything to those most nearly concerned +in her new move. Only to Maizie, whose constant attendance she +skillfully managed to elude while she made her simple preparations, did +she at last give any confidence, and it was in this manner she spoke: + +"There's going to be a great change, Maizie; and tonight you must manage +to stay awake to do something for me." + +Maizie, at once interested, grew wildly expectant. Though she could send +up no airships of her own, she loved to contemplate Suzanna's daring +flights. + +"I'll do anything, Suzanna," she promised. + +So Suzanna gave Maizie her news. Hearing it, Maizie's lips quivered, but +she kept back the tears by the exercise of great control. They were +upstairs in their own room. It was late afternoon. Peter was out +playing. Mrs. Procter, the baby with her, was downtown ordering +groceries. + +"Now, you mustn't cry, Maizie," said Suzanna; "it all had to be, and +what is to be is for the best." Suzanna quoted from Mrs. Reynolds. "Go +downstairs and get father's dictionary." + +Maizie obeyed, returning quickly with the desired book. + +"And now stand at the window so as to tell me when you see mother +coming." + +So Maizie took her stand while Suzanna labored hard with the pen. An +hour passed. Once Suzanna flew downstairs to the kitchen, then returned +to her work. At last, Maizie in excited tones announced that her mother +and the baby had turned the corner. Suzanna laid down her pen. + +"Well, it's all finished," she said. + +Maizie looked at her sister. Now the tears came, blurring the big gray +eyes. + +"You mustn't cry, Maizie," said Suzanna, trying to subdue her own +emotions. + +"Couldn't you just wear the dress as it is?" asked Maizie in a small +voice, touching the crux of the whole matter, the cause of the great +change. + +"I just couldn't," Suzanna returned. "It wouldn't be a rose blossom, you +see, Maizie, _when it could just as well be one_." + +Maizie nodded. Perhaps she understood Suzanna's sense of waste. +Undoubtedly her grief at Suzanna's contemplated step had sharpened her +sensibilities. Vague stirrings told her that the artist in Suzanna had +been desperately hurt; and for the once her imagination thrilled as did +her sister's to the dress as a Rose Blossom. She knew with passion that +it could not remain simply pink lawn cut and slashed into a mere +garment. + +So she went softly to Suzanna and touched her gently. + +"I'll help you all I can, sister," she said. + +So it was that just as the clock was striking nine, little Maizie stole +from her room--shared as long as she remembered with Suzanna--crept down +the stairs and into the parlor where her father sat studying, as always, +a formidable book, the while her mother sat sewing, her chair drawn +close to his. Maizie went straight to the quiet figure. + +"Mother," she said, "Suzanna told me to stay awake till the clock struck +nine and then to give you this." + +"This" was a note folded into the shape of a cocked hat, which Suzanna +thought very elegant. Mrs. Procter, accustomed to Suzanna's ways, +unfolded the note, smiled at the large printed letters, sighed a little +at the thought of the great effort put into their forming, read once, +twice, then sat up very straight. The note thus told its own story: + + My Loving Mother: + + I have given myself to the Reynolds for there own. + Mrs. Reynolds is not happy with Reynolds' slams of + doors and crossness be cause they have no child. + They will be pretty sprised to see me to night and + glad with my big shiny bag witch I have borrowed + from my once very loved father. I have my pink + dress witch will soon be a rose in it and my other + things. I wore my hat and coat even if it is warm. + You will not miss me much because the last baby + went away and a baby always makes more work. And + anyway one little girl out of a big family wont + make any difrunce. But if you want any fine + errands ran, you can borrow Mrs. Reynolds new + child. Tell father I am loving my naybor as + myself. It hurt me till something stopped inside + to see Mrs. Reynolds put her apron over her head + at Reynolds slams. Perhaps the mother angel that + stops at our house all the time will pause at Mrs. + Reynolds' next time and leave a bundle, thinking + when I'm there a family don't have to be started + which is always hard, I suppose. Mother, please + don't forget about borrowing. It is not polite to + come 2 often even to borrow me for some thing big. + It took me an hour and twenty minutes to write + this while you were at the butshers and grosers + and Maizie at the window. I had to stop too, to + watch the beans on the stove. I have labored over + some of the big spelling with fathers dicsionary + on my knee, remembering to make all my i's big + I's. + + Farewell forever, + Suzanna _Reynolds_. + + P. S. Mrs. Reynolds can afford to cut away the + goods from under all lace, which makes my heart + jump! Perhaps tho even tho I'm sorry for her, if + she hadn't promised to cut away the goods from + under the lace in my pink dress, I wouldn't have + adopted myself out to her. So I shall see you when + I recite "The Little Martyr of Smyrna" with the + green showing through the windows of my many yards + of lace. O, Mother, I couldn't bare to ware that + dress which is just a _dress_ when it could be a + _rose_. + +"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Procter, attracted by the strange, almost +solemn silence. "What's the trouble, Jane?" + +She handed the note to him, waited while he read it through not once, +but many times, as she had. + +He passed it back to her. "Shall we go for her?" he asked. + +But she shook her head. "Sometimes I don't know just how to act where +Suzanna's concerned," she said. She folded the note. "No, sometimes I +feel just helpless." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +SUZANNA MAKES HER ENTRY + + +Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds were in the kitchen, she belatedly washing the +supper dishes, he smoking his pipe near the window. She lent, through +her vivid personality, color to him. Big, hearty, he was not +picturesque. He seemed to take note of realities more than she did. +Perhaps springing from emotional folk, she stood with a quality of rich +background denied to him by a line of unimaginative ancestors. + +He read his big books, she found truths in her own heart. She found a +quick, tender language springing from her understanding. He used his +words like bludgeons. + +Still they loved one another, and her deepest hurt was that he wanted +that which she could not give him. So she placed his longing before hers +and grieved most for his lack. + +The front door-bell rang. They looked at one another wonderingly, then +Mr. Reynolds slowly withdrew his feet from the window sill and went as +slowly down the hall. He opened the door to Suzanna, who stood waiting, +conventionally attired in hat and cloak, pale, and with eyes wide and +dark. + +"Good evening, Reynolds," said Suzanna. + +"O! good evening, come in, come in," urged Mr. Reynolds hospitably, but +totally at a loss as he looked at the little figure. "Come right out to +the kitchen." + +Suzanna followed him. When once in the kitchen, she stood for a moment +blinking in the light streaming from the hanging lamp under which Mrs. +Reynolds stood; then she said: + +"I've come to you, Mrs. Reynolds, to stay. I've adopted myself out to +you." + +"Well, I never, dear love!" was all Mrs. Reynolds could say as she wiped +her hands on a convenient roller towel. + +Mr. Reynolds laughed. "Oh, you think you'd like a change of homes, +Suzanna?" + +Suzanna turned to him then. She spoke quietly, but decisively so he +might perfectly understand. "No, that's not it, Reynolds. I love my +little home; but first I don't want Mrs. Reynolds to throw her apron +over her head at your slams. And second it's for myself I come, because +you can afford to do something for me my own mother thinks she can't on +account of little money." + +But Mr. Reynolds caught only the first reason. "What do you mean, young +lady, about slammin'; that's what I want to know." His tone was +belligerent. Mrs. Reynolds threw him a withering look. "Here, Suzanna," +she said; "give me the bag, and you sit down. Take your hat off, my +brave little lass. 'Twas but you and you alone could think of this sweet +thought." + +"I'd rather have things settled before I take my hat off," said Suzanna. +She relinquished the bag, however, and seated herself in the chair Mrs. +Reynolds pulled forward. Then she went on: "You know, Reynolds, you do +slam doors and make Mrs. Reynolds cry. And you know, anyway, you +oughtn't to blame Mrs. Reynolds because you get no visits. It may be +just as much your fault because the mother angel don't like your ways." + +She paused a moment before continuing. "And, anyway, my father never +blames mother for anything, only when she's tired and cries he remembers +to love her even if he's on the way upstairs to the attic to his +wonderful Machine, and he puts his arm about her waist, though mother +says it's much larger now than it was years ago. That's what my father +that used to be, does." + +"Why bless my soul!" blustered Mr. Reynolds, his face a fine glowing +color; "bless my soul!" he repeated, removing his shoes and slamming +them down, as he always did under stress. "Women, my dear, will make up +all sorts of stories. If I did give the door a bit of a slam, it was +because the bacon didn't set right, perhaps. And a woman's always +fancying things." + +"But you don't put your arm about her, you know that, Reynolds. I was +born in this town and I've never seen you put your arm about her." + +Mrs. Reynolds' apron was over her head again, but she made no sound. Her +husband knocked the ashes from his pipe, and ran his fingers through his +thick hair. Then he stared helplessly at Suzanna. She rose valiantly to +the occasion. + +"If you say, 'There, there, don't cry, you should have married a better +man,' she'll say: 'There couldn't be a better' and take her apron down." +Thus innocently Suzanna exposed a tender home method of salving hurts, +and her listener, as near as his nature could, appropriated the method. +He rose from his chair and went softly to his wife. At her side he +hesitated in sheer embarrassment, but as she began to sob, he hurriedly +repeated Suzanna's formula: "There, there, dear, don't cry. I'm a bad +'un, I am--" + +Mrs. Reynolds lowered her shield. "You know better than that, +Reynolds," she denied, almost indignantly. "You're a good provider, with +a bit of a temper." + +"Well, out with it then. What _is_ the trouble? I'm willing to do what I +can, even occasionally to doing what the little lass suggests." And with +the words, his big arm went clumsily about his wife, the while he looked +at Suzanna for approval. She nodded vigorously, her eyes shining. + +"It's just this, then, Reynolds," the words were now a whisper, and the +big red-faced man had to stoop to hear. "It's that I'm achin' all the +time to hold one in my arms; and always to you I've let on that I didn't +care. An'--an'--I know the hunger in your own fine heart, my lad." + +Mr. Reynolds' face grew wonderfully soft; indeed, tender in a new +understanding. "I didn't know, Margie, that you grieved. Come, look up. +You and me are together anyway." + +"And you have me, now, too," broke in Suzanna, eager to help. "I'm going +to stay with you forever'n forever, only except when my mother that used +to be wants to borrow me back. Now, I'll go to bed, if you please." + +And then one swift, cuddling memory of little Maizie alone in bed across +the street brought the hot tears to Suzanna's eyes, but she winked them +resolutely back as she lifted the black, shiny bag. + +"Tomorrow," she said to Mrs. Reynolds, "you can cut the goods away from +under the lace on my pink dress, can't you?" She went on, not waiting +for an answer. "Shall I go right along upstairs?" + +Mrs. Reynolds spoke gently: "Yes, Suzanna. Did you tell your mother you +were coming to me to be my own lass?" + +"I wrote her a letter." + +Suzanna on her way upstairs waited a moment while Mrs. Reynolds +whispered directions to her husband: "You run across to the little home +while I put her to bed." Then looking wistfully up into his face: "Do +you think she'll let me undress her?" + +"That young'un will do anything to make you happy, Margie." + +From the top of the stairs the words floated down: "Are you +coming--_mother_--" + +Suzanna's voice choked on the word, but Mrs. Reynolds heard only the +exquisite title. She lifted her face, glowing like a heaven of stars. + +"I'm coming, Suzanna," she called. And she went swiftly up the stairs to +the little girl. "This night you sleep under the silk coverlet--and more +I couldn't do for royalty!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +REGRETS + + +Suzanna woke the next morning to a realization that she was in a strange +place. She occupied a large bed, too large, it seemed to her, for one +small girl. And even the silken coverlet failed to assuage the sudden +wave of homesickness which threatened to engulf her. + +She lay thinking. A clock on the dresser showed her the hour to be +seven. Maizie would be up and downstairs. She would have buttoned Peter +and would be carrying the blue dishes from the pantry to the +dining-room. Father would be in the attic for a glance at his beloved +Machine before obeying mother's cheerful call to breakfast. + +Suzanna choked back a lump insistent upon rising to her throat. Across +the way was home and she had adopted herself out of it! Here all was +quiet, and comfortable, very comfortable. The mattress was thick, her +small body quite sank into its depths; the bed she shared with Maizie, +she had realized on occasions, had lumps, and no silken coverlet +spreading itself brilliantly. Still there were rare and beautiful +compensations for the lack of thick mattresses and silken coverlets--and +greatest grief to her of all was that she stood no longer a daughter to +a great man! + +The tears came perilously near. Suzanna choked them back as she heard +"Reynolds" close the front gate with what to him was a gentle click. She +felt that in a moment Mrs. Reynolds would summon her downstairs to a +breakfast hot and delicious. + +_Why had she left home if she loved it so!_ + +The sentence formed itself in her mind. + +Well, she hadn't realized that home and those in it were so dear till +she left. And her reason was a good one. It had seemed she could +scarcely live possessed of a dress whose sweet possibilities were denied +by a mother's spirit of economy. Never had she so intensely wished for +anything as for the goods to be cut away from under the rows of lace. + +Still now, lying there alone in her strange surroundings, that desire +was losing its poignancy. It didn't seem quite to fill her entire +universe. + +Mrs. Reynolds put her head inside the door. She wore a crisp blue and +white dress, her black hair was drawn smoothly back from her brow. Her +eyes dwelt lovingly on the little girl. + +"Quite awake, Suzanna?" she asked. + +Suzanna nodded. She couldn't trust herself to speak. + +"Well, then," said Mrs. Reynolds, "I'm going to give thee a treat." She +went away quite unconscious that she had fallen into her original quaint +method of speech. + +Presently she returned, carrying a tray covered with a white and red +napkin. + +Suzanna sat up, received the tray in her lap and waited unexcitedly +while Mrs. Reynolds removed the enshrouding napkin. + +There lay an orange cut up and sugared; a poached egg on a slice of +perfectly browned toast, and a glass of rich milk. + +"For my little girl," said Mrs. Reynolds in her contralto voice. "Now +eat thee, my dearie, and take your time. I'll leave now." + +Alone once more, Suzanna surveyed the tray. She lifted a spoon with the +tiniest piece of orange on its tip, and found strangely that when she +attempted to swallow the fruit her throat quite closed up. + +Suddenly there came a memory of Drusilla. Drusilla had told of the +little silver chain, binding all to one another. Surely the chain +binding Suzanna to her mother was doubly thick, yet she had broken it! +She put the tray to one side and sprang from the bed. Her desire, +recently so keen, so all absorbing, seemed little indeed beside the +yearning now to be back across the way once again her Mother's Child. + +Mrs. Reynolds, returning, found her little guest at the window, bare +feet on the cold floor; the white gown held tightly at the neck by a +small, trembling hand. A glance at the tray on the bed revealed a +breakfast practically untasted. + +"Why, my lamb," began Mrs. Reynolds, "not a bite gone down!" + +Suzanna turned, a desperate little face she showed, eyes wide and +appealing. + +"I just couldn't eat, Mrs. Reynolds." No thought now of bestowing the +beloved title. + +"And the food brought fine to bed to you." + +"Not even then." + +"Well, come then, dear heart; you must be dressed. I put your clothes +away neat and tidy." + +Mrs. Reynolds opened a closet door and brought forth an armful of +garments. Suzanna surveyed them as though they had no relation to her. + +Mrs. Reynolds went suddenly and picked up the little figure, carried her +to a rocking chair and with no word held her close. + +"What is it, my little girl?" asked Mrs. Reynolds after a time, softly. + +Her little girl! Suzanna winced. But she _was_ Mrs. Reynolds' little +girl now. Hadn't she broken all ties with the loved ones across the way? + +She tried to find comfort in Mrs. Reynolds' joy. "I am your little girl, +aren't I?" she asked softly, calling valiantly on her sense of justice. + +Mrs. Reynolds looked searchingly into Suzanna's face. With no child of +her own, she was still a mother-at-heart. She was full of understanding. + +"As much, my own lassie," she answered, "as any other woman's child can +be. You see," she went on after a pause, "there's a bond 'tween mother +and child that can't ever be broke." + +"But I adopted myself out to you," said Suzanna, though her heart was +beating with hope. + +"Yes, you did," admitted Mrs. Reynolds; "but you didn't at that break +the tie that binds you to your own mother. You could never do that, +Suzanna, lassie." + +As Suzanna looked up into the kind face, new thoughts came surging to +her. She couldn't separate them, couldn't arrange them. They all jumbled +together, like vivid picture impressions, full of color and feeling. One +thought at length cleared itself, stood out. + +Love and the chain binding you to those you loved was the biggest thing +in the world. + +So she told Mrs. Reynolds about Drusilla's chain. And Mrs. Reynolds, +greatly impressed, said: "Yes, it's a blessed thread that holds us +together. Reynolds calls it the 'sense of brotherhood.'" Her voice +lowered itself: "He's a Socialist, Reynolds is, Suzanna." There was +pride and fear mixed with a little condemnation in her voice. + +"A Socialist--it's a nice word, isn't it?" said Suzanna, settling more +comfortably into the hollow of Mrs. Reynolds' arm. + +"And I'm going to see Drusilla, as you call her," said Mrs. Reynolds, +"and take her some of my crab jelly. I've seen her many's the time +sitting out in the yard with naught but a trained maid by her. Poor, +poor old soul, with a rich daughter-in-law." + +"And a King that's gone to the Far Country," said Suzanna; "and she +longs for him. Oh, she's a lonely old lady." + +"She must be that and all," said Mrs. Reynolds, wholly sympathetic. + +They sat rocking then in silence. Suzanna was the first to speak. + +"Mrs. Reynolds," she began in a low voice. "I think I'll dress now, and +after I've helped with the breakfast dishes I'll go and see my mother." + +The heartbreak in the small voice touched Mrs. Reynolds deeply. "Why, +small lass," she cried: "You mustn't think I'll hold you to your giving +yourself away to me. No, not even for a bit of time. Sweet, you gave me +joy last night. I pretended that you were my own. I undressed you and +put you to bed, and heard your prayers. You did something for me, and I +be vastly grateful to you." + +Suzanna's eyes brightened. "Oh, thank you for saying all that, Mrs. +Reynolds." + +"Yes, you came to me in the night with your shiny bag, and you told in +your little way some truths to Reynolds. You made him see clear and +farther than he has for many a day, the fine man though he is, and I'll +always hold you in my heart as my dream child." + +"Your dream child--and I'll dream for you--that you should have your +heart's desire like the fairies say," finished Suzanna. + +"Ah, lack-a-me," cried Mrs. Reynolds. "Who e'er gets his deepest heart +desire in this drear world?" + +Suzanna sprang to her feet. + +"Oh, but heart's desires change." + +"Change!" + +"Yes. You can have new ones every day. Why, for many days my deepest +heart's desire has been to have the goods cut away from under the lace. +Now, I don't care so much for that--not so much--Now I want most in the +world to see--my--mother--" + +Fearful that she had hurt Mrs. Reynolds by her confession, she put out +her hand and stroked the capable hand lying near. + +But Mrs. Reynolds wasn't hurt. She was smiling. "Well, it's a hard thing +at times to learn to put one wish in place of another. But I guess life +teaches you that; it hurries you forward so you have to put wish on +wish." She stood up. "And now, the morning's well started, Suzanna. +Dress quickly and come down to a warm breakfast." + +She raised the tray and Suzanna knew that now she was hungry. + +"Come down when you're ready, my wee bit girl," said Mrs. Reynolds, as +she left, carrying the tray with her. + +So Suzanna in a short time descended. How restful the house was; no +insistent voices of children, no clattering of dishes. + +"It's so quiet and nice here, Mrs. Reynolds," said Suzanna, as she +entered the kitchen. "At home there's lots of talking and sometimes the +baby cries." + +"Do you like quiet, Suzanna?" + +"Ye-es," Suzanna stammered. A recurrent attack of homesickness was upon +her; that dreadful pulling of the heartstrings; that sinking feeling +that she had cut herself loose from all to whom she belonged rightfully. + +She stood still watching Mrs. Reynolds who was busy at the stove. She +admired the deftness with which an egg was broken and dropped into +boiling water, and in a few seconds brought to the top intact, to be +placed upon the awaiting toast. + +"You're awful quick, Mrs. Reynolds," she started to say when a knock +sounded upon the door. + +The door slowly opened and, alone, Suzanna's mother entered. + +She stood just looking in. She was pale, her eyes wide, languid, shadows +beneath them as though she had not slept. But those same tired eyes +lightened as they fell upon Suzanna. + +"Mother-eyes," the phrase grew in Suzanna's heart. She should never in +all her life forget that look of longing, of love. + +And somehow another impression, new, almost unbelievable, came to +Suzanna. Her mother was _young_, for wasn't that yearning note in her +voice; that tentative little gesture; her whole questioning attitude, +all her seekings, but expressions of her youngness? She wasn't after all +far removed from her little daughter, not for this minute, anyway. A +delicious sense of comradeship with this mother flooded the child. + +And the mother stood and looked at her child, almost as for the first +time, at least with a sense of newness, as though Suzanna had been born +anew to her. + +In the night a far reaching understanding had come to her. It came out +of her conclusion to strike a blow at the child's oversensitiveness by a +full dose of ridicule; by accusing her of affectation, a clever playing +to the gallery; this when the night was early, and the mother still +aching with weariness from the day's many tasks. And then as the hours +wore on, and the quiet soothed her weary nerves, the knowledge came, +flashing out of the ether, as often it does for serious mothers, that +the gift of keen sensibility, of intense desire was too valuable to be +quenched. + +What if Suzanna began to question her own motives; what if she should +lose belief in her own spiritual integrity; learn in time to look in on +herself with a spirit of morbid analysis instead of living out her +natural qualities beautifully and spontaneously! + +All these truths stirred her again as she looked at her child. + +While Suzanna didn't move from her place, she wanted to stay at some +distance that she might look her soul's full at her mother--_her +mother_! + +At length she spoke: "Mother--I want to be your little girl again. Will +you take me back?" + +Would she take her back? Mrs. Procter's arms opened wide. Into them +Suzanna flew. + +Mrs. Reynolds regarded the cold poached egg, the second one spoiled that +morning. Furtively she wiped the tears from her eyes. At last she +cleared her voice and spoke: + +"I'll go upstairs and pack your bag, Suzanna," she said. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +SUZANNA MEETS A CHARACTER + + +That summer was a happy one, filled to the brim, as Suzanna often said, +with joyful times. In her pink lawn dress with the petticoat after all +showing through the lace, she recited "The Little Martyr of Smyrna" and +brought much applause to herself. + +And then following close upon that happy occasion, Miss Massey invited +her pupils to a "lawn party." Once again the pink dress was to see the +day. + +"I'll be very careful with the dress, mother," Suzanna promised on the +day of the lawn party. "Perhaps it'll wear just as long if I take extra +care of it as though the goods weren't cut away." + +"Enjoy your dress," said Mrs. Procter. She had learned another truth +which had sprung from the episode of the pink lawn. Economy might, +indeed must dwell in a little home like hers, but sometimes, recklessly, +the stern goddess must be usurped from her place. For the child love of +beauty, the child's capacity for fine imaginings, could not be killed at +the nod of economy. + +The children were both ready and waiting anxiously at the front window +long before the hour. Maizie was the first to make her announcement. + +"Miss Massey's coming down the path," she cried. + +They all crowded to the window. Miss Massey, looking up, waved her hand +gaily, and the children delightedly waved back. + +"Oh, Miss Massey, we're all ready for you," Maizie exclaimed at once as +Miss Massey entered. + +"Lovely," Miss Massey returned. Glancing casually at her, she appeared +young, yet looking closely it might be seen that her first youth was +over. She was perhaps in her middle thirties. Her hair beneath the +simple blue chip hat, had gray strands. There was a hesitating quality +about her, as though she had never done so daring a thing as reach a +decision; a wavering, indefinite figure, with a wistfulness, a soft +appeal, quite charming. That she had never come in contact with +realities showed in the wide innocence of the childlike eyes; the +sometime trembling of the lips as when a thought as now engendered by +the Procter home and its humbleness, its lack of many real comforts, +forced its way into the untouched depths of her mind. + +She was the only child of old John Massey. He was a large figure in the +small town, and one not cordially admired. He was masterful, choleric, +some claimed, unjust. Owner of the steel mill which stood just outside +of the town limits, the employer of hundreds of men, he had failed to +gain the esteem of one human being. Fear, for many depended upon him for +their livelihood, was the emotion he most inspired. + +Fairfax Massey, his daughter, inspired a deep sympathy, perhaps because +her leading characteristic was a pitiable holding to her ideals. She +painted her father as a good and loving man hiding his real tenderness +beneath gruff mannerisms. When he denied her friendship with the man she +secretly loved, she put upon that denial a high value. He could not bear +to run the chance of losing her, his one close possession. To that +chivalrous thought of her father, she sacrificed her friend and went her +way, undramatically, uncomplainingly. + +She spoke in a low sweet voice. "The children will have a happy time, +I'm sure, Mrs. Procter," she said, as she left, Suzanna and Maizie +clinging to her. + +Other little girls were waiting in the phaeton. They greeted Suzanna and +Maizie and moved to make room for them. Miss Massey took her place near +the driver, from which vantage spot she could watch her little guests, +and with a great flourish off they started. + +"Are you quite comfortable, Suzanna?" Miss Massey asked once. + +Suzanna looked up quickly, a puzzled line between her eyes. After brief +hesitation she answered, merely in good manners, "Yes, thank you." + +The phaeton stopped several times till eight little girls filled the +vehicle to overflowing. Then with no more pauses, they were off to the +big house on the hill. + +The day was wonderful. A soft little breeze caressed the children and +the sky overhead was like an angel's breast, thought Suzanna. But she +did not say this, even to excited Maizie; she was gathering impressions +and burnishing them with her vivid imagination. Once her gaze fell on +Miss Massey's long, slender, tired-looking hands. Her mother's hands, +Suzanna recalled, were tired-looking, too, but in a different way. Her +mother's, she decided after a time, were just plain tired-looking, while +Miss Massey's were a sorry tired, as though they missed something. They +were never quiet, always doing futile little things. And yet, Miss +Massey lived in a wonderful house and wore pretty dresses and hats with +gorgeous, real-looking flowers. Suzanna pondered unanswerable questions. + +The driver, with the air of a brave knight, swept round the last corner. +He commanded his horses to stand still, when even the smallest girl knew +he would have to urge and coax for a full minute before the fat, +complacent animals would start again. But Suzanna liked his play. It was +in keeping with this wondrous event. She even forgave the driver his +wrinkled red neck, from which as she sat behind him, she had earlier +deliberately turned away her eyes. + +The children sprang to the ground and stood looking up at the big pile +of stone, this great show house of the town. Miss Massey swung back an +iron gate and led the way first through an arbor, sun-shaded and +fragrant; then out again into a garden glowing with crimson flowers. +"The garden I love best," she said. This from simple, dear Miss Massey +into whose whole life no great color had fallen, or if there was once a +promise that life should blossom for her into a full, joyous thing, the +promise had fallen very short of fulfillment. + +And just then the disaster befell Suzanna. There in the wonderful red +garden, a dire sound fell upon her ears and her eyes following the +direction of the sound were just in time to see one white toe burst +through the confines of the black ribbon lengthening her slipper. + +She stood a moment, gazing down. Then in an agony lest the others should +discover her plight, she tried to draw the toe back within the slipper, +but with no success. As Miss Massey and the little girls walked on, +Suzanna stopped and pulled the ribbon over the protruding toe, tucking +in the ravelled edges. Mercifully, the ribbon stayed in place since +Suzanna cramped her toe back that it might not force its way through +again. Hastily hopping along, she entered the massive front doors held +wide by a solemn man with brass buttons. He pointed down the wide hall. +"To the right," he said. + +Would the ribbon hold! was Suzanna's only thought as she later found +herself in a room called the library, with books and soft-toned +pictures; with a great fireplace banked now with greens, from above +which looked down the lovely face of a lady, Miss Massey's mother whom +the daughter scarce remembered. + +If only she had worn black stockings instead of her one beloved pair of +white, went on in thought, unhappy, humiliated Suzanna. If only--but in +conjecture Suzanna was lost. The cramped toe exerting its right, thrust +itself through again. One fleeting, horrified glance told the child that +two toes now peeped out on a world that would be scandalized should it +peep back. + +No time now for any furtive maneuver an active little mind might suggest +to remedy the situation, for Miss Massey at the end of the room turned +her head and looked toward Suzanna's place. In a second her eyes might +fall on the white toes! Quickly Suzanna sank into a large velvet +armchair and drew her foot beneath her. Just in time, for Miss Massey +said: "Shall we play the game of 'Answers?' You know the game, Suzanna, +don't you?" + +Suzanna moistened her lips: "I know it, Miss Massey, but I don't care to +play games, thank you." How could she move, since doing so would +necessitate putting confidence in Miss Massey? Telling her that once +discarded slippers too small even for Maizie had been made to do duty by +cutting the toes and lengthening with black ribbon, ribbon which in a +miserable moment failed in its work? But how eventually to extricate +herself from the miserable predicament? She could not sit forever on her +foot! + +Other games were suggested and played by the children, but Suzanna +still sat in the big armchair, one long thin leg dangling, the other +bent under her. She grew fertile in excuses when asked to join the +others. She like to "watch," then she felt a little tired, until Miss +Massey at last sensing that something was wrong did no more urging. + +Once little Maizie sought her sister. Why wouldn't Suzanna play? Was she +mad at something? + +Suzanna gulped hard, then with manifest effort she whispered: "You know +where mother put the ribbon bag so my slippers would be long enough? +Well, my toe's stuck through the ribbon, and I mustn't move." + +"Oh!" Maizie was sorry. "Can't you tell Miss Massey and let her fix it?" + +Suzanna shrank back. "No, no," she cried. "You mustn't say anything, do +you hear, Maizie? Promise me." + +Maizie solemnly promised. "Will the other one hold?" she asked then. + +Thus the little Job's Comforter gave Suzanna food for unpleasant +questionings. Would, indeed, the other slipper hold? + +Then said Miss Massey: "We are going into the garden, Suzanna. Would you +rather stay here till we return?" Her question was very gentle, her +understanding would have been very sure had Suzanna told her trouble. +But Suzanna only answered eagerly: + +"Yes, I'd like to stay here." She was almost happy in the moment's +relief. + +"If you wish to come later you can find us. Just ring this bell and Mrs. +Russell, the housekeeper, will take you to the South Garden," said Miss +Massey. She leaned down and touched Suzanna's face with her soft lips. +And then Suzanna was left alone. + +Now what to do! Suzanna set her fertile little mind to work on the +problem. She settled into the chair and lowered the foot on which she +was sitting. She was intently regarding the torn slipper, when she heard +distinctly an unpleasant sound. A sound which gathered volume, till +Suzanna realized that something or someone was approaching the library. +She resumed her former position, and waited! + +The brocade curtains were drawn aside; a little man in a sort of uniform +stood with head bowed, while a large man limped into the room. + +"Fix my chair, you simpering idiot," he shouted at the little man, "and +then take yourself off!" + +The small man glided to a great easy chair near the fireplace. He heaped +pillows in it, stood aside while the loud-voiced one lowered himself, +groaningly, into the downy nest. Then the valet disappeared. Suzanna +involuntarily glanced at his feet. Did he move on velvet casters? + +A moment, then the big man gave a twist of pain. A rheumatic dart had +seized him, had Suzanna known, but she could not know, and a little +exclamation was drawn from her. At the sound, the other occupant of the +room started and glanced around till finally his eyes came to rest upon +the small girl in a large chair thrust well away in a shadowy corner of +the room. + +"Well!" at length he ejaculated. And then: "Are you one of the Sunday +School class?" + +"Yes, I'm Suzanna Procter. The other little girls have gone out into the +garden." + +He grunted and continued to glare fiercely at her. But Suzanna knew no +fear. She felt strangely a sudden high sense of exhilaration, just as +once when she had been caught in a brilliant electric storm. Some +element in her rose and responded to the big flashes; just as she had +responded to Drusilla's play of imagination. Now a force was roused in +her that claimed kinship with the big, thunderous man opposite. She sat +up very straight, and stared right back at him. Then she said very +calmly: + +"You look like an eagle!" + +"Then you're afraid of me!" He flung the words at her with a certain +triumph. + +"I'm not! I don't like the way you shout, but _I'm_ not afraid of you." + +He sank back among his pillows, but did not take his eyes from her face. +At last he asked: "What are you sitting bent up that way for? Are you +hiding anything?" + +Suzanna flushed. "You're not supposed to ask a visitor if she's hiding +anything; especially when her leg's asleep and she's suffering." + +A spasm crossed his face. Perhaps he was trying to smile. He said only: +"Well, put your leg down, then. Seems to me you're old enough and ought +to have sense enough not to sit on it when it's asleep. Put it down, I +say!" + +She did not move. "Will you please turn your head away a whole minute?" +she finally asked. + +He did so, somewhat to his own surprise. He was unaccustomed to obeying +others. When he turned again, she uttered a cry: "Why didn't you keep +your head turned the other way till I told you to look," she exclaimed, +indignantly. "You don't play fair." + +"See here, little girl," he commenced, when his eyes fell to her foot, +which for the moment she had forgotten, a small black-shod foot with two +protruding toes. "Eh, what's that!" + +"My toes!" she answered. Her face flamed, then with sudden anger against +him, against circumstances, against everything that had conspired to +spoil this beautiful and long-dreamed-of day: "They're sticking through +my slipper. That's why I had to sit on my foot. That's why my leg went +to sleep. That's why I couldn't go out in the garden with the others." + +He began to laugh, silently, mirthlessly, but it was laughter +nevertheless. Suzanna regarded him, her quick temper getting beyond her +control. At last she burst forth: "You're a rude man! And it isn't funny +to miss beautiful things, the flowers and the baby squirrels, and +perhaps lemonade." + +He didn't answer for a moment. Then he said: + +"Agreed! But it's certainly funny to see your toes sticking through your +shoe. No wonder you sat on your foot." Still, despite his discourteous +words, his tone changed; it was almost apologetic. + +Suzanna's face lost its clouds. "Of course, I had to sit on my foot," +she agreed. "I couldn't let Miss Massey see how mother put a black +ribbon bag on my slippers to make them longer, could I? She wouldn't +understand like you do, would she?" + +"Do I understand? I wonder. Well, why did your mother put on the black +ribbon?" + +"The shoes were too short!" + +"She should have bought you a new pair." + +Suzanna sprang from her chair and went to the big man. + +"Do you know what rent week means?" she asked, lifting her earnest face +to his and standing so close that her hand touched his knee. + +"I think I do," he answered. + +"Well, this is rent week and Peter's coat was out at the elbows and two +of us needed shoes and the insurance was due on all of us and mother +can't let that go. It came in very handy when Helen, Peter's twin, went +away." + +"What do you mean by 'went away?' Don't lean on that knee, that's where +the rheumatism is--do you mean died?" + +Suzanna flinched. "We say 'went away,'" she answered gently; "you think +then that someone you loved has just gone away for a little while, and +is waiting somewhere for you." + +The man's gaze wandered up to the lovely, smiling face above the mantel +and stayed there a space before his eyes came back to Suzanna. + +"And so," she finished, "because everything came together, rent and +insurance and shoes, and a coat, I had to wear these slippers." Suzanna +was quite cheerful again, only very eager that he should understand the +situation. + +At this moment the timid little valet appeared in the doorway. "Anything +you wish, sir?" he began. "Are you quite comfortable?" + +"You infernal idiot!" bawled the man in the chair. "Can anyone be +comfortable with rheumatism in his knee?" + +The little man precipitately retired. "You're awful cross," Suzanna +commented. "What does the man mean asking if you're 'comfortable?' +That's what Miss Massey asked me in the park carriage. I was sitting +down, and nothing hurt me." + +"In other words," he answered, strangely catching her meaning at once, +"one chair is like another to you." + +"Well, is there any difference?" she queried. She was very much +interested in this question, for the subtleties of refined comfort held +no place in her life. Knowledge of luxuries was quite outside the ken of +the younger members of the Procter family. + +The big man said: "Yes, there is a difference; a decided difference." He +was thinking of his household with its retinue of trained servants, each +helping to make the days revolve smoothly. + +"Why aren't you at work?" asked Suzanna then. "My father works every day +in the hardware store and sometimes way into the night on his invention +in the attic. _He_ doesn't have a chair filled with pillows to lean +against. Does God like you better than He does us?" + +"Eh, what's that? What do you mean?" + +"Because you don't have to work! And you think one chair is better than +another to sit in, and you can shout at the little man and make him +afraid." + +"Well, we'll not talk of that," said the big man testily. "And now I'll +ask you a few questions. What does your mother do when rent week comes +round? Cry, and throw up to your father the fact that she can't make +ends meet? That's what women generally do, I've heard and read." + +"Oh, no, my mother doesn't do that," said Suzanna, shaking her head. +"She just looks sad at first and sits and thinks and thinks and then +after awhile she says: 'Well, if everybody was thoughtful we'd all have +enough. But when some people waste, then others must pay the +piper'--'pay the piper'--I like the singing way that sounds, don't +you?" + +"And who does she mean by other people?" + +Suzanna smiled confidently: "Oh, she just says that; so no one really is +blamed, I guess. There really isn't anyone of that kind living; 'cause +nobody in the world could waste if they knew some children needed shoes +and some little boys' elbows stuck through their coats; would anyone?" + +The man looked at her suspiciously. "Have you been listening to Reynolds +haranging on his soap box?" But seeing her innocence, he went on: "Well, +we don't know about those things. There's some reason why." He went on +more vigorously: "Of course, some people are privileged because they're +stronger; they've better judgment." + +But Suzanna didn't understand that. She put the matter aside to think +over later, and, if she could remember the words, to repeat them to her +father for his explanation at a time when he wasn't hazy and far away +from realities. + +"What does your father do?" Suzanna's companion resumed after a moment. + +"He weighs nails in Job Doane's hardware store," said Suzanna, "and he +sells washboards to ladies. My father's a great man. He's an inventor! +He has a wonderful machine in the attic and sometimes when he's thinking +of his invention, he doesn't see us at all, and mother tells us not to +talk then to disturb him." + +"What's your father's name?" + +"Richard Procter," said Suzanna. And then: + +"You are like an eagle; that's why I like you. You'd fight, wouldn't +you, if you had to! But I shouldn't mind your shouting. And I'd rather +you'd see my toes sticking through my shoe than any person in the world +outside my family. Now, get me a needle and thread before they all come +back," she finished. + +The man stared into her upraised flower-face. His own turned red for the +visible second of hesitation. Then he raised his voice and called. The +timid one appeared. His master said: "Get me some black thread and a +needle; also a thimble. Don't stand there gaping! I'm waiting." + +With some difficulty, the amazed valet gained volition over his power of +locomotion. He returned shortly bearing the desired articles reposing on +a silver tray, and retired once more, his eyes still dazed. + +"Now hurry up," said the big man to Suzanna, "if you want to get into +the garden at all." + +Suzanna threaded the needle, then removed her slipper. "I'll overcast +the ribbon, like mother does seams," she said. "Will you hold the +slipper? There, that's easier. You see I need both hands." + +Silence, till the work was finished. "Now," said Suzanna, stopping to +bite the thread, no scissors being at hand, "I guess no toe in the world +could push through that, I've stitched so tight. You think it will hold, +don't you?" + +[Illustration: Very carefully he looked at the mended place] + +Very carefully he looked at the mended place. "I should say, if my +judgment's worth anything, that it's a very decent job. But see here, +you've taken up such a large seam; the shoe will be too small again." + +Suzanna smiled at him. "Oh, that doesn't matter, just so the toes can't +burst through again," she answered. "You don't mind hobbling a little +bit when you have to." + +He cleared his throat. "Well, I'll call the housekeeper and she'll take +you to the other children." + +"Good-bye," said Suzanna friendlily. And then very politely, "Thank you +for helping me." + +"Well, I suppose I might say you're welcome." + +But he watched the small figure, that did after all "hobble" a little +all the way down the room as the summoned housekeeper led the way. +And, left alone, he sat quite still for a few moments. Once or twice he +smiled grimly, but several times he frowned. + + * * * * * + +Suzanna was full of her experience with the Eagle Man, and in spite of +her mishap she had greatly enjoyed her day. Hadn't the fierce one, the +one of the loud voice and cross face, been kind to her and helped her to +mend her slipper? And hadn't he told the housekeeper to give her a great +bunch of the purple grapes especially procured from the city for him, +she was told? + +She thought of all this when she and Maizie left the low phaeton in +which they had been driven home. For some indefinable reason she was +elated, and excited--an emotion far above the usual happy fatigue felt +after a day of pleasure. She meant to tell her father and mother all +about her talk with the Eagle Man when the supper dishes were washed and +put away. She would show her father just how her toes had thrust +themselves through her slipper and how she had sat upon her foot till it +went to sleep. Not, however, till the setting was right would she tell +her story. Suzanna's unconscious dramatic sense rarely failed her. + +At the supper table that night the baby fell asleep in his high chair. +Peter, after a hard day of play, was nodding in his place. Maizie, +replete after her third dish of rice pudding, was quiet; a little sleepy +too, if truth must be told. + +It was then Suzanna told of her visit with the Eagle Man. She left out +no detail, from the time her stocking burst its confines to her +interesting intimacy with the Eagle Man. + +"You told old John Massey, you say, Suzanna," said her father at length, +his eyes bright, "about my machine?" + +Suzanna nodded. Then a little fear stole upon her. She slipped from her +place and went to her father. + +"Did I talk too much, daddy?" she asked, mindful of former such +indictments. + +His arm went about her waist. Then he drew her close and kissed her. + +"No, Suzanna, little girl," he said; "I guess talk from the heart rarely +hurts." He paused. "Perhaps it was meant you should talk to him." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A LEAF MISSING FROM THE BIBLE + + +Suzanna thought a great deal about the Eagle Man. She was extremely +puzzled as to the exact place he filled in the world. While she admired +him, indeed was strongly drawn to him, still she considered him in some +ways quite inferior to her father. And so she wondered why he could live +in a big house, could have servants who sprang at a word to do his +bidding, and could eat all the fruit he wanted as evidenced by the great +bunch of purple grapes, one of many bunches, while her father lived in a +very small house, had no servants, and had little fruit to eat. She knew +instinctively that the Eagle Man had no need to worry about rent day, +and the many other similar things she felt harassed her father, and over +and over again she pondered on this seemingly unjust state of affairs. +It would have been so much better, she thought, if the Eagle Man +occupied with his one daughter just a little cottage while the large +Procter family had the bigger house. Though she dearly loved the little +home, there had been times when it seemed very small for the growing +Procter family. + +But she concluded at last that for the present there were many +perplexities which must remain perplexities till that wonderful time +when she would be a woman, and everything made clear to her. +Experiences, too, had shown her that a troublesome question of Monday +often had resolved itself by Wednesday. So she went contentedly on her +way. + +On a morning following Suzanna's talk with the Eagle Man, Mrs. Procter +and all the children except the baby who was taking his early morning +nap upstairs, were in the kitchen busy at their tasks, Suzanna polishing +the stove, and Maizie peeling the potatoes for supper, a task Mrs. +Procter insisted upon being performed early in the day. Peter, exempted, +because of his sex, from household duties--and very unfair this +exemption Suzanna thought privately--was trying his awkward best to mend +a baseball. Maizie broke a rather long silence. + +"Mother!" she cried, and then waited. + +Mrs. Procter looked up from her kneading. + +"What is it, Maizie?" she asked. + +"Didn't Jesus ever laugh?" asked Maizie. + +No one spoke. Maizie, engaged in peeling a large potato, went on quite +unconscious of the variant expressions pictured in the faces of her +audience: "He's always so sad in our Sunday School lessons, mother. Even +when He said, 'Suffer little children to come unto me,' He didn't +smile--or they never say so when they read the chapter," she finished. + +Mrs. Procter looked helplessly at Suzanna. And Suzanna rose to the +occasion. "Maizie," she said, "you know Jesus was born in a manger so +His mother didn't have much money and it was hard to make both ends +meet. And, besides, there wasn't anything to smile about in those days +when the world was so fresh." + +"I guess that's right," Mrs. Procter agreed. "What with going round and +trying to persuade people to be good and understand what He was trying +to tell them, there couldn't have been much excuse for smiling." + +Maizie, however, was tenacious. "Mother, you know at times even when +things have all gone wrong you've laughed at something the baby did," +she said looking up from her work. + +"Yes, I know," put in Suzanna, as though Maizie had spoken to her. "But +mother doesn't have to go round turning water into wine and doing lots +of other wonderful things." + +"Well, I wish He had smiled," Maizie persisted. + +Suzanna looked searchingly at her sister. "Why do you wish that, +Maizie?" she asked. + +"Oh, I'd think then He was more like a big brother," said Maizie. "Now, +sometimes I kind of feel afraid of Him." + +"If you didn't feel afraid of Him, Maizie," Suzanna asked, turning back +to the cold stove and vigorously polishing away, "do you think you'd be +a better girl?" + +Maizie flushed resentfully. "I'm good enough now," she answered. + +"But you get mad for nothing, Maizie," said Suzanna; "you always get mad +when you don't see things." + +"Anybody would get mad," Maizie exclaimed. "Why just yesterday when we +were playing in the yard you said, 'Behold, the lion marcheth down the +yard. Maizie, quick, quick, out of the way,' and when I said, 'I don't +see any lion, Suzanna,' you said, 'Well, he's there, right beside you. +Don't you hear him roaring?' and there wasn't any lion there at all." + +"Well, Maizie, you can't see anything unless it's there," deplored +Suzanna. + +"You mean, Suzanna," put in Mrs. Procter as she covered the dough with +a snowy cloth, "that you have more imagination than Maizie." + +"Well, anyway, Maizie," said Suzanna after a time, "I'm going to try and +make you a better girl." + +"Make her stop saying that, mother," said Maizie, "I'm good enough as it +is." + +Suzanna said nothing more then. She finished her stove, and then, when +Maizie had peeled all the potatoes, Suzanna went into the parlor and +dusted all the furniture very carefully. Maizie followed and stood +watching her sister. + +"How could you make me better, Suzanna?" she asked, after a time, +curiosity elbowing pride aside. + +"I meant to tell you a story," said Suzanna; "about something you've +never heard before." She went on dusting. + +"Would the story make me a better girl?" + +"Yes, and happier, too." + +"Is it a nice story, Suzanna?" + +"Awfully sweet." + +"When could you tell me, Suzanna?" + +"We'll go out into the yard after I've finished dusting and then I'll +tell you the story, Maizie." + +"All right." + +So when the dusting was accomplished, the children sought the back +yard. Suzanna procured a soap box, placed it beneath the one tree, while +Maizie drew another very close to her sister that she might lose no +word, and settled with keen anticipation to listen to Suzanna's story. + +The day was hot, with scarcely a breeze stirring. Still, with the quiet +there was a freshness in the air that made the children draw in deep +breaths. + +Suzanna began very softly: "Maizie, do you see that big rose nodding +near the fence over there at Mrs. Reynolds'?" + +Yes, Maizie saw the rose. + +"Well, yesterday when you were wheeling the baby and I was sitting on +this very box putting buttons on Peter's waist, that rose all at once +walked across the road to me! It stood by my side for a long time, and +then it said softly, 'Suzanna,' and it looked at me and it was all pink +and very sweet, and it said to me, 'Suzanna, how old are you?' and I +said, 'I'm nearly eight, Lady Rose, and Maizie is nearly seven. Mother +had hardly got over my coming to her when Maizie came along.' + +"And the rose said, 'Maizie? Is that the little girl that is going to +ask tomorrow whether Jesus ever smiled?' And I said, 'Yes, Maizie will +be peeling a big potato, and I'll be polishing the stove, and mother +will be kneading bread when Maizie will ask that question.' + +"'Well,' said the rose, 'you must tell her that once upon a time Jesus +_did_ smile, but they didn't put it in the Bible because it didn't seem +'portant to grown folks, and they didn't think that all the little +children in the world would sometimes wish He had smiled.' And then the +rose went on to tell me the story of the dear smile." + +Maizie gazed wide-eyed at her sister. "Did you really see the rose with +your eyes, Suzanna?" + +"Yes," Suzanna answered; "truly with my eyes." She suddenly sat up very +straight and pointed a small finger, "and there it's coming again. It's +nodding its head at me. Look, Maizie!" + +Maizie jumped. + +"There, see, Maizie, it's walking right through Mrs. Reynolds' gate. +Isn't it graceful?" + +"How can it walk on one stem?" asked Maizie, the literalist. + +"Well, it does, doesn't it? You can see it. Now, it's coming into our +yard." Suzanna waited, then: "Good morning, Lady Rose," she greeted in a +high treble voice. "Come and stand near Maizie." Maizie moved quickly to +make room. "You see it now, don't you, Maizie?" Maizie hesitated. She +stared hard at the spot near her, then up with wistful eyes into +Suzanna's face. + +"I can't see it, Suzanna," she said at length. "Do you think mother'd +better take me to the doctor and have my eyes examined like Mrs. +Reynolds had hers?" + +Suzanna felt flowing over her a sudden wave of pity. "No, Maizie, dear," +she said, putting her arms about Maizie and drawing her close. "Maybe I +see the rose with something inside of me. But never mind, lamb +girl--isn't that pretty, Mrs. Reynolds calls me that--the rose has gone +home again. Listen close and I'll tell you the story that was left out +of the Bible, just as the rose told it to me." + +Maizie settled herself again, expectantly. + +"This will be told, Maizie, in the way the Bible is written. Funny words +that we don't know the meaning of, but can guess; terrible threats." + +"Oh, don't," cried Maizie, "don't, I don't want 'terrible threats.' It +sounds awful." + +"Well, then," conceded Suzanna, "I'll leave out the terrible threats, +Maizie. Now I'm beginning: + +"There came to the city of Jerusalem one day a Little Boy with a halo +on His head. It was on a Monday that he came. The mothers were all +washing and those that were not washing, behold, they were hanging +clothes out in the yard, and as He walked He carried a message, and His +message was this: 'Beware of green tea, handsome to the eye, but +destructive to the human system.'" + +Maizie's memory was pricked wide awake. "Why, that's written on mother's +tea canister, and you read it aloud a thousand times one day," she +cried. + +"That saying has come down the ages," responded Suzanna quickly. "And +any more breaking-in and I'll not tell the story." + +Maizie subsided, and Suzanna continued. + +"Now when all the mothers heard this wonderful saying, there came sorrow +and fear into their hearts. 'Yea,' said one, 'have I not used green +tea?' And the Little Boy with the halo said, 'Thou art never to do so +again,' and all the mothers bowed their heads. + +"And the Little Boy grew and grew till He came to be a man. A man that +looked very much like our father. He played the harp, the one he +afterwards took to Heaven with Him. And He wore a long, white, flowing +gown, that His mother washed out every morning and ironed carefully +after it was dry. 'Behold,' she said, 'Yea, nay, no other hands but +mine must touch this gown.' There were no laundries in those days. + +"The Man with the halo walked by the sea at day, and walked under the +stars at night. Then He came on back to His mother. She said to Him: 'Is +it that Thou art tired that Thou dost not smile?' And He said, drawing +Himself up to a big height, 'There is nothing to smile at.' And His +mother said, 'Behold I have made for Thee something nice to eat, with an +orange in front of Thy plate!' But even then He did not smile. And next +day, He went off into the fields and took care of His lambs. And the day +after that, yea, He went into His father's shop and He said to His +father, 'I must away,' and then the earth trembled and rocked beneath +their feet. + +"Then the Man with the halo left, and for a long time His mother didn't +see Him any more. And out in the world, in Galilee, I think it was, He +didn't even there find a chance to smile. Everything was too sad and +people too bad, and then one day, behold, the Man with the halo was busy +making ten fish out of one little tiny minney for Peter who was hungry, +and had a 'normous appetite like our Peter's, when a woman came running +down the road. Everybody looked at her, but she went on. And when she +came near the Man with the halo, she fell on her knees and He stopped +his work. He had just half a fish in His hand when this woman spoke. She +said: 'Pardon me, Master, but I have heard of lots of wonderful things +Thou hast done, and now I must ask a favor of Thee.' + +"The Man with the halo put down the fish that wasn't finished and turned +His big eyes upon her, and He said, 'Speak, woman.' And she said: 'Wilt +Thou come with me?' He waited a little, but felt pity in His heart for +her and so He went with her, His halo shining like the sun and making a +wide light path for everyone to walk in, and lots of people walked +behind Him, but no one in front. + +"And they came to a little house, like ours set back from the road, +where lots of children lived. And there in the middle of the room, lying +in a white box, fast asleep was the littlest baby that had ever gone to +Heaven. And though the woman had lots of other babies, and maybe lots +more would come to her like they come to us all the time, she wanted +that one tiny little baby to open its eyes and look at her. + +"And so she fell on her knees, and she said to the Man with the halo: +'Will you wake that lovely baby of mine for me? Oh, please, Master, +waken it--even though it should cry all night. Perhaps it's happy in +Heaven, but I am lonely. Dost Thou think I can have it back?' + +"And just then Peter came into the room. He had followed the Man with +the halo. 'But it's only a little thing,' Peter said. 'And it made so +much noise when it was awake. Its big sister had to warm milk for it, +and take it out in the buggy and to wash its clothes, sometimes when its +mother was busy or had been up the night before. Is it not better for +all that it is in Heaven?' + +"And then she said, 'I'm not speaking to you, Peter,' and she looked +again at the Man with the halo. And at last He spoke and His voice was +like music, thrilly and gentle. And He said, 'All mothers want their +babies and we've got plenty in Heaven, and I'll give this one back to +you.' + +"And He went to the white box and He looked at the baby, and pretty soon +the baby got pink like my coral beads, and then its eyes opened and it +looked up into His face and it raised its arms up to Him. + +"_Then He smiled!_--and He lifted the baby up and held it close, so He +warmed it all through. And then He put it into its mother's arms and +said, 'Well, I must be going.' + +"And this is what I'm going to tell you, Maizie, _that you were that +little baby_, and Jesus smiled at _you_ to wake you up." + +Maizie did not speak. Her eyes were shining, her lips trembling. Her +small soul was touched to its depths. After a long time in a whisper she +spoke: "Oh, was I really the baby that made Jesus smile? I'm happy, +Suzanna, but--it hurts me, too--" + +Suzanna put her arms about her sister. The emotions she had aroused in +that little sister warmed her, thrilled her through and through. They +sat on in silence. Soon a question began to puzzle Maizie. She gave it +voice. "I didn't know I'd been a baby more than once, Suzanna." + +"You're a baby every hundred years," said Suzanna promptly. + +"Oh, I see." Then: "I do love Him now, Suzanna. I'll always love Him +'cause once He woke me up. Suzanna, do you think the rose will come to +you and tell you another story?" + +Suzanna believed the rose might. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +A PICNIC IN THE WOODS + + +For days Maizie lived in the sanctity of the thought that the Master of +all had smiled at her. But even so marvelous an occurrence, so sweet a +marking out of her above all the children in the world, failed +completely on one occasion to help her overcome a mood of sullenness. + +She awoke late one morning, and found that Suzanna had arisen and gone +down stairs. She heard sounds indicating breakfast, but there was a +little dull feeling at her heart. Her customary joyous anticipation of +living a whole day, ripe with possibilities, was quite absent. She +decided to remain in bed, but at her mother's voice calling her name she +was prompted to put out one small foot, then the other, and soon, as +another call came up peremptorily, she went lazily ahead dressing +herself. + +Ready then for the day, she went to the window and looked out. The sky +was hazy, with little dull clouds floating on its breast. From far away +came grumbles of thunder. Over to the east the sky seemed to open in a +long thin path of vivid light and then close again, leaving the heavens +gray, bleak. Maizie wanted to cry; it was with an effort she controlled +her tears. + +At last, languidly she moved from the window, went down the stairs, +through the tiny hall and into the dining-room, her little face downcast +still, with no smile lightening it to greet the other children. Suzanna +and Peter sat at the table awaiting the laggard. + +"Father had to leave early this morning, Maizie," said Suzanna at once. +"He ate his breakfast all alone." + +Maizie did not answer; silently she sank into her chair as her mother +appeared with the baby and took her usual place, after placing him in +his high chair. Maizie gazed for a moment at the oatmeal in her own blue +plate, then with a little petulant gesture, she pushed the plate away. + +"I don't like oatmeal with a pool of syrup in the middle," she said +slowly, not addressing anyone directly, but keeping her eyes on her +plate. + +"You've always liked it before this morning," her mother answered. "I +think you're just cross, Maizie." + +"I don't like syrup in the middle of my oatmeal," repeated Maizie; "I +want milk on it like father has." + +"Oh, Maizie," said Suzanna, "father _must_ have milk on his oatmeal." + +"Why?" asked Maizie. + +"Because he is our father and he must have the nice things." + +"Well, we're his children," pursued Maizie, apparently unconvinced. "And +I don't see why we shouldn't have some nice things to eat, too." + +"But there's so many of us," said Suzanna. + +"Why did father leave orders for so many of us then?" said Maizie +looking up. Belligerence was now in her tone, in her very attitude. + +"Now," said Mrs. Procter, firmly. "We must not talk this way. Father +doesn't like syrup. It doesn't agree with him. You're a very naughty +little girl this morning, Maizie." + +Maizie was again on the point of tears. Lest they overflow she rose +quickly from the table and left the room. + +"Maizie's in a bad humor today," said Mrs. Procter to Suzanna. + +"Maybe she feels bad today, mother, because it's Wednesday." + +"Well, what in the world has the day to do with it!" Mrs. Procter +exclaimed. + +"Well, Wednesday you know is the shape of a big black bear. It's not +like Thursday, that's the shape of a great snowy white ship on a +sparkling sea. I don't like Wednesday myself, mother." + +"Well, I'm sorry," returned Mrs. Procter. "But it's not in my power to +shape days to please you children," she spoke crisply. + +"Are you tired, mother?" asked Suzanna, after a pause. + +"I think I'm always tired these days," Mrs. Procter admitted, "but I'm +particularly tired this morning. The baby was very restless last night." + +"If you were like Mrs. Martin on the other side of the town," said +Suzanna as she rose from the table and began to gather up the dishes, +while Peter escaped into the yard, "who has only one little girl, you +wouldn't be kept awake." Suzanna's eyes were widely questioning. Did her +mother regret owning so many children? + +Mrs. Procter stood up. She lifted the baby out of his high chair. +"You're every one dear and wonderful to me," she said. "But we're all +human, dear, and apt to grow tired." + +Suzanna walked into the kitchen and put the dishes down on the table. On +her way back to the dining-room she glanced out of the window. The +early September day had changed. Miraculously every dull gray cloud had +scurried away, leaving a sky soft, yet brilliant. Birds flew about, +carolling madly, as though some elixir in the air sent their spirits +bounding. Suzanna's every fiber responded. The desire whipped her to +plunge into the beauty of outdoors, to run madly about, to shout, to +sing. But alas, she knew there was no chance to obey her ardent impulse, +since Wednesday was cleaning day, a day rigid, inflexible, when all the +Procter family were pressed into service; that is, all but Peter, +belonging to a sex blessedly free from work during its young, upgrowing +years. + +Mrs. Procter spoke: "Bring the high chair into the kitchen, Suzanna, +near the window for the baby; then we'll start cleaning." + +Suzanna obeyed reluctantly. She turned from the window. "Mother," she +said, "when I'm grown up I'll have no steady days for anything." + +"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Procter. + +"Well, I won't wash on Monday, and iron on Tuesday, and clean on +Wednesday, and bake on Thursday. I'll let every day be a surprise." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Procter, "and a nice mix-up there'd be. You must have +set times for every task if you expect to accomplish anything." + +"But isn't it 'complishing anything if you're happy?" asked Suzanna, +really puzzled. + +Mrs. Procter hesitated. "But you can be happy working, too." + +"But I know, mother, that I'd be happier today out in the sun." + +"But the truth remains, Suzanna, that if we don't wash on Monday we'd +have to wash on Tuesday, and that ties up everything at the end of the +week," said her mother. + +Suzanna sighed. She couldn't by mere words combat her mother's +arguments. They seemed indeed unassailable if you applied plain reason +to them. But something deeper, finer than reason, made Suzanna believe +that to be out in the sun, to be under the trees, to be dreaming in the +perfume of flowers, was more important than cleaning and dusting; anyway +in a glorious, straight-from-Heaven day like this Wednesday. So she +returned unconvinced to the dishes, while her mother after tying the +baby in his high chair cast an appraising eye around, wondering just +where she should begin her upheaval. + +Suddenly a loud, heart-rending outcry was heard, and Peter, who a moment +before had been playing peacefully in the yard, came rushing into the +house. Out of the medley of his piteous cries, Suzanna at last made +sense. Not so her mother who asked anxiously: + +"What in the world is he crying so for, Suzanna? Is he hurt? Will he let +you look him over?" + +"No, he's not hurt," returned Suzanna. "He is crying because _never in +all his life will he be able to see his ears_." + +Mrs. Procter stared dumbfounded. But she soon recovered. She was +accustomed to originalities of this sort in her family. + +"So! Well, what am I to do about it?" she asked the small boy. + +Peter looked at her stolidly. "I want to see my ears," he repeated. "And +I can't only in the mirror." + +"Have you lived for five years," asked Mrs. Procter, "without +discovering that your ears are attached to your head, and that I can't +take them off in order that you may see them?" + +"And you can't see the back of your neck either, Peter," cried Suzanna +at this juncture. At which disastrous piece of information Peter cried +louder. + +"Now, Suzanna," exclaimed Mrs. Procter in some exasperation. "What did +you tell him that for? Isn't it enough for him to learn in one day that +he'll never see his ears without telling him about the back of his neck? +Stop your crying, Peter. It's bad enough to have you cry for things that +can be mended." + +Maizie, attracted by the noise, unable to control her curiosity, +appeared at the door. Her face was still sullen, but it also bore a rare +expression of stubbornness. Satisfying her curiosity as to the reason +for the commotion, she then made her announcement. + +"Mother," she began, "I'm not going to wash the window sills upstairs +this cleaning morning." + +"Now, Maizie," said Suzanna, conciliatingly, "don't you remember Who +smiled at you once?" + +"M-hm, I remember," said Maizie, without change of expression, "but I'm +not going to wash the window sills." + +A little silence ensued. Then Suzanna offered a suggestion. + +"Mother," she said, "none of us feels right, do we? Can't we have a +picnic?" + +"A picnic?" exclaimed Mrs. Procter. "A picnic!" She was about vigorously +to refuse the request when she paused. She looked at the three earnest +little faces before her. Suzanna resenting steady days for doing steady +tasks; Maizie hating her porridge, and Peter grieved because he +couldn't see his ears; the baby too, not his usual sunny self. But set +against the strange and varied emotions of her young family, loomed the +house with its stern demands upon her. Should she postpone her tasks +then vengeance in the double form of cleaning and baking day would +descend upon her tomorrow! + +Then suddenly the truth pressed in on her--the children had rights upon +her time, her thoughts, her understandings, her sweetnesses! What if for +this week the window sills upstairs did remain unwashed, the rugs +downstairs stay unshaken? She stole a glance out of the window at the +one tree in the yard, green and gently swaying in the soft breeze, and +she spoke with the impulse of youth. "Well," she said, "where could we +go?" + +"We could have it in the yard if you say so, mother," cried Suzanna, +mentally forecasting consent in her mother's question. "But I know some +lovely woods not very far away. We could push the baby in his cart." + +The baby from his high chair gurgled joyously. + +"And take lunch," said Maizie, brightening. + +"And my baseball," completed Peter. + +"Well," said Mrs. Procter, the brief spark that had lifted her dying, +"if I'm going to have grumbling all the time, something the matter with +each one of you, I might as well let the work go for once, I suppose." + +But though the consent fell leaden in its delivery, it _was_ consent and +in a miraculously short time they were all ready to start away; even the +lunch basket was packed and the baby put into his carriage and wheeled +out to the front gate to wait till the entire family was assembled. + +Mrs. Procter locked the doors, ran across the street to ask Mrs. +Reynolds to buy certain vegetables from a daily huckster and then away +they all went down the wide white road to the woods. + +Soon the joy and beauty of the day stole into Mrs. Procter's heart. She +breathed in the invigorating air deeply. Cares seemed to fall from her. +Materialities were banished into the background. She looked at her +children as they went singing down the road. She had meant to bind them +to sordid tasks within four walls when a jewel of a day beckoned to all! +She visualized her house clean and in perfect order, but the children +cross, she herself irritable and tired out, and wondering a little bit +about the meaning of things. Was it worth while to let inflexible rules +remain victors at such a cost. She knew a sudden thrill of gratitude for +Suzanna, who had suggested the outing, and putting out her hand she +drew the little girl to her. + +Suzanna looked up. She caught the deep and tender look in her mother's +face, so she voiced a plea which had been in her heart, but kept from +utterance in fear that she might ask too much. + +"Mother, if we're going on a real picnic we ought to take the lame and +the halt with us. And I know a little girl who has cross eyes, and she's +a weeny bit pigeon-toed. She's the lame and the halt, isn't she? Because +when she looks at me I never think she is looking at me. I tried to +teach her one day how to look straight but it wouldn't do. Could I +invite her, do you think?" + +"Where does she live?" + +"Oh, just the other side of the fork road," Suzanna replied, pointing +out the direction. "If you'll go on I'll run and get Mabel and then +catch up with you. She's that new little girl. Her folks haven't lived +here long." + +"Very well." + +In a short-time Suzanna returned, holding tight to little Mabel's hand. +"I told her mother we had enough to eat with us and that we'd take good +care of her. So here she is," said Suzanna. + +Little Mabel looked up obliquely at Mrs. Procter. + +"Her hair doesn't grow thick around her face," said Suzanna a little +apologetically; "and I told her mother to rub Gray's ointment into it, +like you did for the dog that came off in spots. The one Peter found, +you remember." + +"It didn't do any good--" began Maizie. + +Mrs. Procter plunged in to prevent further discussion about the +unfortunate dog. "Do you think you can walk quite a distance, Mabel?" +she asked. + +Mabel put her finger in her mouth. + +"Don't talk to her right away, mother," begged Suzanna. "She's a little +bit shy." + +So they went on, little Mabel contributing no word to the talk. They +passed fields full of yellow daisies and they walked by one group of +gentle, cud-chewing cows. "But I hope there'll be no cows in your woods, +Suzanna," said Mrs. Procter. + +And her wish was granted. Indeed all, sky, flowers, breeze, absence of +dust and curious animals, helped to make this a day of days. When they +reached Suzanna's little patch of woods with many spreading oak trees +that invited rest beneath their sheltering branches Mrs. Procter +exclaimed in delight. + +"Isn't it lovely, mother?" cried Suzanna. "See, there's a tiny brook, +too. I've been here often when I wanted to think of poetry." + +"And I've never had time," her mother murmured. + +"Now you just sit right down here with your back against this tree," +Suzanna went on with a delicious air of protection, "and I'll take care +of the baby. Close your eyes, dear mother-love, and forget that God sent +you a big family and that you've got to do your best by us all like you +told Mrs. Reynolds last week." + +Mrs. Procter's eyes were suddenly overflowing. Children! How rare and +fine a gift they were. How many truths they could teach! She sank down +upon the grass and Suzanna put the baby down beside her, first spreading +out a thick shawl. + +Mrs. Procter caught the small loving hand within her own: "I don't know, +Suzanna; sometimes I wonder if I'll be able to do all I'd like to do for +you all," she said in a low voice. + +"Why, mother, _you love us_!" Suzanna exclaimed. "Don't you remember +last Sunday when I put on my leghorn hat with the bunch of daisies over +my left eye--" + +"I remember," said Mrs. Procter, somewhat at a loss as to the connection +between thought and thought. + +"Well, when I said, 'good-bye, mother, I'm going to Sunday School,' you +looked at me and _smiled_ from your soul! And I forgot that there was +Maizie and Peter and the baby, and I didn't even remember father, and I +said to myself: '_That's my very own mother!_' Just as though we just +belonged to one another with nobody else in the whole world." + +"Kiss me, Suzanna darling," said Mrs. Procter, after a long moment. + +Suzanna stooped and kissed her mother very tenderly. + +"Now run away and play," said Mrs. Procter, leaning against the +supporting tree and closing her eyes, blissfully conscious that she +could rest undisturbed for at least twenty minutes. + +An hour later she opened her eyes and sat up straight. She had fallen +asleep, though her position was not a particularly comfortable one, and +slept sweetly, soundly. The baby still lay peacefully quiet, his little +blanket covering him. And small bees had been working about her. Spread +before her, reposing on a red table cloth lay a tempting meal. In the +middle of the table cloth, to give an air of festivity, was a bunch of +daisies. But most appealing of all to the mother was the sight of the +four children, her own three and little Mabel, seated quietly near the +table; they had evidently been there some time, waiting patiently till +she should open her eyes. + +"Oh," cried Maizie, great relief filling her at sight of her mother +stirring, "Suzanna made us stay so quiet till you woke up, mother, and +we're all awful hungry." + +"Yes, I want that fat sandwich," said Peter. + +And then they fell to eating with much laughter and gaiety. + +"Out in the woods you don't have to pretend you hate to eat, do you, +mother?" said Suzanna. + +"Nor anywhere else that I know of," said Mrs. Procter, smiling. + +"But I don't like to see anyone eat as though he liked to eat," said +Suzanna. "May I have two or three grapes, mother?" + +She received her grapes. And quiet fell, while each did his best to +clear the table. At length when the meal was concluded, and the basket +repacked, and the pewter knives and forks carefully wrapped in a napkin, +the children begged Suzanna for stories. + +So she began, and seemed never to fall short of material. Her mother +listened, dreamily contented, till another hour passed and the baby +awoke. He was a smiling, happy baby and crowed with delight when his +mother allowed him a cracker and a cup of milk. + +"Shall we play games?" asked Suzanna next, when just at the moment the +sound of wheels was heard and shortly there came into sight a low +carriage drawn by the two prosperous, fat brown horses, and seated in +the carriage was Suzanna's Eagle Man. + +Suzanna darted out into the road. As the carriage did not stop she +called out: "Mr. Eagle Man! Oh, Mr. Eagle Man!" + +The coachman involuntarily pulled in his horses. He didn't know what +peremptory signal would be given him to move on, or what inquiry as to +his sanity would scorchingly be made, but Suzanna's eager voice impelled +him to stop. Mr. Massey leaned over the side of the carriage. + +"I never dreamed you'd ride by our picnic," said Suzanna, all excited. +"We've got my mother here and our baby." + +"Well, well," said the Eagle Man. "And how are you, little girl?" + +"I'm awfully well," returned Suzanna. "But today was cleaning day at +home and we all started out wrong; the baby kept mother awake last night +and Maizie hated her oatmeal with the syrup in the middle and Peter +cried hard because he couldn't see his ears, and never in all his life +can see his ears." + +She paused tragically. "Never in all his life--and neither can you, or +anybody." + +"What a terrible loss, for sure," said the Eagle Man, after a look +darted at his coachman's imperturbable back. "And what did _you_ cry +about?" + +She stared at him in horror. "I never cry," she said. "I mean I never +let the tears fall down my face. I cry in my heart sometimes, but never +out loud, on top. But I felt funny this morning because I wished we +didn't have to wash on Monday, and iron on Tuesday, and clean on +Wednesday, and bake on Thursday, and mend on Friday, and clean again on +Saturday." + +"Well, ask your mother to wash on _Saturday_," the Eagle Man suggested +easily. + +"Oh, I don't think mother would," Suzanna cried, in a little horror +herself at that idea. "She's awful set about washing on Monday. Still +I'll ask her if you say so, Eagle Man, because Saturday is kind of a wet +day anyhow. You see Saturday is just the shape of a big, immense, round +ocean. Shall I bring my mother over here to look at you?" suddenly +recalling the conventions. + +"I don't think I'm fit to look at this morning," the Eagle Man +muttered. + +"Oh, I think you are," said Suzanna, earnestly. "I like your shiny shoes +and your very high collar. I know mother would like you, too." + +The Eagle Man looked down at his shiny shoes, hesitated and was lost. He +opened the carriage door, seized his cane and struggled to the ground. +"Now, let's see your wonderful family," he said to Suzanna, as he +hobbled forward toward the little group under the trees. + +Suzanna looked up at him. "Oh, you're the lame and the halt, too! We +took Mabel along on our picnic because her eyes don't match, you know. +They don't seem to work together. We _are_ obeying the Bible today, +aren't we?" + +Old John Massey did not answer, since he was intent upon covering the +ground with as little wear and tear on his nerves as possible, and so in +silence they walked till they reached Mrs. Procter, still leaning +against the tree, but now holding the baby in her arms. + +Maizie, Mabel, and Peter all looked with vivid interest at the newcomer. + +"Mother," began Suzanna, "this is the gentleman I told you about. He's +John Massey; you've seen him on Main Street. _He loves to be +comfortable._ And he doesn't work during the day, either, but he sits in +a chair and shouts at a little man, and the little man hops mighty +quick, I can tell you." + +Mrs. Procter's face went crimson. "How do you do?" she said. She did not +meet his keen eyes. + +"How do you do, madam," the Eagle Man responded. "Out for an airing with +your family?" + +"Yes," said Mrs. Procter. "The children were all in a bad humor this +morning and so we thought we'd have a picnic." + +"Oh, no, mother," said Maizie earnestly, "we weren't in a bad humor. We +just didn't like things at home." + +"Well, we'll put it that way," smiled her mother, "and so Suzanna +suggested a picnic." Mrs. Procter attempted to rise. + +"Stay where you are, madam," said the Eagle Man. Mrs. Procter sank back +against the tree. + +"You sit down, too, Eagle Man," said Suzanna cordially. "We've got +another shawl. Here it is." She spread it down on the ground and the +Eagle Man quite gladly accepted the invitation, though his face whitened +in the downward process of reaching the shawl. + +"Well, madam," he began again, "most people can't afford big families +these days." + +Mrs. Procter smiled, but did not answer. Suzanna, sensing a criticism, +spoke quickly. + +"Mother can't afford them either, but she's not asked anything about it. +The doctor who has charge of giving out babies stops at our gate often +and looks into mother's eyes. Then he knows she'd be awful sweet to a +little baby and so next time he gets around he brings one to us. Maybe +one that no one else will have." + +"I see," said the Eagle Man. He turned to Mrs. Procter. "Your daughter +is very apt with explanations." + +Mrs. Procter smiled. + +"Her explanations," he continued, "are a trifle more honest than the +ones I often hear." + +Another little silence. The Eagle Man appeared to be thinking deeply. +First he cast a glance out into the road to where his capacious vehicle +stood, then he looked over at Mrs. Procter. + +"I wonder, madam," he said, "if you and your family would do me the +honor to drive with me." + +Suzanna's eyes grew like stars, Maizie wrung her hands in a very +eloquence of prayer as she awaited her mother's answer; Peter just +stared, speech stricken from him; Mabel turned in her toes in her agony. +The baby only was unconcerned. Finally Mrs. Procter answered: + +"We'll be very glad to, I'm sure, Mr. Massey." And in less time than it +takes to tell, Mrs. Procter, the baby on her knees, sat beside Mr. +Massey in the carriage, while the three little girls sat on a seat +facing Mrs. Procter, a seat that could at will be let down or pushed +back. Peter, to his everlasting delight, sat beside the coachman. + +"Out into the country, Robert," said Mr. Massey to his coachman, and so +away they started at a leisurely pace, since the complacent horses +refused any other. Sometimes vagrant chickens wandered into the road, +exhibiting a daring that enthralled Peter. His opinion of chickens rose +when, the fat horses almost upon their tail feathers, they disdainfully +moved off. + +"We couldn't run one down, I suppose," he asked Robert, hopefully. "Just +take a feather off, you know, to learn 'em a lesson." + +"I scared a pair of 'em good and proper, once," returned Robert, who had +been, known to coddle an ailing worm, but at the moment he was just a +little boy with Peter, in very proper high spirits. And while braggingly +he went on talking to his delighted listener, the rest of the party were +silently, but with keen enjoyment, watching the passing country side. It +was a ride to be long remembered; the smooth roads wound alluringly +away, Suzanna wondered, to what beautiful hidden country. The breezes +fanned their cheeks with delicate, fragrant breath; the birds sang +overhead, or flew gaily about, adding harmony and color to the +atmosphere. And yet, to Suzanna's horror the baby, apparently quite +insensible to all the beauty and totally oblivious of the gratitude due +the Eagle Man, soon fell fast asleep, engagingly sucking his fat thumb. + +"He's not very old," whispered Suzanna to her host; "and he doesn't know +he must be truly thankful to you." + +"Well, let him rest comfortably," said the Eagle Man, and he moved in +such a way that the baby's head rested against his knee. + +"There, that's better," he said to Mrs. Procter. "I didn't suppose you +wanted its neck to be broken," he ended gruffly. + +"You can't talk that way to mother," said Suzanna, very gently. "She's +not used to it, you see, and she might think you meant it, though I know +you better. Father, when he isn't thinking of his invention, speaks very +kindly and sometimes he says, 'Are you tired, Little Woman?'" + +Mrs. Procter attempted to speak, but again the Eagle Man stopped +her--very gently, for him. + +"It's all right," he said. "It's rather interesting to find someone, if +only a child, who's not afraid to be absolutely sincere." + +They came to a small hill where Robert stopped his horses. The breezes +had gone whispering away and stillness was upon all. Soon the birds +ceased their calls; over in the west the clouds were soft delicate folds +of bronze; and even as one looked they broke into bars of distinct +color, orange, purple, coral. An opal sunset. + +"Oh, how beautiful!" cried Mrs. Procter. + +"A daily incident," returned the Eagle Man, but he, too, gazed at the +glowing sky. + +"And now, I suppose we must return," he said at length, and so Robert +turned his horses upon the homeward journey. + +It was nearly dusk when, after leaving Mabel with her mother, the little +cottage came into sight, and then Mrs. Procter said to the Eagle Man: +"This has been one of the happiest days of my life. I thank you for +helping to make it so." + +"That's very kind of you to say so," the Eagle Man answered in his usual +gruff voice. + +They reached the gate and leaning upon it was Mr. Procter. He stared his +amazement at sight of his family returning in such state. + +"Father, we had a picnic," called Maizie, springing from the carriage. + +"And once I drove," cried Peter, almost falling from his seat, "and +scared a chicken." + +"We've had the grandest day, father," finished Suzanna, running to him. +"We went on a picnic and we took the lame and halt along, Mabel and the +Eagle Man, and they had a good time, too." + +"And twice today, father," said Maizie, taking her father's hand, "I +remembered Who smiled at me." + +"Who smiled at you?" asked the Eagle Man, who heard everything, it +seemed. + +"The Man with the halo, Jesus, you know," Maizie answered reverently. +"When first I was a baby on this earth He came to smile at me and to +wake me up. Suzanna told me so." + +Silence. Then the Eagle Man turned to Mr. Procter. "Glad to have met +your family, sir." + +"Glad you've had the opportunity," said Mr. Procter. + +"You sold a quantity of nails to me a few weeks ago, good nails, too; +not underweight either, I noticed," said the Eagle Man at last. "Your +little girl tells me you are an inventor." + +"Yes, I'm working on a machine," Mr. Procter flushed. "It is nearly +finished. That is, sometimes I think so; other times completion seems +far away." + +The Eagle Man paused. "I'd be interested in seeing your invention," he +said, and stopped. Yet there was promise, too, in his voice, in his +eyes. + +Again the color rushed to Mr. Procter's face. He stared unbelievingly at +the other, and then said: "I'll be glad any time to show my machine; to +tell you all about it--" He hesitated. "There'd be a great chance for +you, should you become interested in it." + +"Well, if that's the case, expect me any time. Good-bye." + +Suzanna spoke cordially: "You must come and see us very often," she said +warmly, "only not on Tuesday nights, if you're coming to supper, because +we have stew then made from the last of Sunday's roast." + +"I'll remember," said the Eagle Man gravely, as he gave the signal to +Robert to drive away. + +The little family went down through the yard and on to the house. + +"I must hurry with your supper," said Mrs. Procter. "I'm sorry you were +kept waiting." She felt rested enough not to dread preparing the meal. + +"Don't hurry, I found some crackers," said Mr. Procter, and added, "Why, +I've not seen you look so happy in many a long day." + +"Well, I really must thank Suzanna," said Mrs. Procter. "She insisted +upon a picnic because the day started wrong. The house is all upset +though," she finished, as they went into the kitchen. + +"The house?" he returned, gazing vaguely about. "It looks all right to +me. Suppose, Jane, he should really be won over to believe in the +machine. Oh, I never hoped I could interest him!" + +"It may be the beginning of a great day," she answered. He put his arm +about her. + +"What should I do without you to encourage, to help," he said. + +"That's my privilege," she said softly. + +Bending, he kissed her. + + + + +BOOK II + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE INDIAN DRILL + + +Mid September and school days. + +"I like my new teacher, that's why I'm happy," Suzanna told her mother +at the end of the first school day. + +"I saw her," said Maizie, who was a pupil at public school for the +second year. "She holds her arm funny." + +Suzanna flushed darkly. "She's beautiful," she averred; "she's my +teacher." + +"But didn't you see her arm?" + +"No," said Suzanna, "I did not." + +Maizie cried out triumphantly: "Well, that's the first time you didn't +see something I saw." + +Suzanna did not answer. She could not voice her emotions. + +"Well, I don't want you or anyone in the whole world even to notice Miss +Smithson's arm," she flung out, and so Maizie was silenced. + +Suzanna glanced through the window. + +"Why there's father," cried Suzanna; "I wonder why he's coming home so +early?" + +Mr. Procter came hurriedly down the path, pushed open the front door, +and with no word sprang up the stairs. To the attic, the children knew. + +"He must have thought of something to do to The Machine," said Maizie. + +"Yes," Suzanna answered; "whenever he has that still look on his face he +has a new idea." + +"Someone must be taking his place at the store," said Mrs. Procter. "I'm +glad the baby's asleep. Be very quiet, children. Father may have a +splendid thought--why there, he's coming downstairs again." + +He entered the kitchen at once, his face aglow. + +"Just the turn of a screw!" he exclaimed. He spoke directly to his wife. +"Oh, my dear, it's coming on. Nearly ready to show to John Massey." + +"Oh, I am happy for you," she cried. + +He spoke to Suzanna and Maizie: "Would you chicks like to take a walk +down town with me?" He fumbled in his pocket. "Here's a ticket good for +ten dishes of ice cream." He held up a small card. + +"Oh, daddy, where did you get it?" cried Maizie. + +"From Raymond Cunningham, leading druggist," he announced slowly. "His +soda fountain was out of order and I fixed it for him. I didn't want +money for a small act of kindness, so he issued this ticket to me." + +The children were delighted. Mrs. Procter smiled too. In generosity of +spirit, she forbore to point out to her husband the fact that Raymond +Cunningham was known from one end of the town to the other as one who +would "skin a gnat for its teeth." + +Without doubt the man now beaming upon his little daughters had saved +the druggist a bill of ten dollars for which he had issued a ticket +worth sixty cents! + +But she simply smiled, and going to her husband she brushed an imaginary +dust speck from his coat. He caught her hand. + +"Wait, Dear One, till the invention is ready," he said; "all shall give +homage to my wife." + +She did not answer him in words, but he seemed satisfied with the +silence. Such moments of love, of high hope, were beautiful to both. + +The little group started away for their trip to town. + +Just as they reached the drug store, Suzanna pulled her father's sleeve. +She was all excitement. + +"See, daddy," she cried, "that tall lady dressed in black standing near +the lamp post is Miss Smithson, my new teacher." + +"Well, let's go and say a word to her," suggested Mr. Procter, easily. + +"Oh, father, I don't think she talks outside of school," said Suzanna, +her voice falling. She fell into prim step as they neared Miss Smithson. + +Miss Smithson, seeing Suzanna, smiled. + +"This is my father," said Suzanna proudly. + +"I should know that at once by the close resemblance," returned Miss +Smithson. + +"Yes, Suzanna and I do look alike," said Mr. Procter, "and I think I've +sold tacks to you." He rarely failed to speak of his work. He was so +exalted a being, Suzanna thought glowingly, that he lifted his daily +labor to the dignity of a fine art. People must think so too, because +they always looked closer at him when he spoke of weighing nails, or +wrapping wringers and washboards. + +"We were going on to the drug store for some ice cream. Will you join +us?" asked Mr. Procter of Miss Smithson. + +Suzanna's face went white as she waited Miss Smithson's answer. +Teachers, being purely ethereal she felt, never descended to the +discussion of materialities. She wondered at her father's overlooking +this truth. + +But, "Thank you," said the teacher, very calmly. + +So together they all entered the corner drug store, Suzanna still very +quiet. Mr. Procter found a table large enough to accommodate them all. +Suzanna sat next to Maizie. + +"I'm going to have a chocolate ice cream soda," whispered Maizie. + +"No, you can't, Maizie," Suzanna returned in an agony; "take lemon ice +cream soda." + +"But I don't like it." + +"Well, that doesn't matter, Maizie. Chocolate is too dark; and besides +you smear it all over your lips and it looks dreadful; pale lemon ice +cream soda is sweet looking. We must do something to honor Miss +Smithson, who's here just because she wouldn't hurt father's feelings." + +But Maizie looked belligerent. + +Suzanna's temper threatened to flame forth. With a mighty effort she +controlled it. She turned to her father. "Father, don't you think Maizie +had better have lemon ice cream soda?" she asked. + +"Anything she wants; anything she wants," Mr. Procter answered and not +lowering his voice, even in Miss Smithson's presence: "What do you think +you'll have, Suzanna?" + +"I'll have a lemon ice cream soda," said Suzanna primly. And she had +difficulty in restraining her tears when Maizie deliberately gave her +command for chocolate ice cream soda. When the orders came Suzanna +scarcely touched her glass. Covertly she watched Miss Smithson; she saw, +how daintily that lady ate her plain vanilla ice cream; perhaps, after +all, even teachers found it necessary to find some subsistence and Miss +Smithson had hit upon ice cream as the most aesthetic. At least Suzanna +was forced to believe this in her endeavor to keep intact her ideal of +Miss Smithson. + +Then Miss Smithson said in a pleasant, every-day voice: + +"I'm glad to have this opportunity, Mr. Procter, of asking you if +Suzanna may take part in an Indian Drill I expect to give at school next +month." + +"Why, I can see no reason against her taking part," said Mr. Procter. +"You would enjoy such an occasion, would you not, Suzanna?" + +"She will need an outfit," Miss Smithson went on, treading delicately, +since in part she guessed the state of the Procter finances and she +wished to be very sure before implicating Suzanna in any embarrassing +situation, "including dancing slippers, though I may be able to rent the +Indian costumes from a masquerader in the city, and then the cost will +be lessened." + +"That will be all right," said Mr. Procter immediately. "Just tell us +the clothes she will need and her mother will get them." + +"That's very nice," said Miss Smithson, though she felt still a little +uneasy. + +"When will the affair take place?" Mr. Procter asked. + +"On the fifteenth of October. We have ample time for rehearsals." + +A little later Miss Smithson shook hands with Suzanna's father, +murmuring something conventional about his being fortunate in the +possession of such an interesting family. Then she was gone. + +The children, bidding father good-bye, hastened on home. They burst into +the house, anxious to tell mother all about the meeting with Miss +Smithson. + +Mrs. Procter listened interestedly. "And father said I might take part +in the Indian Drill," said Suzanna. "I shall have to have an outfit +perhaps and dancing shoes." + +"What did father say about that?" asked Mrs. Procter, an anxious little +frown growing between her eyes. + +"He said you would get them for me," Suzanna returned. She, too, looked +a little anxiously at her mother. "But Miss Smithson said perhaps she +could hire the Indian costumes." + +Mrs. Procter's expression lightened. + +"Well, perhaps she can," she said. + +"And if she can't, mother?" Suzanna breathlessly awaited the answer. + +"Well, we'll manage some way." + +And Suzanna was satisfied. + +A week later Mr. Procter returned home, carrying a mysterious looking +parcel. + +"For you, Suzanna," he said, his eyes sparkling. "But let's not open it +until after supper." + +Suzanna reluctantly put the package to one side. That supper would never +end that evening she had a firm conviction. + +And yet the end was reached, and she was opening the package, attended +by the entire family. At last her eager eyes swept the contents, and her +little beating heart for the moment palpitated strangely in her throat, +for there lay a pair of shoes. + +"Shoes," said Mr. Procter, "for you to wear in the Indian Drill. I saw +them thrown out in a little booth when I went into Lane's shoe shop for +a piece of leather to be made into washers. They really were marked at +so ridiculously low a figure that I thought at once we could surely +afford them for Suzanna. They are, I should judge, the very thing for +the Indian Drill." + +To all of which Suzanna listened gravely. Her heart had gone back to its +normal rhythm, but her eyes could not leave the atrocities lying before +her. Truly, they were of fine leather, but with their high French heels, +and flat gilt buttons, they might have been in style when Suzanna's +mother was a very little girl, and, to be really candid, they would have +lain under the anathema of being out of date even then. But over and +beyond the painful vintage of the shoes was the fact that Miss Smithson +had announced that all the girls taking part in the Indian Drill should +wear the same kind of shoes. She had gone farther and told the children +that the right kind of shoes could be obtained at Bryson's for a dollar +and forty-eight cents a pair, a really reduced price because fourteen +pairs were to be purchased. She had finished by giving the children the +number to be called for, "A-14116." Suzanna knew the number well; she +had repeated it mentally over and over again. + +Finally Suzanna found her voice. "They're very nice, daddy," she said. + +"Yes, they are very nice," he said. "See, you can turn them up. They're +as soft as a kid glove." + +"Well, since you've bought the shoes," said Mrs. Procter, "and probably +at a very reasonable figure--" she paused, and Mr. Procter finished: + +"Yes, they were only forty-eight cents, a remarkable bargain, I think." + +"Remarkable," said Mrs. Procter, picking them up. "Why, I believe +they're a handmade shoe! Well," she went on, "since the shoes are +accounted for, I think if I have to I can quite easily manage the rest +of the outfit." + +Suzanna's heart sank lower. She only wondered miserably if her mother, +seeing a piece of inexpensive goods of almost any shade, and finding a +pattern easy to manage, would make up what she thought would do quite +well for the Indian Drill costume. Then her thoughts returned to the +shoes. Perhaps after all they wouldn't fit! She was enabled by that +emancipating thought to turn a happier face to her father and again to +thank him. + +But alas, the shoes fitted perfectly. + +"I think," said Suzanna desperately, "that perhaps they're a little bit +too small--narrow, I mean." + +"Do they hurt you?" asked her mother. + +Suzanna had to confess that they didn't hurt. + +"They certainly make your foot look very nice and slender," said her +father. + +Well, Suzanna thought miserably, she should have to wear them, and in +that belief all interest in the Indian Drill left her. She simply +couldn't, she felt, take her lead on the eventful day wearing those +shoes. Every eye in the audience, she knew, would be fixed upon them, so +different from those of the other girls, so terribly old-fashioned, as +instinctively she sensed them to be. + +Mrs. Procter carefully wrapped the bargains in the original tissue +paper. She was happy in the thought that her little daughter was +provided with a pretty and appropriate pair of dancing shoes. + +But it was very perfunctorily that Suzanna went through the ensuing +rehearsals at school. Her spirits were not lifted even when Miss +Smithson announced that the costumes were to be obtained through a +masquerader at the small cost of twenty-five cents for each pupil. But +at length, the child's natural persevering force had its way, and she +set her mind to studying the question of how to avoid wearing the +unsuitable shoes and still preserve her father's confidence in his own +good judgment. Usually she asked no help, working alone on the problems +which assailed her, but suddenly the thought of her friend Drusilla came +to her. She would ask Drusilla what she thought about the matter. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +DRUSILLA'S REMINISCENCES + + +One afternoon immediately after school, Suzanna, taking Maizie with her, +went to call on Drusilla. Twice since her first visit in July she had +gone to the little home, but on both occasions Drusilla had been ill, +unable to see anyone. But today the pleasant faced maid admitted the +children. + +"Go right up to the attic," she said. "Mrs. Bartlett is there looking +over some old trunks." + +In the attic, a tiny place with slanting roof and unfinished walls, the +children found Mrs. Bartlett, sitting on the floor beside a huge, +overflowing trunk. Old-fashioned dresses, high-heeled satin slippers, +dancing programs, painted fans, were all heaped together. + +"We've come to see you, Drusilla," said Suzanna at once. "I've been +twice before, but you didn't know it. This is my sister, Maizie. I've +got a very important question to ask you." + +Drusilla rose from the floor. "I'm glad to see you both. I've often +thought of you, Suzanna. Close the lid of that trunk and sit on it and +your little sister Maizie can sit in that old easy chair in the corner. +That is, if you want to stay up here in the attic." + +Suzanna looked about her. The attic was rather sad-looking, she thought, +not full of its own importance as the one at home, but still, very +interesting. Old portraits hung on the slanting walls. In corners were +piles of old furniture looking strangely lifelike in the shadows. + +"We'd rather stay up here, Drusilla," she said. "And we'll stay a long +time with you, if you like." + +"Very good," said Drusilla. She drew forth a low rocker and seated +herself. + +Suzanna suddenly remembered her manners. "Perhaps we shouldn't have come +today anyway," she said. "You were busy with your trunk when we came +up." + +"I was just looking over some old dresses and relics I've kept for many +years," said Drusilla. "There's a dress in there," she said, "that I +wore when as a young girl I lived with my parents way back across the +ocean." + +"A big city?" asked Maizie. "Not like Anchorville?" + +"A big city," returned Drusilla. "You see that glass case in the corner? +Go and look at it." + +Suzanna and Maizie sprang up and went to the dusky corner. On a table +stood the glass case, and under it was an apple, a pear, a bunch of +grapes, and a banana, all made of wax. + +"That came from the city across the water," said Drusilla. "It was given +to my grandmother by our old herb woman." + +The children left the wax fruit and went and stood quite close to +Drusilla. "What's an old herb woman?" asked Maizie, interestedly. + +"Why, she was our doctor in those days. She had an old shop buried away +in a part of the town that we reached by crossing a canal. Many is the +time my grandmother took me to that old shop with its rows of dried +herbs hanging from the ceiling; with its old worn corners, and its +barrel of white cocoanut oil standing near the door. Oh, I loved that +place. I loved the smell of the herbs and I loved the little old woman +who could brew teas from her herbs that would cure any ailment in the +world, I thought. And then right next to the old herb shop was a pawn +shop with three tarnished golden balls above the door." + +"A pawn shop?" The children wanted to know the meaning of that kind of +shop. + +"A shop," said Drusilla, warming to her keen audience, "to which you +could bring anything, from a worn out dress to a piece of jewelry, and +get money for it and a ticket. And if you wanted the dress or the +jewelry back again, then you brought the ticket and the money and a +little interest. + +"The old pawn shop was a landmark. It had stood next to the herb shop, +my grandmother told me, for a hundred years; during all these years +owned by the same family. When I was a little girl a woman kept the +shop. She was very tall, very thin, with quantities of black hair +braided and wound round and round her head. She wore always a Paisley +shawl of faded colors, and her hair coiled as it was made me think +always of a crown. + +"The shop was long and narrow and full of wonderful rare, old +curios--old violins, cameos, and uncut stones. I was allowed to go all +over the shop; to open quaint cases, to go upstairs and out upon an old +gallery and to lift from their drawers silken crapes, and to find, +buried away, whispering sea-shells and crystal bottles, and irregular +pieces of blue-veined marble and alabaster. Oh, the happy, thrilling +hours I spent in that place! My grandmother told me that scholars came +from every part of the country to see this tucked-away, historic old +pawn shop." + +Drusilla paused, but in a moment to the children's relief she went on: +"Then on a quite busy street, back this side of the canal, the side we +lived on, was a large place called an ovenry. And there we sent our +bread to be baked." + +The children's eyes widened. + +"Yes," went on Drusilla, "we put our dough to rise at home, made it into +little loaves, pricked our initial--or some other distinguishing +mark--on top when it lay in its pans, and then a big red-faced man with +a wagon drawn by a donkey called for our bread. Once my grandmother let +me ride with him, and I stayed all afternoon in his ovenry, though the +fire from the big ovens made it uncomfortably hot. I watched him and his +helpers put the pans of bread on big shovels and heave them into yawning +caves of flames. When they were finished, another red-faced man +delivered them baked brown, and smoking, to the customers. We paid a +penny a loaf for having our bread baked." + +"Oh, and that saved you buying so much coal, didn't it?" asked Maizie. +"I wish we had an ovenry in Anchorville." + +"Yes," said Drusilla, "I think, myself, some of these old-fashioned +ideas were economical." + +"There isn't a pawn shop anywhere near, is there?" asked Suzanna. She +was thinking about the shoes and what a blessing it would be to dispose +of them. + +"I don't believe so," Drusilla answered. "Anyway, there couldn't be +another like that wonderful shop of my youth." + +There ensued a silence. Suddenly leaning forward, Suzanna began very +earnestly: + +"Drusilla, I have a very important question to ask you. Which would you +rather do, be honest or suffer?" + +"Be honest or suffer?" repeated Drusilla. "I don't quite understand." + +"Well, you see, it's this way," said Suzanna. "Now, Maizie, I see you're +listening with your eyes wide open, and I want to tell you now that you +mustn't say anything to father of what I'm going to tell Drusilla." +Having delivered this ultimatum, she went on and told of the Indian +Drill and of the costumes, and then of her father's recent purchase of +the shoes. "I can't tell daddy that the shoes would be different from +everybody's else," she said, "because it will hurt his feelings. But, +oh, Drusilla! My heart jumps into my throat when I think of wearing +those shoes so different from everyone else's." + +"The shoes cost forty-eight cents," elaborated Maizie, "and so you can +see Suzanna has to wear them whether she likes them or not." + +"Yes," said Suzanna, "forty-eight cents is very near to half a dollar +and we can't afford to lose that. I thought, Drusilla, that you could +give me some advice. That's all I want, just that you tell me which is +best, to be honest or to suffer. You told me once about the little +silver chain and that has helped me a lot." + +Drusilla looked puzzled. "The silver chain?" she asked. + +"Yes, don't you remember that day you were queen and told me about the +chain?" asked Suzanna. + +In a second a remarkable change came over the old lady. She rose to her +feet. Then she turned to Suzanna, her shoulders straight and her head +held high. + +"My crown," she demanded. "Is that to be lifted from me in these the +full years of my queenhood?" + +"I've never seen you with a crown on," said Suzanna. + +"Enough, serf!" cried the queen haughtily. "Procure me my crown." +Suzanna looked about her. An old dried-up Christmas wreath hanging on a +rafter attracted her attention. Quickly she procured it and held it out +to Drusilla. "Here is your crown, Queen," she said. And then, her voice +changing, she said: "You'd better let me put it on, Drusilla, it's +liable to crumble if you're not careful. Lower your head, please." + +The old lady did so and Suzanna placed the crown upon the silver hair. + +"Now," said the old lady, "if you have sought me to gain advice, repeat +your question, that I may answer in a manner worthy my exalted station." + +"Well," said Suzanna for the third time, "I want to know whether it's +best to be honest or to suffer?" + +"What shall be your course if you are honest?" asked the queen. + +Suzanna pondered. "I think I'll tell daddy, perhaps tonight," she said +at last, "that to wear the shoes will hurt my feelings dreadfully; that +I tremble when I think of being the only girl in the drill without low +shoes with two straps. Something like moccasins. If I tell daddy this, +then I'll be honest." + +"And if you decide to suffer?" + +"Then I'll wear the shoes at the drill and from the time I put them on +till the drill is over, I'll be full of pain. I'll know that everybody +will be just looking at my feet, and I'll not enjoy the dance one bit." + +The queen knit her brows. Then her answer came: "Be not honest in the +way you describe, neither suffer." + +"But, Drusilla," Suzanna objected, "I don't understand." + +"_And can you not be brave?_" asked the queen with a note of scorn in +her voice. "Is it left to one who feels the time approaching when she +will be deposed from her throne and all she holds dear, alone to have +courage?" She looked straight into Suzanna's dark eyes. "Your father +knows joy in thinking he has given you your heart's desire. Why, then, +hurt him by telling him that the shoes are not your desire? Why not, +with head held high, lead the dance you speak of, and forget shoes, and +remember only the movement of the dance, the lilt of the music?" + +"Is that bravery?" asked Suzanna. + +"The greatest bravery," returned the queen, "will be to say to yourself, +'Am I so poor a maid that I cannot by the very beauty of my dancing keep +the eyes of the watchers lifted clear above my shoes? For shoes, what +are shoes? Leather and wood. Inanimate, unthinking _stuff_! They are not +worth one heart pang, one moment of misery to me or mine. But _I, I am +alive_. I can see and think and understand. I can go so joyously through +the mazes of the dance that the watchers may forget their sordid +cares.'" + +Suzanna, listening, was carried away. She cried with eager response: +"Why the night of the Indian Drill I can believe I am a fairy, dancing +over snow-topped mountains, and singing, flying clear up into the +clouds!" + +"You might fall, Suzanna," said Maizie, "you know you haven't wings." + +But on this occasion Suzanna was not to be recalled to earth, and +besides in her queen's interested, understanding face, she felt a quick +fellowship to the spirit that dwelt within her. + +And then breaking harshly into the wonder of this moment came the +tinkle, tinkle of the electric bell. + +"Oh," cried Maizie, "someone is coming." + +"I shall brook no intruders," cried the queen. + +"No matter who it is?" asked Suzanna. + +"No matter who it is. I desire to be alone with my court. However, you +can peep over the banisters and see who dares come thus upon us." + +Suzanna went to the top of the stairs. The maid was ushering in a lady +and a boy. + +"Go right upstairs," Suzanna heard the maid say. "Mrs. Bartlett's in +the attic with two of the Procter children." + +The visitors appeared at the top of the stairs and paused to glance in. + +The lady was beautifully dressed, quite exquisitely, from the dainty +little toque upon her haughty head to her small gray cloth shoes. Her +eyes, flashing from pansy shades to lightest blue, were cold. Her white +skin seemed to hold no possibility of color. Yet, even as she stood, the +milk of it turned to rose when Drusilla gazed at her with no warmth of +recognition in her glance. + +The boy, about twelve, Suzanna surmised correctly, stood forward. There +was some of his mother's haughtiness in his bearing, a great deal of her +beauty. But added to both, a rare, high look as though always he were +seeking what lay beyond his grasp, and perhaps his comprehension. He +seemed altogether like a child whose emotional values did not stand +clear. He gazed half prayerfully at his grandmother, as though asking +and bestowing at the same time. + +Breaking into the embarrassing silence, Suzanna spoke: + +"Drusilla has her crown on," she said. "You see, she's a queen now, and +she's been answering some questions of mine." + +The lady in the doorway looked at Suzanna meditatively. Then she spoke +directly to Drusilla. + +"May I come in, mother?" she asked. "You see I've brought Graham." + +Drusilla began: "Court was in session. However, I shall be glad to have +you remain." The boy, who had remained quiet, now spoke. + +"Oh, bully, mother; grandmother's playing again. I want to stay." + +But his mother put out a detaining hand as he attempted to enter the +attic. + +"No--we can't stay now--" She spoke directly again to Drusilla. "We'll +come again--when you are more--yourself." + +In a moment she was gone down the stairs, leaving after her a soft +fragrance. The boy obediently followed her. In the hall below she +encountered the maid. She whispered a few hurried words before taking +her departure. + +The maid went up immediately into the attic. + +Drusilla was again talking eloquently while Suzanna and Maizie stood +listening spellbound. + +"I think," said the maid, breaking in quietly but firmly, "that you +little girls had better go home now. Mrs. Bartlett is tired and I want +her to lie down." + +She approached the queen. "Come, Mrs. Bartlett," she said, "you must +rest now." She raised her hand as though to remove the crown of faded +leaves. + +"What means this sacrilege?" cried the queen, stepping backward. + +"She likes to wear her crown when she's a queen," said Suzanna, much +distressed. + +"But she can't lie down in her crown, you know, little girl, it will +hurt her." + +"Well, that's true, Drusilla," Suzanna conceded. "Will you put your head +down and I'll take the crown off very carefully and we'll put it away +for another day." + +The queen obediently lowered her silver head to Suzanna. Suzanna very +carefully removed the wreath and hung it on its old nail. + +"I _am_ tired," said the old lady, now in a voice that trembled a +little. "But you'll come again soon, won't you?" she asked, appealing to +Suzanna. + +"Yes, just as soon as I can," said Suzanna. "Come, Maizie. Good-bye, +Drusilla, and thank you very much for helping me." + +Drusilla brightened. "That's nice, to know that I can still help +someone," she said. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +MRS. GRAHAM WOODS BARTLETT + + +The great house stood on a hilltop quite two miles from the station, and +cut into the immense iron door standing guard to the grounds was the +name "Bartlett Villa." + +Here for a small part of the year the Graham Woods Bartletts lived. The +family consisted of mother, father, and son, named for his father. In +the city another house as large and more palatial received the family +when they tired of the country home. + +Mr. Graham Woods Bartlett held large interests in the Massey Steel +Mills. That he might be on the ground part of the time he had built +Bartlett Villa. In his heart he loved the small town. It was like a +retreat to him to come back to its quiet after feverish hours spent in +the crowded city. Here he seemed to recall in part a few of his vanished +dreams--those dreams so bright, so well-nigh impossible of fulfillment, +which as a young man fresh from college he had cherished. While young, +he met and loved the girl he married. That she had visions he perfectly +believed. That her visions were unworthy no power then could have made +him believe. She came from an impecunious family whose lineage was older +and greater than his. How she could have thought the high-browed, +sensitive-faced young man the one who could fulfill her grasping desires +is not to be fathomed. She had believed so, and he did bring to pass all +her aspirations. That in doing so he killed his finest ideals mattered +not. + +Young Graham, too, was always glad when the time came for a stay at +Bartlett Villa in Anchorville. He loved the big upstanding elms; loved +the many gardens, and the flaunting flowers. He loved the two people who +belonged properly in the environs of Bartlett Villa--old Nancy, who had +been his mother's nurse and his own, and David, the gardener, with his +little daughter Daphne. + +Nancy, old, with hard rosy cheeks, was still so real. She worked and +sang, loved and sometimes resented on behalf of those whom she served. +Often, when quite a little boy, Graham would seek her in the old nursery +of the city home and climb into her lap, rest his curly head against her +loving breast, and sometimes contentedly fall asleep. + +He never so cuddled with his mother, no matter how fervent the longings +that filled his heart. She was always finely dressed; and her eyes were +never for him alone. They were fixed on some distant and glittering +goal, quite beyond the boy's understanding. + +Then there was David, big of stature, big of mind. David, given over to +many long, silent periods, because David had lost a loved and cherished +one. + +There were times when David would take Graham with him on long rambles, +and then he would talk. He knew everything about the birds, their +habits, their peculiarities, their fears, and their courage. He put into +Graham a great love for the little creatures. Often together near a nest +they would stand, and, scarce breathing, watch the first lesson given by +a mother bird to a frightened young one. + +"She's greater, that mother, than some humans," David said once, when +they were on their way home. + +"Why?" asked Graham, interestedly. + +"Well," said David, slowly, "we most of us hold on too long when it's +time for those we love to try their wings." + +"You wouldn't hold on, would you, David?" asked Graham, his boyish eyes +upturned in perfect faith to his friend. + +"I might, Graham; human nature is weak and wants always its own." + +Upon reaching home Graham would ask: "Will you have time to go riding +this afternoon, David?" + +And David would answer: "Perhaps, my lad, if there's not too much work +in the gardens." + +Once Graham asked: "Why do you do such work, David? You could be in the +city making lots of money." Thus Graham, who through heritage had been +innoculated with that thought, that money meant everything. + +And David had turned with a swift gesture: "Why should I mistreat my +spirit, kill my brightest self trying for money, young Graham? Here +among my flowers, working in the soil, I find time to think." + +Graham looked strangely at David. Time to think! On what? Well he knew +that David would tell him some day, and then he would weigh in his own +mind the question of whether it were wise to work hard at something that +took all your time in order to make lots of money; or to work at +something that while you worked gave you time to think and grow. + +David had an uncanny way of knowing another's thoughts. "It's not +altogether what you work at, lad," he said, "it's what your ideals of +life are." And turning, he left Graham to ponder. + +On the day that he and his mother had paid the visit to his grandmother +in the attic, the boy's mind was deeply concerned with the scene he had +witnessed in his grandmother's attic. He envied the Procter children, +since there grew in his imagination the treasure a grandmother could be. +She probably knew "bully" stories of long-ago days. Certainly as she +stood, crowned, she seemed the best sort of a playfellow, since she +could pretend as well as any child. + +His mother drove him home and then went to pay a call in a near town. He +had gone directly to his own room. A telegrapher's outfit, in which he +was then greatly interested, needed his attention. He was anxious to +resume work on it; still his undermind, even as he drew forth the +machine and began to work, was busy. + +Suddenly he remembered the time last year when his mother had made +elaborate preparations for an extended sojourn in the South. They were +then in their city home. He had ardently wished that she would decide to +take him with her, but the thought evidently did not occur to her. He +had said good-bye to her with a strange, empty feeling at his heart. + +And then quite unexpectedly she had returned, her contemplated stay cut +enchantingly short. She had talked with him, taken long walks with him, +even accompanied him to several ball games. + +For a month she had been a friend, a good friend interested in boyish +sports, in active games, and once in an open moment she had asked him if +he had ever been lonely. + +He answered, not wishing to hurt her: "Sometimes, when you stayed for +months in Italy. But I was only a very small boy then. Father had to be +away most of the time too, and the tutor you got for me wouldn't allow +me to talk with other children until he knew all about where their +fathers and mothers came from and how much money they had." + +She was touched. She meant then to see that her boy should have more of +the normal boy life of fun and roughness. + +But gradually her old desire for social leadership pressed in on her. +And it took all her time and energy to dress, to entertain, to outdo her +social rivals. And Graham went his own way again, only wishing that it +was not necessary for both father and mother to be so occupied with +outside interests that they had little time for their one child. + +After a time he left his machine to look out of the window, and as he +stood, he saw his mother. She had left her small runabout, and David was +leading the horse to the stables. + +He saw her enter the house. In a moment he heard her talking in her +sweet voice to one of the servants before she mounted the stairs to her +own room. She would then, Graham knew, be in the hands of her maid for a +long time, since she was giving a formal dinner party that evening. + +When the shadows were lengthening Graham left his room and wandered +aimlessly around the house. Finally he reached the kitchen, where he sat +for a time, watching the imported French chef's noble efforts for the +coming dinner, efforts that must result in the wide proclamation of Mrs. +Graham Woods Bartlett as an original hostess. But in the kitchen it was +made manifest that Graham's presence was not welcome. At last, feeling +this truth, he left. + +The maid, coming from his mother's room and meeting him in the hall, +told him that his dinner was to be served at six in his own room. "Your +mother thought you'd like that," she finished. + +Graham nodded without speaking and went on once more to his own room. He +felt lonely, dispirited. Old Nancy, to whom he might have turned, had +gone to her old home to visit some grandchildren. David, he knew, would +be very busy. + +At six the boy's dinner was brought, and with the hearty appetite of +boyhood he ate. Afterwards he read a little, and then, feeling tired, he +concluded to retire. But he did not go to sleep at once. Occasionally he +heard interesting sounds from below, music from a string orchestra, +laughter of women, and the bass voices of men. + +At nine o'clock he was still lying awake when he heard a little running +step outside his door. Out of an impulse he called softly, "Mother." + +Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett, on her way to her private safe for a piece +of jade she wished to show one of her guests, paused at the call. Then +she pushed open Graham's door, which was slightly ajar, and went in. +Graham sat up. By the glow of a small electric light near his bed he +could plainly see his mother. She was a beautiful vision in her soft +white gown, quite untouched by any color, her hair piled high upon her +small, finely shaped head. + +"Did you call me, Graham?" she asked. + +"Yes," he said, "I wanted to see you all dressed." + +She went quickly and sat on the edge of the bed. "Did they serve you a +nice dinner, Graham?" she asked. + +He nodded. "Very nice," he answered. + +"I thought you'd be asleep long ago," she said. "Otherwise I should have +looked in on you." + +"I couldn't sleep," he answered. Then impulsively: "Mother, I know you +have to go downstairs again soon, but I've been thinking so much of +grandmother. Wouldn't it be possible to have her come to live here with +us? We've got such a big house, and she must be very lonely." + +She drew herself a little away from him. "Perhaps I haven't explained to +you, Graham," she said, "that your grandmother is given to periods of +hallucinations. That is, she has peculiar fancies, one of them being +that she thinks herself a queen." + +"Well, does it hurt if she does think she's a queen?" asked the boy. + +"In this way it does. It's not pleasant to have in close proximity one +who isn't what is called just normal. I think she is much better cared +for as she is and in her own home. You'll admit it would be very +unpleasant if she lived here, and appeared before guests in one of her +unnatural moods." + +"But she is lonely," persisted the boy, sticking to the one line of +thought that had remained with him all afternoon, and had aroused his +mind to dwell insistently upon his grandmother. "You don't mind, mother, +do you, then since she can't come here, if I go to see her often?" He +hesitated before continuing: "Father told me he wished I would, as he +hasn't the time to do so." + +"Of course, you may go to see her, Graham, if you like. I didn't know +you cared so much." + +She rose from the bed and walked away to the window, looking through its +leaded panes to where she knew lay the broad road leading out into the +country with farm houses and plowed fields. After a moment she turned to +gaze at the little lad who still sat up in his bed; who still regarded +her with wide eyes very much like her own, but holding a depth and a +promise that hers did not seem to hold. + +"Perhaps it's not the proper time to tell you now, Graham," she said, +"but I think I might as well do so. I'm making arrangements to leave for +Italy some time soon." + +"To be gone long, mother?" asked the boy. + +"Well, for three months anyway. I met some interesting people there on +my last trip and they have invited me to pay them a prolonged visit," +she said. + +Graham did not answer at first. Then: "I suppose you'd better go +downstairs now, mother," he said. + +His mother left the window. Passing the bed she once more paused and +looked down at him. + +"Well, little son," she said at last, "good night. I've been up here an +outrageous time." She put her arms around his small shoulders and drew +him to her. + +But for the first time in his short life she felt no response in her +child. Indeed, she recognized his withdrawal from her, more poignant in +its effect upon her because it was unconscious on his part. In that one +moment the instinct of motherhood leapt full within her, a sudden +bewildering emotion, totally new to her in its aliveness, its vividness. +And then cold truth swept in on her that by some act she had wiped from +his young heart in one moment his ideal of her. + +She sank on her knees beside his bed, realizing dimly how great a crown +his love had been. After an appreciable length of time, his hand crept +out and rested a second lightly on her arm, and at the touch she raised +her head. "I've disappointed you, Graham," she said. He did not answer. +She waited, and then as he was still silent she rose. She shook her +unwonted mood from her and her face hardened into its habitual +brilliance. + +"Good night, Graham," she said and went away. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE STRAY DOG + + +Miss Smithson had had years of experience with children. She knew their +sensitiveness, their capacity for suffering through those incidents +which adults term trifles. + +She had questioned Suzanna with much adroit delicacy concerning the +shoes, and had elicited the story of the father's purchase. Though she +read correctly the child's real shrinking from the thought of being the +cynosure of many amused eyes, she felt herself helpless. + +That one odd pair of shoes in the company of participating children! In +imagination Miss Smithson visualized the unsuccessful efforts of their +owner to hide them, to find her place in the background. The +kind-hearted teacher really suffered in her anticipation of Suzanna's +pain. + +So when the great night arrived and the music sounded the approach of +the Indian maidens, Miss Smithson, sitting in the front row beside +Suzanna's parents, kept her eyes steadfastly lowered. At length, not +hearing the expected titters from children in the audience, she found +her courage and looked up. Her eyes were immediately drawn to Suzanna's +face and rested there. + +For pictured there in place of depression, self-pity, troubling +self-consciousness, she found sparkle and joy. Miss Smithson gasped in +astonishment and relief. With perfect abandon Suzanna moved through the +dance; she seemed as one quite set apart from her companions; and so she +was. + +All that Drusilla had told her lived with her, inspiring her, lifting +her beyond mere mortals. She might have been frolicing upon a cloud in +her little bare feet, so far away from her consciousness was the thought +of the shoes. + +The dance ended, and with flushed cheeks and heart beating happily, +Suzanna took her seat. The applause lasted a long time. + +Then came a recitation and a piano solo given by a greatly embarrassed +boy, though certainly a greatly talented one. Suzanna recognizing his +anguish felt very sorry for him. She wished he had had a Drusilla to +advise him, to make him see that he was for the time greater than his +audience. That he had music in his soul. She understood now that the +greatest gift was to forget yourself and love your art so much that it +reigned supreme. + +Then looking out at the people seated before her, she recognized that +they were _kind_. That they had come not to criticize, but to enjoy and +to acclaim. She felt growing within her heart a great love for all +humanity. + +Her eyes sought out her father's. Just in front he sat, looking up at +her, his eyes filled with pride. She had made him happy. Her heart was +very full. + +Her eyes after a time went again over the audience. And behind her +father sat a boy, the one she had seen at Drusilla's. His eyes seemed to +be searching her face. She smiled at him and he smiled in return. + +The evening was over. Suzanna was down in the audience. "Did you like +the dance, daddy?" she asked. + +"It was beautiful," he answered with gratifying response. "I was very +proud of my little girl--and the shoes--I was so glad you could have +them--they were the prettiest in the drill." + +"I think they were, too," Suzanna answered, with real truth. + +Out in the street she saw the boy. He was standing near the gate of the +school yard, by his side a tall, dark young man. + +"How do you do?" said Suzanna. + +He snatched his hat from his head. "Oh, I liked your dance," he said. +"This is my tutor," he finished. + +"How do you do," said Suzanna politely to the young man. She wondered +what a tutor was. Then to the boy: "Drusilla's your grandmother, isn't +she?" + +"Yes; do you live in this town?" + +"Yes, right down that road. Your big house was closed for three years, +wasn't it--since I was a little girl of five. That's why we haven't seen +one another, I suppose." Then: "How did you think of coming to the +Indian Drill?" + +"Why, one of the school trustees had to see my father on business and he +spoke about the entertainment. I thought I'd like to see it." + +"Well, I'm glad you came. Good-bye." + +A carriage drew up. The boy and his companion stepped into it and were +driven off. + +"That's young Graham Woods Bartlett," said Mrs. Procter as they started +home. "They live in the big house on the top of the hill. This is the +first time it's been open for some years." + +"And Drusilla's his grandmother," said Suzanna. "He's an awful nice +boy." + +"His father and old John Massey are business associates," put in Mr. +Procter. + +"Such a fine big house to be occupied only a few months of the year, and +then not every year," put in Mrs. Procter. "And they rarely stay so late +in the season as they're staying this year--way into October." + +"I'll take Maizie and Peter and go and see him tomorrow," said Suzanna. + +"Oh, Suzanna, I don't believe--" began Mrs. Procter. Then sensing +immediately that her small daughter would be totally unable to +understand social distinctions, she did not finish her sentence. + +So it was that the next afternoon right after school, Suzanna, who never +lost time in carrying out a resolve, prepared for her visit. + +"I wonder where Peter is?" Mrs. Procter asked. + +As if in answer to his mother's question, Peter opened the kitchen door. +He wore primarily a guilty expression. His hat was on one side of his +head, the suit which two seasons before he had outgrown, was short in +the legs, tight as to chest, and there was a very symphony of entreaty +in his eyes. By a frayed string he held a stray dog, the fourth one +since spring. + +Mrs. Procter looked at him sternly. As mothers do, she took in with one +glance Peter's prayerful attitude and the appealing one of the +shrinking animal. + +"You take that dog right away and lose it!" she commanded. + +"Oh, mother," began the small boy entering the kitchen, the dog perforce +entering also. "He followed me all the way home and we're awful good +friends already. Can't he stay?" + +"Not one minute," returned Mrs. Procter. She regarded the animal +scornfully. "He's not anybody's dog," she said. "He's simply a stray, +and I'm tired of feeding every stray dog that comes into the +neighborhood." + +Peter turned reluctantly away. "He'll be awful lonely out there," he +said, "and he's hungry, too. No lady ever thinks a dog eats. Can't I +give him a bone or something before I turn him loose?" + +"Take him out on the back porch and give him that soup bone left from +supper last night. And then I don't want to see him again. Now, Peter, +this time I mean it." + +Peter made one last effort. "He's a fine breed, his roof is black," he +said. "He'd make an awful good watch dog." + +"Well, we really don't need a watch dog," his mother answered, and half +smiled. + +Maizie, advancing from the dining-room, stared at the intruder on his +way out. + +"Oh, but this dog has hair, mother," she cried. "You remember one of the +others hadn't." + +"Hair, or no hair," Mrs. Procter returned determinedly, "that dog is not +going to stay in this house. I've had enough of stray animals to last me +for quite awhile." + +Peter stood holding the rope and still looking at his mother. But his +hopeful expression, brought on by Maizie's words, was fast ebbing. + +"Hurry up," said Mrs. Procter. "Take him away." + +"Can't he stay for one night, mother?" + +Suzanna, silent during the colloquy, now spoke. + +"Maybe we can find another home for him, Peter. We were just going over +to Graham Bartlett's, and perhaps he'd keep the dog. We'll ask his +mother," she said. + +Peter brightened a trifle at that. He really wanted more than anything +in the world to keep that friendly dog. But if he was not to be allowed +to do so, finding a good home for it was the next best thing. + +So away the children started. It was a long walk, but the October day +was cool and exhilarating. The children kicked the fallen leaves before +them, and once Peter gave chase to his dog. Maizie sang little tunes, +and Suzanna felt new wonderments rising within her at the beauty of the +world. + +They came at last to the Bartlett home, but no one was about, only +several carriages stood in the road. Suzanna swung the big gate wide and +with the children following her, and the dog held in Peter's firm grasp, +she came to the house, mounted the steps and seeing the carved front +door wide open, they all walked in. In the empty hall with the high +ceilings they stood a moment embarrassed. + +From a side room came sounds of laughter and soft voices. Suzanna +turned. Heavy Persian rugs hung at the entrance to this room and Suzanna +hesitated one moment. She wished someone were about to direct her. But +alas, at this critical moment the hallman had escaped kitchenward. It +was Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett's at-home day, and the function in full +blast, and as his services might not be required for perhaps half an +hour he had flown, believing discovery could not fall upon him. + +So Suzanna, Maizie, Peter and the dog stepped within the gorgeous room. + +Soft music came enchantingly from a hidden orchestra, ladies +beautifully gowned and bejeweled stood about in graceful postures. Mrs. +Graham Woods Bartlett attired in a flame-colored velvet gown with a +wonderful satin-lined train hanging straight from her shoulders, stood +near a table at which two very pretty girls were serving little cups of +tea and dainty cakes. + +Suzanna, Maizie, and Peter holding tight the frayed rope with the +hungry-looking dog on one end, gazed awe stricken at the fairylike +scene. At length Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett turned and beheld her late +guests. + +The children stood irresolute; some expression in Mrs. Bartlett's face +halted their advance. That look made Suzanna strangely self-conscious. +Maizie was undeniably shy, and Peter with dread at his heart for fear +Jerry (a quickly bestowed name that the dog had learned immediately to +answer to) might not act in a gentlemanly fashion when he should pass +the tea table. With all these different emotions in their hearts, the +children finally started across the beautiful room. The ladies fell back +from the dog lest in his passage he might touch their gowns, and all +gazed in wonder at the small cavalcade. When at last the children stood +before Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett, Suzanna spoke, broke into the dead +silence of the room, for even the orchestra had stopped its music. + +[Illustration: "We thought you might like a dog," began Suzanna] + +"We thought you might like a dog," began Suzanna. "He's a very nice dog +and very loving, although if I'm to be honest, I can't say he's a +good-looking dog." She felt her courage ebbing at the icy stillness +which greeted her statement. + +For a long time Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett remained speechless, and as +the dog once had looked at Mrs. Procter, so he looked imploringly at her +who might eventually be his new mistress. Little Maizie, moved to a show +of bravery for Peter's sake, spoke up: + +"We've only got a little house, and you've got a big one, so we thought +you wouldn't mind." + +"And," concluded Peter, "he really is a fine dog. You can buy a nice +collar for him and maybe cut his tail--" Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett made +a little wry face--"and you'd be surprised to see how elegant he'll +look." + +A laugh rang out from one end of the room. It came from a fine-looking +old lady who stood near the window surrounded, it would seem by admiring +satellites, and at the little musical sound Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett's +face cleared magically, for the stately old lady was a very important +personage to all present, envied usually too, and if this little +incident seemed to amuse her then the matter was beautifully altered. So +Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett found her voice. "Go out into the grounds and +see the gardener. If he can find a place for the animal, let him keep +it." + +The children felt themselves dismissed. On the way out Suzanna kept her +gaze quite away from the table with its alluring load of dainties. But +Maizie paused an infinitesimal fraction of a second and let her eyes +stray over the fascinating cakes, the glasses of pink ices, and the +Maraschino cherries and nuts and white candies. But it was Peter who +neither looked aside nor paused, but as he went by the table he +addressed the ceiling. + +"My dog's very fond of cakes," he said. "But mother says dogs can do +without cakes, especially stray dogs." + +One of the pretty girls laughed merrily, and sweeping from a silver +plate a handful of cakes she thrust them into Peter's hands. "Thank +you," he said simply. And then the children left with the dog gamboling +in expectancy behind his small master. He knew well the cakes were for +him. + +Out in the grounds they met Graham. He had been to the stables to look +at his pony, a new gift from his father. He paused astonished at sight +of the children. + +"Oh, Graham," Suzanna cried at sight of him, "your mother said we should +see the gardener about this dog. She thought he'd like to have him." + +Graham, though startled, asked no questions. + +"I guess it's David mother means," he said. "Wait here and I'll see if +he's in the back garden." + +After Graham had gone Peter began to conjecture. "If David won't take +Jerry," he said, "what'll we do?" + +"You'll have to take him out and lose him then," said Maizie calmly. + +Peter turned a considering eye upon her. He couldn't understand her. +Quite as a matter of course she suggested his taking the dog out on some +prairie and turning it loose, to know hunger, and perhaps abuse. And +yet, he had seen this same tender-hearted little Maizie crying because a +spider had been swept down from the porch. No, in his boyish soul he +decided that should he live a thousand years, he never would understand +women with their inconsistencies and their peculiar viewpoints. Their +tendernesses in one direction and their complacent cruelties in others. + +"Let's go and sit on the steps of that cottage," said Suzanna, pointing +to a small house at the foot of the side garden. Maizie consented, but +Peter preferred not to move. He wished to stay with his dog as long as +possible. In the cottage might be a lady who would look with the same +horror-stricken eyes upon his friend as had Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett. + +So Suzanna and Maizie left him with his dog. They had just ensconced +themselves comfortably on the steps of the cottage when a distressing +accent struck upon their ears, and simultaneously they turned in the +direction of the sound. There on a tiny verandah, almost hidden behind a +large fern growth, a little girl sat on a low chair crying softly and +pathetically as though her small heart were broken. The children stood +for a moment not knowing just what to do. Then Maizie, the same one, +thought Peter satirically (he could see all that went on from his place +beyond) who had suggested his losing his dog on a prairie, went to the +pathetic figure and sitting beside it said in a tremulous low voice, +full of sympathy and pity: + +"What's the matter, little girl?" + +The one thus addressed took her hands down from her face and looked +around at her questioner. Her eyes were dark, with black lashes, and she +had wonderful, curly hair. When she had finished looking at Maizie, +which was a long moment, she put her hand behind her and produced a +doll, sadly deficient as to features. Indeed, noseless, entirely, and +with one eye gone. But in a very fever of love, she held it to her. + +"Are you crying because your doll is broken?" asked Suzanna, now coming +a little closer and standing straight and slim before the child. + +"No, she's not broken," said the little girl, "but she's got the +whooping cough and she keeps my father awake nights coughing." + +Suzanna instantly responded. "Oh, that's too bad," she said. "Can't your +mother fix her some flaxseed tea?" + +Now down once more went the little girl's head upon her knee, and once +more she was shaking with sobs. And at this moment young Graham returned +and in his wake, David. + +"David says," began Graham cheerfully to Suzanna and Maizie, "that he +can find room for an extra dog, so you may leave yours. Where's your +brother?" + +"He is right over there," pointed Maizie. + +Then the gardener's glance fell upon the little girl, with her head bent +as she still wept. + +"She's crying awfully hard," said Suzanna to the gardener. "Do you know +whose little girl she is?" + +"She's mine," said the man with a big world of tenderness in his voice. +"She's my little Daphne." + +"We thought she was crying because her doll was broken," said Suzanna. +"Then she said it had the whooping cough and kept you awake all night +and I asked her why her mother didn't make some flaxseed tea for it." + +A swift shadow darkened David's fine face and he shaded his eyes with +his hand. Then he went to the little girl and raised her as though she +were one of his carefully cherished flowers. Her sobs ceased as she +found herself in her father's arms. + +"You see," said her father, "she has no mother!" + +Now the children knew by his tone and by the extreme sadness in his eyes +that the little Daphne's mother had gone away never to return. And they +knew it must be the saddest thing in the world to be without a mother; +one who was always ready to understand even if you had to wait till the +baby was hushed, or the bread looked at in the oven. The understanding +did come, sure and tender; a mother who sometimes smiled at you in that +complete, deep way, as Suzanna's mother had smiled at her the day she +wore her leghorn hat with the daisies. + +"Can Daphne play with us?" asked Suzanna after awhile. "And can we take +her home to see our mother?" + +The man's face brightened at this. "Why, that will be fine," he said. +"Perhaps you'd like to play here in the grounds for awhile. Then Daphne +can go home with you. You're the Procter children, aren't you? I've +talked often with your father when I've bought things in the hardware +shop. I'm coming sometime to see his machine." + +"Yes," said Suzanna, "but how did you know we were the Procter children? +We didn't tell you our name. Did Graham?" + +"No," said the man, "but you're the living image of your father. You +look at a person just like he does, out of your big dark eyes." + +Suzanna flushed. There was nothing in all the world she so loved to hear +as that she looked like her father. + +Little Daphne had ceased crying and her father carried her up the narrow +winding stairs to their own quarters. Shortly he returned again. The +little girl now wore a pretty lace-trimmed bonnet mother-made, one knew +at once, and a little white cape. She was a very charming and quaint +figure. + +"I think, daddy," she said, "I'd like to go home right away and see the +little girl's mother." + +He turned his head away again for a moment, but he managed at last to +meet his little daughter's eyes with a smile. + +"Run along, sweet," he said. + +"Can she stay to supper with us?" asked Suzanna. + +"If your mother would like to have her," said the man. "And I'll come up +later for her." + +"All right," replied Suzanna. + +Now came the hard moment for Peter, in the parting from his dog. He came +reluctantly forward. + +Graham, seeing Peter's distress when the animal had been delivered into +David's care, said: "You can come up here often, Peter, and see the dog. +I know it's awful hard giving him up." + +Peter's heart was touched. Here at last was one who understood! Here at +last was one who would not condemn a dog merely because he had an +unnaturally big appetite; because he got around under people's feet and +had no manners. + +"You're a very nice boy," said Suzanna when they were parting, "and we +wish you would come to see us." + +Graham's face lit. "Oh, I will come. Do you live in that little cottage +with the crooked chimney?" + +"Yes," said Suzanna. "Come soon, won't you?" + +Graham promised he would do so. + +As the Procter children went down the road, Graham watched them, but his +gaze presently concentrated itself on Suzanna, who was leading the small +Daphne. + +"I like Suzanna," thought Graham. "I like to see her flush up like a +rose when she speaks." Which was a poetical observation for a boy of +twelve. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +A LENT MOTHER + + +Mrs. Procter was in the dining-room arranging the shelves of her small +sideboard when she heard sounds betokening the children's return. + +They entered the dining-room, Suzanna leading a small stranger by the +hand, Maizie and Peter behind. + +"Mother," began Suzanna at once, "David, the gardener, took the dog and +we brought this little girl home to see you." + +Mrs. Procter looked questioningly at Daphne, who stood close to +Suzanna's protecting arm. + +"Stay with Maizie a moment, Daphne," said Suzanna, "while I tell my +mother something." Daphne smiled and did as she was told, and Suzanna +went close to Mrs. Procter. In a low tone she said: "Daphne's mother +went far away awhile ago, and I'm telling this to you in a low voice +because Daphne cried when we asked her where her mother was. I brought +her home so she could remember how beautiful a mother is." + +In an instant the tears sprang to Mrs. Procter's eyes. She went quickly +to Daphne, and lifted the little girl. + +"Sit down in a rocking chair with her," said Suzanna, "and hold her +close up to you. And then when she's cuddled down, look at her like you +do at our babies." + +Mrs. Procter obeyed. Daphne nestled close. "Her father knows my father, +Mrs. Procter," said Suzanna. + +Mrs. Procter looked up quickly at this new mode of address. Suzanna +explained. + +"Daphne," she said, going close and looking down at the contented little +face, "I'm giving you a share in my mother while you're here today. I +give over the part I own in her to you, and I shall call her Mrs. +Procter whenever you visit us." + +"But you can't give away even your part in your very own mother," +protested Maizie. + +"But I have done so, haven't I?" + +"Does just saying so make a thing true?" Maizie asked. + +"If you say so and live up to it," Suzanna returned. + +"Well, anyway," said Maizie, "mother's not cuddling Daphne because she +wants to; only because she's sorry for her." + +"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Procter. "I like little Daphne, too, and +I'm glad she's come to visit us." + +"But you know, mother," said Maizie, "you only find time to cuddle your +own babies. And you stop just as soon as they can walk around." + +"Mrs. Procter cuddles all children in her heart," said Suzanna loyally. +"She'd wear her arms out if she cuddled all of us all the time." + +Maizie didn't answer that. But when little Daphne finally left Mrs. +Procter's sheltering clasp and went away to play with the children, +Maizie still hovered about her mother. + +"Mother," she said at last, "did you like to hold Daphne close up to +you?" + +Now mothers are very wonderful beings, and with no further word from +Maizie, Mrs. Procter understood the child's unspoken wish. In a moment +Maizie was held close to her mother's breast, and was looking up into +her mother's tender eyes. And the mother was thinking. Was mother love +selfish then in its inclusion? Weren't there little ones outside +hungering for cuddling? How children went to the heart of things! She +thought suddenly and perhaps irrelevantly of her husband's invention +upon which he poured his heart's best treasures. And yet not once had he +ever mentioned the money which might be his did success attend it. Only +the good to others. His seemed a wide vision. She sighed. It was hard to +find strength enough, time enough to go outside one's home doing good. +"Well, at least," she thought with a sudden uplift, "I'll adopt little +Daphne into our home circle." + +When Mr. Procter arrived home for supper he found, playing happily +about, the little addition to his family. Suzanna took her father off to +one corner to explain all about Daphne. + +"And so I've given my share in mother to Daphne whenever she visits us," +concluded Suzanna. + +Mr. Procter smiled and touched Suzanna's dark hair. Later he arranged a +chair so Daphne might be comfortable at the supper table. A book and a +cushion brought that state of comfort about, and the child was very +happy. She was, for the time being, a member of an interesting family, +everyone trying his best to entertain her. Even Peter forgot the loss of +his dog and said some funny things which made Daphne laugh. + +After supper David called for his little daughter. Daphne cried out +joyfully as he entered. + +"Oh, I've had such a good time, Daddy David," she exclaimed. + +He lifted her to his shoulder, then gazed about the little family +circle. His eyes lingered on Mrs. Procter. + +"You've been good to Daphne, I know," he said simply. "And so good +night." + +"While you're here, David," said Mr. Procter, "I'll show you my +invention." + +"Fine!" David said; he swung the little girl from his shoulder. "I'd +like to see that machine." + +So they all went upstairs to the attic. The machine stood brooding in +its peace. + +Mr. Procter lit a lamp. Its glow fell softly upon the little group. + +"Old John Massey came into the shop today," said Mr. Procter. "He +promised to come in and see the machine tomorrow." + +"Does he know its object?" asked David. + +"No, there's been no chance to tell him." + +"Why is he interested, then?" asked David. "Has his commercial instinct +been aroused?" + +"Oh, I think not," said the inventor, "I've not spoken to him about that +part of it, only told him a great chance was his if he became interested +in the machine." + +"Someone's ringing the bell. Run down, Peter," said Mrs. Procter. + +Peter went down and returned at once with a note. + +"A man with brass buttons brought it," he said. "It's for father." + +Mr. Procter tore open the letter. + +"Well, that's decent of John Massey to let me know," he said. "He's ill +and will be unable to come here tomorrow." + +"Yes, very decent for old John Massey," said David. "Well, I must be +off. And we'll come again soon, if we may." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +SUZANNA AIDS CUPID + + +"Mother dear," asked Suzanna one day, "if the Eagle Man's sick, don't +you think I ought to go and see him?" + +Mrs. Procter hesitated. She looked into the earnest dark eyes raised to +hers. "Well, dear, perhaps it would be kind," she said. + +"I ought to take him some flowers," Suzanna pursued. + +The time was early morning, and Mr. Procter had not yet departed for the +hardware store. + +"I can't think where you'll get flowers, Suzanna," he said. + +"Oh, there's a little shaded spot in a field I know and there's some +daisies there. I'll gather them on the way to the Eagle Man." + +So that afternoon after school Suzanna admonished Maizie to be quick +with her buttons because she and the baby were to pay a call on the +Eagle Man. + +"I have to gather the daisies for him, too," said Suzanna. + +"I don't like the Eagle Man very well," said Maizie; "I'm afraid of him; +and I don't see why you should take flowers to him. He has plenty in the +big glass house in his yard." + +Suzanna stopped short. "You don't like him after he gave you that lovely +ride in the summer, Maizie Procter, and after he's interested in our +father's Machine? I'm 'shamed of you. You ought to like everybody Miss +Massey says, and flowers in his glass house aren't like flowers that are +a present from somebody else." + +Maizie did not answer this, but the look on her face indicated some +defiance of Suzanna's attempted direction of her thoughts. When they +were ready, they called good-bye to their mother and started away. +Suzanna pushed the cart containing the baby, while Maizie walked +sedately beside her. + +From the field Suzanna knew, she secured a small bunch of late daisies +and then the journey was continued. At length the children reached the +Massey grounds. Suzanna pushed open the big iron gate and trundled the +cart into the gravel path. The ground immediately began to be slightly +hilly. + +"You'd better help me, Maizie," said Suzanna. + +"How?" asked Maizie helplessly. + +"Put your hands on my back and push," said Suzanna. + +So the little procession formed itself. And in this wise it reached the +top of the hill. The house itself lay a few yards in front of them. The +children paused to rest, and then Suzanna, looking around, beheld a +small vine-covered arbor, and within, just visible through the +enshrouding ivy, a man and a woman, Miss Massey and a stranger. + +"How do you do, Suzanna?" Miss Massey said when she found herself +discovered. "Did you want to see me?" + +"I'm very glad to see you," responded Suzanna politely, "but I didn't +come expressly on purpose to look at you. I came to see the Eagle Man." + +"The Eagle Man?" asked Miss Massey, puzzled. + +"He walks with a cane," put in Maizie, "and he coughs kind of hoarse +each time he speaks." + +"He's your father," said Suzanna. "He sits down on a velvet chair, and +he shouts, and he gets red in the face, and he bangs his fist on the +chair when a little man doesn't hurry up, though I thought he went very +fast. He did all that the day the Sunday School pupils came to your +party." + +"Oh, yes," said Miss Massey, a smile lighting her face at the vivid +description, "I did not know that you had met my father, but I'm afraid +you can't see him today, dear. He's not well." + +"Yes, I know; that's why I came to see him and to bring him these +flowers." + +Miss Massey was a little puzzled. How did Suzanna know John Massey was +ill? + +"Suppose you bring the baby in here," suggested the man who was sitting +next to Miss Massey, and who up to this time had been silent. "And after +awhile Miss Massey can find out if her father is able to see you." + +"All right," said Suzanna with alacrity. She started to lift the baby +from his carriage when the man sprang up and took the child from her. +The baby smiled and won his way at once to the stranger's heart. + +"He's sweet, isn't he?" began Suzanna, as she entered the arbor, Maizie +with her. Miss Massey drew Maizie within the circle of her own arm. + +"He is that," said the man earnestly, "although I don't know very much +about babies. Does he cry much?" + +"Well, he's very sinful when he's hungry. He's getting better now +because he's growing older, but he used to shriek till his face got red. +Once in awhile now he wants what he wants right away. I was trying once +to learn a piece of poetry, and he suddenly shrieked and I had to stop +everything and warm his milk. I'm only hoping he'll live to grow up, +because if he should die now I'm afraid God wouldn't want him in +Heaven." + +"Are there ladies in Heaven that take care of babies?" asked Maizie +interestedly, a new train of thoughts started. + +"You know there are, Maizie," said Suzanna, allowing no one else a +chance to answer. "There are lots of little babies that go away, and do +you s'pose they'd be called if they were going to be left hungry and +cold? God has it all arranged. First, he calls a baby and then pretty +soon he calls a mother and she takes care of the baby." + +"Any mother?" Maizie asked. + +"Yes, any mother; they're all good." + +"But why doesn't he leave them on earth with their own mothers?" + +"Because sometimes he takes a liking to somebody down here," Suzanna +said gravely. "But anyway, you needn't ask me such questions, because +here's Miss Massey who knows everything," Suzanna finished +magnanimously. + +"She does that," said the man gravely who was holding the baby. + +"Are you related to Miss Massey?" asked Suzanna. Now Miss Massey's +rather faded cheeks grew pink. + +"Is it a long time before the baby needs his bottle again, Suzanna?" she +asked. + +"Oh, not for hours," said Suzanna. "You see, now he eats crackers and +bread and butter and an egg sometimes, and we gave him some before we +started." She returned relentlessly to the question again, appealing to +the man. "Are you related to Miss Massey?" + +"No," the stranger said after a time, "we're just friends." + +Miss Massey put in hastily: "Shall we go into the house, children, and +I'll show you some interesting things?" + +The man rose quickly, the baby still in his arms. In this manner they +all entered the big house and went into the beautiful room that Suzanna +remembered so well. + +"Do you live here?" asked Suzanna of the man. He shook his head. + +"You mean in this little town?" he asked. "I once did years ago, but I +moved away to the city. I'm paying a short visit to my sister now." + +"Oh," said Suzanna. "My father has a sister called Aunt Martha. She +comes sometimes when we have a new baby." + +"Why," said Maizie suddenly, as they were all seated, the baby +contentedly sitting on the man's knee, her voice shrill with new +discovery. "He _is_ related to Miss Massey; he looks at her that way." + +The man, after a long pause in which he gathered understanding, answered +very solemnly. "Well," he said, "if loving a person makes you a +relative, then I am very closely related to Miss Massey. But if lack of +money keeps one from being related, then I'm only a stranger to her." + +Neither Suzanna nor Maizie could understand that statement. But Miss +Massey blushed till her face was like a lovely flower. + +Yet when Suzanna appeared to be about to take up a new line of +questioning, Miss Massey spoke quickly: + +"I think you'd like some lemonade, wouldn't you, Suzanna, you and your +sister? I'll go and order some for you." + +She went out of the room. The man waited for a moment, then handing the +baby to Suzanna, followed Miss Massey. + +"Would you like to live here, Suzanna?" asked Maizie. + +"No, I don't like people around with brass buttons on their coats," said +Suzanna. "And then there'd be so much cleaning we'd never get through." + +At the moment came an unmistakable sound. + +"The Eagle Man!" cried Suzanna with absolute conviction. "I thought he +was sick." + +And indeed it was just exactly the Eagle Man. Straight he came to the +library. He paused in the doorway at sight of the children. All the high +color had faded from his face; he looked alarmingly ill. + +"Oh," cried Suzanna, immediately upon sight of him. "We came to see you +and to bring you these daisies." + +He accepted them with a little grimace. "Thank you, little girl," he +said. "Put that heavy baby down. He can crawl around." + +Suzanna carefully lowered the baby to the floor. He sat with blinking +eyes, so many treasures for his small hands lay within touch. + +The Eagle Man spoke. "Who have you been talking with?" he asked as he +looked about suspiciously. + +"Oh," cried Suzanna, "there's nobody hidden away. Miss Massey and her +relation went out to see about some lemonade." + +"Her relation!" stormed the Eagle Man. + +"Yes, the one who loves Miss Massey." + +The Eagle Man recovered all his lost color. Watching his terrible +expression, both children thought it a blessing that at this critical +moment Miss Massey and her relation returned. But, oh, it was not the +same Miss Massey, but one who had found the world. Her face was glowing +like a girl's and her eyes sparkled and shone; and when she faced her +father there was manifest in her aspect a certain courage that in his +eyes at least sat strangely upon her. + +"Father," she cried, "you should be in bed." + +"What's the meaning of all this?" he shouted, ignoring her soft concern. + +The new relation came forward. "My dear sir," he began, "I shall have to +ask you to refrain from attempting to intimidate the lady who is to be +my wife." + +"Your wife?" exclaimed the Eagle Man turning upon the speaker. "She's my +daughter." + +"Granted," said the man calmly, "and she's also my promised wife." + +"I shall never give my consent," said the Eagle Man, but his voice had +fallen. + +"Then, father," said delicate, timid little Miss Massey, "I shall marry +Robert without your consent." + +There was a long heavy silence. The baby having found a gold-plated +lizard on the hearth was contemplating it with wondering eyes. + +"Very well," said the Eagle Man at last, trying to speak calmly. "You'll +go your own way. Not a cent of mine do you ever get." + +"I'm glad to hear that," said the man, "for not a cent of yours shall my +wife need." + +Into the breach Suzanna strode. + +"Oh, but you will need money," she cried as she stood anchoring the baby +by means of an extended arm. "When you're married and you have a big +family you'll have to pay the rent, and you'll have to dress all the +little children, and there'll be insurance week, and something you +haven't thought of all the time, and just when you get on your feet, +there'll be the doctor at your door and his bill pretty soon." + +"Exactly," said the Eagle Man, as though by Suzanna's words many of his +contentions had been proved. + +"But we shall be together," said little Miss Massey, as though that +beloved truth answered everything. The man had thrown his arms about her +and had drawn her quite close, and she looked up into his face with eyes +that still shone. Oh, how long she had loved him! And how long had it +been since she settled to the realization that though he loved her, he +was proud and would not speak. This spoken love she had craved with all +her heart; and it had been withheld because he had no money and her +father had too much. + +"Will you tell me your real objection to me?" asked the man with frank +directness appealing to the Eagle Man. "For that you have had objections +to me I've sensed always." + +The Eagle Man turned and looked the younger man over, carefully, +critically, before answering. Indeed, he was so long about speaking that +the children, at least, thought he never meant to speak again. + +But at last: "My daughter," he began, "is now thirty-six. She has had +thirty-six years of luxury, of merely raising her finger and receiving +highly trained service. She is not a young girl who might, being more +adaptable and buoyed up by romance, settle down to a new order of life; +she is too used to the luxuries I have been able to give her, servants, +carriages, horses, travel, fine clothes--" he enumerated them all with +distinctness, giving each item a lengthy second before going on to his +conclusion. "It will work real hardship on her to be compelled to give +up all these things to do her own work and to make over her own +dresses." + +"You're mistaken, father," Miss Massey denied, "all that giving up, if +giving up you can call it, will be my joy if I can be with Robert." Her +voice, deep with emotion, died into a silence which reigned for moments. +No one seemed to wish to break it, not even the baby. And yet, though +the meaning of all the spoken words had not been clear to Suzanna, her +eager, sensitive little mind seized on pictures which seemed somehow to +fit in; yet pictures in their simplicity so far removed from her +surroundings of luxury that they would seem but vagrant fancies. + +Had she attempted to translate them, she would have failed, yet as they +grew momentarily more vivid and meaningful, interpretive words, as vivid +as the pictures themselves, rushed to her lips. She turned to the Eagle +Man. + +"Oh, on Saturday night when supper is over and the shades are pulled +down and the lamp is lit in the parlor, and Robert is reading a big book +with pictures in it, and the children, except the two eldest, are all +asleep upstairs and it's raining outside, and you can hear the pitapat, +pitapat of the drops on the window pane, then Miss Massey will be happy. +Before supper Miss Massey'll have felt awful tired and she'll hurry up +things and she'll make her eldest little girl hurry too, but after the +dishes are cleared away, and she's sitting close to Robert, she'll be so +glad she's in out of the rain with her children all in safe too, that +she'll not care a bit about raising her finger for a little man to come +and ask her what she wants. She'll not want to go about in a carriage, +or travel in a big train!" + +No one spoke. Only the scene painted so simply grew in the hearts of at +least two there, so that Robert drew his promised wife a little closer +to him and she glanced up in his face with eyes full of color. + +Suzanna went on. She had forgotten her audience. She was just telling +out the pictures that had been built into her life; supper tables with +many young faces about; little babies who had stayed just awhile; hasty +words and loving making up; the star-dust of the real every-day life. + +"You know," she continued, "that Maizie and I crept downstairs one +Saturday night because I wanted to tell daddy something, and mother was +sitting right close to him, and we heard her say: 'When the children are +safe in bed, and just you and I are here--then I see things clearer--' +And he just looked at her and said, 'Sweetheart!' and his voice was +nicer than even when he says good-night to Maizie and me." + +Miss Massey turned her gaze upon Suzanna. "Little girl, little girl," +she said, "come here--" + +So Suzanna went and stood close to Miss Massey, whilst Maizie went after +the marauding baby. + +The Eagle Man cleared his throat. "That child of yours is going to +sleep," he said speaking to Suzanna. + +"Oh, no," said Suzanna, not meaning to contradict, but just to set him +straight, "he's wide-awake. But I guess it must be time for us to go. I +know you think so too, Mr. Eagle Man." + +She left Miss Massey's tender clasp, went to the baby, raised him, held +him under her arm skilfully, the while his legs stuck out straight +behind her. She spoke to Miss Massey: + +"If the Eagle Man's mad at you and he stays mad all night," she said, +"you can come to our house and sleep in my bed with Maizie. Mother can +fix the dining-room table for me." + +Miss Massey released herself from Robert's clasp and went to Suzanna. +She stooped and kissed her tenderly. "Thank you, dear little girl," she +said. "I'll remember that invitation." + +The Eagle Man pulled a cord hanging from the ceiling. Immediately it +seemed, one of the men with brass buttons appeared. + +"Carry that child to its perambulator," shouted the Eagle Man. Not a +flicker disturbed the serenity of the man addressed, no matter what were +his inner feelings. He put out two arms straight and stiff like rods, +and Suzanna placed the baby upon them. Saying quickly their adieus, +Suzanna and Maizie walked behind the uniformed man, for whom Suzanna at +least felt a stirring of pity. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A SIMPLE WEDDING + + +"And so," concluded Suzanna early one afternoon as she stood on a soap +box in her own yard, "the noble knight set forth on his prancing steed, +having finished his deeds of blood. And all about him lay those he had +slain." + +The children having listened entranced to the story, now stirred; Maizie +was the first to speak. "I think the knight was horrid," she said. + +"I like him," said soft little Daphne who was now a constant, happy +visitor at the Procter home. + +"I think a brave knight is bully," said Graham Bartlett, as constant a +visitor as Daphne. + +"I would slay mine by the hundred," cried Peter boastfully. + +Graham looked off into the distance. "I shall fare forth some day," he +said, "and lead my armies to victory proudly, yet disdainfully. I shall +have no love in my heart, only sternness." + +"Drusilla can tell some wonderful tales of knights," said Suzanna. "Does +she tell you stories when you go to visit her, Graham?" + +Graham colored hotly. "I haven't been to see her lately," he answered; +then, "I'll tell you, let's go today." + +Suzanna bounded away to ask permission of her mother. She returned in a +moment. "Mother says we may go after Peter changes his blouse. Hurry up, +Peter. Don't keep us waiting." + +Peter moved reluctantly houseward, and Suzanna ended: "Isn't it fine +that today was teachers' meeting so we could have a holiday?" + +Graham looked wistfully at her. He had a tutor, and lessons alone he +felt could not be so interesting as when learned with a number of other +boys and girls. + +"Let's go," said Suzanna, "we can walk slowly so Peter can catch up with +us. You mustn't get tired, will you, Daphne?" Daphne was very sure she +would not, and Peter reappearing at the moment, they all started away. +They went out into a sunny day left over from the Indian summer. Still +there was crispness in the air which exhilarated them, moving Peter to +sundry manifestations which Maizie coldly designated as "showing off." +He stood on his head, turned somersaults, cast his voice up to the +heavens, immediately spoiled the crispness of his clean blouse. He was +the fine, free savage, and his sisters finally gave up trying to tame +him. + +"It's Thanksgiving weather, isn't it?" said Suzanna. "Come on, let's all +skip." + +So they all fell into Peter's spirit, and thus it was that skipping and +singing they reached Drusilla's little home. It was very quiet in that +spot, the garden desolate, the flowers gone. The children instinctively +hushed their songs and went slowly up the front steps. + +Graham rang the bell. + +The kindly-faced maid answered the ring. "Oh, come in, children," she +cried. "Mrs. Bartlett certainly needs cheering today." + +The children, thus cordially invited, trooped in. "Is Drusilla sad +today?" asked Suzanna. + +"Well, she's thinking of the past," said the maid. "All day she's been +talking of her early home across the ocean, talking of the familiar +places of her childhood. She insisted even upon my preparing brouse for +her luncheon." + +"_Brouse?_" The children were interested. They wanted to know what +brouse was. The maid smiled. + +"Why brouse is just bread broken up into a bowl with hot water poured +over it and lots of butter and salt and pepper added. One day when Mrs. +Bartlett was a little girl, her mother took her to the home of an old +nurse, and there she had brouse to eat, and afterwards for one joyful +hour she was allowed to wear the clogs belonging to the nurse's little +granddaughter." + +"I know what clogs are," said Graham. "They're wooden shoes that make a +lot of noise and have brass nails in them." He had looked into the +sitting room and was interested in an object there. "What's that?" he +asked. "Can't my grandmother walk?" + +The maid's eyes followed his finger. "That's a wheel chair," she said. +"Your grandmother is not so strong as she was in the summer, so I take +her out in the chair when the day is bright. Well, children, go upstairs +quietly. Suzanna knows the way to Mrs. Bartlett's room." + +So the children on tiptoes mounted the thickly carpeted stairs. At the +top Suzanna waited for the others, then went down the hall, paused and +knocked softly on the panel to the right, and at the soft invitation to +enter, pushed open wide the door. + +Drusilla sat within, her chair drawn close to the window. Her hands were +lying listlessly in her lap. She looked wilted, a flower fading to its +end. She turned to the children and smiled, a very small wistful smile, +but it lit her pale delicate face and made Daphne advance confidentially +to the middle of the room. + +"We came to see you," she said in her winsome way. + +"I'm very glad," said Drusilla. "Won't you all come close to me?" + +The children obeyed. Drusilla looked inquiringly at Graham, and then +said, "Well, my boy, you've grown somewhat." + +"Yes, two inches in six months." He wanted to say something to lift the +sadness from her face, and at last he blurted out: "I think you're a +bully grandmother, and I'm coming often to see you." + +"Ah, then I'll tell you fine tales of your father when he was a lad of +your age," she answered, well pleased. She put out her white hand and +laid it on his head. + +And at the touch there grew in Graham's young soul a wish to defend this +dear old lady, this grandmother. He wanted to fight for her, to do +something great for her. He had visions of himself, a man, wearing her +colors. All his deepest chivalry was aroused. He looked longingly into +her face, and with loving sagacity she read his desire. + +"My dear," she said, "I wish you would do something for me." + +"Oh, grandmother, what would you like me to do?" he cried. + +"The day is so beautiful," she answered. "I've had my windows open and I +know. Would you be my knight and wheel me out?" + +"Grandmother, will you let me do that?" His voice rose. "I'll wheel you +down the wide road out into the country." He straightened his shoulders, +pride filled his heart. His grandmother trusted her frail body to his +care! + +"Well and good, my boy," she answered. And then to Suzanna: "Will you +tell Letty to get my cape and bonnet. My grandson would take me riding." + +Letty, answering Suzanna's call, came at once. She found a very cheerful +mistress and an excited little group of children. She hesitated a moment +when Graham told her he meant to take his grandmother out for a ride. +But noting the earnestness of the boy's manner she made no spoken +objections, but she went to the clothes press and took down Drusilla's +"dolman" and small close fitting bonnet. + +"Be very careful of your grandmother," said the maid, as she dressed +Mrs. Bartlett and then offered her arm to steady the slight figure down +the stairs. + +"I shall be very careful," promised Graham. Never once in his young life +had any real service been asked of him. He was experiencing for the +first time a sense of responsibility and he grew beneath it. + +Downstairs Letty guided the rubber-tired wheel chair out into the hall, +down the front steps. She returned for Drusilla and seating her in the +chair, tucked a soft velvet rug about her. + +Graham took his place at the long handled bar. Gently he pushed the +chair and the small cavalcade was on its way. + +At first each child was quiet. Graham, ever mindful of the charge which +was his, was very serious and his thoughts turned to his mother. + +He wished she had taken this grandmother right into her own home to be +watched over, loved and cared for tenderly. He wondered if his father, +his ever busy father, would have liked that. Oh, why was it considered +better for a grandmother, one who had fancies, to live alone in a small +house, with every comfort it is true, but with no one of her very own +close beside her! + +He looked over at Suzanna. She was walking close to Drusilla, and +talking earnestly as was her way. Suzanna never went out into the world +but some object started a train of thought of keen interest. He could +hear snatches of her talk. It was about the trees, stripped bare now, +and their mood sad probably because of their denudement. Suzanna gazed +with concern at their stark limbs stretching out, no longer able to +shelter people or to sing softly when the wind blew through their +leaves. + +Drusilla contributed her share, too. She thought the trees knew that +people did not need shelter from the hot sun when the snow was about to +fly. And the snow could lie in such beautiful, straight lines on long, +unleaved limbs. + +And so they passed on from subject to subject, while Graham listened. +And then little Daphne grew tired and began to lag. Graham seeing the +child and about to make some suggestion for her comfort, was distracted +by Peter's call. The boy had found a rabbit hole and wished he had Jerry +with him to reach the rabbit, for which cruel wish both Suzanna and +Maizie scolded him roundly. And he gazed at them with the same old +perplexed gaze. Were these not the same sisters who looked complacently +on while a homeless, helpless dog was turned out casually into an +inhuman world? + +Well, again he gave up the puzzle of their contrary attitudes. Perhaps +understanding would come in the big-grown-up years. + +But when they returned from examining the rabbit hole, they found little +Daphne had curled herself up at Drusilla's feet. Drusilla had moved a +little and the child hopping up on the foot-rest had put her small arms +on Drusilla's knee, dropped her head and gone to sleep. Suzanna +carefully covered her with part of the velvet rug. + +So they started away again and came at last to a little lonely church +set back from the road. It was a quaint little edifice, made of +irregular purplish stone. The moss had crept up on one side softly, +protectingly. You thought at once it had been built by loving hands and +that loving souls had worshiped in it. And you knew that under its +assumed and momentary air of expectancy it was sad in having outlived +its usefulness. Its door was swung open hospitably and the children +stopped to look in. Graham wheeled his grandmother close to the door so +she too could gaze within. + +There were pews, empty, with worn cushions. A large stained glass window +with one Figure, noble despite the artist's limitations, had caught +lights and sent them down in long sapphire and amethyst fingers. A man +moved about the altar, changing from place to place a vase of white +roses. + +"Is that the minister?" whispered Maizie. + +Suzanna nodded. "Yes. He's going to offer up prayer, I think." + +The minister turned and smiled at the children. He seemed some way to +fit into the soft atmosphere of the place, seeming to belong there. +Suzanna could not fancy him moving in any merely practical environment. + +And while the children lingered, and Drusilla looked in through the open +church door, a man and a woman came down the road. The woman walked +slowly and the man had his arm about her in a guarding kind of way. + +When they neared the church they stopped. Suzanna, turning, recognized +them and with a joyful cry she ran to meet them. + +"Oh, Miss Massey," she cried, "and Robert. Are you out for a walk, too?" + +The man looked down at her. "Yes, little girl. We are going into that +old church. Did you see the minister?" + +"Yes, he's inside," said Suzanna. She looked at Miss Massey. "You've +been crying," she said. + +Miss Massey tried to speak calmly, but there was a little quiver in her +voice. "Because it's all so different from what I dreamed." + +"Come, dear," said Robert then, "come with me." + +She seemed to take courage from his manliness and the truth of his love +shining forth from his eyes, and so she put her hand into his and walked +up the path with him. + +At the door of the church they paused again. Suzanna who had followed +quickly, said, "This is Drusilla, my very best friend." + +Miss Massey looked into the sweet old face. Perhaps she thought of her +own mother, for the tears came quickly again. "I'm glad to know you," +she said simply. And then asked, "Won't you come in and see me married?" + +And Drusilla answered: "Indeed, I should like to very much, my dear." + +So Robert helped her gently from the wheel chair. He lifted small Daphne +upon the vacated seat and tucked her in carefully. And then they all +entered the church. + +The minister came down from the altar. He had lit two candles and they +sent their wavering light out upon the small audience. The Man above the +altar looked down with infinite tenderness upon the pale little bride. + +The minister spoke: "Robert, take your bride upon your arm!" + +Thus adjured, Robert proffered his arm and Miss Massey put her small +hand upon it. Then slowly they walked behind the minister to the altar. +Suzanna, Maizie, and Peter followed. + +Graham offered his support to his grandmother. He had pledged his fealty +to her and he felt grateful that she leaned upon him as slowly she +mounted the four steps which led to the altar. + +There they grouped themselves about the bridal pair. Graham stood close +to his grandmother, Suzanna near to Miss Massey, Peter and Maizie at +Robert's right hand. + +The minister began: "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together--" +and on through the beautiful old ceremony. + +He came at length to this question: "Who giveth this woman to this man?" +and paused simply in custom. And old John Massey was far distant, +nursing his anger and yet sad, too, because he would not in his temper +attend the marriage of his daughter, though most lovingly and pleadingly +had that daughter begged his presence. And the girl's mother was lying +out on a hillside--where she had lain for many a long year. + +And the waiting bride had tears in her heart, till, suddenly, Drusilla, +with a beautiful light in her eyes, stepped forward. She put her +white-veined old hand softly on the bride's arm, and she said in a low +clear voice: + +"I do--I give this woman to this man." + +And the mother spirit in her spoke so richly that the bride all at once +felt happy and a little awed, too, as though her own mother had for the +moment raised herself and spoken. + +And the minister went on with the ceremony till came the end: "And I +pronounce that they are Man and Wife." + +And Robert folded his wife in his arms and kissed her while each face, +young and old, pictured the deep solemnity of the moment. + +Robert's wife at last turned to Drusilla. She put her arms about the +bravely upstanding figure in its old-fashioned dolman. "Oh, thank you, +thank you," she murmured. "I shall never forget what you've done for me +today." + +The color flowed like a wave up over Drusilla's face. With a quick +little breath, she leaned forward and kissed the new wife. She +experienced a sudden glow. It was as though Life for the moment, +forgetful that she was old and laid aside, had called her forward to +fill a need no other was near to fill. + +They all left the church after Robert had signed his name in a big book, +and his wife had written hers with a proud little flourish. Robert +helped Drusilla into the wheel chair, after lifting Daphne from her +place on the upholstered cushion. This time the little girl awoke. She +was about to cry when Robert raised her in his arms and carried her down +the road, hushing her against him, while Graham again ordered himself +his grandmother's squire. + +And so they went down the road together, all somewhat quiet, even +Peter's exuberant spirits moderated, till they reached Drusilla's home. +The maid, Letty, awaiting her mistress' return, ran down the steps, an +anxious frown between her eyes. + +"Come," said Drusilla. "You must all be my guests." She whispered some +words in Letty's ear. The girl smiled and half shyly glanced at Robert +and his bride. + +Robert still carrying little Daphne, who had refused to be put down, +said at once: "We should like that very much. I was so hoping you would +ask us." + +So they entered the little house. They went into the parlor with its +portrait above the mantel and the lilies of the valley beneath it. +Graham remembered with a little warm feeling that his father had once +left the order at a city florist's for a daily spray of those lovely +bells. + +Letty, carrying the dolman and small bonnet, disappeared but in a +miraculously short time returned to announce that tea was ready in the +dining-room. + +Drusilla flushed and happy led the way. Robert and his wife followed, +and the children came last. The hostess, from her place at the head of +the table, designated each one's chair, and when all were seated she +bowed her head and offered up a little prayer. + +And then Letty brought in hot muffins and marmalade, sweet butter and +fragrant tea. And amidst much laughter and merry words the feast began: + +And at the end Drusilla rose, and asking silence, said: + +"Robert, today in the name of the bride's mother, I gave her into your +keeping. I can see a promise in your eyes that she will never, never +regret going to you. Love her always." + +And Robert, standing, in a deep voice answered: "Drusilla," borrowing +quite unconsciously Suzanna's way of name, "Drusilla, I have taken upon +myself this day the great responsibility of a woman's happiness--" he +paused and bent a look of ineffable tenderness upon his wife--"and +please God I shall keep that responsibility while life lasts." + +And they all pushed back their chairs, the children with a little +scraping noise. And Robert looking at his watch thought it was time to +leave, since the train would not wait for laggards. + +Then all in a moment it seemed he was going down the path again, his +wife upon his arm. And Graham, who had disappeared kitchenward, returned +and flung a handful of rice after them. At which the bride turned and +laughed and waved her hand. + +"It was a real wedding, wasn't it, Drusilla?" said Suzanna, "even to the +rice." + +"A real wedding, my little girl," said Drusilla. + +Graham spoke: "Grandmother, aren't you glad I wheeled you out today?" + +She answered at once. "So very glad, Graham. And I feel happier tonight +than for many a long day." + +"And may I do so again soon?" he asked. "And next summer I'll take you +out every day." + +A little smile touched her lips. "Next summer--next summer--? Ah, +laddie, come often this winter, if you can." + +And then the children started away. And at the last moment Drusilla drew +Suzanna to her. "Little girl," she said lovingly, "I'm so glad you came +once to visit me--that summer day." + +"Oh, so am I, Drusilla," Suzanna cried. She looked wistfully into her +friend's face. "Some day I want to do something wonderful for you." + +Drusilla, bending low, kissed the upturned face with its big seeking +eyes. But she did not speak. For why make definite by clumsy words the +miracles a little child brings to pass. No, thought Drusilla in her +wisdom, Suzanna should go her way beautifully unconscious of her good +works. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE EAGLE MAN VISITS THE ATTIC + + +A few Saturdays after the marriage in the little wayside church, Richard +Procter reached home in a state of great excitement. + +The family was in the dining-room. Mrs. Procter was polishing the +drinking glasses. Though it was long past noon, Suzanna had just +commenced to clear away the luncheon dishes. Maizie was shaking napkins, +while Peter was in a corner pretending to play ball with the baby, very +much to the baby's amusement. + +Mr. Procter told his news triumphantly. + +"At last," he cried. "Jane, John Massey is absolutely coming to see the +machine this afternoon." + +The color flashed up into Mrs. Procter's face. + +"Oh, Richard," she cried; "perhaps--" but she did not finish her +conjecture. + +"He won't take The Machine away, will he, father?" Suzanna asked +anxiously. + +"No, not that particular one, little girl. There'll have to be others +built. That is just the model." + +At two o'clock Mr. Procter was in the attic working at the machine. At +three, so interested had he grown, that he had really forgotten the +expected visit of old John Massey. So it was a real surprise when Mrs. +Procter ushered him in. + +"Well, I'm here at last," said Mr. Massey. He looked over to where the +cabinet stood. "Your machine is rather mysterious looking." + +"Does it seem so? Here, lay your hat and coat on this table, Mr. Massey. +Now I'll explain the purpose of the machine." + +"Yes, that's what I'm most interested in, what it's for; what you expect +to do with it." + +Richard Procter turned an eager face to the capitalist. + +"I'll start at the beginning," he said. "Have you ever stopped to think +what would mean the greatest happiness to humanity?" + +Mr. Massey coughed and moved uneasily. "Can't say I have. Food and drink +sufficient for all, so I've heard your orator across the street +announce." + +Mr. Procter smiled. "That, yes, might bring content, but I'm speaking of +spiritual happiness. Well, this is my idea of what would bring about a +revolution in the sum total of world content. _Each man at the work he +was born to do._ + +"And having once reached that conclusion, I set about formulating plans +for the building of my machine. An instrument so delicate that it could +register a man's leading talent." + +Mr. Massey moved away a little. He stared doubtfully at the inventor +before the clearing thought came. Before him stood a madman, a wild +visionary. + +He looked over at his hat and coat. To stay was a mere waste of time, he +realized that now. Still, there was Suzanna who had made a place for +herself in his gruff old heart. The machine, he knew, could have no +commercial value. Yet he remembered a few of Suzanna's values which were +not based on the possession of money. + +Well, for Suzanna's sake he would listen, go away and forget. So he +seated himself, and waited condescendingly for the inventor to continue. +He himself said nothing, for silence, he had learned, was golden. + +Mr. Procter went on. "My first step in the work was to evolve what might +be termed a system of color interpretation." + +"I don't understand at all," said old John Massey sharply. + +The inventor hesitated. Visionary, he might truly be called, but, too, +he was sensitive and he had felt the capitalist's withdrawal as soon as +the purpose of the machine was explained to him. But the end was a big +one. He must not hesitate, so he went on. + +"May I put it broadly without arousing your derision, that color sight +was bestowed upon me. Just as my little girl Suzanna visualizes each day +as a shape, so I've always seen people in color; that out of that sight +I built my own science of color." + +"_Romance_ of color, you mean," returned John Massey harshly, "for so +far as I can gain, there is no science about it. I deal in facts, Mr. +Procter, not in air castles. Does the machine do anything, but stand +there a silent monument to your dreams?" + +Mr. Procter hesitated but a moment, then, "Come, Mr. Massey," he said, +"take your place. Let us see what the machine says of you. Remember, +please, it will register only your truest meaning, the purpose for which +you were born; the part of you which never dies, which is never really +submerged, regardless of a turning to false gods." + +A little uneasy despite himself, Mr. Massey seated himself before the +machine. + +The inventor touched levers, opened and shut doors, lowered the helmet, +adjusted the lens. + +As the clicking sound commenced Mr. Massey stirred. "Keep very quiet," +said the inventor, "and watch the glass plate." + +Mr. Massey obeyed. Now a satiric smile touched his lips. He was almost +enjoying this child's play. + +But soon the smile faded, for in a moment there grew upon the glass +plate standing between the two tubes a pillar of color, vivid yellow, +tipped with primrose. + +"What--what does that mean?" asked old John Massey. + +The inventor lifted the helmet, and shut off his power before speaking. +"According to my belief, my understanding of color significance, the +reason for your being in this world, with, of course, interesting +variations brought about by environment and education, is identical with +that of Reynolds." + +Mr. Massey started forward angrily, but he thought better of whatever he +had in his heart to say. "Go on," he commanded gruffly. + +"As a young man you had dreams of being a practical humanitarian," said +Mr. Procter softly, "and undoubtedly with your opportunity you might +have been a valuable figure in the world. You were endowed with vision. +You saw the wrongs man labors under; as a youth you smarted because of +those wrongs. And you saw the super-being man might become given equal +chances." + +"Like Reynolds--" repeated Mr. Massey after a time, on impulse--one +immediately regretted. + +"Like Reynolds, our great rough, fine-hearted Reynolds," said Mr. +Procter, "the one whom you've had threatened with arrest because he +harangued too freely on the street corner." He paused to finish +impressively: "I see now that the man who throws away his spiritual +birthright for a mess of pottage hates the one who keeps his in the face +of all--poverty--misunderstanding--ridicule." + +A silence dark as a cavern ensued. Mr. Massey at last got to his feet. +He stood a long moment looking at the machine, then he glanced at the +inventor, but when someone knocked softly at the door he started, +revealing how far away from his immediate surroundings his thoughts had +flown. + +Suzanna entered. "Here's David, daddy," she said. "He wants to talk with +you." + +David entered. "I had some time," he said, "and I wanted to see the +machine again." + +"Glad to see you," said the inventor heartily. "Mr. Massey, this is my +friend, David Ridgewood, Graham Woods Bartlett's gardener." + +"How do you do, Mr. Massey," said David. "I've seen you before, of +course. Heard of you often." + +John Massey did not answer at once, since he was somewhat at a loss. He +had not been in the habit of meeting socially his friends' gardeners. At +last he blurted forth. + +"How d' do. I've had a look at Procter's invention." + +"Ah, yes, I supposed so," said David. Then: "Isn't the thought back of +that machine wonderful?" Which ridiculous question quickened again all +the Eagle Man's combativeness. He spoke with a fine candor. + +"The thought may be wonderful, young man. I'll not pass on that. But +plainly I can't see where the commercial value of the machine comes in." + +David and Suzanna fell back from the cloud which gathered on the +inventor's face. + +"The commercial value!" he cried. "Have I spent my life working merely +that the capitalist may make more money? I tell you, sir, that I have +worked only for the betterment of the race. And to you, John Massey, I +am giving the great opportunity." + +"Well, out with it. Where's the great opportunity?" asked Mr. Massey +testily. "To my mind you haven't an article with a wide enough appeal." + +"Wide enough appeal!" cried the inventor. "My dear sir, it has an appeal +world-wide, and you are to make it of such appeal." He paused to +continue impressively: "John Massey, I offer you the opportunity of +endowing an institution which shall be built to use my machine. To that +institution young men of impecunious parents may come to discover their +leading talent." + +"If there is a leading talent, will it take your machine to discover +it?" asked John Massey. + +"In most cases, yes. How many young men fail to discover until too late +what life work they are best fitted for, unless they possess a talent so +strong that it amounts to genius. How many of necessity are sent out +into the world at an unformed age to slavery in order that they and +their dependents may live. What chance or time have they, grinding away +at any work which brings a dollar, to know for what work they are most +suited. They know only when it is too late that they are bound by +chains, crucifying themselves daily at tasks they hate, and for which +they have no natural adaptation." + +He paused, only to continue with fire: "Or, if they have ambitions, know +what they would best like to do, how helpless they are. No money, no +opportunity." + +"I'll warrant, Mr. Massey," put in David, "that there are many men +employed in your steel mills who by natural inclination are totally +unfitted for their jobs. Now, wouldn't scientific investigation in their +early manhood have helped to find for them the right place and so added +to their happiness?" + +"Well, I'm not interested in that part of the question; their happiness +has nothing to do with me," returned John Massey. "I pay 'em their wages +and that's enough. And I don't believe that every man is born with a +special talent. They all look alike to me mostly." + +"Every man is born with the capacity to do something in a way impossible +to another," said the inventor with conviction. "There are no two +persons alike in the world." + +John Massey smiled. He really now felt that he was being entertained. +Such another rare specimen as this inventor with his ridiculous +contentions would be hard to find. So he said pleasantly: "And after the +machine has recorded its findings, what then?" + +"Then you, and other men like you who have accumulated fortunes--" + +"Stop!" cried the capitalist. "Let me finish for you. After the machine +has done its work, I'm to have the privilege of paying for the +professional education or trade of these same impecunious young men." + +"Exactly, sir. The institution you endow might be called the Temple of +Natural Ability Appraisement. There the poor in money, but the rich in +ambition may come; there the fumblers, the indecisive, may come to be +put to a test. Ah, yours can be a great work." + +"A great opportunity for you, Mr. Massey," emphasized David, the +gardener. "I envy you." + +"You'd help out, wouldn't you, Eagle Man?" Suzanna now cried with +perfect faith in his good will. "You see, you'd have to when you +remembered that there's a little silver chain stretching from your wrist +to everybody else's in the world. It must be rubber-plated, I guess." + +"What do you mean?" asked the Eagle Man, involuntarily casting his +glance down to his wrist, his flow of satire dammed. + +"That's what Drusilla told me; we all belong. And you can't do something +mean without breaking the chain that binds you to somebody else." + +"Ah, my dear," said the Eagle Man, letting his hand fall upon her bright +hair, "you belong to a family of impossible visionaries." He looked +over at Suzanna's father, and his face suddenly grew crimson. "Were you +in earnest, Procter," he cried, "when you told me in Doane's hardware +store that your machine meant a big opportunity to me--were you +jesting?" + +"Jesting! Why, I've pointed out your opportunity, plainly." + +"Shown me how I can throw a fortune away!" + +After a moment Mr. Procter replied: "We speak in different languages. By +opportunity you can see only a chance to make more money." + +"Any other sane person makes the same guess," Mr. Massey replied. + +The inventor's face grew sad. He had dreamed of John Massey's response, +a dream built on sand, as perhaps he should have known. But hope eternal +sprang in his heart, and the belief that every man wished the best for +his brother. + +The silence continued. To break it Mr. Massey turned to David. + +"Your friend seems to think he has but to put before me the need for +charity and I shall thank him effusively." + +David spoke slowly: "My friend should have known better. He forgot, I +suppose, your slums where you house your mill hands." + +"What do you mean by that?" Mr. Massey began, when an exclamation from +Suzanna, who was standing at the window, turned his attention there. + +"See, there's a big fire over behind the big field," she cried +excitedly. "Oh, look at the flames! The poor, poor people!" + +David sprang to the window. "It's over in the huddled district," he +cried. A fierce light sprang to his eyes. "Where most of your men live +with their families, John Massey. I wonder how many will escape." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +SUZANNA PUTS A REQUEST + + +In that devastating fire which swept out of existence the entire +tenement district of Anchorville two were lost, never to be heard of +again, parents of a twain of children, a boy of four and a girl of +three. + +Mrs. Procter, finding the mites wandering away from the smoking ruins, +had at once taken them home with her, fed them, found clothes for them, +and rocked the tired little girl to sleep. + +"Are we going to keep them forever, mother?" Maizie asked one afternoon +about two weeks after the fire. No one had put in a claim for the +children; they were homeless, friendless. What was to be done with them? +Mrs. Procter had turned with loathing from the thought of the orphanage. + +She stood at Maizie's question in deep perplexity. She could not turn +the children away or put them in an institution--and yet, how could she +care for them? There was the very definite problem of extra clothes and +food to be found out of an income already stretched to its utmost. + +"They haven't a home any more, have they, mother?" Suzanna asked, the +while her earnest eyes searched her mother's face. "So we should do unto +others as we'd be done by, shouldn't we?" + +A vague memory returned to Mrs. Procter. What was it Suzanna had once +said? "Mrs. Procter cuddles all children in her heart." And Suzanna and +Maizie stood watching her, asking a literal translation of a principle +laid down for man's guidance. + +"We'll see what can be done," Mrs. Procter answered finally. And then +she continued very carefully: "You see, it isn't only a question of +giving these little ones a home, but they must be clothed and fed and +educated, and we haven't a great deal of money." + +"So many of those poor people haven't any homes any more, have they?" +asked Suzanna. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears of pity. She looked +out of the window. The sun was shining brightly. And to be in keeping +with the suffering about them, Suzanna wished it would hide behind a +cloud. It seemed the day itself, to be in sympathy, should be dark, +depressed, altogether gloomy. + +Her mother answered: "It's providential in a manner that those unsightly +cottages were swept away; but they meant homes for many poor souls; and +all that they possessed was contained in those homes." + +Suzanna's ingenious mind settled itself to work on the problem of the +bereft ones. She was no longer thinking of the two little orphans, but +of the many troubled people. If only her home were large enough to +accommodate them all! Her thoughts in natural sequence ran to the Eagle +Man and his beautiful place, but she immediately rejected the idea. She +feared he might not listen kindly to the plan of lending his home even +as a temporary abode for the stricken. Had he not been a little unkind +about her father's wonderful Machine? + +Suddenly she remembered Bartlett Villa, and with the memory came a +thousand thoughts. Impulsively she donned hat and coat, spoke a word to +her mother and was off. + +In a very short time, for she ran nearly all the way, she reached +Bartlett Villa. She pushed open the big iron gate leading into the +grounds, and stopped short, for there to the left, near a closed +fountain, stood Graham. He was talking to a tall man whose back was +toward Suzanna. About the two, in seeming happiness, played Jerry. + +Graham cried out when he saw Suzanna. She went quickly to him. Then the +man looked down at her and smiled. Suzanna decided that she liked him, +but she wished his smile was more of a real one, one that should light +his face. She did not know the word, but he looked, despite his smile, +cynical, rather weary. Yes, she knew she should like him, for in some +indefinite way he reminded her of her father. Was it the brown, rather +nearsighted eyes? Surely they were keen, yet behind their keenness dwelt +a softness; perhaps he, too, once had cherished a vision. + +Graham greeted her demonstratively. "And this is my father, Suzanna," he +said. "I've told him a lot about you." + +"Yes, I know a great deal about you, Suzanna," said Mr. Bartlett; "and +David has told me of your father's invention and what he expects to do +some day with it." + +Suzanna's face kindled. "Yes, my father's a great man," she said, +simply. + +Then she turned to Graham: "I came to talk to you about something very +important. I was going to ask you afterwards to speak to your father +about my plan." + +"I may hear, then?" said Mr. Bartlett. "Shall we go on into the house? +There's a little chill in the air." + +So they walked toward the great house, leaving Jerry rather +disconsolate. Suzanna, looking up at Mr. Bartlett, said: "I've been here +twice and I've never seen you." + +"My business takes me often to different cities," he replied. + +They entered the house and went into a small room at the left of the +wide hall. It was lovely, Suzanna decided, done all in soft gray, except +the curtains at the window, which were of amber silk, hanging in heavy +folds. Yes, very charming, Suzanna emphasized to herself. She liked +particularly the one picture on the wall, showing a group of horses, +heads high in the air, full of fire. Suzanna could see them move, she +believed. + +"Sit down there, Suzanna, in that high-backed chair and tell us what you +have to say that's so important," suggested Mr. Bartlett. + +"I'm crazy to hear all about it, Suzanna," supplemented Graham. He +settled himself in anticipation, for Suzanna was always intensely +interesting. + +Suzanna seated herself. A quaint little figure she was, her fine head +thrown in relief against the gray satin of the chair. "You know," she +began, "there's been a fire." + +"A bully big one," said Graham. + +Suzanna turned her dark eyes upon the boy. "It was a big one, and maybe +fun to watch," she said, "but it burned all the people's homes. We've +got two little children, at our house. We could never find their father +and mother." + +Mr. Bartlett, occupying the corner of a lounge, shifted uneasily. +Evidently to put forth truths so baldly was inartistic. + +"My mother says it was--I can't think of the word--but she meant it was +lucky those cottages were burned down; they were so dirty." Suzanna went +on: "And babies played in the yards in ashes and old papers. I always +hurried past when I went that way because something stopped inside of +me, I felt so sorry for those babies." Suzanna paused. "I just thought +as we walked up your front path how different everything is here; your +front yard is so clean, and there's so much room!" + +She stopped again. She wished Mr. Bartlett would speak. He must guess +now all that she meant to convey to him; all she would ask of him. + +But still he didn't answer. "The Eagle Man owned those houses," she said +at last. + +"The Eagle Man?" Mr. Bartlett roused himself at last. "Who is the Eagle +Man?" + +"Mr. Massey other people call him. The Eagle Man's my own private name +for him." + +Graham knew his father was heavily interested in the Massey Steel Mills. +But he did not speak. + +"You know, it's an awful fine feeling you get when you're doing +something for strangers," Suzanna pressed on. "Some way you don't feel +so excited when you're doing something for your very own family." + +But she was doomed to disappointment. A continued silence still greeted +her words. "When people work for you isn't it as though you were their +father or their big brother and had to help them when they needed it?" +she asked, at length. + +"Well, it's a new thought that you owe anything to the men who work for +you except their wages," said Mr. Bartlett at last. + +"Why, Drusilla told me that everyone in the world has a little silver +chain running from his wrist to his next friend's wrist; it stretches +when you run--a fellowship link my father named it when I told him. And +the chain runs from my wrist to your wrist and from yours to every other +wrist in the world." She leaned closer, finishing earnestly. "And +Drusilla says if you break your chain you're really a slave." + +"Very interesting," commented Mr. Bartlett. + +"Yes, isn't it?" agreed Suzanna. She returned tenaciously to her +subject. "There are many homeless families who weren't welcome where +they had to go after the fire. Mary Holmes says her mother took in four +people and she says as long as they stay there'll have to be stews, for +in that way a pound of meat goes further, and Mary just hates stews." + +"Well, what is your suggestion of a remedy, Suzanna?" asked Mr. +Bartlett. At which question, though put in words beyond her, Suzanna's +eyes brightened. She caught the sense unerringly and answered promptly. + +"Why, I thought _you_ could do something. You have so much room." And +then the solution came, out of the sky as often answers came when you +didn't expect them. "Why, you could put tents up in your big yards for +the homeless people, till their own homes are built again." + +Mr. Bartlett was greatly amused. "You ask such a little thing, Suzanna." + +"Yes, isn't it, seeing it'll help out so much?" Suzanna returned +innocently. + +Graham rose and went close to his father. "Father," he said, "who's +going to build the new homes for the poor people?" + +His father answered: "I don't know, I'm sure; but I should think it old +John Massey's duty to do so." + +"Father," asked Graham, after a pause given over to thought and drawing +on his memory for what vague facts he knew of his father's business, "if +you take less money for your interests in the mill and if you speak to +him, do you suppose Mr. Massey would begin at once to build those +homes?" His young face was quite white with earnestness and other new +emotions struggling up to the surface. + +Mr. Bartlett looked from one small face to the other. He smiled grimly. +They could see nothing but the humanness of a situation, the need +existing. Going against all precedent meant nothing to them; they simply +followed ridiculous altruistic impulses. Only in their minds was the +knowledge that other people were suffering; and the immediate necessity +for relief. + +He let his hand fall upon his son's shoulder. "How about the trip +abroad, Graham?" There was an under meaning in his question which Graham +got at once. His face lit. + +"I'd rather help out here, father, and give up the trip. I really +would." + +Mr. Bartlett remained quiet for a long time again. In some mysterious +manner he was now for almost the first time looking upon his son as an +individual, one with opinions and the power of criticism. And there +grew in his heart the very fervent desire to stand well in that son's +estimation. He looked at Suzanna and envied her father. How proudly, how +simply she had said, "He is a great man!" + +But when he spoke, he reverted to a name used a moment before by +Suzanna, a name he knew well. + +"Who's your very philosophic friend, Suzanna--Drusilla, you called her." + +Suzanna's eyes shone. "Drusilla? She's my special friend. She lives in a +little house on the forked road. She's pretty and sweet and she has +fancies, like children. She plays sometimes she's a queen. But she's +lonely. She gave Miss Massey to Robert in the little church. And she has +no one in all the world left to call her by her first name. So I call +her Drusilla and she loves it." + +Graham did not stir. Neither did he look at his father till Suzanna, +suddenly remembering, cried out: + +"Why, Drusilla's Graham's grandmother!" + +Mr. Bartlett's face suddenly went very white. He didn't speak for a long +time. Then he rose and went to the window, drew back the silken curtain +and stared out. + +Suzanna wondered if he would ever move again! At the moment he was far +away. He was a boy again at his mother's knee, listening to that +fanciful conception of the little silver chain that stretched so far. +There rushed in on him, too, other memories, blinding ones that hurt. +True, every day at the little house a spray of lilies of the valley were +delivered; but with that impersonal gift which cost him nothing but the +drawing of a check he had dismissed his mother from his busy mind, +letting her stay in loneliness, live in old dreams. + +A soft little swish was heard at the door and Mrs. Bartlett entered the +room. She stopped in some consternation at sight of the silent trio +within. + +"Why, what is the matter?" she asked, impulsively. + +Mr. Bartlett turned from the window. He looked at his wife, steadily +regarded her beautiful face and bronze-colored hair piled high upon her +small and regal head. His gaze sought the soft, white hands, the tapered +fingers with pink and shining nails. + +At last he spoke, very quietly, but each word seemed weighed: "'And in +the morning there shall tents suddenly arise.' A quotation from +somewhere, my dear, but it shall come true here." + +She turned a cold gaze upon him. "Will you explain what you mean?" she +asked. + +"There are a few homeless people in Anchorville; their homes laid waste +by a fire," he said, pleasantly. "This small messenger has suggested +that we make use of our ample grounds for a time by putting up tents, +for a time, I say, till more substantial abiding places may be built." + +She clenched her hands. "You can't do that, Graham," she began, a note +of entreaty in her voice; "you can't possibly be so absurdly quixotic." + +"And why not?" + +"I can't understand!" she repeated. "Such philanthropic ideas have not +occurred to you before." + +He went to her, standing so he could look into her eyes. "It's late in +the day, but I'll try to do some little thing my mother would like me to +do." + +Mrs. Bartlett was about to speak again in burning protest when her +glance fell upon the children, Suzanna and her own boy. And the eloquent +expressions upon those small faces kept her silent. At last she turned +as though to leave the room. Over her shoulder she spoke. + +"At least you will not insist upon my presence here while you fulfill +your preposterous plans?" + +He replied gently: "As always, I ask nothing that you cannot give in +perfect freedom." + +She hesitated, was about to say something, stopped and took another +subject: "As for your mother--" + +He interrupted her, but to repeat "As for my mother--" but he left his +thought unfinished. + +Then he, too, went toward the door, and as he passed Suzanna he let his +fine, nervous hand touch her bright hair. Once he turned. "Suzanna, as I +told you," he said, "David, my fine gardener, has interested me somewhat +in your father's machine; perhaps I'll make a journey to your home some +day to see it." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +DRUSILLA SETS OUT ON A JOURNEY + + +When Suzanna, returning home on wings, opened the front door, she heard +voices in the kitchen. And there, as she entered, she saw Mrs. Reynolds +engaged in reading aloud the directions on a paper pattern. Suzanna, +full of her story, waited almost impatiently until Mrs. Reynolds had +finished. + +Then she burst forth: "Oh, mother, Graham Bartlett's father's going to +make tent homes in his yard for the poor people." + +Mrs. Procter, leaning over the kitchen table, selected a pin from an +ornate pin cushion and inserted it carefully in the pattern under her +hand before turning an incredulous eye upon her daughter. + +"It's for his mother's sake," continued Suzanna, who had grasped the +spiritual meaning of Mr. Bartlett's offer. + +Mrs. Reynolds was the first to voice her surprise. "Why, that man, to my +knowledge, has never taken any real interest in anything. Reynolds says +he just draws big dividends out of the mill, runs about from one +interest to another, and cares really naught for anyone." + +"Oh, but he's very kind, Mrs. Reynolds," Suzanna objected. "As soon as +he knew his yards were too big to waste and that his mother would love +to have him do good, he told his wife he meant to put up tents till new +homes were built." + +Mrs. Procter cast a knowing look above Suzanna's head. Mrs. Reynolds +caught it and sent back a tender smile. "Out of the mouths of babes," +she began, when Maizie entered. In her tow were the two shy little +orphans. + +Maizie spoke at once to Mrs. Reynolds. "I knew you were still here, Mrs. +Reynolds," she said; "I can always tell your funny laugh." + +Mrs. Reynolds laughed again. "Well, little girl," she said, "did you +want something from me?" + +Maizie nodded vigorously. Her face was very stern. "Yes, please," she +answered. "I want you to take these bad orphans home with you. They're +cross and hateful and I don't want them to stay here any more." + +The two orphans stood downcast, the small boy holding tight to his +sister's hand, listening in silence to their arraignment. Mrs. Procter, +shocked, interposed: "Why, Maizie, Maizie girl!" + +But Maizie went on. "You can't be kind to them; they won't let you. And +I had to slap the girl orphan." + +The one alluded to thrust her small fist in her eye. Her slight body +shook with sobs. Suzanna's heart was moved. She addressed her sister +vigorously. "That isn't the way to treat people who are _weary_ and +_homeless_, Maizie Procter," she began. "_You_ ought to be kindest in +the whole world to sorry ones!" + +Maizie paused. She understood perfectly her sister's reference. "When +the Man with the halo picked you out of everybody and smiled on you, you +ought to be good to all little children that He loves," pursued Suzanna. + +"Not to little children who won't play and who won't be kind," said +Maizie. But her voice was low. She turned half reluctantly to the +orphans and looked steadily at them, as though trying to produce in +herself a warmer glow for them. + +They did not stir under the look. "But naughty children have to be made +good even if you have to slap them, Suzanna," said Maizie pleadingly. + +"But not by you, Maizie," said Suzanna; "you never can slap or be cross. +I have a bad temper and sometimes get mad. But because of what you are +_You_ always have to be loving and kind." + +Awe crept into Maizie's eyes. It was a great moment for her, little +child that she was. She was to remember all her days that she was as one +set apart to be loving and kind. She gazed solemnly back at Suzanna, as +she dwelt upon the miraculous truth of her heritage. + +At last Maizie turned. "Mrs. Reynolds," she said, "our Suzanna once +adopted herself out to you, didn't she?" + +Mrs. Reynolds bestowed a soft look upon Suzanna. "She did that, the +lamb, and often enough I've thought of that day." + +"You liked her for your little girl because you haven't any of your +own?" pursued Maizie. + +Mrs. Reynolds nodded, and Maizie sighed her relief. + +"Well, then, we'll adopt these orphans out to you, Mrs. Reynolds. I'm +sorry for them now, and I know I ought to be kind to them, but it will +be easier for me if you have them. I think you'd be awfully happy with +two real children of your very own." + +No one spoke. The little boy, laggard usually in movement, looked up +quickly at Mrs. Reynolds. He knew that Maizie found it difficult to be +patient with him, and that therefore she was offering him and his +sister to the kind-looking lady. + +"We like them pretty well, but we'd rather you'd have them," Maizie went +on generously but with unswerving purpose. "And till you get used to +children I'll come over every day and wash and dress them." + +Mrs. Reynolds' face was growing pinker and pinker. She continued gazing +at the boy and the girl, and from them back to Suzanna, her favorite. +But whatever emotions surged through her she found for the moment no +words to express them. At last she spoke in a whimsical way. + +"It's not much you're asking, little girl, to take and raise and educate +two growing children on Reynolds' wages." And then she blushed furiously +and glanced half apologetically at Mrs. Procter. For what, indeed, was +Mrs. Procter's work? With superb defiance toward mathematical rules, she +was daily engaged in proving that though those rules contended that two +and two make four, if you have backbone and ingenuity two and two make +five, and could by stretching be compelled to make six. + +"I must be going," said Mrs. Reynolds. She gathered up carefully the +paper pattern, folded its long length into several pieces, opened her +hand bag and thrust the small package within. "Thank you for your help, +Mrs. Procter. I think I can manage nicely now," she said, as she snapped +the bag together. + +Mrs. Procter repeated the conversation to her husband that evening, as, +the children in bed, they sat together in the little parlor. "And it +might be the most wonderful happening in the world, both for the poor +children and for Mrs. Reynolds," said Mrs. Procter. + +Mr. Procter did not answer. His wife, watching him keenly, realized that +he was troubled. She put down her sewing. "Tell me, Richard, what's gone +wrong," she said. + +He hesitated, caught her hand, held it tight. "I might as well tell you, +dear. John Massey has bought out Job Doane's hardware shop." + +"Bought him out?" + +"Yes. No one seems to know why. He paid a good price and he'll probably +sell again. I don't know, I'm sure." + +He pressed his hand wearily to his head. "What's to be done, dear? +What's to be done? There's no other opening for me in Anchorville." + +She rallied to help him as always. "At least we'll not meet trouble till +it's full upon us. There's always some way found." + +And, as always, he brightened beneath her touch, let hope spring again +within his heart. "Shall you work upstairs tonight?" she asked, knowing +that companionship with his beloved machine closed his mind to other +matters. + +"If you will come upstairs with me," he said. "Can you leave your +mending? I want you close by." + +She felt strongly and joyously his need of her. "I will come," she said. + +They were on the way upstairs, treading carefully that the lightest +sleeper, Suzanna, might not be awakened, when the hurried peal came at +the front door. They stopped. "Go on to the attic," said Mrs. Procter; +"it's perhaps Mrs. Reynolds come to borrow something," so Mr. Procter +went on. Mrs. Procter ran lightly down. + +She opened the front door to David. Near him stood Graham and behind, +his tail wagging furiously, Peter's dog, Jerry. David began at once. + +"Mr. Bartlett's mother was taken ill suddenly. Mr. Bartlett is with her. +She is begging to see the little Suzanna." + +"Come in," said Mrs. Procter, flinging the door wide. And as they +entered and stood all three in the hall, the dog feeling himself now in +his new character as welcome as his human companions, she finished: +"Suzanna's asleep." + +"My father wished greatly you would allow Suzanna to go to my +grandmother, though it is late," put in Graham. + +"Could she be awakened?" asked David. And by the expression in his eyes +Mrs. Procter understood that this wish of Drusilla's should not be +denied. + +The dog, feeling entreaty in the air, sat down and raised his voice. It +was a penetrative voice, too, filling the house with its echoes, echoes +that scarcely died away before a soft call came: + +"Mother--mother--" + +Mrs. Procter smiled at David. "There, Suzanna is awake. Jerry +accomplished what he wished. I'll go upstairs and dress her quickly." + +So it was that the little girl flushed, starry-eyed, appeared with her +mother a little later. Her dramatic senses were alert. "Isn't it lovely +and important," she began at once to David, "that Drusilla wants to see +me when it's away into the night?" + +"Very important," said David, but he did not smile. "Are you quite ready +now?" + +"Yes," said Suzanna and slipped her hand within Graham's. "Are you going +too, Graham?" + +"Yes. David's driving the light cart." + +The night was cool, but there were big rugs in the cart. David bundled +Suzanna up till only her vivid face looked out. As they went swiftly she +gazed up at the stars and the soft dark sky. She loved the night +fragrances, and the rustle of the dead leaves as lazy little winds +stirred them. + +They came very soon to Drusilla's home. David alighted, unwound Suzanna, +lifted her down to the ground very carefully, Graham following slowly. +David tied his horse, gave the animal a comradely pat, bade the dog +remain in the cart, and then the three went on to the house. The door +opened immediately for them, a light streaming out from within. The +sweet-faced maid, Letty, who had been crying, ushered them in. + +"I'll wait downstairs," said David. + +Letty nodded, and with the children went upstairs. + +They stopped when they reached the open doorway of Drusilla's bedroom. +And seated in a big velvet chair, as usual drawn near the window, though +the shade was pulled straight down, pillows heaped all about her, sat +Drusilla. Her face seemed small, oh, pitiably small, with bright eyes +quite too large for their place. But someway Suzanna, looking in, knew +that Drusilla was happy. + +Perhaps because, kneeling beside her, his head buried in her lap, was +her son. + +Her thin fingers strayed through his hair, and her tremulous voice +murmured to him just as it had when as a very small, very penitent boy +he had knelt in the same way, sure of her understanding, very, very sure +of her love. + +The picture remained for the moment, then the man kneeling, stirred and +rose to his feet. He stood looking down at his mother, till impelled by +a sound in the doorway he turned and saw the children. + +They came forward then into the softly lighted room. + +"Drusilla!" Suzanna cried, going straight to the frail figure seated in +the velvet chair. "You wanted to see me, didn't you?" + +"I did that, little girl," Drusilla answered. "I wanted to tell you that +the land of sunshine and love is close at hand where I shall meet my +king and be parted no more." + +"And where you'll reign queen?" cried Suzanna, delighted. + +The old head flung itself up; the faded eyes blazed; the frail figure +straightened itself. "Ay, queen!" She turned to Graham, who had +approached and stood regarding her, his boyish face agleam with love and +a little longing, and a little sadness, for he knew better than Suzanna +the great change at hand. "Who stands there?" she asked. + +He answered at once: "A courtier, my Queen." + +She smiled. "Approach closer then," she said with a wave of her hand. +But her eyes were on Suzanna. "My favorite princess," she said softly, +letting her hand fall upon the small head. "She came first one day when +the flowers were all in color. She listened to me, and believed my +stories of the land where I once dwelt--with my king and my young +prince, who afterwards forgot me." + +A sob came from the throat of the man standing near. He buried his face +in his hands. A white-clad nurse came tiptoeing in, looked at her +patient, nodded reassuringly and went out again. + +"I knew you were a queen, Drusilla," said Suzanna, "because you were so +beautiful, and so haughty." She leaned forward till her young face was +very close to the old fading one. "And you told me something that day +about the chain that binds everybody in the world to everyone else. +I've never forgotten that. I've told lots of people about it." + +"Yes, yes, I remember." + +"And I told that story to the Eagle Man, and to Graham's father, and +he's going to have tents put up in his yard for some poor people who +have no homes, for your sake, Drusilla." + +The frail figure suddenly fell back. "_Drusilla!_ Who calls me that?" +The pale lips trembled. "Many, many years have gone since I heard that +name." + +The man cried out: "Mother dear--_Mother dear_!" + +She turned her eyes upon him. The light of recognition slowly returned +to them. "My boy," she said gently. "Come, sit beside me. All three. The +little girl who loves me, and you and your child, my grandson." + +So they settled themselves, all at her knee. "Mother, dear, did you hear +what Suzanna said? Your story of the chain awakened me." + +"Awakened you, my boy? But that story and others I told you many years +ago, and you forgot." + +The tears, hard-wrung, started to his eyes. "But, mother," he said in a +low voice, "is it too late? Those truths I learned many years ago from +you--is it too late to use them now?" He let his head fall suddenly upon +her knee: "Oh, mother, mother, how blind are men; what false gods they +worship!" + +She did not answer. Graham, a great pity sprung in his heart for his +father, spoke: "Father's good, grandmother! He does lots of kind things +for people. And he's going to take care of many families whose homes +were burned." + +"In your name, mother, as Suzanna says," said the man, lifting his head. +"And many, many other righteous things in your name, my mother." + +Her face grew luminous, with a light lent from some far place. "My +boy--my little son--" she whispered. + +The white-clad nurse came in again, looked sharply at her patient. "I +think," she said softly, "you must all leave now." + +So they rose. But Suzanna, after saying farewell, turned again. The +nurse was arranging the bed. Drusilla sat, her eyes looking off into the +distance. Suzanna went swiftly back. + +"Is the land you're going to very beautiful, Drusilla?" she whispered. + +"Fairer than you may dream, little girl," Drusilla returned. And then: +"Kiss me, Suzanna, and call me Drusilla once more." + +Suzanna kissed the soft, wrinkled cheek. "Good-bye, Drusilla," she +breathed. "I love you with all my heart, and I'm coming to see you again +very soon." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +MR. BARTLETT SEES THE MACHINE + + +But Suzanna did not go to see her friend Drusilla again. For within a +few days after the hurried night visit, Drusilla set off on her journey. +There was but one with her when she left, all aquiver to be gone, her +eyes set in the distance on visions hid from earthly eyes. + +Her boy was close beside her, his arms about her, his heart filled with +woe for all the years he had forgotten. And when he kissed her and +begged her forgiveness, she was all love and understanding for him, even +as when a small boy he had sought her forgiveness and her understanding. + +The tents were up now in the big Bartlett grounds. Tents with floors and +movable stoves. Children played about the grounds on the rare sunny day +that Drusilla went away. + +Mr. Bartlett, returning from his mother's bedside, went hurriedly +through his grounds, and on upstairs to his own room. There, waiting for +him, was Graham. The boy knew at once the truth. + +"Father," he cried, and put his arms about the tall figure. + +They stood so, the man finding comfort in the contact of his boy. And so +Mrs. Bartlett, returned temporarily from a journey, found them. + +She started back at sight of them thus together. They seemed in their +new intimacy to have shut her out, quite out of their lives. "I've been +looking for you, Graham," she began, and then caught her breath sharply +at the look the boy gave her; not a premeditated cold look, only one +that he might bestow upon a stranger. + +"Father has just come home," he said; "grandmother--" + +But he did not finish. He saw that his mother understood that Drusilla +had gone away. Mr. Bartlett spoke to his wife. "I heard this morning +that you had returned to stay for a day. I'm afraid the tents and the +children will still disfigure our grounds for some time." + +His bitterness made her wince. But she answered calmly. "Yes, I returned +while you were absent." + +"For a day, as I was told?" + +"My plans must change now of necessity--my trip to Italy--" + +"Why?" he asked. "Nothing that has happened need interfere with any of +your plans, your mode of living. My mother would not wish that." + +She broke forth then, the color surging up into her face. "Why are you +so unjust to me? Did I suggest that you neglect your mother? You could +not expect me to take your place." + +"No--" he spoke sadly. "No, I could not expect that. Believe me, please, +when I say that I put blame on no one but myself. Money--that has been +the main thing in life. Money, and more money. There was always need for +all I could make." His eyes swept her lovely gown; the costly cape +across her arm. Thought, much money, much time had gone into building +her perfect completeness. "No. A man cannot expect another, even a wife, +to fulfill his sacred obligations." + +Perhaps the thought came to her that a wife need not ask so much, ask so +demandingly that a man must yield his finest dreams, his every hour to +fulfill her wishes. The color deepened and deepened in her cheek. +Perhaps she remembered their first months together when in the grayest +days he saw color, because they belonged one to the other. + +They had both forgotten Graham. She looked at the boy now. He stood +regarding her with that strange aloofness in his eyes, that sharp +question. She felt all at once very lonely. + +For Graham, she knew, was estranged from her! And now she knew that she +desired most of all his love in all its purity. Her social strivings, +her desire for leadership balanced against Graham's former worshipful, +chivalrous love for her, dwindled to a pitiful insignificance. + +And with the value of her child's love, she suddenly realized the older +mother's longings--the one who had just gone on. An old mother--in her +full years mourning for the child she had borne, nursed, and succored. +Grieving, that in his manhood he had gone from her; that he had +seemingly forgotten in his feverish striving after wealth the lessons +she had sought to teach him. + +Was the wife to blame for this? But some stern sense of justice derided +her efforts to exculpate herself. She remembered how she had held the +power to influence him in the early days of their marriage; he had +believed so wonderfully in the whiteness of her ideals. He was malleable +material in her fingers. + +But above and beyond his love she had put wealth and fine position. He +had given her both, but now before her stood her husband and son +estranged from her. + +She moved away at last. With new awakening power of perception, she felt +she was stripped of everything of worth. When she was half-way down the +wide hall she heard a step behind her. She paused, waited, and in a +moment Graham was beside her. + +He put his hand in hers. "Mother," he said, quietly. + +Her eyes filled with the near tears. She clung to his hand as though he +would protect her against her own bitter thoughts. + +"Does your head ache?" he asked. There was solicitude in his voice, but +still that strange, dreadful aloofness, more dreadful because he was not +conscious of it. + +"No," she answered. She looked down at him and out of an impulse she +cried: "Do you still love me, Graham?" + +"I love you, mother," he answered gravely. But she knew then that there +would be work on her part before once again she stood to him his ideal. + +She had dwelt in the core of his heart; perhaps in time she could once +more move near to that sanctified place. The intimate human relation, +husband and wife, parent and child--she knew with pain and yearning that +all else--position, great wealth, worldly power--were vain beside the +joy of those relations in their purest. + + * * * * * + +Perhaps a week later Suzanna was washing the supper dishes, and Maizie +wiping them. Their mother was upstairs with Peter and the baby, Mr. +Procter in the attic. As Maizie finished the last dish, the door bell +rang. + +Suzanna ran to the foot of the stairs. + +"Oh, mother, shall I answer?" she cried. + +"I wish you would," Mrs. Procter called down. "Peter has a stone bruise +and I'm using liniment." + +So Suzanna went to the front door. She opened it to Mr. Bartlett. + +"Good evening, Suzanna," he said in a friendly voice. "Is your father at +home?" + +"He's upstairs in the attic. Shall I take you to him?" asked Suzanna +very politely. + +"Perhaps you'd better consult him first as to that, Suzanna. He may not +wish to be disturbed." + +"Well, I will. Won't you sit down in the parlor?" + +Mr. Bartlett, half smiling, followed the small figure into the room +designated. He looked about interestedly after Suzanna had gone. A +kerosene lamp set upon a center table sent an apologetic light over the +shabby furniture. Above the mantel with its velvet cover and statuette +of a crying baby, was a picture of Suzanna, a "crayon," Mr. Bartlett +amusingly surmised. The small face looked out with a distorted +artificial smile quite unknown to the face it sought to represent. Yet +Suzanna's aura was visible, Mr. Bartlett thought. That little girl who +so simply and lovingly had called his mother Drusilla because no one in +the world was left to do so! A fragrance straight from his heart made +the ugly crayon suddenly a thing of beauty, showing forth a child's +soul. + +Suzanna returned, panting a little. She had run upstairs and down again. +"Father wants you to go right up," she said. "And maybe when I've +finished the dishes I'll come back, too." + +So he followed her up the narrow stairs. Suzanna gravely told him that +every other step creaked, except if you put your foot carefully in the +middle. At the attic door she left him. + +Mr. Procter looked up as his visitor entered. "I'm glad to see you, Mr. +Bartlett," he said cordially. "It's not very light in here, but we can +see to talk. Sit down." + +Mr. Bartlett took the proffered chair. He looked about the dim room and +could see in outline the machine. + +"David has told you something of my invention, I remember and its +object," said Mr. Procter. + +"Yes, David has told me," Mr. Bartlett replied. "You're attempting a +tremendously big thing, Mr. Procter. David told me about the colors and +your theory of their meaning." + +"Yes. Did David tell you, too, that my daughter Suzanna produced on the +plate of the machine purple and gold? In my book I had written down . . . +'Purple: high talent for writing.'" + +Mr. Bartlett hesitated a moment before replying. + +"But it hasn't been proven that Suzanna can write. You will have to wait +a few years for evidence." + +"True, still she is talented. I may dare say that even though I happen +to be her father. She possesses an insatiable curiosity concerning life, +the divine birthright of the artist, the creator." + +"Still I'm not convinced that such a machine as David drew for me is +possible," said Mr. Bartlett. "I can understand that if you place a +person in contact with an instrument and proceed to change his +circulation by arousing his emotions that chemical change might be +registered upon a sensitive plate. But how can a mere machine be so +miraculous as to show forth by color or any other method one's +'meaning'? It's too big for my imagination, that's all. There are so +many parts that go to make up a human being, so many points in his favor +for a certain line of work, so many against it." + +Still the inventor did not speak. And so Mr. Bartlett continued: +"There's a man's state of health, his sympathies, his hereditary +tendencies; all to be considered." + +"Well, you see," Mr. Procter answered at last, "the elements you +enumerate are but results of evolution, of environment, of education, +and do not alter the purpose for which the man was born. And that +purpose, even though given no chance to work itself out, is so vital a +part of the man that it remains an undying flame going on into +eternity." + +Mr. Bartlett did not answer. + +"Will you let me make a color test of you, Mr. Bartlett?" the inventor +asked at length. + +"Yes, though I am very skeptical." + +He seated himself before the machine. Mr. Procter let the helmet down +till it was just above the subject's head. "You see no part of the +instrument touches you," he said. "There's no opportunity to say that +chemical changes in the circulation are the cause of the color +produced. Now please watch the glass plate." Mr. Bartlett did as +directed. For some moments the plate remained clear, then rays of color +played upon it. + +"Green, a rare, soft green," said Mr. Procter. He went on slowly but +without hesitation. "The color of poetry. That color belongs in one who +lies on the grass and gazes at the sky--and dreams; dreams to waken +men's souls with the beauty of his music--a poet, a maker of songs, to +uplift, to keep man's eyes from the ground." + +The light faded, the little clicking sound ceased, and yet Mr. Bartlett +did not speak. If in his mind there dwelt the memory of an overstuffed +drawer with reams of paper covered with verses, he said nothing. His +face gave no evidence to the inventor of his thoughts. + +At last he roused himself, shrugged his shoulders. "My dear man," he +said, "did you ever hear of a poet at heart making a fortune as I have +done?" + +"It could be done," returned Mr. Procter sadly, "even by a poet." + +Mr. Bartlett rose. "I did not aver," continued Mr. Procter, "that you +could only be a poet. I said that your real meaning was to give to the +world the rare visions which grew in your heart." + +Mr. Bartlett gazed with some astonishment at the machine. + +"The day when Suzanna was born, as I stood looking down at her, the +thought came winging to me that she had come charged with a purpose +which she alone could fulfill. And so was planted the first seed in my +mind for the making of my machine." + +Mr. Bartlett spoke again after a silence given to some pondering. + +"Still, Procter, have you thought how impractical the machine must prove +to be? The world is after all as it is. Suppose a man, a poor young man, +has a rare gift. He must eat to live; he may have to support others. How +is he going to develop that gift?" + +The inventor's face was suddenly filled with a fine light. He laid his +hand on Mr. Bartlett's arm. "There, sir, as I told John Massey, is where +the capitalist seeking to invest his money in the highest way finds his +great chance. He helps that young man to live in comfort while he is +developing his talent." + +"Well," said Mr. Bartlett, "it's all very interesting, and if you will +let me, I'll do all I can to help you. We can talk of that at some other +time." He paused, and then said: "I hear John Massey has bought out the +hardware store here. I can't understand his object, but you may lose +your position. Have you thought of what you could do in that event?" + +"No, I haven't." + +"I came primarily to see your machine," Mr. Bartlett continued, "but I +had another object too. You know I have had tents put up in my yard for +those who were made homeless by the fire. And now I find it necessary to +go away in order to attend to some large interests. Can I make you my +steward over these people--at a salary, while I am away? + +"There will be enough for you to do," continued Mr. Bartlett. "My wife +is away; my boy Graham will soon be in the city with his tutor. I shall +be back here before the severe weather sets in and see that these people +in some way are comfortably housed and provided for; but in the meantime +I want you." + +"I'll be glad to do all I can," said Mr. Procter at last; then +fervently, "and thank you." + +Someone knocked softly, and Suzanna entered. "This special letter came +for you, daddy," she said. "Mother said I might bring it up to you." + +Mr. Procter took the letter, looked curiously at it before tearing it +open. He glanced through its contents, held it a second while he looked +away then he went through it again. It ran: + + Dear Procter: + + You've known for some time that Job Doane is + running the hardware shop in my interest. I bought + the place for a future purpose, never mind that + purpose, it isn't of interest to you or anyone in + Anchorville. I am confined to my room with an + attack of rheumatism, so I can't see you to talk + over a scheme which I have in mind. I will say + that I have concluded all arrangements to rebuild + homes for the men and their families who were + burned out some time ago, and I want you to act as + my agent. No sentiment in building these + up-to-date houses, let me assure you. Only perhaps + I've given some thought to Suzanna's little wrist + chain. Come to me within a day or two and we'll + talk over salary, and other things of interest to + you. + + Yours, + John Massey. + +Suzanna plunged into the ensuing quiet. "Is there any answer, daddy?" +she asked. + +Mr. Procter looked at his small daughter through a mist, then at Mr. +Bartlett still standing regarding him somewhat curiously. "No, no +answer," he said at last, "but I want to see your mother--right away." + + + + +BOOK III + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +HAPPY DAYS + + +Summer once again, with the flowers abloom and all the richness of the +season scattered lavishly about. The Procter house seemed more colorful +too, perhaps because it had acquired within some late months a new coat +of paint. + +Once inside if you were familiar enough to go upstairs, you could not +find the steps which had been wont to creak. And peeping into the parlor +you could see that some pretty new furniture had taken the place of the +shaky old lounge and chairs; one good marine picture hung between the +windows and a new rug lay upon the hardwood floor. + +Two years had gone since the fire, two years bringing some changes. +Suzanna had shot up. She was a tall, slim girl now, though with the same +dark, questioning eyes. She stood one Saturday morning in the kitchen +making a cake, yes, actually stirring the mixture all by herself in the +brown earthen vessel. + +Her mother, hovering near, was offering comment and a few directions. +Between times she attended to the "baby," a baby no longer since he was +nearly four years old. Maizie, coming in from the yard with Peter behind +her, stopped short at sight of Suzanna's work. + +"When can I make a cake, mother?" she asked. Her small face was as +plump, as childlike as ever. The same sweetness of expression was hers, +the same admiration in her eyes for her "big" sister. + +"When you're as old as Suzanna, I guess, Maizie," Mrs. Procter answered. +"What did Mrs. Reynolds say?" + +Peter answered before Maizie could speak, thereby gaining a reproving +look from her. "She's coming over to see you, mother. She says she wants +to ask you something, anyway." Peter went to the door, gave a sharp +whistle, a sharper direction and returned. "Jerry's out there. Graham +Bartlett's opened up his house, and David's brought my dog back." + +Still Peter's dog, you see. "Oh, I want to see Jerry, may he come in, +mother?" Suzanna asked. + +Mrs. Procter nodded. She was now engaged in giving the four-year-old his +ten o'clock luncheon of bread and milk. "But don't let him get into +anything, Peter," she admonished. + +Peter promised, with a sigh in his heart for the tenacious prejudices +of woman. Jerry at a word entered the kitchen door. He came in slowly, +paused and regarded Mrs. Procter searchingly. He was a handsome animal +now. His coat was well brushed, his hair long and glossy. + +"Well," said Mrs. Procter, "you've been taught good manners, Jerry." + +He wagged his tail vigorously; then further to show himself off, he sat +down and held out a beguiling paw to Mrs. Procter. Maizie cried out in +delight. + +"Oh, can't we keep him now, mother? Isn't he cunning?" + +Peter turned quickly upon his sister. "Would that be fair?" he sternly +asked. His voice deepened suddenly. "You wouldn't, any one of you, even +look at him when he was poor and dirty and _afraid_. And now after David +has loved him and washed him and taught him how to behave, you want to +keep him. Come along, Jerry." + +Having thus delivered himself, Peter, with dignity, stalked from out the +kitchen. He left an eloquent silence behind him. "Should we have kept +the dog when he was dirty and lonely, mother?" asked Maizie, +interestedly. + +"Why, I don't think so, Maizie," Mrs. Procter answered slowly. "Really, +you remember I'd had so much trouble that summer with stray dogs of +Peter's that my patience was at an end." + +Maizie was forming another question when she was interrupted by a hearty +knock at the door. + +"Come in," Suzanna cried. She was testing the oven as her mother had +taught her and she turned a very important, if badly flushed, face to +the visitor. + +"I'm baking a chocolate cake, Mrs. Reynolds," she announced. + +"Fine, Suzanna," cried Mrs. Reynolds heartily. She advanced to the +middle of the kitchen. Two beautiful children both with large dark eyes +and dark curls, exquisitely clean, followed her. + +Mrs. Reynolds was a little plumper, and with a softness in her eyes +which seemed of recent growth. She lifted the smaller child, the girl, +upon a kitchen chair, watched the boy in his pilgrimage after the +darting cat, and began: + +"I'm glad to help with the christening robe for the Massey grandson, +Mrs. Procter," she said; "and I think 'tis a fine idea--sort of +community dress made by those who liked Miss Massey." + +"I thought you'd like the idea, Mrs. Reynolds," said Mrs. Procter. +"Here, take this chair." + +Mrs. Reynolds sat down. "The fine boy you have there," she said, +indicating the "baby," "he's a bit like Suzanna." + +"We all think he's very much like his eldest sister," said Mrs. Procter. +She raised the small boy and held him close for a moment. When she put +him down, he wandered off toward the popular cat. + +"I wanted to ask you, Mrs. Procter," said Mrs. Reynolds, "what material +you think will make up best for a Sunday dress for Margaret here." She +paused, smiled, and flashing a mischievous glance at Suzanna, finished, +"It'll have to have lace, says Margaret, and I suppose she'll want the +goods cut away from underneath." + +Suzanna, perched near the oven door watching the precious cake, turned +to look at Mrs. Reynolds. A flame lit within her eyes; she had never +forgotten the anguish engendered by her mother's refusal to cut away the +goods from under the pink dress; then the expression softened. Was it +not on that occasion, too, she had learned the dearness of that same +mother? + +"There, now," said Mrs. Reynolds, "I shouldn't have teased you, +Suzanna." Her eyes grew tender. "I'd never have thought seriously of +adopting my little children here, dear lamb, if you hadn't first adopted +yourself out to me." + +Suzanna's face grew luminous. "Oh, do you mean that, Mrs. Reynolds?" she +cried. + +"I do just that, every word, Dear Heart. Why, the night I put you to bed +and you called me 'mother' I shall never forget, never. And then the +truths you spoke to Reynolds!" + +"He's happy now, isn't he?" asked Mrs. Procter. + +Mrs. Reynolds paused impressively before answering: "Do you know," she +said at length, "he forgets often to remember that the children are not +his very own. The little Margaret there creeps into his lap nights, +calls him daddy, and melts the heart of him. And the boy with his +quaintness, follows him about the house on Saturdays, and Reynolds says +often enough: 'He'll be a great man, this chap, Peggy. He says some of +the things I thought when I was his age.' He's taken to calling me Peggy +since the children came to make a distinction, the little girl bearing +my name, you see." + +Mrs. Procter nodded. Margaret stirred uneasily on her chair. "Mother," +she asked, "I want to hold the Pussy, too. I'll keep my apron clean." + +"And that you shall, my Sweet," said Mrs. Reynolds, her face flushing at +the title as though it would never grow old to her; "come then, go to +the cat, my pretty lass." + +Suzanna removed her cake from the oven. It was a beautiful object, and +Suzanna regarded it with pride. She took off her apron, looked around +the kitchen and then turning to her mother, put her request. + +"Mother," she said, "I'd like to go to the big house and see the Eagle +Man and Miss Massey." + +"Saturday morning?" asked Mrs. Procter, dubiously. "Well, I suppose that +it won't really matter." + +"I'm going to see Daphne," Maizie announced. + +"Remember to be at home by noon," said Mrs. Procter. "Father may be here +for luncheon." + +"I'll remember, mother," said Suzanna. She kissed her mother, said +good-bye to Mrs. Reynolds and started happily away. She reached the +house at the top of the hill in a short time. The same uniformed man as +of old gave her immediate admittance. + +"Mr. Massey is in the library," he said, evincing no surprise at +Suzanna's unconventional appearance. + +In the doorway of the library Suzanna hesitated a moment, for the sound +of voices came to her. Then she went forward, and there, standing near +the white marble mantelpiece was the Eagle Man, near him Suzanna's +father. + +"Daddy," Suzanna cried, and ran to him. + +Mr. Procter turned. His face, slightly older than when he was an +employee of Job Doane of the hardware shop, was still that of the +idealist, the lover of men. Yet there was a something added. Perhaps his +well-fitting clothes gave him the new air of efficiency, of directness. + +"I didn't know you'd be here with the Eagle Man, daddy," Suzanna cried. + +Her father smiled at her. The Eagle Man spoke. "Your father is my +right-hand man, remember, little girl," he answered. He brought out the +sentence clearly with no strain of embarrassment. + +"Right-hand man," Suzanna repeated thoughtfully. "I don't quite know +what that means." + +"Well, it means that your father looks after my interests in a very +capable way," old John Massey returned. "Don't you remember how the new +homes went up under his direction for my employees?" + +"Yes, I remember," said Suzanna, "those beautiful new, brick houses, and +the clean yards for the babies to play in." + +"And now your father is in my mill as my superintendent, looking after +the men." He paused. "How would you describe your way with them, Mr. +Procter?" + +"Looking after them humanly, perhaps," put in Mr. Procter simply. + +"All right, we'll let it go just that way. In any event if you're making +them happier by shifting them about a bit, trying to fit them by natural +adaptability to their jobs and so increasing efficiency, I am satisfied +with any way you put it." + +Mr. Procter stood a little ill at ease. It was so very rare for old John +Massey to so graciously express himself, almost unheard of. + +"You see," said the Eagle Man, softly, "I'm using Suzanna as a mask; I'm +telling her what I couldn't say to your face, Richard Procter." He +stretched out his hand and Richard Procter let his own fall into it. The +two men stood thus bound in a spirit of perfect friendship. + +Suzanna went on upstairs. She found "Miss Massey" in a large room with +pink curtains at the windows, pink rugs on the floor and even pink +chairs and sofas. Like a sea shell, Suzanna thought. The baby lay in a +beautiful rose-tinted crib drawn near the window, and above the crib the +new mother bent. + +She turned when Suzanna knocked softly. + +"Oh, Suzanna," she cried at once, a glad note in her voice. She ran +across the room and enfolded the little visitor close within her arms. + +"And you've come back with a baby," Suzanna cried, after a time. + +"Yes, come and see him. He's named after my father." + +Suzanna went to the cradle and looked down. "He's a nice fat baby," she +admitted. She really didn't think that he was pretty, but that she did +not say. + +"And don't you love Saturday nights when it rains and you're safe +indoors with Robert and the baby?" asked Suzanna, interestedly. + +"Oh, dear girl, I do, I do. What a picture you painted, and how I've +tried to make it true." + +"And have you a cross man with buttons to jump at your bidding?" Suzanna +pursued. + +"No, dear; we have a little home with a garden, where in the summer all +the old-fashioned flowers bloom. I do most of my own work, and care +altogether for my baby. And I'm happier than ever before in my life. And +my father is no longer angry with me. He wrote asking me to pay him a +visit after he knew he had a grandson named for him." + +She bent above her baby for a moment, then turned her shining face to +Suzanna. "And now, tell me about yourself, Suzanna, and your loved +ones." + +Suzanna paused to think. "Well, you know father doesn't weigh out nails +any more; he's the Eagle Man's right-hand man." She remembered the +phrase and brought it out roundly. "And father helped build all those +nice new homes for the people who work in the Massey Steel Mills. + +"My father's a great man," finished Suzanna, simply as always when +stating this incontrovertible fact. "And his Machine's nearly ready now +for the world to know about it." + +"Oh, oh, Suzanna! And then?" + +"And then many, many people are going to be happy ever after because my +father thought of that machine and worked on it for years and years." + +After a moment Suzanna continued: "And my dear, dear Drusilla set off on +a far journey and didn't come back. And Graham cried, and went away for +a long time, and Bartlett Villa was closed. But they've come back now +and it's open again. And David and Daphne are quite well, thank you. And +Mrs. Reynolds has two little children of her own." + +"I'm so glad," said Robert's wife. "You're a very happy little girl, +then, aren't you, dear?" + +"Oh, very happy," said Suzanna. "I love so many people, you see. And I +have a sister, Maizie, who was once smiled upon by a very great Man." +Her listener was puzzled, but she asked no questions. It didn't seem to +her the right moment to ask an explanation. Some day she would. But +Suzanna told the story of Maizie's rare selection, dwelling upon it with +a degree of wondrous awe, for she believed the story now. It stood so +clear to her, so real, that it had a fine influence upon her inner life. +Often when swift anger surged through her, anger directed against the +little sister, she brought to bear a strong control, as she remembered +Maizie's great awakening. + +She returned to her surroundings in a moment. "I must be going, Miss +Massey. I wish you'd come to see us. We've got a lovely new rug in the +front room and mother has two new dresses for herself. She is awfully +pretty in them." + +"I certainly shall come to visit you," Miss Massey promised, kissing the +little girl. + +Suzanna ran downstairs. She did not stop at the library, fearing she +would reach home late for luncheon. + +But she was just in time to set the table. Her father had not yet +arrived. Mother, of course, was there and with an eager face full of +news, delightful news, Suzanna guessed. + +"Suzanna, dear, what do you think? Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett was here +during your absence." + +"To visit us, mother? Oh, tell me all about it," Suzanna cried. + +"She wants to take you and Maizie and Peter to the seashore for a whole +month. There, Suzanna! What do you think of that?" + +Suzanna stood absolutely still. Then exclaimed: "To the seashore, +mother! Why--I don't think I can stand the joy of it. Oh, mother, I'm +too happy!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +TO THE SEASHORE + + +Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett sat in her own perfectly appointed room one +morning in late June. She sat quietly, hands folded. She could hear +Graham, her son, downstairs beneath her window talking to David and +Daphne. She caught disconnected words. They floated to her broken like +meaningless flakes of snow. + +She had just returned from her call on Mrs. Procter, that impulsive call +made on the wings of an impulsive, quixotic thought. There still +remained sharp in her memory the picture of the little home; the busy +mother, washing out small woolen garments. She had gone unconsciously +prepared to patronize and had returned completely shorn of her feeling +of superiority. In truth, a little envy for that sweet-faced mother was +in her heart. + +From the time when her husband's mother died, she had not been happy. +Pursuits that hitherto had satisfied her altogether lost their power. +New values were slowly born in her. Still possessing a degree of +sensibility not killed by her false life, she had been by the attitude +of her husband and her son, able to see herself clearly. Both had been +dependent upon her in a measure for their happiness, and she had failed +them. Their reaction had hurt her bitterly. + +She had tried in the past two years to make amends, but some hurts heal +slowly. Perhaps it was hard for her husband and son to realize that she +was trying to make amends. In any event, each went his separate way, a +household divided. Early in the morning had come the thought of the +seashore and she had wasted no time in seeking the little home. And now +its atmosphere filled her mind. + +She heard Daphne's young voice, and a sudden rare pity filled her for +the motherless child, her gardener's daughter. She would ask Daphne, +too. + +She went to seek David, and as she came upon him spading a flower bed, +the two children with him, a station carriage stopped before the big +iron gates and her husband alighted. He had been away on one of his long +trips and was now returning home, unheralded, unexpected. + +He came quickly down the path and stopped short at sight of his wife. "I +did not think to find you here," he said. + +She did not answer at once. He looked closer at her. "You look a bit +fagged," he said, uncertainly. Perhaps he felt a softer appeal about her +which took him back to their young days together. + +"I am a little tired," she said. + +"I thought you intended to spend the summer in the East," he went on. + +"Strangely, Bartlett Villa held more fascination for me than any other +place. I returned here a week ago," she hesitated before continuing. "I +obeyed a whim this morning and invited the Procter children to accompany +Graham and me to the seashore to spend a month." + +He looked at her incredulously. "I--I don't understand," he said. + +She returned his gaze, then suddenly she turned from him and hastened +back to the house. Many emotions bit at her, among them anger with her +husband for his difficulty in believing she had done something which +would mean, some trouble to her; which in the days just behind she would +have designated as impossible, or "boring." + +After a moment he followed her and overtook her as she reached the small +side room where Suzanna had once sat telling of the poor people who had +been burned out of their homes. She knew he was near her, but she gave +no heed. Instead she flung herself down in a near chair and buried her +face in her hands. + +He stood, looking down at her in silence. At last he let his hand fall +gently on her shoulder. + +"Ina," he said, softly. + +She looked up at him. + +"Dear," he went on, "have you and I just been playing at life?" + +"Oh, it seems so," she cried. "I know I am unhappy, groping." She stood +up and put out her hands to him. He took them, drew her close to him. +"Ina," he said, "let me go with you and the children to the seashore. +Let's try to know one another better." + +A radiance came upon her, filling her eyes. She did not speak, only she +held very fast to his hand, as though in the clasp she found an anchor. + +There came the glorious summer day marked for the journey to the +seashore. Suzanna, Maizie, and Peter waited for the Bartlett carriage +which was to convey them to the depot. At last they heard it coming. At +last it stood before the gate, and Daphne put her small head out of the +carriage window. Then Graham opened the door and sprang to the ground. +He said a word to David who was driving, and ran up the path. + +Maizie began to dance, Peter to whistle. But Suzanna stood quite still, +the glow of anticipation falling from her face. + +"Are you quite ready, Suzanna?" asked Mrs. Procter. + +At the words Suzanna's control broke. With a little cry she ran into her +mother's arms. "Oh, mother, mother," she sobbed, "I can't go away, so +far away and leave you--a whole month!" + +Mrs. Procter held the small figure close. Her own eyes were wet, but she +spoke calmly: + +"Why, little girl, mother will be here waiting for your return, and +longing to hear all about your good time. Come, dry your eyes and think +how happy you're going to be." + +"But I know you'll be lonesome, mother, and so shall I be for you." + +"But when you grow lonesome," Mrs. Procter whispered, "just think how +lovely it will be to return home; and remember that father's machine +will be given its great test before you come back. Mr. Bartlett and Mr. +Massey have made all arrangements." + +Suzanna's face brightened; the clouds dispelled themselves, so she was +able to greet Graham with much of her old smile. + +"All ready?" he cried as he ran up the steps. "Father and mother and a +maid are following in another carriage. Nancy is with us." + +He was quite plainly excited by some thought deeper than the mere fact +of going to the seashore. Suzanna's companionship was promised for long +days to come; he knew her eye for beauty hidden from others; her quaint +speech. And then, too, a new relationship had come to pass between +himself and his mother. Between them an understanding that made him +glow. + +It seemed but a moment before they were all together in the train. +Suzanna settled herself to look out of the window at the passing +landscape, so exhilaratingly new to her. Maizie sat beside her, Peter +across the aisle with Graham. Little Daphne was cuddled close to Mrs. +Bartlett. Mr. Bartlett was in the dining-car. + +Maizie whispered to her sister: "We've come to the future now, haven't +we, Suzanna?" + +"Why, you can't ever come to the future," returned Suzanna. + +Maizie puzzled a moment. "But don't you remember, mother said we might +travel on a train some time in the future? So now we're doing it, why +haven't we come to the future?" + +"Because you never can come to the future," Suzanna repeated. She leaned +forward and spoke to Mrs. Bartlett. "When you're living a day it's the +present, isn't it, Mrs. Bartlett?" + +Mrs. Bartlett looked long at the two children. "Maizie thinks the future +an occasion, I think," she said, and then, because lucid explanation was +beyond her, she continued: "You know we have a big cottage at the +seashore, and the cottage is close to the water." + +Maizie it was who at last broke the thrilling silence: "Where there's an +ocean? And where you can go wading and swimming?" she cried. + +"And will there be sand?" asked Suzanna, hanging upon the answer +breathlessly. + +"Yes, there's a wide yellow beach running into the ocean where you can +dig and build castles all day," said Mrs. Bartlett. + +"Oh, my cup is full and runneth over," said Suzanna solemnly. + +The train swept on through small towns and the children's delight and +amazement increased. And when at noon the climax came, and they all went +forward into the dining-car, they were one and all silent. No words +great enough were in their vocabulary to express this moment. + +Said Mr. Bartlett when they were all seated: "Now, children, you may +order just exactly what you'd like. You first, Suzanna." + +"Well," she said, without hesitation, "I should like some golden brown +toast that isn't burned, with lots of butter on it, and a cup of cocoa +with a marshmallow floating on top, and at the very last, a dish of +striped ice cream with a cherry right in the middle." + +Mr. Bartlett wrote the order rapidly on a card. Each of the children +spoke out his deepest, perhaps his long-cherished desire. Some of the +dishes were secretly and mercifully modified by Mrs. Bartlett, who sat +in enjoyment of the scene. + +"It's like a dream, Mrs. Bartlett," said Suzanna when, dinner finished, +they were all back once more in the parlor car. "You don't think we'll +wake up, do you?" + +"No, I think not; you'll simply get wider and wider awake." + +But, as the hours crept on and as she watched the flying landscape, the +reaction to all her excitement came and a haze fell over everything, and +she slept, to awaken some time later, full of contrition. + +She spoke anxiously to Mrs. Bartlett: "Oh, I appreciated it all, Mrs. +Bartlett, but my eyes just closed down of themselves," she said. + +Mrs. Bartlett smiled. "It's a long journey," she said, "but we'll soon +see the end of it." + +At nine o'clock the train stopped for the first time since dark had +fallen. "Here we are," cried Mr. Bartlett. And in a few moments they +were all standing on the platform of a little railroad station waiting +while carriages were being secured to take them for the night to a hotel +nestling on the top of a tall hill. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE SEASHORE + + +Morning came--a rather misty morning that promised better as the day +advanced. Suzanna, sleeping with Maizie in a small room on the second +floor of the hotel, woke, gazed about her unfamiliar surroundings, +sprang out of bed, and in her bare feet ran to the window. There before +her was a magnificent group of mountains, wooded with majestic trees +whose tops seemed to touch the sky. Beneath the mountains, just at their +feet, a river ran, the sun dancing on its breast. Suzanna held her +breath in sheer awe; she could not move even to call Maizie. She felt as +though something great out there in the mountains called to her spirit +and though she wished to answer she could not do so. + +The tapestry spread below the mountains of water and green slopes and +velvet meadows sun-kissed too, called to her; the artist in her was +keenly, deeply responsive to the call, still she could not answer, only +stand and gaze and gaze, and drink in the beauty that stretched before +her. + +Then old Nancy came with hurrying words, waking Maizie. "We can stay in +this town but two hours before our train is due," she said. "So you must +dress at once, Suzanna." + +So Suzanna dressed in silence, answering none of Maizie's chatter, as +though she had been in a far, unexplored country and had returned +steeped in the mysteries of that distant land. + +Her silence still lay upon her when after breakfast they all set out for +a walk around the historic old town. There were babies, happy, dirty +babies, playing about doorsteps of one-storied plaster houses, or +toddling about the cobble-stoned roads. + +The streets were narrow and steep, the roads wide with moss edged in +between the wide cracks. Suzanna kept her eyes down; she would not look +up at the mountains, and finally Mr. Bartlett, noticing her silence, +asked: "Do you like it here, Suzanna?" + +"Yes," she said. "But I can't look at the mountains. They take my breath +away and make me stand still inside. Maybe some day I'll be able to look +straight at them, but not now, and some day when I'm a woman I'm going +to come back here and make a poem and set it to a wonderful painting." + +He smiled at the way she put it. + +"And I," said Maizie, "am going to come back and take care of some of +those poor little babies that play alone out on the cobble-stones." + +"We'll see," said Mr. Bartlett. "Time alone can tell what you two little +girls will do." + +Returning to the hotel they found vehicles awaiting them. And shortly +they were again on a train, speeding away. + +Three hours, and they were at their destination. A short ride in an +electric car, a shorter walk down a tree-lined street, and they were at +the "cottage." + +"A cottage," cried Suzanna, "why it's a big house!" + +"Everything is called a cottage down here," said Mrs. Bartlett. + +Mr. Bartlett used the brass knocker and its echo reverberated down the +street. An elderly Scotch woman, Bessie, who had been long with Mrs. +Bartlett's family, met them in the hall, her pleasant face alight with +smiles. She said now: + +"Everything is ready, and the trunks, I suppose, will be here within a +short time." + +"What's that sound?" Suzanna asked. + +"That's the ocean booming," said Mrs. Bartlett. "Now let's go upstairs +and prepare ourselves for luncheon. Nancy will show you children your +different rooms." + +So upstairs they went, Nancy in the lead. She threw open the door of the +bedrooms. Suzanna and Maizie were given one from whose windows the ocean +could be seen. Peter had a room all to himself, a small one with a cot +which was much to his liking. "It's like camping out," he made himself +believe. Graham occupied one next door. Little Daphne was with Mrs. +Bartlett. + +"There's two closets," cried Maizie, as she went on a tour of +investigation. "One for your clothes and one for mine. Sometimes, +Suzanna," she said, "I can hardly believe it all yet." + +"That's the way I feel," said Suzanna. Nancy appeared at the door +bearing snowy towels which she gave to the children. "Here, children," +she said, "the bath room is at the end of the hall, and you must hurry." + +So Suzanna and Maizie hurried and they were the first downstairs. The +house was much more simply furnished, of course, than the big one in +Anchorville, but as the children went about they found many interesting +things. In one long, narrow room, the length of the first floor, was a +fireplace taking up one entire end, and built of irregular stones, +giving a charming effect. There were big easy chairs and sofas; tables +heaped with magazines and books. On the walls were color pictures +suspended by long, dim-worn chains--ocean scenes, a ship at sea, and +over the piano, fifty years old as they discovered later, hung several +faded miniatures of ladies of a long past age. Most interesting of all +to Suzanna was an album she found in an old cabinet, an album that as +you looked through it at ladies with voluminous skirts, at men with wing +collars, and little girls with white pantalettes, a hidden music box +tinkled forth dainty airs from a long-forgotten operetta. + +In another room on the opposite side, which was entered by mounting +three steps, was a large table covered with green felt and with nets +stretched across it, and little balls and paddles in corner pockets, and +Mr. Bartlett, entering at the moment, the children learned that many +happy games were played on this big table. + +Later, out of this room, the children stepped upon a wide porch, and +here there burst upon them a view of the ocean. + +"You see," said Mr. Bartlett, "that those of us who go into the water +may dress in bathing suits here, then put on long cloaks and run down to +the beach. Then when we return, we step under a shower arrangement over +there near that little house. . . ." + +"Please, Mr. Bartlett," begged Suzanna, "don't tell us any more now. I +don't think I can stand any more joy for today." + +"Well, then," Mr. Bartlett smiled, "let's start away for our luncheon. +We simply live in this house and take our meals at the hotel." + +And at this moment the rest of the family appearing, they all started +away. A short walk brought them to the hotel where all was life and +light and excitement. Children played on the wide piazzas, young girls +walked about chatting merrily, and mothers and fathers sat in easy +chairs reading or pleasantly regarding the children. + +In the dining-room a large table had been previously ordered reserved +for the Bartlett family. + +"We'll have," said Mr. Bartlett, when they were all seated, speaking to +the interested waiter, "just exactly what you think we'd like, John." + +John, who knew Mr. Bartlett well, smiled in fatherly fashion and +disappeared. He returned shortly bearing a tray filled with just those +things that children most love. There was cream soup, and salted +crackers, big pitchers of milk, little hot biscuits, fresh honey, and +broiled ham--pink and very delicious as was soon discovered. Then there +was sweet fruit pudding with whipped cream and, of course, ice cream. + +"Will John always know what we like?" asked Suzanna as the meal +progressed. + +"Well, we'll change about," said Mrs. Bartlett, who looked as though she +were enjoying every moment. "Sometimes when we know particularly what +we'd like, we'll give our order, other times when we want to be +surprised we'll let John serve us what he thinks we'd enjoy. Don't you +think that way will be nice?" + +"Oh, that will be very interesting," said Suzanna; then added, "Does the +water make that sound all the time?" + +"Yes, it's always restless." + +"Well, it seems as though it were asking for something," said Suzanna, +"a kind of sad asking." + +"Now," said Mr. Bartlett, leaning across and speaking softly to her, +"suppose, Suzanna, you think for a moment that it's a happy sound and +see how almost at once it becomes a happy sound." + +Suzanna listened intently. Then her face brightened. "Why, it is a happy +murmuring," she cried. "Just as though it had to sing and sing all day +long." + +"Exactly," said Mr. Bartlett. + +"Well, then," said Suzanna, quickly drawing the deduction, "it's really +just in me to make it say happy things or sad things." + +"Exactly," said Mr. Bartlett again, and then they all rose and went back +to the cottage. + +Since the trunks which contained the beach outfits did not arrive till +late that afternoon, the children did not go down to the sands till the +next morning. Then with joyous hearts and eager feet, they set off, +Suzanna, Maizie, Peter, Graham, and Daphne; Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett +following more slowly. + +A bath house reserved for their use stood, door wide open. They entered, +discarded their coats and immediately appeared again clad in their +pretty bathing suits for the water. + +But when they reached the sands, already alive with gay children who +were building houses or running gaily about, and with happy shrieks +wading into the water, the Procter children stood awed, unable to speak, +so many emotions beat within them. + +Maizie was the first to recover her power of speech. "There's a girl +down there with a shovel and pail like mine," she said. + +And that broke the spell. Peter and Graham walked bravely out into the +water, finally reaching their necks as they went farther and farther +into the ocean. But the little girls contented themselves by simply +wetting their feet and with every wave dashing up to them, leaping back +with glad little cries. As the morning advanced, they returned to the +older group and sat on the sand. + +On the sixth day of their stay all the children were trying bravely to +swim, clinging it must be confessed rather desperately to Mr. Bartlett +and the beach man, secured to help them; but when he procured for them +large water wings, they soon struck out for themselves. Peter really +learned to swim before either of his sisters, and one morning he went +out as far as the end of a quarter-mile pier. + +They all grew rosy and strong, out in the fine air nearly every moment +as they were. Some afternoons they went fishing, and, with a strange +reversal of type, Suzanna was the patient one, Maizie the impatient. +Suzanna would sit in the boat next to Mr. Bartlett, holding her line, +and breathlessly wait for hours if need be, statue-like, till she felt +the thrilling nibble. Maizie would grow tired immediately, and to +Peter's disgust, she would wriggle her feet or move restlessly about, +quite spoiling for him the day's outing. Maizie at last begged to be let +off from the fishing expeditions. + +"I'd rather just lie in the sand and paddle in the water, or watch the +big white ships," she said. + +"You're to do exactly as you please," said Mr. Bartlett, and so they +did, each and every one. + +Many hours they all spent on one of the large piers running out a great +distance into the ocean, where always there were gaiety and music, and +here one afternoon Suzanna, Peter, Graham, and Mr. Bartlett, all seated +at the end of the pier saw a huge shark darting about the water. The few +daring swimmers in his vicinity quickly moved away. + +"A real shark," cried Suzanna. "When I go to bed tonight I'll just think +I dreamed it." + +Said Mr. Bartlett: "Suppose, Suzanna, I buy you a book filled with blank +pages, and having a little padlock with a small key, for your very own, +so that every night you may write the happenings of the day and the +impressions made upon you." + +"Oh, I'd like to do that," cried Suzanna, her eyes shining, "and then +surely I won't forget any single little thing to tell daddy and mother." + +"I'll write for the book," Mr. Bartlett promised, "when we return to the +cottage." + +After a time they left the pier and walked down the street, running +along with the sands. The street was lined with little stores of all +kinds; one where fresh fish were sold, another where French fried +potatoes and vinegar were offered to a hungry multitude; a place in +which handmade laces were made and sold. A florist booth kept by a +dark-faced Greek was neighbor to a shop built with turrets like a +castle. Here a happy-faced Italian women exhibited trays of uncut +stones, semi-precious ones, explained Mr. Bartlett, and strings of +beads, coral, pearl, flat turquoise, topaz, and amethysts. There were +bits of old porcelain, crystal cups, and oriental embroideries, and +little carved gods on ebony pedestals. The place reminded Suzanna of +Drusilla's historic old pawn shop and she stood entranced. + +Soon they were at the place of Graham and Peter's delight, a shooting +gallery, where if one were very skillful he might, with a massive +looking gun, hit a small moving black ball and hear a bell ring. Mr. +Bartlett hit the ball today three times out of four, Graham once out of +five, but Peter, manfully lifting the large gun and scanning its barrel, +left a scar on the target four inches to the left of the little swinging +ball. This occurred after eight trials. + +"Well, there's another day, Peter," said Mr. Bartlett, as they moved +away. + +"And Mr. Bartlett practiced a long time, you must remember, Peter," +said Suzanna, seeing the little fellow's downcast expression. + +"Do you think before we go back to the city," asked the small boy, "that +I'll be able to make the bell ring so I can tell daddy?" + +"Oh, yes," said Mr. Bartlett, encouragingly. "We'll come over here and +practice every day." + +They found the others in the cottage in the big room, resting awhile +before preparing for dinner. + +"Oh, Suzanna," began Maizie at once, "we're going to have a beach party +on the sands tonight. And Mrs. Bartlett says we'll have a fire built so +we can toast marshmallows." + +Suzanna did not say anything. Then quickly she crossed the room and +stood before Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett. "I wish," she said solemnly, "that +all the children in the world had such dear friends as we have." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +LAST DAYS + + +They held many a beach party during that wonderful month. And always +they ended the evening by drawing close together and singing happy +little songs. Till, when a little coolness crept into the air, they +would leave the ocean and go happily homeward, to sleep deep and +dreamlessly till another morning awakened them to the thought of fresh +delights. + +On one morning after a beach party, the children, coming downstairs to +join their elders for breakfast at the hotel, found standing on the road +in front of the cottage, a little brown donkey attached to a basket +cart. + +"Could it be, could it possibly be for them?" each child's heart asked. + +And Mr. Bartlett answered the unspoken question by: "It's for you all. +Peter is to drive first because he assured me the other day he knew all +about horses; then Graham. And in a few days Suzanna, and Maizie, and +even little Daphne, can take their turns." + +He went to the small donkey and stroked its nose, and the little fellow +whinnied with pleasure. The children crowded about the cart. Couldn't +they have a drive now? their eager eyes asked. But Mr. Bartlett thought +breakfast the logical beginning of the day, so reluctantly they left +their new possession. + +When breakfast was finished, Mr. Bartlett said: "I'll go for the first +ride or two with you just to see how this little fellow acts, though +I've been assured that he's as gentle as any lamb ever born." + +And whoever it was that had given Mr. Bartlett this assurance had not +exaggerated the amiable qualities of the donkey. "Little Brownie," as +the children had unanimously and immediately named him, was of equable +and even nature. True, as the days went by it was discovered that he was +somewhat lazy, also self-willed. If he wanted to stop he would not move +again until he wished to, in face of all pleading, urging, or +inducements. He refused even to be led, and stood very pleasantly +viewing the surrounding landscape till with a sudden jerk he would +resume his usual trot. The children finally accepted Brownie's one +vagary, and when they were driving home among other vehicles, and +Brownie suddenly stopped and raised his right ear, a sign which meant, +"I shall not move till I wish to," they only laughed, and others about +them knowing the ways of little donkeys, laughed good-naturedly too, and +drove around the little cart. + +It is an unvarying law that the days roll on and bring to an end even +periods of thrilling delight; and so there came the last evening to be +spent in the cottage at the seashore. The night was early in August, but +it had elected to borrow from its cooler sister September a rather chill +wind which, to the children's delight, necessitated the building of a +fire in the grate in the long room. + +"And we'll pop corn," said Mr. Bartlett when they were all gathered +together watching the roaring flames, the only light in the room. + +And Nancy, who could on a moment's notice, produce anything asked of +her, brought the popper and a big bag of dried corn. + +After a time, when several bowls of corn were popped and buttered, +salted and eaten, Nancy put on the hearth a dish of fine, rosy apples. +These the children peeled and then cast the skins into the grate. A +hardy fragrance came from them, but hardly pungent enough to overpower +the salt-water odor that swept in from the ocean. + +The flames lit all the faces, young and old. They fell on Mrs. Bartlett, +touching her lovely hair to molten gold, touching her thoughtful face +till it seemed a smile beyond itself rested upon it. She was +thinking--"Tomorrow we start back, and in my hands lie the happiness of +many. In my hands lies the keeping of the ideals of two--" She closed +her eyes and asked for clear vision, for strength to keep true to life's +highest values. + +Graham, at her knee, looked up at her. Feeling that his eyes were upon +her, she opened hers and gazed at him. She did not speak, nor did he, +but she felt his heart's nearness. + +And then his gaze wandered to Suzanna, Suzanna gazing into the flames, +her dark eyes like glowing jewels, her soft lips parted. And into Mrs. +Bartlett's heart crept a little fear and a little yearning and a little +great knowledge--that composite emotion all mothers are born to know. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +SUZANNA AND HER FATHER + + +At home again after the glorious month spent at the seashore! Habits, +dear customs, taken up once more. The splendor of the trip had not faded +for the Procter children. But home was home after all, with father and +mother and sisters and brothers all sharing the common life; with short +wanderings away and joyous returns; with small resentments, quick +flashes, and happy reconciliations. + +"It was lovely at the seashore," said Suzanna to her mother one Saturday +afternoon, "but I'm awfully glad to be at home again. Were you lonely +without us?" + +"Very," said Mrs. Procter, "but then I knew you were all having such +interesting experiences." + +"Is father coming home early, mother?" Maizie asked, looking up from her +work. She was sewing buttons on Peter's blouse with the strongest linen +thread obtainable in Anchorville. + +Mrs. Procter's face shadowed. She looked at Suzanna and Maizie as though +pondering the wisdom of giving them some piece of news. Evidently she +decided against doing so, for she answered: + +"I can't tell, Maizie, he may be kept at the mills. Mr. Massey is +growing more dependent on father every day," she ended, with a little +burst of pride. + +Father did not come home in the afternoon. The children lost hope after +a time, and followed their separate whims. + +But at six he arrived. Suzanna had noticed at once upon her return, that +he was quieter, less exuberant than he had been since entering old John +Massey's employ. Some light seemed to have gone from his face. Suzanna +wanted always to comfort him, and he, though saying nothing, was quite +conscious of his little daughter's yearning over him. + +During supper his absorption continued, and immediately afterward he +went into the parlor, selected a big book from a shelf, and drawing a +chair near the lamp began to read. Mother put the "baby" and Peter to +bed. Suzanna and Maizie, after the dishes were finished, followed +father, and drawing their chairs close, looked over some pictures +together. + +"Saturday night"--how Suzanna loved it! It seemed the hush time of the +week, the hush before waking to the next beautiful day, Sunday, when all +the family were together--father in his nice dark suit, mother in her +soft wisteria gown, all the children in pretty clothes; church, with its +resonant organ, and the minister's deep voice reading from the old book. +Then, weather propitious, the walk with father and mother in the +afternoon down the country road, and at night the lamps again lit--all +the homely significances of the place where love and peace and courage +dwelt. + +Mrs. Procter returned from putting the children to bed. "I think I'll go +upstairs for a little while," said Mr. Procter looking up at her. + +"Oh, do, Richard," she urged. + +Suzanna went close to him, her hand sought his. "Could--could you invite +us for a little while, daddy," she asked, beseechingly. + +"Why, yes, if you wish," he answered. "You and mother and Maizie." + +It was rather a heavy consent, but they all accompanied him up to the +attic. He lit the shaded lamp standing on the corner table, regulated it +till it gave out a subdued glow, and then walked and stood before his +machine. + +He stood a long time looking at it. Once he put out his hand and +touched it softly, as a mother might a sleeping child. + +Suzanna and Maizie, awed and troubled, they knew not why, watched their +father. Only their mother, with a little tender smile that held in it a +great deal of wistfulness, went close to him. + +"Richard," she said softly. + +He turned from the machine. His face was strangely colorless, strangely +drained of all light. She did not speak, but the loyalty and faith +deepened in her eyes. Perhaps he gained some comfort from their steady +gaze, his tenseness seemed to relax, his arms fell to his sides. + +Suzanna unable to stand the strain longer, flew to him and put her small +arms tight about him. "Oh, are you sick, daddy?" she cried, tears in her +voice. + +He hesitated, looked down at her, and said simply, very quietly: + +"Suzanna, you might as well know the truth now as later. My machine is a +failure--I am a failure!" + +Her heart leaped sickeningly, her arms fell from about him. In all her +life she had never lived through so intense an emotion. Her father, the +Great Man, proclaimed himself a failure in tones which struck through +her. + +The mother's voice rang out clear. "Richard, you cannot say that." She +looked about the attic made sacred by its high use, "Here while you +worked we all, your children and I, have learned great lessons. You're +looking at your machine, an insensate thing, and losing sight of what +during its building, you put into the lives of those near to you, living +stuff, Richard." + +And then Maizie cried out, "Oh, daddy, it's just like being on a +mountain top when we're in the attic with you. We'll never, never have +to stop coming, will we?" + +And Suzanna, still deeply troubled, cried: "Daddy, how could the machine +be a failure when it was born because you loved all men, and wanted to +make them happy? And the very thought of it up here made me happy. Why, +in school on Monday I'd look down all the shapes of the week, and think +of Saturday afternoon and wish it would come quick." Her voice broke and +the sobs came uncontrollable, shaking the slender body. In a moment she +was clasped tight in her father's arms. + +After she had regained some composure she looked up at him. "It hurts +me, daddy, so that I can't breathe when you forget that you're a Great +Man." + +A silence fell, and into it plunged a voice. "Good evening," it said. + +There in the doorway stood the Eagle Man. He laughed at their bewildered +expressions. "I rang and rang," he explained, "and when no one answered, +I looked up at the attic window and thought you must all be upstairs." + +"And was the door unlocked," cried Mrs. Procter. "I thought I attended +to the doors and windows right after supper." + +"The door was unlocked," said the Eagle Man, "and so I took the liberty +of coming right in." + +"I'm glad you did," said Mr. Procter. + +"Well, I need your help, Richard," said old John Massey in an +affectionate tone. + +"It's ready for you, Mr. Massey," the inventor answered warmly. + +Suzanna gazing at her old friend, suddenly cried out: "Oh, your eyes +have changed, Eagle Man, they're all nice and shiny." + +He smiled with great fondness at her. "My dear," he said, "how can a man +fail to indulge in nice shining eyes after contact with a family of rare +visionaries?" + +Suzanna did not understand that. She knew only that the Eagle Man had +greatly changed, that he seemed kinder, more understanding, and all at +once she knew why. He had had of late the ineffable privilege of being +close to her father. Of course, by such proximity he must grow kind and +understanding. + +"Richard," said the capitalist, "there's trouble threatened in the +foreign section of the mills." + +"Trouble?" Richard Procter's head went up. + +"Yes, the men are dissatisfied, surly. It's the one department where +your touch hasn't been felt. I want you to go there on Monday and begin +your work." + +"I'll be ready," said Richard Procter. Strength and purpose seemed to +flow back to him. + +The Eagle Man turned as though to go, but he paused at the door to look +again at Suzanna. + +"And so your father's been telling you that he has failed, that his +machine refused to work in the final test we gave it at the mills." + +"My father hasn't failed," Suzanna said proudly. + +"No, he hasn't failed," the Eagle Man agreed. "He hasn't failed. He's +the most brilliant success I know. He built into a piece of machinery +his ideals, and when the machine was finished he saw in his experiments +with it on those in his home ultimate triumph. But when it was taken to +my mills the machine failed to register color in personalities whose +chief talent by years of wrong work had been nearly strangled." + +Mr. Procter spoke: "It shouldn't have failed even there. It did +register, if you remember your color and Mr. Bartlett's, and both of you +had pulled far away from your purpose." + +"Yes, for some reason, it did register us," agreed the Eagle Man. He +paused, and then his voice rang out. "Let me tell you all something that +the inventor of that machine did, some miracle he brought to pass I +should have thought impossible. He awakened old ideals in a hard old +breast, he made hard old eyes see in men, not automatons born only to +add to his wealth, but human beings to be rendered happy in their work." + +"Was yours the hard old breast, Eagle Man?" Suzanna asked. + +"Yes, Suzanna. A result like that is worth while, eh, Richard?" + +Mr. Procter did not answer, could not, because he feared at the moment +that he could not speak intelligently. + +The Eagle Man turned to the wife, adoringly silent as she listened. + +"Three men Richard Procter brought to me on his first day in my mills. +He said: 'These men have ambitions, they are greatly talented. You must +give them their chance.'" + +"And what did you say?" asked Mrs. Procter softly. + +"Oh, I snarled as usual, but that was really the work I wanted him to +do. I wanted him to do in the circumscribed field of my mills that which +he had built his machine to do. And so I snapped out: 'All right, put +the burden on me! I'll give them their chance just because you say so.' +And where men were dissatisfied he got at them and discovered the +trouble, and down there they all trust him, and his influence will be +like a river flowing on, ever widening. So there's the late history of +the man who stands and calls himself a failure." + +So he finished, said not another word, looked once at the inventor, and +then went away. + + * * * * * + +Suzanna, trying in vain that night to sleep, tossed about restlessly. +Maizie, a sound sleeper, did not stir despite her sister's wakefulness. +Suzanna was thinking of her father, of the Eagle Man, of The Machine. + +Suddenly she lay quite still. She was remembering the day when The +Machine had registered her color, a soft purple, gold tipped. How +stirred her father had been when the wavering color spread itself upon +the glass plate. It had repeated its marvel for Maizie and Peter. Why +then when The Machine was removed and conveyed to the big steel mills, +did it stand brooding, sulky, refusing to make any record of any +personality. She sat up straight in bed, her eyes yearning forward into +the dark. And all at once the answer came to her. Only in the attic, +where, piece by piece, in prayer, hope, and jubilation it had been +assembled; where love and belief had formed the atmosphere could The +Machine be its own highly sensitive self, reacting and responding. + +With that big thought flowing through her, she slipped from the bed. The +night was warm, soft little breezes coming through the open window. She +went to the closet, found her slippers, put them on, and with a backward +glance at the unconscious Maizie, left the room. + +The hall lay quiet, the tiny night lamp flickering in its place on the +small table set near her mother's room--that mother, ready at the first +sound to spring to any need of her children. + +Downstairs Suzanna went swiftly, and there in the dining-room, as she +had thought, she found her father. He was sitting at the long table, +above which hung the new lamp with its pink shade and long brass chain. +His head was bent over a big book, and Suzanna knew that he was +studying. She paused half-way to him. In her white night gown, her hair +flowing over her shoulders, she looked like a small visitor from another +higher plane. At last her father, impelled, turned and saw her. At once +he opened wide his arms, and she went into them. + +She lay, her cheek pressed against his, for a long time. All the +thoughts that had raced through her upstairs in the sleepless hours +returned to her, but she had to struggle to find language in which to +tell them. + +"Daddy," she began, "maybe The Machine can't work except where it was +born." + +"Tell me all that's in your heart, little girl," he said. + +"Well, we've all thought of The Machine, and loved it and believed in it +ever since I was the tiniest girl, and you've talked to us of what it +was to mean." + +"All true, my child, all true." + +"And The Machine stood there and listened, daddy." She released herself +from his clasp and stood very straight. Her dark eyes seeing pictures, +were brilliantly wide. Her breath came quickly from between her parted +lips: "And so it grew and grew, and soon out of its soul it sent colors. +And it loved the man who made it, and it loved his little children, and +made them all want to be good and do something for others. + +"And then one day, they took it away from its home and into a big mill, +and men crowded around it and looked at it, but they didn't love it, and +they didn't believe in it. And it felt shy and hurt and the color stayed +in its soul and wouldn't come forth. + +"And the man who had made it felt sad and he cried, and he took his +machine home. And then one day, years and years after when the man's +little girl, Suzanna, was a woman and she was out in the world trying to +do good, as her father had taught her, trying to make other people +happy, the colors crept out from The Machine again, all gold and purple +and rose and green, this time for everybody." + +She finished, and with a great cry her father folded her to him. The +tears came streaming to his eyes, and quite frankly now he wept. She +felt the hot tears upon her face, they burned her, but she knew she had +helped him and she was satisfied. + +They sat on in a wonderful silence. A distant clock struck one. They +heard the sound of quickly descending feet, and turning, Suzanna saw her +mother standing in the doorway. + +"I heard voices," said Mrs. Procter. + +"Come here," her husband said. She saw his face transfigured, and she +went to him and fell on her knees beside him. + +"Courage--belief?" she questioned. + +"Yes, they have returned," he said. + +Suzanna spoke again: "Daddy," she said, in her eager voice, "I forgot to +tell you of a nice happening. You know when we were at the seashore with +Mr. Bartlett, John, the waiter at the hotel, said something one day +about a son of his who wanted to write beautiful music, and Mr. Bartlett +said right before me: 'John, let me help that boy of yours. This little +girl's father has shown me the beauty of doing good for others.'" + +The inventor did not speak. He sat, his arms about his wife and child, +and in his eyes the radiance of new inspiration, new purpose. + +At last his wife spoke. "Richard, could success as you planned it, have +meant more, and wouldn't it have brushed some of the butterfly dust +away?" + +He took the thought, pondered it, and his wife went on. "There's the +joy of striving, of waking fresh every day to hope. Can attainment, +after all, give any greater joy?" + +"Perhaps not," he murmured. + +"So, dear," she went on, "think of what has been done, not of what you +wished for. Think what you've done for our children. You took them with +you into your land of dreams, letting them share with you as far as you +might, that thrill which comes to the creator." + +"And, daddy," finished Suzanna, "if The Machine had gone away to stay, +we couldn't have any more beautiful Saturday afternoons in the attic +with you." + +They remained then all very still. Peter cried out a little in his +sleep. His mother, alert at once, listened, then relaxed when the cry +did not come again, and then Suzanna asked, "Are you still very, very +sad, daddy?" + +And he answered, "The sadness has gone, Suzanna. Come another Saturday, +I shall take up the work again--and some day--" + +"Some day all the world will say my father is a great man," ended +Suzanna, an unfaltering faith written upon her face. + +And so her love, like an essence, flowed out and healed his spirit. + + + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes: + +Page 11, 'rythmic' changed to "rhythmic" (rhythmic noises) + +Page 120, "base ball" changed to "baseball". (to mend a baseball) + +Page 125, "Reyonlds'" changed to "Reynolds'". (Reynolds' gate.) + +Page 249, hyphen added to "every-day" to match rest of text.(the real +every-day life) + +Page 290, "white clad" changed to "white-clad" to match usage. (The +white-clad nurse) + +Page 347, "cobble stones" changed to "cobble-stones" to fit rest of +text. (out on the cobble-stones) + +Page 363, "wistaria" changed to "wisteria" (wistera gown) + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Suzanna Stirs the Fire, by Emily Calvin Blake + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUZANNA STIRS THE FIRE *** + +***** This file should be named 18499-8.txt or 18499-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/4/9/18499/ + +Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Brian Janes, Emmy and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Suzanna Stirs the Fire + +Author: Emily Calvin Blake + +Release Date: June 4, 2006 [EBook #18499] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUZANNA STIRS THE FIRE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Brian Janes, Emmy and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p> + +<h1>SUZANNA STIRS THE FIRE</h1> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 261px;"><a name="front" id="front"></a> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="261" height="400" alt=""I've come to you, Mrs. Reynolds, to stay. I've adopted myself out to you"" title=""I've come to you, Mrs. Reynolds, to stay. I've adopted myself out to you"" /> +</div> + +<div class='center'>"I've come to you, Mrs. Reynolds, to stay. I've +adopted myself out to you"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 32em;">[<a href='#Page_83'><i>Page 83</i></a>]</span></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p> + + +<h1>Suzanna Stirs the Fire</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>Emily Calvin Blake</h2> + +<div class='center'><i>Author of "Marcia of the Little Home," etc.</i></div> + + + +<div class='center'><br /><br /><br /><br />Illustrations by F. V. Poole<br /><br /><br /></div> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/emblem.jpg" width="100" height="97" alt="Emblem" title="Emblem" /> +</div> + + +<div class='center'><br /><br /><br /><br />CHICAGO<br /> +A. C. McCLURG & CO.<br /> +1915</div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p> + +<div class='center'>Copyright<br /> +A. C. McClurg & Co. <br /> +1915</div> + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<div class='center'>Published September, 1915</div> +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<div class='center'>Copyrighted in Great Britain<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<small>W. F. HALL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO</small></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td align='right'></td><td align='center'>BOOK I</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'><span class="smcap">chapter</span></td><td align='left'></td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>I </td><td align='left'>The Tucked-In Day</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_3'>3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>II </td><td align='left'>The Only Child</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_27'>27</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>III </td><td align='left'>With Father in the Attic</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_40'>40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IV </td><td align='left'>The New Dress</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_55'>55</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>V </td><td align='left'>Suzanna Comes to a Decision</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_69'>69</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VI </td><td align='left'>Suzanna Makes her Entry</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_82'>82</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VII </td><td align='left'>Regrets</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_88'>88</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>VIII </td><td align='left'>Suzanna Meets a Character</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_99'>99</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>IX </td><td align='left'>A Leaf Missing from the Bible</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_119'>119</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>X </td><td align='left'>A Picnic in the Woods</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_132'>132</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='center'><br />BOOK II</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XI </td><td align='left'>The Indian Drill</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_161'>161</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XII </td><td align='left'>Drusilla's Reminiscences</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_172'>172</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIII </td><td align='left'>Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_185'>185</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIV </td><td align='left'>The Stray Dog</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_197'>197</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XV </td><td align='left'>A Lent Mother</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_215'>215</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVI </td><td align='left'>Suzanna Aids Cupid</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_221'>221</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVII </td><td align='left'>A Simple Wedding</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_236'>236</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XVIII </td><td align='left'>The Eagle Man Visits the Attic</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_253'>253</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XIX </td><td align='left'>Suzanna Puts a Request</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_265'>265</a><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XX </td><td align='left'>Drusilla Sets Out on a Journey</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_278'>278</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXI </td><td align='left'>Mr. Bartlett Sees the Machine</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_292'>292</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='center'><br />BOOK III</td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXII </td><td align='left'>Happy Days</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_307'>307</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIII </td><td align='left'>To the Seashore</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_320'>320</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXIV </td><td align='left'>The Seashore</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_329'>329</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXV </td><td align='left'>Last Days</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_341'>341</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='right'>XXVI </td><td align='left'>Suzanna and her Father</td><td align='right'><a href='#Page_345'>345</a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations"> +<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='right'><span class="smcap">page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"I've come to you, Mrs. Reynolds, to stay. I've adopted myself out to you"</td><td align='right'> <a href='#front'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>The prettiest old lady she had ever seen</td><td align='right'><a href='#prettiest'>14</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Very carefully he looked at the mended place</td><td align='right'><a href='#carefully'>116</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>"We thought you might like a dog," began Suzanna</td><td align='right'><a href='#thought'>206</a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>BOOK I</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> +<h2>SUZANNA STIRS THE FIRE</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>THE TUCKED-IN DAY</h3> + + +<p>Maizie wanted to sleep a little longer, but though the clock had but +just chimed six Suzanna was up and had drawn the window curtain letting +in a flood of sunshine. Maizie lay watching her sister, her gray eyes +still blurred with sleep; not wide and interested as a little later they +would be. Her soft little features expressing her naïve personality +seemed unsubtle, yet of contours so lovely in this period just after +babyhood that one longed to cuddle her.</p> + +<p>Suzanna stood a long time at the window, so long indeed that Maizie +feared she was lost to all materialities. Suzanna, wonderful one, who +could strike from dull stuff magic dreams; who could vivify and +gloriously color the little things of life; who could into the simplest +happenings read thrilling interpretations! What bliss to accompany her +upon her wanderings, and what sadness to be forgotten!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> + +<p>Indeed Suzanna seemed oblivious. Certainly in spirit she was absent and +at last Maizie could bear the silence no longer.</p> + +<p>"Suzanna!" she cried.</p> + +<p>Then Suzanna turned. She did not speak, however, but placed a warning +finger upon her lips. Then she went swiftly to the closet and took down +her best white dress. She laid it tenderly on the back of a chair till +she had found in the lowest bureau drawer her white stockings and +slippers, then she brushed and combed her hair, confined it lightly with +a length of ribbon, washed her hands and face in the little bowl which +stood in one corner near the window and leisurely donned the white +dress.</p> + +<p>Maizie sat straight up in bed watching in amazement. At last Suzanna +glanced over at her little wistful sister, then in stately fashion +advanced toward the bed, till close to Maizie she paused. Tall and +slender she stood, with eyes amber-colored, eyes which turned to black +in moments of deep emotion. Her brown hair touched with copper sprang +back from her brow in waving grace; her delicate features called for +small attention, excepting her mouth which was softly curved, eager of +speech, grave, mutinous, the most expressive part of an expressive +face.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> + +<p>Suzanna danced through life, sang her way to the hearts of others, left +her touch wherever she went; yet, beneath the lightness, philosophies of +life formed themselves intuitively, one after another, truer perhaps in +their findings than those which filtered through the pure intellect of +the grown-up.</p> + +<p>At length she spoke to Maizie. "You mustn't say anything to me, Maizie, +unless I ask you a question," she commanded, "because I'm a princess who +lives in a crystal palace in a wonderful country with oceans and +mountains."</p> + +<p>Maizie did not reply; what could she say? Simply she stared as Suzanna +moved gracefully about the room with the slow movements she considered +fitting a princess.</p> + +<p>At last she returned to the bed. She began: "Maizie, I wish you to rise, +dress thyself, then go into thy parents' room and if the baby is awake, +dress him as Suzanna, thy sister, did when she was here and not a +princess."</p> + +<p>Maizie rose and obediently dressed herself, ever watchful of Suzanna and +thrilled by the new personality which seemed to have entered with the +princess. When she was quite dressed, even to her little enshrouding +gingham apron, she asked:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Are you going to school today, Suzanna?"</p> + +<p>Suzanna fixed her eyes in the distance.</p> + +<p>"I'm here, Princess," corrected Maizie, "right in front of you. You can +touch me with your hand. And besides, I had to ask that question. It was +burning on my tongue."</p> + +<p>Suzanna did not stir. At last: "I'm not going to school today," she half +chanted. "A princess does not go to school. She wanders through the +fields and over the mountains and when she returns to her palace she +eats roses smothered in cream."</p> + +<p>"Oh," cried Maizie. "Rose petals are bitter and beside we only have +cream on Sundays."</p> + +<p>Suzanna turned away. Sometimes she found it a trifle difficult to play +with Maizie. She went slowly, majestically down the stairs and into the +little parlor. She regretted she had no train, since she might switch it +about as she walked. But she could <i>think</i> she had a train, and ever and +anon glance behind to see that it had not curled up.</p> + +<p>In the parlor she stood and looked about her. Her physical eyes saw the +worn spots in the carpet, the picture of her father's mother, faded and +dim, her own "crayon," the old horsehair sofa and chair, and the piano +with its yellow keys and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>its scratched case. But with her inner eyes +she beheld a lovely rose-colored room, heaped with soft rugs and +satin-lined chairs; fine, soft-grained woods, and a harp studded with +rare jewels.</p> + +<p>At first she stood alone. Then by a slight wave of her hand she +commanded the appearance of many ladies and gentlemen who came and bowed +low before her. While she was still living in her vision, her father +descended the stairs and entered the parlor. He started at sight of +Suzanna all dressed in her best.</p> + +<p>"I'm a princess, father," said Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"A princess?" he repeated.</p> + +<p>Her father wore his store clothes, shiny and grown tight for him. Above +his winged collar his sensitive face showed pale and thin in the early +morning light. His eyes, brown, soft, were like Suzanna's—they had +vision. He smiled now, half whimsically and wholly lovingly at her.</p> + +<p>"An eight-year-old princess," he said. Then the smile faded, and he half +turned to the door. "Well, that's all right, your Majesty," he said. +"Continue with your play. I'm going up into the attic just for ten +minutes."</p> + +<p>"You'll be late for the store, won't you, daddy?" she asked, anxiously, +forgetting for the moment her rôle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> + +<p>He turned upon her quickly. "Late for the store!" he cried, "late to +weigh nails, sell wash boards, and mops. What does that matter, my dear, +when by my invention the world will some day be better." Suddenly the +passion died from his voice. He stood again the tall shabby figure, +somewhat stooped, with long fine hands that moved restlessly. "Ah, well, +Suzanna," he went on, "weighing nails brings us our livelihood."</p> + +<p>Suzanna went and stood close to him. She put her small hand out and +touched his arm. "Daddy," she said, earnestly, "this is my tucked-in +day. I'm going to have two of them. Perhaps you can have a tucked-in day +sometime when you can work for hours at your invention."</p> + +<p>Again he smiled at her. "Where did you get your tucked-in day, Suzanna," +he asked.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's a great beautiful white space that comes between last week +and this. It's all empty, that big space, and so I have filled it in +with a day of my own. If mother will let me, I'm going to have two +tucked-in days. On the first I'm a princess, and on the second, I shall +be an Only Child."</p> + +<p>"Very well, little girl," said Suzanna's father. "And now I hear others +moving about upstairs. Will you stay to breakfast with us, Princess?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Suzanna, who began to feel the healthy pangs of hunger. +"I suppose perhaps I had better set the table."</p> + +<p>A half-hour later the house was in a bustle. The baby was crying, Peter, +the five-year-old, was sliding in his usual exuberant manner down the +banisters, and at the stove in the kitchen, Mrs. Procter, the mother, +was filling pans and opening and closing the oven door with quick, +somewhat noisy movements.</p> + +<p>When in time all were gathered about the dining table, they were an +interesting looking family. Mrs. Procter, young, despite her four +children, wore a little worried frown strangely at conflict with her +palpable desire to make the best of things. She darted here and there, +soothing the baby with a practiced hand, pouring her husband's coffee, +helping voracious Peter, her busy mind anticipating all the day's tasks. +Suzanna loved and admired her mother. She loved the way the luxuriant +dark hair was wound round and round the small head. She loved the rare +smile, the soft blue eyes fringed in black lashes. She liked to meet +those eyes when they were filled with understanding, when they seemed to +speak as plainly as the tender lips made just for lullabies—and +encouragements when the inventor-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>father stumbled, lost his belief in +himself and in his Machine.</p> + +<p>Maizie, younger than Suzanna by only a year, looked like her +mother—sweet, very practical, always in a wide-eyed condition of +surprise at Suzanna's wonderful imagination; a dependable little body +who rarely fell from grace by reason of naughtiness.</p> + +<p>Peter, a strange composite of his dreamy father and practical mother, +sat near the baby. Peter had had a twin, a little girl, who died when +she was three years old. Sometimes, even now, Peter cried himself to +sleep for Helen.</p> + +<p>The baby, now crowing in his armchair beside his mother, was a bright +little chap of not quite a year. Too plump to even try his sturdy legs, +he was oftentimes very much of a burden to his devoted sisters.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter's eyes had taken in at once Suzanna's finery, but Mrs. +Procter knew Suzanna; besides she did not always ask a direct question. +Suzanna's mind worked clearly, but it worked by its own laws. So now the +mother waited and toward the end of the meal she was rewarded for her +patience. Suzanna put down her fork and began:</p> + +<p>"Mother, this is my first tucked-in day to do <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>as I please in. I know +Monday's supposed to be wash day, but you said it wasn't a big wash and +I did all the sorting Saturday night. I am all fixed up for a princess, +and something inside me tells me I must wander about my palace and +perhaps find paths leading to far-off snow countries."</p> + +<p>It was Maizie who looked now questioningly at her mother. Could it be +that Suzanna would be given her own way? In truth the entire table +awaited breathlessly Mrs. Procter's answer. It came at last:</p> + +<p>"Very well, Princess, you may have your tucked-in day."</p> + +<p>There followed a short silence. At last:</p> + +<p>"Mother, I must be honest with you," said Suzanna, "there are to be +<i>two</i> tucked-in days. In my next space I want to be an Only Child."</p> + +<p>Again her mother agreed. Rarely could she deny Suzanna her jaunts into +the land of dreams.</p> + +<p>So after breakfast, quite free, Suzanna left the house. The little town +lay quiet, except for the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'rythmic'">rhythmic</ins> noises coming from the big Massey +Steel Mills. Suzanna looked in their direction and stood a moment +watching the sparks coming from the big round chimneys. Over across +fields were the tumble-down cottages occupied by the employees of the +Massey Steel Mills. Suzanna did <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>not often go in their direction. The +squalor made her unhappy and set in train so many questions she was +quite unable to answer.</p> + +<p>The day was early July with a spicy breeze that promised its delight for +many hours. Suzanna walked out into the road, and turned to gaze at the +little home in which she had been born. She loved it with its many +memories. She fancied it held its head high because it sheltered her +father's great Machine. At length she turned south toward the country. +She breathed deeply as she went, feeling how wonderful it was to be a +princess and to wander about as she pleased.</p> + +<p>Throbbing with life and the beauty of it, the marvel of it, she began to +dance. Strange thoughts flowed through her, strange understandings, +that, little child as she was, she could find no words for. Only it +seemed color lay within her, rich color for a thought of love; a wistful +rose shade for a passing desire, a brilliant orange for the uplifting +knowledge that just to be alive was great. She stopped to gather a +passion flower because with its deep purple, its hidden heart that she +could very gently discover and gaze into, it fitted into her mood.</p> + +<p>Oh, to be big, grown up! All these brightly winged thoughts uplifting +her, some of which puz<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>zled her, some that frightened her, she would +quite understand then! In those far-off years of absolute knowledge +there would be no limitations; no commonplaces, only miracles. You could +make what you wished then of all your days.</p> + +<p>She came at last upon a little house lying far back from the road. It +was like a toy house, and had stood open for years. The Procter children +had often played in the rooms of the small house, and once when Peter +was a baby he had fallen down the stairs, and his twin Helen, anguished +because he was hurt, had cried piteously until they were home again.</p> + +<p>Now Suzanna opened the gate, mended, she noticed, and hanging straight, +and started down the garden path. Lovely old-fashioned flowers—pansies +and phlox and pinks and balsam were all in their happiest bloom. Suzanna +wondered who watered and tended them. As she lingered beside a pansy +bed, the door of the little house opened and a rather frail little old +lady came out, followed by a maid who carried a chair that was filled +with pillows. She set the chair under a tree midway in the garden +between the house and the road. The old lady sank into it and the maid +deftly covered her with a large woolen shawl; then saying some word, and +placing a small sil<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>ver bell on the grass within easy reach of the lady +in the chair the maid left.</p> + +<p>Suzanna stood, unable to run. Someone then had moved into the tiny +house. And who? Suzanna knew everyone in the village of Anchorville, and +the old lady was a stranger. Suzanna gave up the question and started +back toward the gate when the old lady suddenly turned and saw the +child.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 274px;"><a name="prettiest" id="prettiest"></a> +<img src="images/image025.jpg" width="274" height="400" alt="The prettiest old lady she had ever seen" title="The prettiest old lady she had ever seen" /> +</div> +<div class='center'>The prettiest old lady she had ever seen</div> + +<p>"Come here," she called, and Suzanna perforce obeyed. When she stood +near the small figure in the chair she waited, while she decided that +this was quite the prettiest old lady she had ever seen. The wavy silver +hair lying under a white lace cap, with two little curls falling on +either side made the blue eyes seems like a very little baby's at the +stage when they're deciding just what color they shall be. Like Suzanna, +the lady was dressed in white, flowing as to skirt, and trimmed with +quantities of fine old lace. On her hand was one ring, a lovely +moonstone. Suzanna at once loved that ring, not because it was a piece +of jewelry, but because it did look like a stray moonbeam that the rain +had fallen on.</p> + +<p>"And who may you be?" asked the old lady at once.</p> + +<p>Now something about her hostess called out all <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>of Suzanna's colorful +imagination. She felt an instant response to this personality.</p> + +<p>"I am a princess, the Princess Cecilia," she answered promptly.</p> + +<p>"Ah," the old lady straightened up and a sudden, vivid change became at +once manifest in her manner. "Draw closer to me."</p> + +<p>Suzanna obeyed, moving till she touched the old lady's hand that rested +on the wings of the old-fashioned chair.</p> + +<p>"You should be a princess," said the old lady, "for I am a queen!"</p> + +<p>Suzanna gazed without at first speaking. "A real one?" she whispered at +last.</p> + +<p>"A real queen," returned the old lady. "It's not generally known by +those who serve me, nor even suspected by my own son who lives yonder in +the big house on the hill. But I'm the real queen of Spain, deposed from +the hearts of her people, from the hearts of her own nearest."</p> + +<p>Suzanna nodded. She looked over toward the hill. "That's Bartlett +Villa," she said; "the people only live there part of the year. I know +Mrs. Bartlett, she's the richest lady in Anchorville, but I didn't know +her mother was a queen."</p> + +<p>The old lady didn't appear to be particularly interested. She went on: +"It's not generally <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>known, I believe, that I am a queen." After another +pause: "Over yonder is a camp chair. Bring it hither."</p> + +<p>Suzanna found the chair at one end of the garden. Quickly she brought it +and sank herself upon it gracefully as became a princess of the blood, +but she was surprised a moment later to meet reproval in the eyes of the +queen.</p> + +<p>"It's not permissible to seat yourself in the presence of royalty," said +the queen, rather sternly.</p> + +<p>"But, I, too, am royalty and you told me to get the chair," said +Suzanna. "Of course, I thought it was to sit on."</p> + +<p>"You are merely a princess," returned the old lady. "I am your queen, +and you must await my permission to recline."</p> + +<p>Suzanna rose.</p> + +<p>"Ask permission," said the queen, "and perhaps I shall allow you to seat +yourself."</p> + +<p>"May I sit down?" asked Suzanna.</p> + +<p>The queen inclined her head graciously. "You may," she returned. So once +more the little visitor resumed her seat. Then for a long time the old +lady sat with folded hands and looking off into the distance. She was +very, very still. Only the lace on her bosom moved gently to show that +she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>breathed. Suzanna thought perhaps she had better go. But she feared +to rise lest she again meet with reproof.</p> + +<p>At last the queen remembered her guest.</p> + +<p>"I wish to traverse my garden and in the absence of my lady-in-waiting I +request your arm, Princess Cecilia," she said.</p> + +<p>Suzanna rose quickly and bending her small arm, she offered its support +to the old lady, who though now standing very straight and slender, +still was scarce two heads taller than her visitor. She slipped her +blue-veined hand within Suzanna's arm and they began a friendly walk up +and down the path.</p> + +<p>"Once," began the queen, "when I lived beyond the snow-capped mountains +within my own palace, I was not so lonely as I now am. There was one who +afterwards became my king, with whom I walked by the sea. We saw +together the sapphire sparkle of the water, the golden yellow of the +sands; but in reality we beheld only one another's face."</p> + +<p>By this time they had reached the gate and both stopped and stood +looking down the quiet road. But the little old lady still clung to +Suzanna's arm and her eyes had a far-away look.</p> + +<p>"And after a time," went on the queen, "we <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>were wedded and lived +together in my palace and we were happy as the birds; happy and less +care free. And always we found our greatest happiness in walking by the +sea or in climbing the mountains; I sometimes clinging to his ready hand +or skipping before him. And once we ran away from all the pomp and +ceremony that was merely surface and we found a little house right at +the edge of town, and there together for some months we lived. There, +too, our little prince came to us, and from there he went away.</p> + +<p>"And one day my king, too, left, and my little prince forgot me, and I +am alone. Queen as I am, I am alone!"</p> + +<p>Suzanna was silent. Indeed, she was at a loss just how to offer comfort. +When Helen, Peter's twin, went away her heart had ached, and when a +little baby, soft and cuddly had gone away forever, Suzanna had wept for +days and far into the nights. This queen, she found was very sad, and +very longing, and very lonely, three things she thought queenhood exempt +from, sadness, and longing and loneliness.</p> + +<p>Once more they turned, and walked down the garden path till they reached +the chairs under the tree. The queen sank again among her pillows and +Suzanna was about to use her camp chair <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>when the queen spoke in her old +commanding manner:</p> + +<p>"I am hungry, serf," she cried. "Go, prepare my food! All the dainties +that you can find. I wish cream beaten to a froth and peaches, halved +and stoned. I wish strawberries still wet with dew and reposing in their +green leaves."</p> + +<p>"But," began Suzanna, "I can't get strawberries for you."</p> + +<p>The old lady rose to her full height. "Wilt begone, serf?" in stern +accents she cried. "Wilt begone and prepare what I demand?"</p> + +<p>Now Suzanna had a very firm idea of her own standing as a princess. Had +she not earlier in the day impressed Maizie? And now, was this stranger, +even though she were a queen, to demand menial service of one of royal +blood? Suzanna thought not. So she said firmly, though gently:</p> + +<p>"I am not a serf, if that means a slave! I am a visiting princess, the +Princess Cecilia. I will not go into your kitchen and prepare food." And +then forgetting her rôle, she assumed her ordinary voice. "Why, this +morning I didn't even warm the baby's bottle, because mother said I +needn't seeing that I was a princess and living in my own tucked-in +day."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'Tucked-in day!'" responded the queen. "What do you mean by that?"</p> + +<p>"Why, it's my very own day, a day tucked in between last week and this +week," said Suzanna.</p> + +<p>The old lady's eyes wandered away again looking into distant countries, +Suzanna had no doubt, and she hoped the strawberries were forgotten. But +alas, she was wrong, for in a few moments the queen, bringing her eyes +back to Suzanna's face recalled her desire:</p> + +<p>"I will have my strawberries," she began peremptorily. And then with a +complete change of voice; one with some satire in its tone she +concluded: "Dost think because thou art a princess thou art exempt from +all service in the world?"</p> + +<p>"A princess does not work," said Suzanna wisely.</p> + +<p>"I would have you know," said the queen, "that all those of the world +must give service in one way or another. Dost think that when in my +palace I reigned a queen I gave no service? There were those who loved +me and needed me. As their queen did I not owe them something in return +for their love? And could I leave their needs unrelieved?"</p> + +<p>"But," faltered Suzanna, "you were a queen!"</p> + +<p>The old lady's eyes lit with a sudden fire.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> "And 'twas because I +reigned a queen," she answered, "that I must do more than those of less +exalted station. In my kingdom there were little children, there were +the old, and there were the feeble, and there were the poor. Could I go +about unconcerned as to their welfare?" Her voice suddenly softened. She +put out her hand, now trembling with her emotion, and drew Suzanna close +to her. "My sweet little princess," she said, "no one in all the world +stands alone. A little silver chain binds each one of us to his fellow. +You may break that chain and you may feel yourself free, but you will be +a greater slave than ever."</p> + +<p>"I think I understand," said Suzanna, and indeed she had a fair meaning +of the other's words. "The chain runs from wrist to wrist and is rubber +plated."</p> + +<p>With a sudden change of manner the old lady spoke again, going back to +her former imperious manner: "Am I thus to starve because no slave +springs forth to do my bidding?"</p> + +<p>At this important moment the maid reappeared. She came swiftly down the +garden to the old lady. She paused when she saw Suzanna. She had a very +gentle face, Suzanna decided, and when she spoke to the old lady it was +tenderly as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>one would speak to a child. Suzanna decided that she liked +her.</p> + +<p>Said Suzanna: "The queen wants her strawberries wet with dew and buried +in their own green leaves."</p> + +<p>"The queen," returned the maid, "shall have her luncheon."</p> + +<p>"And the Princess Cecilia," said the queen, "shall eat with me, Letty."</p> + +<p>Suzanna was very glad to hear this since for a long time past she had +been hungry, and had been thinking rather longingly of the midday dinner +at home.</p> + +<p>The maid left, but in a very short time she came into the garden again +and announced that lunch was ready in the dining-room.</p> + +<p>"Walk behind me," said the old lady, and Suzanna took her place behind +the queen. In that sequence they went down the path, up the four steps +leading to the little house, through the open door, and paused in a +short, narrow hall, through which Suzanna and her sister and brother had +often walked.</p> + +<p>"Place your coat here," said the old lady, indicating a black walnut +hall-tree.</p> + +<p>Suzanna did as she was bid and then followed her hostess into the +dining-room, to the left of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>the small hall, where a table +flower-decked, stood set for two.</p> + +<p>Suzanna sat down at the place the queen indicated and waited +interestedly. In time the maid brought on a silver tray with little cups +of cream soup, and then cold chicken buried in pink jelly, a most +delicious concoction. Finally there was cocoa with whipped cream and +marshmallows and melting angel food cake.</p> + +<p>The old lady ate daintily, and long before Suzanna's appetite was +satisfied she announced that she was finished and demanded that the +princess rise from the table with her. She did not mention the +strawberries. With a little sigh Suzanna obeyed. And now, instead of +returning to the garden, the old lady led the way into the parlor, which +lay to the right of the hall. She went straight to the picture that hung +above a marble mantel. Below the picture in the center of the mantel +rested a crystal vase containing sprays of lilies of the valley.</p> + +<p>"This was my king," murmured the old lady, and Suzanna looked up into +the pictured face. "I like him," she said immediately; "has he gone far +away?"</p> + +<p>At these words the old lady suddenly sank down into a chair and covered +her face with her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>hands. She began to cry softly, but in a way that +hurt Suzanna inexpressibly. She stood for a moment hesitant. The sobs +still continued and then Suzanna, deciding on her course, went to the +little shaking figure and put her hands softly on the drooping +shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Can I help you," she asked. "Just tell me what to do for you."</p> + +<p>"Nothing," came the muffled tones, "there is no one to do for me; no one +to do for me in love. I am alone, forgotten."</p> + +<p>"Haven't you a brother or a sister?" in a moment she asked softly.</p> + +<p>"No one," said the little lady.</p> + +<p>"Oh, then," said Suzanna pityingly, as a dire thought came to her, +"there's no one to call you by your first name!"</p> + +<p>And then the old lady lowered her hands and looked into Suzanna's face. +"No one," she said sadly, "and it's such a pretty name, Drusilla. It's +many long years since I was called that."</p> + +<p>"I'd hate to come to a time when no one would call me Suzanna," Suzanna +said, and she leaned forward and touched the blue-veined hands. "May I +call you Drusilla?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"That would be sweet of you," said the little old lady. She seemed less +of the queen now than <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>before, just a fluttering, little creature to be +tenderly protected and cared for.</p> + +<p>The maid came in at this moment. She went straight to the old lady.</p> + +<p>"I think," she said gently, "that you must take your nap now. This is +the day for Mrs. Bartlett's call."</p> + +<p>The queen rose quite obediently. Suzanna said at once: "Well, I must be +going. But I'll come again. Good-bye, Drusilla."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, dear," returned "Drusilla" sweetly. "I'd like to have you +kiss me."</p> + +<p>Suzanna lifted her young face and kissed Drusilla's withered cheek.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Once out in the road and going swiftly toward home, Suzanna pondered +many things. She thought of what the old lady had said about the little +silver chain binding one to another; that no one really stood alone—no +one with a family, at least, Suzanna decided. It was a big thought; you +could go on and on in your heart and find many places for it to fit—and +then she reached her own gate and felt as always a sense of happiness. +No matter how happily she had spent the day, there was always a little +throb which stirred her heart when she went up the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>steps leading to the +rather battered front door of the place she called home.</p> + +<p>Maizie opened the door. She was as happy in beholding Suzanna returned +as though weeks had parted them, for she knew Suzanna's aptitude for +great adventures. Always they came to her, while another might walk +forever and meet no Heralds of Romance.</p> + +<p>"Did something happen, Suzanna?" she began eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I found a queen and we had lunch together," Suzanna responded. +"I'll tell you all about it when we're in bed."</p> + +<p>"Are you going to play at something tomorrow?"</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow I shall be an Only Child," said Suzanna. "Don't you remember?"</p> + +<p>"And not my sister?" asked Maizie.</p> + +<p>Suzanna caught the yearning in Maizie's voice.</p> + +<p>"Well," she said, "I'll be your closest friend, Maizie."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>THE ONLY CHILD</h3> + + +<p>Breakfast the next morning was nearly concluded when Suzanna made her +appearance, but she met with no reproof. She had anticipated none, for +surely an Only Child was entitled to many privileges; no rules should be +made to bind her.</p> + +<p>Her father was gone. It was a day of stock-taking at the hardware store, +and his early presence had been requested by his employer, Job Doane. +Suzanna's mother and the children still lingered at the table.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, Suzanna," said Mrs. Procter, while the other children +gazed with interest at their tardy sister.</p> + +<p>"Good morning," Suzanna returned as she took her place; then, "Will you +remind Maizie that I am an Only Child today?"</p> + +<p>"You hear, Maizie," said Mrs. Procter smiling.</p> + +<p>"Mustn't any of us speak to her?" asked Peter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No one but her mother," said Suzanna addressing the ceiling.</p> + +<p>She went on with her breakfast, eating daintily with the small finger on +her right hand cocked outward. Maizie stared, fascinated. Countless +words rushed to her lips, but she had been bidden to silence, and she +feared, should she speak to Suzanna, dire results would follow. Suzanna +might even go away by herself in pursuit of some wonderful dream, and +leave Maizie out of her scheme of things entirely.</p> + +<p>So Maizie waited patiently.</p> + +<p>"Since you sent Bridget away on an errand of mercy, Mother," Suzanna +began later, "I'll help you with the dishes."</p> + +<p>In Suzanna's estimation the family boasting an Only Child boasted also +servants.</p> + +<p>"I'll be glad of your help," said Mrs. Procter, "and since Bridget is +away, perhaps you will be kind enough to make your own bed and dust your +own room."</p> + +<p>Suzanna's face fell. Maizie put out a small hand and touched her sister. +"I'll help you," she said, "if you want me to."</p> + +<p>"Very well," said Suzanna, and together the children went upstairs.</p> + +<p>In the little room shared by the sisters, Suzanna <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>went to work. +Ardently she shook pillows and carefully she smoothed sheets, while +Maizie, with a reflective eye ever upon Suzanna, dusted the dresser and +hung up the clothes.</p> + +<p>"Is your mother well this morning?" asked Suzanna politely.</p> + +<p>"Why, you saw her," Maizie cried off guard. "She didn't have a headache +this morning, did she?"</p> + +<p>"I'm speaking of <i>your</i> mother," said Suzanna. "You belong to an +entirely different family from me."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Maizie after a time, "she's not suffering, thank you."</p> + +<p>"Have you any brothers and sisters?" pursued Suzanna in an interested +though rather aloof tone.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Maizie, trying hard to fill her rôle satisfactorily. "We +have a very large family, and once we had twins."</p> + +<p>Suzanna looked her pity. "I'm so glad," she said, "that I'm an Only +Child. This morning I was very joyous when I had whipped cream and +oatmeal."</p> + +<p>"You just had syrup, Suzanna Procter!" cried Maizie.</p> + +<p>Suzanna cast a scathing look at her sister: "I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>had whipped cream!" she +cried, "because I am an Only Child!" Then falling into her natural tone: +"If you forget again, Maizie, I can't even be a friend of yours." She +continued after a pause, reassuming her Only-Child voice, "That's why I +wear this beautiful satin dress and diamond bracelets and shining +buckles on my shoes."</p> + +<p>Now Maizie saw only Suzanna's lawn dress, rather worn Sunday shoes with +patent leather tips; she saw Suzanna's bare arms.</p> + +<p>"Maybe you'd like, really, to wear a white satin dress and bracelets and +buckles, but you know you haven't got them, don't you, Suzanna?" she +asked.</p> + +<p>Suzanna did not answer, plainly ignoring Maizie's conciliatory tone, and +so finding the silence continuing unbroken, Maizie changed the subject.</p> + +<p>"Will you play school with me this afternoon, Suzanna?"</p> + +<p>Suzanna thought a moment: "I don't just know. I may go and play with +some of the other girls today, and, remember, if I do that a friend +can't get mad like a sister can."</p> + +<p>Maizie began to whimper.</p> + +<p>"All right, if you're going to act that way, I am going off to see +Drusilla," with which statement Suzanna turned and went downstairs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> + +<p>Maizie came running down after her. "Mother, mother," she called loudly, +"I don't like Suzanna when she's the Only Child."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter, busy with the baby, looked up. She was a little cross now. +"I wish, Suzanna," she said, "that you would learn to be sensible and +not always be acting in plays you make up."</p> + +<p>Suzanna, who a moment before had bounded joyfully into her mother's +presence, now paused, the light dying from her eyes. She looked at her +mother and her mother, uncomfortable beneath the steady gaze, spoke +again with an irritation partially assumed.</p> + +<p>"I mean just that, Suzanna," she said. "Maizie can't easily follow all +your imaginings; and I have enough to do without always trying to keep +the peace between you."</p> + +<p>Suzanna stood perfectly still. The color rose to her temples, while the +dark eyes flashed. Waves of emotion swept through her. Emotions she +could not express. At last in a tense voice she spoke: "I wish I wasn't +your child, Mother."</p> + +<p>"Go at once to your room," said Mrs. Procter, "and stay there till I +tell you you may come down again."</p> + +<p>With no word Suzanna turned, went slowly up the stairs again, drew a +chair to the window and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>sat down. She was flaming under a bitter sense +of injustice. With all the intensity of her nature for the moment she +hated the entire world.</p> + +<p>Time passed. She heard sounds downstairs, Maizie going out to play in +the yard with Peter; her mother singing the baby to sleep, and still +Suzanna sat near the window, and still her small heart beat resentfully.</p> + +<p>Later, she heard her father's voice. Perhaps he cared for her. But even +of this she was not sure. Then she sat up very straight. Someone was +coming up the stairs.</p> + +<p>It was Maizie. The little girl slowly opened the bedroom door, peeped +cautiously in, and then on tiptoes approached Suzanna. "Mother says," +she began, "that you're to come down to lunch."</p> + +<p>"I don't want any lunch," said Suzanna. The bright color still stained +her cheek. "You can just go downstairs and eat up everything in the +house, and be sure and tell mother I said so."</p> + +<p>Maizie looked her awe at this defiant sister. Downstairs she returned to +deliver verbatim Suzanna's message.</p> + +<p>Suzanna sat on. From bitter disillusion felt against everything in her +world her mind chilled to analysis. Her mother loved her, she believed, +and yet—she did not complete her swift thought; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>indeed, she looked +quickly about in fear of her disloyalty. She had once thought that +mothers were perfect, rare beings removed worlds from other mere +mortals. Hadn't she, when a very small girl of four, been quite unable +to comprehend that mother was a mere human being? "Mother is just +mother," she had said in her baby way, and that sentence spelled all the +devotion and admiration of a pure little heart for one enshrined within +it.</p> + +<p>And now mother had fallen short. Mother had disappointed that +desperately loving, intense soul. The tears started to her eyes. It was +as though on this second tucked-in day an epoch had come marking the day +for all time, placing it by itself as containing an experience never to +be forgotten.</p> + +<p>After a time she realized she was hungry. So she went quietly to the top +of the stairs, but no sound came up from below.</p> + +<p>Some clock struck one, and then Suzanna heard running footsteps mounting +the stairs. She sat straight and gazed out of the window. She knew the +moment her mother entered the room, but she did not turn her head.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter approached until she stood close to Suzanna. She looked +down into the mutinous <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>little face. She had come intending to scold, +but something electric about the child kept hasty words back.</p> + +<p>At length: "Aren't you going to speak to me, Suzanna?" she said.</p> + +<p>Suzanna did not answer immediately. That strange, awful thought that her +very own mother had been unjustly irritable held her tongue-tied. At +length words, short, curt, came:</p> + +<p>"You weren't <i>all right</i> to me this morning, Mother," she said, raising +her stormy eyes. "Yesterday you were nice to me when I was a princess. +Today you were cross because Maizie couldn't understand, and she never +understands. You never were cross about that before." She gazed straight +back into her mother's face—"I'm mad at the whole world."</p> + +<p>What perfection the child expects of the mother! No human deviations! +Mrs. Procter sighed. How could she live out her child's exalted ideal of +her! She looked helplessly at Suzanna. The eyes lifted to hers lacked +the wonted expression of perfect belief, of passionate admiration. That +this first little daughter, so close to her heart fibers, should in any +degree turn from her, pierced the mother. She put her arms about the +unyielding small figure.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Suzanna, little daughter," she whispered. "Mother is sometimes tired, +but always, always she loves you."</p> + +<p>The response was immediate. With a little cry Suzanna pressed her lips +to her mother's. All her reticence was gone. This mother who enfolded +her stood once more the unwavering star that guided Suzanna's life.</p> + +<p>"You see, little girl," Mrs. Procter said after a few moments, "mother +sometimes has a great deal to think about—and baby was cross."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother, dear, I'll help you," cried Suzanna. "I'll always be good +to you and when I'm grown up I'll buy you silk dresses and pretty hats +and take you to hear beautiful music."</p> + +<p>Later they went downstairs together. In the kitchen Maizie was amusing +the baby as he sat in his high chair. She looked around as Suzanna +entered: "Are you going to see Drusilla now," asked Maizie.</p> + +<p>"Who's Drusilla?" asked Mrs. Procter with interest.</p> + +<p>Now Suzanna had not told her mother of her new friend. She had wished to +keep in character, and a princess, she felt, was rather secretive and +aloof. But now the renewed closeness she felt to her mother opened her +heart.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yesterday when I was a princess, living my very own first tucked-in +day, I walked and walked, and at last came to a little house with a +garden," she said, "and there was an old lady with no one to call her by +her first name—and so I'm going to call her Drusilla."</p> + +<p>"Is she a little old lady with white hair, and curls on each side of her +face?" asked Mrs. Procter.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"Why, she's Mr. Graham Woods Bartlett's mother, and she's a little—" +Mrs. Procter hesitated believing it wiser to leave her sentence +unfinished.</p> + +<p>"A little what, mother?" asked Suzanna anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Oh, she has fancies," evaded Mrs. Procter. "For instance, there are +times when she thinks herself a queen."</p> + +<p>"What was the word you were going to use, mother?" persisted Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, Suzanna, such a person is called a little strange."</p> + +<p>"Then I'm a little strange, too," said Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"But you're a child, Suzanna," said Mrs. Procter, "and Mrs. Bartlett is +a very old lady."</p> + +<p>"Does that make the difference?" asked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> Suzanna. "If it does, I can't +understand why. I think that an old lady, especially if she's lonely and +if she grieves for her king who went far away from her, has just as much +right to have fancies as a little girl has."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know," said Mrs. Procter, turning a soft look upon +Suzanna.</p> + +<p>Maizie, who had been standing near listening intently, now spoke: "A +girl I know had a grandfather who thought he was a cat and every once in +awhile he meowed, and he liked to sit in the sun. He thought he was a +nice, gentle, Maltese cat, and when he wasn't busy meowing he was awful +sweet to the children, and played with them and took care of the little +ones; but the big people thought they'd better send him far away, +because it wasn't right that he should think himself a cat."</p> + +<p>Suzanna's eyes flamed in anger. "I think they were cruel," she cried, +"not to let him stay at home. I know the girl whose grandfather he was. +Her name's Mary Holmes, and she cried because they sent her grandfather +away. But she didn't tell me why."</p> + +<p>"I'm her special friend on Wednesday recess day," said Maizie bashfully, +"that's why she told me."</p> + +<p>"I like old people," Suzanna continued. "I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>like Drusilla, and I like +Mrs. Reynold's mother that once came to see her, and I like old Joe, the +vegetable man, who made whistles for us last summer. They all seem to +understand you when you talk to them, and they can see things just like +you can."</p> + +<p>"Well, I've heard it said," said Mrs. Procter musingly, "that old people +are very much like the young in their fancies. Maybe that's why you +enjoy them, Suzanna."</p> + +<p>"Well, mother," Suzanna was very much in earnest now, "can't you always +tell everybody who has an old lady or an old gentleman living with them +that if they're not loving to old ladies and gentlemen, their silver +chain will break?"</p> + +<p>"Silver chain?" cried Maizie, puzzled. "I don't know what you mean, +Suzanna."</p> + +<p>"Why, every one of us," Suzanna explained carefully, "carries a little +silver chain which binds him to everyone else, but especially, I +suppose, to our very own father and mother and brothers and sisters."</p> + +<p>"Where is the chain?" asked Maizie.</p> + +<p>"It runs from your wrist to mine. It stretches as you move, and it's +given to everybody as soon as he's born. Sometimes it's broken."</p> + +<p>"Well, Suzanna," said Maizie solemnly, "then <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>you've broken the silver +chain that ties you to me and to Peter and the baby and to daddy and +mother. You don't belong to us any more—you're an Only Child."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Maizie's literalness drew a new vivid picture for Suzanna. She had cut +herself from those she loved. She looked through a mist into Maizie's +face, the little face with the gray eyes and straight fine hair that +<i>would</i> lie flat to the little head, and a big love flooded her. She +went swiftly to the little sister and lifted her hand. She made a feint +of clasping something at her wrist. "Maizie," she said, "I put the chain +on again. You are once more my little sister."</p> + +<p>"Not just your closest friend, but your little sister, with a silver +chain holding us together?" Maizie asked.</p> + +<p>"Always," said Suzanna. "I don't think after all that it's any fun to be +an Only Child."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>WITH FATHER IN THE ATTIC</h3> + + +<p>A special Saturday in the Procter home, since father expected to spend +the afternoon in the attic working at his invention! Once a month he had +this half-day vacation from the hardware store. True, to make up he +returned to work in the evening after supper, and remained sometimes +till midnight, but that was the bargain he had made with Job Doane, the +owner of the shop, and he stuck bravely by it.</p> + +<p>The house was in beautiful order when father arrived at noon. He went at +once to the dining-room. Suzanna and Maizie, putting the last touches to +the table, greeted him cordially.</p> + +<p>"We have carrots and turnips chopped up for lunch," announced Maizie +immediately.</p> + +<p>"And baked apples, with the tiniest drop of cream for each one," +completed Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"And the baby has a clean dress on, too," Maizie added, like an +anticlimax.</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter exclaimed in appropriate manner. He seemed younger today, +charged with a high <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>spirit. His step was light, he held his head high; +his eyes, too, were full of fire. The children knew some vital flame +energized him, some great hope vivified him.</p> + +<p>"Sold a scythe to old Farmer Hawkes this morning," he began, when they +were all seated around the table, the smoking dishes before them. He +smiled at his wife and the subtle understanding went around the board +that it was ridiculous for father, the great man, to waste his time +selling a scythe to close old Farmer Hawkes; also the perfect belief +that Farmer Hawkes was highly favored in being able to make a purchase +through such a rare agency.</p> + +<p>Luncheon concluded, father rose. The children pushed back their chairs +and stood in a little group, all regarding him with longing eyes.</p> + +<p>"Well, children," he said at last, "if things go well with me upstairs +and I can spare an hour, I'll call you. But don't let me keep you from +your work, or your play. Ball for you, I suppose, Peter, since it is +Saturday afternoon," he finished facetiously. Well he knew the +fascination of the attic and its wonder Machine.</p> + +<p>And Peter didn't answer. Let father have his joke; they both understood.</p> + +<p>Father went singing joyfully up the stairs. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>children listened till +they heard the attic door close, then all was silent.</p> + +<p>Suzanna found a book, and at Maizie's earnest request read a chapter +from it aloud, while Peter descended into the cellar on business of his +own.</p> + +<p>"I'd rather you'd tell me a story of your own, Suzanna," said Maizie, +when the chapter was concluded.</p> + +<p>"Well, I can't make up stories today," said Suzanna. "Today is father's +day, and I'm thinking every minute of The Machine."</p> + +<p>"It's going to be a great thing, isn't it, Suzanna?" said Maizie, in an +awed voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and nobody in the world could have made it but our father," said +Suzanna solemnly. "Father was made to do that work, and the whole world +will be better because of his invention."</p> + +<p>"The whole outside world?" asked Maizie, "or just Anchorville?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, the whole world," said Suzanna, and then as Peter once more made +his appearance: "Peter, take your tie out of your mouth. Father may call +us upstairs at any moment, and you must look as nice as nice can be."</p> + +<p>Peter obediently removed his tie from between his teeth, and just then +the awaited summons came.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Children! You may come up and bring mother."</p> + +<p>Suzanna ran out into the kitchen. Mother had her hands in a pan of dough +and was kneading vigorously. She looked up at Suzanna's message and +replied: "You children run up to father; I'll come when I can. Go +quietly by the bedroom door, the baby's asleep."</p> + +<p>Upstairs then the children flew. At the top they paused and looked in. +Father was standing close to The Machine; he turned as they appeared, +and with a princely gesture (Suzanna's private term), invited them in.</p> + +<p>The attic was dimly lit. Shadows seemed to lurk in its corners. It was +an attic in name only, since it held no stored treasures of former days. +It stood consecrated to a great endeavor. The children knew that, and +instinctively paused at the threshold. They got the sense that big +thoughts filled this room, big ambitions for Man.</p> + +<p>They approached and paused before The Machine. It stood high, +cabinet-shaped, of brilliantly polished wood whose surface seemed to +catch and hold soft, rosy lights from out the shadows. Above The Machine +rose a nickel-plated flexible arm, at the end of which hung a sort of +helmet. Some distance back of the arm, and extending about <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>a foot above +the cabinet, were two tubes connected by a glass plate; and beneath the +plate, a telescope arrangement into which was set a gleaming lens.</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter opened a door at the side of the cabinet. The children, +peering in, beheld interesting looking springs, coils, and batteries. He +shut the door, walked around to the front of the cabinet and opened +another and smaller door. Here the children, following, saw a number of +small black discs. The inventor reached in, touched a lever, and +immediately a rhythmic, clicking sound ensued.</p> + +<p>Next he drew down dark shades over the low windows. The filmed glass +plate above the cabinet alone showed clear in the eclipse, as though +waiting.</p> + +<p>"Now, Suzanna, come!"</p> + +<p>Suzanna, at some new electric quality in her father's voice, sprang +forward. He procured a chair, placed it directly before the cabinet, +drew the flexible arm till the helmet rested perhaps four inches above +the child's head but did not touch it, pulled forward the telescope and +focused its lens upon her expectant face.</p> + +<p>"Watch the plate glass," he said in a tense whisper, and Suzanna kept +her eyes as directed.</p> + +<p>A moment passed. No sound came but the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>rhythmic ticking. The inventor's +face was white. His eyes, dark, held a gleam and a prayer. Another +space, and then very slowly a shadowy line of color played upon the +glass set between the two tubes; color so faint, so delicate, that +Suzanna wondered if she saw clearly.</p> + +<p>But the color strengthened, and at last all saw plainly a line of rich +deep purple touched with gold. It remained there triumphant upon the +glass, a royal bar.</p> + +<p>Silent moments breathed themselves away, for the test had come and it +had not failed. Suzanna, at last moving her gaze from the color +registered, turned to her father. She saw, with a leap of the heart, +that his eyes were wet. He seemed to have turned to an immovable image, +and yet never did life seem to flow out so richly from him.</p> + +<p>Peter broke the quiet. "What does it mean, daddy, that color?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Suddenly galvanized, Mr. Procter ran to the stairs outside. His voice +rang out like a bell.</p> + +<p>"Jane, come, come!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter, in the kitchen, caught the exultant note in his voice. She +was stirring batter for a cake, but she flung down the spoon and ran up +the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Richard, what is it," she cried, as she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>reached him. His eyes, +half frightened, half elated, looked into hers.</p> + +<p>"I will show you," he cried. He took her hand and led her to The Machine +before which Suzanna still sat.</p> + +<p>The wave of color still persisted on the glass. "See," he said, +"registered color, for which I have worked and worked, died a thousand +deaths of despair, and been resurrected to hope. This afternoon the +color seemed promised, and so in fear and trembling I placed Suzanna +before the machine."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear, my dear, after all these years!" She lifted her face and +kissed him solemnly.</p> + +<p>And then Peter repeated his question, to which before there had been no +answer.</p> + +<p>"What does the color mean, daddy?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Two colors recording in that manner means great versatility; purple +means the artist, probably a writer."</p> + +<p>Peter looked his bewilderment. His mother, smiling a little, reduced the +explanation to simpler form. Even then Peter was befogged.</p> + +<p>The inventor went to a remote corner and brought forth a large book +containing many pages. This he placed upon a small table, and the +chil<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>dren and their mother crowded about him, eager to see and to hear.</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter lit a side lamp so the light fell upon the book, then he +turned the pages slowly. Blocks of color lay upon each, some in squares +alone, some merging into others like a disjointed rainbow. Above each +block, or merged block, were writings, interpretations of color meaning, +word above word; many erasures, as though fresh thought thrust out the +integrity of early ones.</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter spoke to his wife. "Till the machine showed the +possibilities of ultimate success, I have said nothing even to you of +its inception. Now, however, I may speak.</p> + +<p>"It may sound strange, but from the time I was a very young boy, I've +seen others in color. That is, a vivid personality never failed to +translate itself in purple to me; a pale one in blue. It was out of that +spiritual sight that I built my theory of color. It took me years, but +time after time have I proved to my own complete satisfaction that each +individual has a keynote of color; a color explaining his purpose."</p> + +<p>A thousand questions of details, of practicalities that his theory did +not seem in the rough to touch, rushed to Mrs. Procter's lips; but she +could not voice one, she could not quench his uplifted <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>expression and, +indeed, so great was her belief in him that she had faith that he would +overcome all obstacles.</p> + +<p>He went on: "After I had my system of color worked out, I began to plan +my machine, then to build it, and now—" He covered his face with his +hands. Suddenly he took them down, turned to his children and with eyes +alight, cried:</p> + +<p>"For the progress of humanity have I worked, my children. To read men's +meanings, the purposes for which they live, have I created this +machine."</p> + +<p>The children, deeply stirred with him, gazed back into his kindled face. +His magnetism lifted them. For humanity he had worked, should always +work, and with him they understood that this was the greatest service. +With him they rose on the wings of creative imagination. Desire ran deep +in each small heart to do something for the benefit of man. Not money, +not position, but love for one's fellows, work for one's fellows! Never +in all their lives were they to forget this moving hour in the attic. +Its influence would be with them for always.</p> + +<p>After a moment Maizie spoke: "How does The Machine know your color, +daddy?"</p> + +<p>The inventor smiled. "It has an eye, see?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> He pointed to the lens in +the telescope. Then he opened the small door. "In this place it has +sensitized plates; this helmet, too, is highly sensitized." He paused +and then laughed at himself as he saw the mystified expressions of his +children. "Well, let us try Maizie. I know her color, but let's see what +the machine says." He turned out the lamp. "Come, Maizie," he said.</p> + +<p>So Maizie seated herself before the machine and watched to see what the +glass plate should say of her. The plate remained for a moment clear, +then slowly there grew a feather of color. Smoke color, a sort of dove +gray, it was and so remained, despite its neutrality, quite plainly +visible.</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter lifted the helmet, hushed the machine. He went to his book, +took it to the window, raised the shade a trifle and peered down. "As I +knew," he said. Then closing the book and turning to his small daughter, +he went on: "My little Maizie will some day nurse back to health those +who are weary and worn; she will be patient, full of understanding, and +she will be greatly beloved."</p> + +<p>Maizie's face grew luminous. "And so I'll do good too, just like you," +she said, with a beautiful faith.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You will do good, too, my daughter," he answered, with exquisite +egotism in his inclusion.</p> + +<p>Peter, eager-eyed, looked up at his father.</p> + +<p>"Do you think I have a color, too, daddy?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Peter. Take your place."</p> + +<p>Peter did so.</p> + +<p>For him there grew a tongue of sturdy bronze. In the dim light it waved +across the surface of the glass plate.</p> + +<p>And Mr. Procter said: "In time our little boy Peter will build great +bridges."</p> + +<p>"That four horses can walk across, daddy?" Peter cried in ecstasy.</p> + +<p>"That a hundred horses can walk across, and a big engine pull safely its +train of cars."</p> + +<p>Then again into the inventor's eyes leaped a radiance. He placed his +hand lovingly upon the machine as though it were alive, and indeed so it +seemed to be, for into it he had put his finest ideals, his deepest +hopes for the development of man.</p> + +<p>"A few months more of work," he cried. "And then it will be ready to +give to the world."</p> + +<p>Someone came lightly up the stairs. A head appeared, then a body, then a +hearty voice: "May I come in?" it asked.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter swung the door wide to Mr. Reynolds, neighbor across the +way. He entered with a little hesitation. He was a large man with a +heavy brick-colored face, yet with eyes that had preserved some spirit +of youth. Mr. Reynolds was as great an idealist as his friend, the +inventor, though his idealism gave out in totally different directions. +He read all sorts of books, but reacted to them with originality. His +imagination only grasped their meanings, not his intellect. He worked in +another town, several miles from Anchorville, in a large chair factory, +and several times a week in the evening he stood upon a soap box on a +street corner, and amused a mixed audience by his picturesque setting +forth of what he thought was wrong with the world; also what methods he +believed would, if employed, straighten out the tangles.</p> + +<p>Since he spoke "straight from the shoulder," as he put it, touching +dramatically upon the hand of wealth as causing the tangles, he had +called down upon himself the wrath of the town's richest man, old John +Massey, owner of the Massey Steel Mills. Twice Mr. Massey had threatened +the eloquent and fearless orator with arrest, and twice for some unknown +reason he had refrained from carrying out his threat, and the +authorities of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>town complacently allowed Mr. Reynolds to continue +his pastime.</p> + +<p>"I knew you were at home today," said Mr. Reynolds, "and I must see the +machine." He looked at the joyous face of the inventor.</p> + +<p>"Why, have you been trying it out?" he cried.</p> + +<p>"Yes, and with a fair degree of success. Of course, I realize it may not +always work as it did today. Indeed, the colors are not so strong as I +expect eventually to get them."</p> + +<p>"A great piece of work," said Mr. Reynolds, advancing to the middle of +the room and falling into the orator's attitude. "I've thought of it +every day since you told me of it. When I see men in the factory working +at jobs they fair hate, because they and theirs need bread—and breaking +under the bondage—Oh, I say, Procter, I wish you could bring the +machine to perfection soon and get others to believe in it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter's eyes lost their light. "That's it, to make others +believe!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter went to her husband. She put her hand on his arm and looked +up into his face with a gaze of perfect faith. "A big purposeful idea +like yours, that's going to make humanity happier, can't fail but some +day to be brought to the world's attention. Never lose faith, my man."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>The shadow of discouragement fell swiftly from him.</p> + +<p>"And, now," she continued before he could speak, "all wait here a little +while. The baby's still asleep," she flung over her shoulder as she left +the room.</p> + +<p>Shortly she returned bearing a large tray which she set down on the +table. Then she lit the side lamp; it cast a soft glow over the room. +"Now all draw close," Mrs. Procter invited.</p> + +<p>So they drew chairs near the table. There was milk for the children, +little seed cakes, thin bread and butter, and cups of strong tea for the +inventor and the visitor.</p> + +<p>The children, sipping their milk and eating the little sweet cakes, +listening to the talk of their father and Mr. Reynolds, their expressed +hopes for the success of the machine and its effect upon humanity, gazed +at the invention. The sense of a community of interest filled them. They +felt that they, each and all, had put something of everlasting worth +into The Machine, just as it had put some enduring understanding into +them.</p> + +<p>"I feel," whispered Suzanna to Maizie, "as though we were in church."</p> + +<p>Mr. Reynolds caught the whisper. "And well you may, little lassie," he +returned. "Your father <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>is a fine, good man with no thought at all of +himself, and some day," finished Mr. Reynolds, grandly, "his name will +go rolling down the ages as a benefactor to all mankind."</p> + +<p>A tribute and a prophecy! The children were glad that Mr. Reynolds had +such clear vision.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>THE NEW DRESS</h3> + + +<p>An influence vaguely felt by all the Procter family lingered for days +after father's Saturday afternoon at home. And then ordinary hours +intruded and filled the small lives with their duties and their +pleasures. Still shadowy, deeply hidden, the influence of the visionary +father lay. Even small Maizie awoke to tiny dreams, her literalness for +moments drowned out.</p> + +<p>At school, Maizie and Suzanna were perhaps the least extravagantly +dressed little girls. Exquisitely clean, often quaintly adorned with +ribbons placed according to Suzanna's fancies, it still could be seen +that they came from an humble home.</p> + +<p>Still, in their attitude there was toward their companions an +unconscious patronage, felt but hardly resented by the others, since +Suzanna and Maizie gave love and warmth besides.</p> + +<p>And this unconscious feeling of superiority sprang from "belonging" to a +father who worked in his free hours that others out in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>big world +might some day be glad he had lived! This idealism lent luster even to +his calling of weighing nails and selling washboards to the town of +Anchorville.</p> + +<p>Jenny Bryson, in Suzanna's class, bragged of her father's financial +condition, and indeed she was a resplendent advertisement of his +success.</p> + +<p>Suzanna listened interestedly. She gazed with admiration at the velvet +dress, the gold ring, and the pearl neck beads. She loved them all—the +smoothness of the velvet, the sparkle of the gold, the soft luster of +the pearls. But she felt no envy. She loved the adornments with her +imagination, not with desire. And though she could not say so to Jenny, +she rather pitied her for not having a father to whom a future +generation would bow in great gratitude.</p> + +<p>Then too, as mother said, if you merely bought clothes, you lost the joy +of creating. Witness the ingenious way, following Suzanna's suggestion, +that mother had draped a lace curtain over a worn blue dress, and +behold, a result wonderful.</p> + +<p>It was fun then to "make the best of your material," as mother again +said. Mother, who, when not too tired from many tasks, could paint rare +word pictures, build for eager little listeners castles of hope; build, +especially for Suzanna, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>colorful palaces with flaming jewels, crystal +lamps, scented draperies.</p> + +<p>Joys sometimes come close together. Father's day, then Sunday with an +hour spent in the Massey pew with gentle Miss Massey, old John Massey's +only child, setting forth the lesson from the Bible, and then the +thrilling announcement by the Superintendent that a festival was to be +given by the primary teachers some time in August, the exact date to be +told later.</p> + +<p>Miss Massey, taking up the subject when the Superintendent had finished, +thought it might add to the brilliance of the affair if Suzanna were to +recite. So she gave Suzanna a sheet of paper printed in blue ink, with a +title in red. "The Little Martyr of Smyrna," Suzanna spelled out.</p> + +<p>"You are to learn the poem by heart, of course, Suzanna," said Miss +Massey, "and if you need any help as to emphasis or gesture, you may +come to me on any afternoon."</p> + +<p>Suzanna flushed exalted. "I don't believe I'll need any help, thank you, +Miss Massey," she said. She could scarcely wait then till she reached +home to tell her mother the great news.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to study hard," said Mrs. Procter after she had read over +the verses, "but Suzanna, you have nothing suitable to wear."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The lace curtain dress, mother?" asked Suzanna, hopefully.</p> + +<p>"Beyond repair," returned Mrs. Procter.</p> + +<p>Father, sitting near, looked around at his small daughter. "I have two +dollars that I couldn't possibly use. Take them for a dress, Suzanna."</p> + +<p>"But, dear—" began mother, and went on haltingly about a pair of new +shoes she believed father had been saving for.</p> + +<p>But father did not hear, and so behold Suzanna and her mother the next +day at four o'clock in the afternoon in Bryson's drygoods store deciding +upon a pink lawn and a soft valenciennes lace. And later, green cambric +for a petticoat. And then on Wednesday the cutting out of the dress with +suggestions and help from Mrs. Reynolds, the very kind neighbor across +the way. On Thursday, baking day, mother put in every waking moment +between the oven in the kitchen and the sewing machine in the +dining-room.</p> + +<p>"Mother dear, don't work so hard," Suzanna begged once. She held the +fretful baby in her arms and tried to soothe him. He was always fretful, +it seemed, when mother was very busy.</p> + +<p>"The dress must be finished this week," said Mrs. Procter, basting away +furiously.</p> + +<p>"But there's two weeks yet to the festival, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>mother," said Suzanna, as +she hushed the baby against her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Next week, Suzanna, the bedrooms must be thoroughly cleaned, the +carpets taken up. O, please take the baby out into the yard and keep him +amused."</p> + +<p>Two red spots burned on Mrs. Procter's cheeks. Suzanna saw them. +Ardently she wished mother would stop and rest. Such driving haste, such +tenacity, meant later a nervous headache with mother put aside in a +darkened room. Suzanna sighed as she took the baby out into the yard.</p> + +<p>She put him into his carriage and wheeled him about till he fell asleep. +Then she called Maizie to watch him, while she tiptoed back into the +dining-room. Her mother still sat, dress in hand. Now she was drawing +out the bastings. The red spots still burned.</p> + +<p>"The baby's asleep, mother," whispered Suzanna. She longed ardently for +the return of the loved one who could laugh and say something funny +about sleep claiming the baby when he had made up his small mind to +remain exasperatingly wide awake.</p> + +<p>But instead—"Take out the stockings, Suzanna, and darn them. I'll call +you when I need your help for supper. Keep your eye on Peter."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> + +<p>That was all. Suzanna lingered, but no further word came.</p> + +<p>Suzanna dragged a low rocking chair into the yard, emptied the bag of +freshly washed stockings on the ground beside her, selected a pair of +Peter's, slipped the egg down, threaded her needle and began the task of +filling in the huge holes. Then she called Maizie from beside the still +sleeping baby.</p> + +<p>"Maizie," she began, "listen to me say two verses of 'The Little Martyr +of Smyrna.'"</p> + +<p>Maizie sank down at her sister's feet. She listened in awe as Suzanna +dramatically repeated the first part of the poem. Her gestures were +remarkable, her voice charged with feeling.</p> + +<p>"It's beautiful, Suzanna," said Maizie. "Everybody will listen and look +at you in your new dress."</p> + +<p>"O, it isn't a dress, Maizie," cried Suzanna, the while her small +fingers dexterously wove the needle in and out. "It's a rose blossom. +And when I recite in it on the last day of school my heart will be a +butterfly sipping honey from the flower."</p> + +<p>"I thought it was only a pale pink lawn at ten cents a yard," said +Maizie. She spoke somewhat timidly now, fearful of Suzanna's scorn.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You think everything is just what it is," answered Suzanna +reproachfully. "Go see if the baby is still asleep, and look down the +road for Peter."</p> + +<p>Maizie went off obediently, but she returned in a moment with the news +that the baby still slept and Peter was playing near Mr. Reynolds' gate. +She seated herself as before. She wanted to hear more of Suzanna's +fancies, but Suzanna remained silent, having been chilled a little by +Maizie's practicality. So Maizie put out her hand and touched her +sister. "Will the petticoat be a petticoat?" she asked, and wondered +excitedly into what beauty Suzanna's imagination would transmute this +ordinary piece of cambric.</p> + +<p>Suzanna's spirits rose again. "It'll be a green satin cup for the rose," +she answered, gazing dreamily before her. She let Peter's stocking fall +to the ground while she clasped her hands ecstatically. "O, Maizie, it's +almost too much joy! To wear a flower dress and to recite something that +makes you so happy and yet you want to cry too."</p> + +<p>Maizie nestled a little closer. "Do you think, Suzanna, when the green +petticoat's nearly worn, that it'll come down to me?"</p> + +<p>Suzanna pondered this for a moment. "Yes, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>it'll go down to you, Maizie, +but not for years and years," she answered, finally. "Things do last so +in this family."</p> + +<p>Maizie, by a sad little shake of the head, agreed with this statement, +and the sisters were silent. In different manner, however, for Maizie +simply accepted an unpleasant fact, while Suzanna worked mentally to a +solution of any situation. She found the solution at last.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you what I'll do, Maizie," she said. "Once a month, when we +love each other madly, I'll let you wear my petticoat."</p> + +<p>"I hope it'll come on Sunday when we love each other that way," said +Maizie, wistfully; "I'm sure mother wouldn't let you lend the petticoat +to me for an every-day."</p> + +<p>"We can fix that, too," said ready Suzanna. "Some Friday you can begin +to fuss about washing Peter. I'll have to wash him myself if you're +<i>too</i> mean. And Saturday morning you can peel the potatoes so thick that +mother'll say: 'Maizie, do you think we're made of money! Here, let +Suzanna show you how to peel those potatoes thin.' And then I'll be so +mad I'll give you a push, and I won't speak to you for the rest of the +day."</p> + +<p>"Yes, go on," said Maizie, her eyes shining.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And then on Sunday morning, just before breakfast, you'll come to me +and put your arms around my neck and say: 'Dear, sweet, <i>lovely</i> +Suzanna, I'm so sorry I've been so hateful. I'll go down on my knees for +your forgiveness. <i>And I'll sew on all the buttons this week!</i>'"</p> + +<p>Maizie drew away a little then. Suzanna went on, however. "And I'll say: +'Yes, dear sinner, I forgive you freely. You may wear my green petticoat +today.'"</p> + +<p>There fell an hour of a never-to-be-forgotten day when the pink dress +lay on the dining-room table, full length, finished, marvelous to little +eyes with its yards and yards of valenciennes lace that graduated in +width from very narrow to one broad band around the bottom of the skirt. +Suzanna, Maizie, Peter, and even the baby bowed before the miracle of +beauty.</p> + +<p>"How many yards of lace are on it, mother?" asked Suzanna, for the sixth +time, and for the sixth time Mrs. Procter looked up from her sewing +machine at which she was busy with the green petticoat and answered: "A +whole bolt, Suzanna."</p> + +<p>The children at this information stared rounder-eyed and then turned to +gaze with uncovered awe at Suzanna, the owner.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you think, mother," asked Maizie, "that when I'm older I can have a +pink dress with no trimming of yours on it?"</p> + +<p>"We'll see," said Mrs. Procter, who knew how strictly to the letter she +was held to her promises.</p> + +<p>Now Suzanna reluctantly left the dress and went to her mother. "Mother," +she cried, softly, "when I recite 'The Little Martyr of Smyrna' up on +the big platform, I'm afraid I won't be humble in spirit. It's too much +to be humble, isn't it, when you've got a whole bolt of lace on your +dress?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter, quite used to Suzanna's intensities, answered, running the +machine deftly as she spoke: "Oh, you'll be all right, Suzanna. The +minister means something else when he preaches of being humble. What +bothers me now is how to manage a pair of shoes for you. Yours are so +shabby."</p> + +<p>"Can't I wear my patent leather slippers?"</p> + +<p>"You've outgrown them, Suzanna. They're too short even for Maizie, you +remember."</p> + +<p>"I could stand them for that one time, mother."</p> + +<p>"No," said Mrs. Procter decidedly; "I should be distressed seeing you in +shoes too small for you."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mother, you could open the end of my patent leather slipper so my toes +can push through and then put a puff of black, ribbon over the hole!" +The idea was an inspiration, and Suzanna's eyes shone.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter saw immediately possibilities in the idea. Years of working +and scheming and praying to raise her ever increasing family on the +inadequate and varying income of her inventor husband had ultimated in +keen sensibilities for opportunities. "Why, I think I can do that," she +said. "I'll make a sort of shirred bag into which your toes will fit and +so lengthen the slipper and cover the stitching with a bow. I hope I can +find a needle strong enough to go through the leather." Her face was +bright, her voice clear. She was all at once quite different from the +weary, dragged mother of the past few days, determined against all odds +to finish the dress so the cleaning might be started the following week.</p> + +<p>Suzanna gazed delightedly. With the fine intuition of an imaginative +child she understood the reason for the metamorphosis. It was the +quickening of the senses that rallied themselves to meet and solve a +problem that brought a high glow; stimulated, and uplifted. She herself +was no stranger to that glow.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p>She put her arms about her mother's shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it nice, mother, to have to think out things?"</p> + +<p>A little puzzled, Mrs. Procter looked at Suzanna. Then her face cleared.</p> + +<p>"O, I understand. It is—can you understand the word, +Suzanna—'exhilarating' sometimes."</p> + +<p>"I feel what the word means, mother—like catching in your breath when +you touch cold water."</p> + +<p>"Exactly. Now please get the slippers."</p> + +<p>Suzanna ran upstairs. Returning, slippers in hand, she found the other +children had left.</p> + +<p>"Has Maizie got the baby?" Suzanna asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>Her mother smiled. "Yes, I carried him out to the yard. He's kicking +about, happy on his blanket."</p> + +<p>Suzanna, relieved, handed the slippers to her mother.</p> + +<p>"And I brought my old black hair ribbon. That will do for the shirring, +won't it, mother?"</p> + +<p>"Nicely."</p> + +<p>Together they evolved, worked, tried on, completed.</p> + +<p>"It's more fun doing this than going to Bryson's and buying a new pair, +isn't it, mother?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, I believe it is, daughter."</p> + +<p>"I feel so warm here—" Suzanna touched her heart—"because we're doing +something harder than just going out to the store and buying what we'd +like."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter gazed at her handiwork reflectively. "Well, it does make +you feel that you've accomplished a great deal when you've created +something out of nothing."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter rose then, touched the new dress lovingly, and said: "So, +we can put it away now, Suzanna; it's quite finished. The petticoat +needs just a button and buttonhole."</p> + +<p>Suzanna stood quite still. At last she looked up into her mother's face +and put her question: "When will you begin to cut the goods out from +under the lace, mother?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter, her thoughts now supperward, spoke abstractedly: "Oh, +we'll not do that."</p> + +<p>There was a silence, while the room suddenly whirled for Suzanna. +Recovering from the dizziness, with eyes large and black and her face +very pale, Suzanna gazed unbelievingly at her mother. For a moment she +was quite unable to speak. Then in a tiny voice which she endeavored to +keep steady, she asked: "Not even from under the wide row round the +bottom, mother?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, Suzanna," Mrs. Procter answered, quite unconscious of the storm in +the child's breast. She moved towards the door.</p> + +<p>"But, mother, listen, please." Suzanna's hands were locked till they +showed white at the knuckles. "If you don't cut the goods away the green +petticoat won't gleam through the lace! You see, it's a rose dress and a +rose has shining green leaves, just showing."</p> + +<p>The plea was ardent, but Mrs. Procter was firm. Indeed she did not +glance at Suzanna. The reaction from her days of hard and continuous +work was setting in. She merely said: "Suzanna, we must make that dress +last a long time. I made it so that it can be lengthened five inches. We +can't weaken it by cutting the goods away from under the lace. Now, +dear, go and see that the children aren't in mischief. I must start +supper."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>SUZANNA COMES TO A DECISION</h3> + + +<p>The children were playing contentedly in the road, Suzanna assured +herself. And finding them so, she wandered disconsolately back to the +front porch, where seated in a little rocking chair she stared straight +before her. She felt as one thrown suddenly from a great height. One +moment she had been thrillingly happy, the next, the bitter fruit of +disappointment touched her lips. So events occur lightningly quick in +this world. The day itself was as beautiful as it had been an hour +before, yet its sun had ceased to shine for little Suzanna, since the +crowning touch of The Dress, the poetic completeness of it, was denied +her.</p> + +<p>Years ago it seemed she had wakened in the morning after dreaming of a +rose gown with its glimpses of cool green flickering through rows of +open lace; but no more could she dream, since that lace was now +condemned to blindness, unable even to hint at concealed beauties, and +this because Economy, the stern god of the Procter home, so ordained.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span></p> + +<p>Two tears at last found their slow way down her cheek. Not the least of +her woe was caused by the realization that now the dress was +ingloriously what Maizie had termed it, a pale pink lawn at ten cents a +yard, bearing no appeal to her imagination, fulfilling no place in +Suzanna's great Scheme of Things.</p> + +<p>Suzanna's distress, as the days passed, did not abate. She never spoke +of the dress, nor did she go to look at it as it hung shrouded in cheese +cloth in the hall closet upstairs. No longer did she look forward with +delight to the day when feelingly she should recite the troubles and the +heroism of "The Little Martyr of Smyrna."</p> + +<p>Instead she went quietly about performing her customary duties, finding +for the time no real zest in life.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter, innocent of the cause of Suzanna's listlessness, spoke no +word. She wondered why the child had lost interest in the festival, +indeed in all things pertaining to the occasion. It was difficult, she +finally decided, to know how to cope with a child so complex, so +changeable. She determined to treat the new mood with indifference, as +being the most potent method. So she asked of Suzanna the performance of +daily duties just as usual. When she discovered Suzanna gaz<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>ing at her, +Maizie close beside her with the same degree of reflection in her gray +eyes, Mrs. Procter grew uncomfortable, then a trifle irritable. Both +children seemed to regard her as an alien, one, for the time, quite +outside their pale.</p> + +<p>Suzanna, then, had taken Maizie into her confidence.</p> + +<p>"One needs be clairvoyant," Mrs. Procter told her husband one evening, +"to know what passes through small minds."</p> + +<p>"Clairvoyant and full of patience," he answered, looking up from his +color book. "I can remember even now my own sensations when at times my +mother failed to go with me into my land of dreams."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter cast her memory back over the events of several days.</p> + +<p>"I can't think what has so changed Suzanna," she said at last; "I've +disappointed her, I fear, about something or other. Dear me, what +insight versatile children do demand in a mother. And Suzanna takes +everything so very seriously. And Maizie stares at me too, with a little +bewildered expression. It's strange that Maizie, with all her +literalness, can understand at times Suzanna's disappointments when her +fancies are not given due value. For, of course, it is some fancy of +Suzan<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>na's that I've either not noticed, or perhaps laughed at." She +paused to smile at her husband.</p> + +<p>"Such children come of giving them an inventor father, an 'impractical +genius,' as I've heard myself in satire called."</p> + +<p>She flushed up angrily at this.</p> + +<p>"You've done wonderfully well," she said, and believed the assertion; +just as though at forty to weigh nails correctly and to sell so many +yards of garden hose a week was a fine measure of success. "And your +name will go ringing down the ages." She would never let him lose +confidence in his own powers. Circumstances alone had thrown him into a +mediocre position in a small town, but they should never hold him down.</p> + +<p>He grew beneath her look; beneath her belief in him. And so the +conversation ended on the personal note; ended with hands clasped and +fond eyes seeing each the other's charm after many years.</p> + +<p>Suzanna, arranging the pantry the next morning, sought her mother +upstairs with a domestic announcement.</p> + +<p>"The vinegar bottle is empty," she said.</p> + +<p>"And the gherkins all ready," cried Mrs. Procter. "Will you run over to +Mrs. Reynolds and ask her for some vinegar, Suzanna?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<p>Listlessly, Suzanna returned downstairs, and from the pantry procured a +cup. Slowly she left the house, walked down the front path and across +the road to Mrs. Reynolds' home. Arrived there, she went round to the +back door and knocked with slack knuckles.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds, a white cloth tied about her forehead, opened the door. +She gave out redolently the pungent odor of the commodity Suzanna sought +to borrow.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds was stout and comfortable looking ordinarily. A quaint and +interesting personality, sprung from Welsh parentage, she fitted into +the life of Anchorville only because of a certain natural adaptability. +She seemed to belong to a wilder, more passionate people than those +plain lives which surrounded her.</p> + +<p>Suzanna knew her tenderness, her tragic depressions. She loved her deep +voice, her resonant tones, all her quick changes of mood, and her +occasional strange ways of expression, revealing her understanding of +men and women's vagaries.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds adored Suzanna. She had said often there was one thing she +coveted from her neighbor, and that was her neighbor's child.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds had no children and in that deplorable fact lay her +keenest unhappiness.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + +<p>She greeted Suzanna cordially.</p> + +<p>"Come in, Suzanna, come in," she said. "I've been using vinegar and red +pepper all morning," she continued, as she went her way to the pantry +with Suzanna's cup. "I've one of my old headaches."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Suzanna, with immediate sympathy. "Have you +been worrying?"</p> + +<p>"Not more than usual, Suzanna," said Mrs. Reynolds with a sigh. "Here's +your vinegar. Hold it steady. Vinegar's a bad thing to spill."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," said Suzanna, politely, as she received the cup. And then: +"I don't see why you should worry. You have no children. It's mother's +many children that sometimes give her worry."</p> + +<p>"Your mother'd have worries even without you all," returned Mrs. +Reynolds. "Won't you sit down a spell, Suzanna?"</p> + +<p>"No, I can't, mother's waiting." Suzanna walked toward the door, pausing +on her way to glance about her. "My, but you're very clean here," she +said, appreciatively. "Your cleanness is different from ours. Ours +doesn't show so."</p> + +<p>"There's no little hands to clutter things up," said Mrs. Reynolds, but +her voice wasn't glad.</p> + +<p>Suzanna, intuitively sensing the real trouble, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>said: "Reynolds slammed +the door this morning, Mrs. Reynolds. We heard the slam in our +dining-room and my mother jumped." Suzanna quite innocently borrowed +Mrs. Reynolds' way of referring to her husband.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds' face darkened. "Yes, I know he did. That man is getting +more like a bear every day."</p> + +<p>"He liked our twin that went away, Mrs. Reynolds. He wasn't like a bear +when he played with her."</p> + +<p>At this statement Mrs. Reynolds suddenly threw her apron over her head +and sobbed: "That's just it, Suzanna, that's just it; there aren't any +little cluttering fingers about."</p> + +<p>Suzanna set the vinegar cup carefully down on the table, the while her +keenly sensitive mind worked rapidly. Those gifts which by dint of their +frequency in her own home seemed rather overdone were actually missed +here! A strong, deep sympathy for Mrs. Reynolds' disappointment grew +within her, but did not entirely crowd out the thought that through this +very disappointment her own burning desire might be brought to pass. She +now went swiftly and touched the weeping woman.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Reynolds," she began, "will you tell <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>me how you feel about +cutting pink goods away from under lace. Can you afford to do that?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds' apron came down with a jerk, and for a second she stared +her perplexity at the upturned, earnest little face. Then with quick +understanding which revealed her real mother-spirit, she answered: "Why +land, Honey-Girl, Reynolds makes pretty good money at times. I guess we +can do about as we please in most simple ways."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, keep your apron down," advised Suzanna; "and just think +this thought over and over: 'Reynolds is not going to be cross any +more!' Thank you again for the vinegar, I must be going now."</p> + +<p>It was not without misgiving that Suzanna started immediately to put her +secret plan into execution. And her judicious side urged the completion +of all details before she said anything to those most nearly concerned +in her new move. Only to Maizie, whose constant attendance she +skillfully managed to elude while she made her simple preparations, did +she at last give any confidence, and it was in this manner she spoke:</p> + +<p>"There's going to be a great change, Maizie; and tonight you must manage +to stay awake to do something for me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> + +<p>Maizie, at once interested, grew wildly expectant. Though she could send +up no airships of her own, she loved to contemplate Suzanna's daring +flights.</p> + +<p>"I'll do anything, Suzanna," she promised.</p> + +<p>So Suzanna gave Maizie her news. Hearing it, Maizie's lips quivered, but +she kept back the tears by the exercise of great control. They were +upstairs in their own room. It was late afternoon. Peter was out +playing. Mrs. Procter, the baby with her, was downtown ordering +groceries.</p> + +<p>"Now, you mustn't cry, Maizie," said Suzanna; "it all had to be, and +what is to be is for the best." Suzanna quoted from Mrs. Reynolds. "Go +downstairs and get father's dictionary."</p> + +<p>Maizie obeyed, returning quickly with the desired book.</p> + +<p>"And now stand at the window so as to tell me when you see mother +coming."</p> + +<p>So Maizie took her stand while Suzanna labored hard with the pen. An +hour passed. Once Suzanna flew downstairs to the kitchen, then returned +to her work. At last, Maizie in excited tones announced that her mother +and the baby had turned the corner. Suzanna laid down her pen.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's all finished," she said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span></p> + +<p>Maizie looked at her sister. Now the tears came, blurring the big gray +eyes.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't cry, Maizie," said Suzanna, trying to subdue her own +emotions.</p> + +<p>"Couldn't you just wear the dress as it is?" asked Maizie in a small +voice, touching the crux of the whole matter, the cause of the great +change.</p> + +<p>"I just couldn't," Suzanna returned. "It wouldn't be a rose blossom, you +see, Maizie, <i>when it could just as well be one</i>."</p> + +<p>Maizie nodded. Perhaps she understood Suzanna's sense of waste. +Undoubtedly her grief at Suzanna's contemplated step had sharpened her +sensibilities. Vague stirrings told her that the artist in Suzanna had +been desperately hurt; and for the once her imagination thrilled as did +her sister's to the dress as a Rose Blossom. She knew with passion that +it could not remain simply pink lawn cut and slashed into a mere +garment.</p> + +<p>So she went softly to Suzanna and touched her gently.</p> + +<p>"I'll help you all I can, sister," she said.</p> + +<p>So it was that just as the clock was striking nine, little Maizie stole +from her room—shared as long as she remembered with Suzanna—crept down +the stairs and into the parlor where her father sat studying, as always, +a formidable book, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>the while her mother sat sewing, her chair drawn +close to his. Maizie went straight to the quiet figure.</p> + +<p>"Mother," she said, "Suzanna told me to stay awake till the clock struck +nine and then to give you this."</p> + +<p>"This" was a note folded into the shape of a cocked hat, which Suzanna +thought very elegant. Mrs. Procter, accustomed to Suzanna's ways, +unfolded the note, smiled at the large printed letters, sighed a little +at the thought of the great effort put into their forming, read once, +twice, then sat up very straight. The note thus told its own story:</p> + +<div class="blockquot">My Loving Mother:<br /> + +<p>I have given myself to the Reynolds for there own. +Mrs. Reynolds is not happy with Reynolds' slams of +doors and crossness be cause they have no child. +They will be pretty sprised to see me to night and +glad with my big shiny bag witch I have borrowed +from my once very loved father. I have my pink +dress witch will soon be a rose in it and my other +things. I wore my hat and coat even if it is warm. +You will not miss me much because the last baby +went away and a baby always makes more work. And +anyway one little girl out of a big family wont +make any difrunce. But if you want any fine +errands ran, you can borrow Mrs. Reynolds new +child. Tell father I am loving my naybor as +myself. It hurt <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>me till something stopped inside +to see Mrs. Reynolds put her apron over her head +at Reynolds slams. Perhaps the mother angel that +stops at our house all the time will pause at Mrs. +Reynolds' next time and leave a bundle, thinking +when I'm there a family don't have to be started +which is always hard, I suppose. Mother, please +don't forget about borrowing. It is not polite to +come 2 often even to borrow me for some thing big. +It took me an hour and twenty minutes to write +this while you were at the butshers and grosers +and Maizie at the window. I had to stop too, to +watch the beans on the stove. I have labored over +some of the big spelling with fathers dicsionary +on my knee, remembering to make all my i's big +I's. </p> + +<div class='right'> +<span style="margin-right: 7em;">Farewell forever,</span><br /> +Suzanna <i>Reynolds</i>.<br /> +</div></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>P. S. Mrs. Reynolds can afford to cut away the +goods from under all lace, which makes my heart +jump! Perhaps tho even tho I'm sorry for her, if +she hadn't promised to cut away the goods from +under the lace in my pink dress, I wouldn't have +adopted myself out to her. So I shall see you when +I recite "The Little Martyr of Smyrna" with the +green showing through the windows of my many yards +of lace. O, Mother, I couldn't bare to ware that +dress which is just a <i>dress</i> when it could be a +<i>rose</i>. </p></div> + +<p>"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Procter, attracted by the strange, almost +solemn silence. "What's the trouble, Jane?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> + +<p>She handed the note to him, waited while he read it through not once, +but many times, as she had.</p> + +<p>He passed it back to her. "Shall we go for her?" he asked.</p> + +<p>But she shook her head. "Sometimes I don't know just how to act where +Suzanna's concerned," she said. She folded the note. "No, sometimes I +feel just helpless."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>SUZANNA MAKES HER ENTRY</h3> + + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds were in the kitchen, she belatedly washing the +supper dishes, he smoking his pipe near the window. She lent, through +her vivid personality, color to him. Big, hearty, he was not +picturesque. He seemed to take note of realities more than she did. +Perhaps springing from emotional folk, she stood with a quality of rich +background denied to him by a line of unimaginative ancestors.</p> + +<p>He read his big books, she found truths in her own heart. She found a +quick, tender language springing from her understanding. He used his +words like bludgeons.</p> + +<p>Still they loved one another, and her deepest hurt was that he wanted +that which she could not give him. So she placed his longing before hers +and grieved most for his lack.</p> + +<p>The front door-bell rang. They looked at one another wonderingly, then +Mr. Reynolds slowly withdrew his feet from the window sill and went as +slowly down the hall. He opened the door to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> Suzanna, who stood waiting, +conventionally attired in hat and cloak, pale, and with eyes wide and +dark.</p> + +<p>"Good evening, Reynolds," said Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"O! good evening, come in, come in," urged Mr. Reynolds hospitably, but +totally at a loss as he looked at the little figure. "Come right out to +the kitchen."</p> + +<p>Suzanna followed him. When once in the kitchen, she stood for a moment +blinking in the light streaming from the hanging lamp under which Mrs. +Reynolds stood; then she said:</p> + +<p>"I've come to you, Mrs. Reynolds, to stay. I've adopted myself out to +you."</p> + +<p>"Well, I never, dear love!" was all Mrs. Reynolds could say as she wiped +her hands on a convenient roller towel.</p> + +<p>Mr. Reynolds laughed. "Oh, you think you'd like a change of homes, +Suzanna?"</p> + +<p>Suzanna turned to him then. She spoke quietly, but decisively so he +might perfectly understand. "No, that's not it, Reynolds. I love my +little home; but first I don't want Mrs. Reynolds to throw her apron +over her head at your slams. And second it's for myself I come, because +you can afford to do something for me my own mother thinks she can't on +account of little money."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>But Mr. Reynolds caught only the first reason. "What do you mean, young +lady, about slammin'; that's what I want to know." His tone was +belligerent. Mrs. Reynolds threw him a withering look. "Here, Suzanna," +she said; "give me the bag, and you sit down. Take your hat off, my +brave little lass. 'Twas but you and you alone could think of this sweet +thought."</p> + +<p>"I'd rather have things settled before I take my hat off," said Suzanna. +She relinquished the bag, however, and seated herself in the chair Mrs. +Reynolds pulled forward. Then she went on: "You know, Reynolds, you do +slam doors and make Mrs. Reynolds cry. And you know, anyway, you +oughtn't to blame Mrs. Reynolds because you get no visits. It may be +just as much your fault because the mother angel don't like your ways."</p> + +<p>She paused a moment before continuing. "And, anyway, my father never +blames mother for anything, only when she's tired and cries he remembers +to love her even if he's on the way upstairs to the attic to his +wonderful Machine, and he puts his arm about her waist, though mother +says it's much larger now than it was years ago. That's what my father +that used to be, does."</p> + +<p>"Why bless my soul!" blustered Mr. Rey<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>nolds, his face a fine glowing +color; "bless my soul!" he repeated, removing his shoes and slamming +them down, as he always did under stress. "Women, my dear, will make up +all sorts of stories. If I did give the door a bit of a slam, it was +because the bacon didn't set right, perhaps. And a woman's always +fancying things."</p> + +<p>"But you don't put your arm about her, you know that, Reynolds. I was +born in this town and I've never seen you put your arm about her."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds' apron was over her head again, but she made no sound. Her +husband knocked the ashes from his pipe, and ran his fingers through his +thick hair. Then he stared helplessly at Suzanna. She rose valiantly to +the occasion.</p> + +<p>"If you say, 'There, there, don't cry, you should have married a better +man,' she'll say: 'There couldn't be a better' and take her apron down." +Thus innocently Suzanna exposed a tender home method of salving hurts, +and her listener, as near as his nature could, appropriated the method. +He rose from his chair and went softly to his wife. At her side he +hesitated in sheer embarrassment, but as she began to sob, he hurriedly +repeated Suzanna's formula: "There, there, dear, don't cry. I'm a bad +'un, I am—"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds lowered her shield. "You <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>know better than that, +Reynolds," she denied, almost indignantly. "You're a good provider, with +a bit of a temper."</p> + +<p>"Well, out with it then. What <i>is</i> the trouble? I'm willing to do what I +can, even occasionally to doing what the little lass suggests." And with +the words, his big arm went clumsily about his wife, the while he looked +at Suzanna for approval. She nodded vigorously, her eyes shining.</p> + +<p>"It's just this, then, Reynolds," the words were now a whisper, and the +big red-faced man had to stoop to hear. "It's that I'm achin' all the +time to hold one in my arms; and always to you I've let on that I didn't +care. An'—an'—I know the hunger in your own fine heart, my lad."</p> + +<p>Mr. Reynolds' face grew wonderfully soft; indeed, tender in a new +understanding. "I didn't know, Margie, that you grieved. Come, look up. +You and me are together anyway."</p> + +<p>"And you have me, now, too," broke in Suzanna, eager to help. "I'm going +to stay with you forever'n forever, only except when my mother that used +to be wants to borrow me back. Now, I'll go to bed, if you please."</p> + +<p>And then one swift, cuddling memory of little Maizie alone in bed across +the street brought the hot tears to Suzanna's eyes, but she winked them +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>resolutely back as she lifted the black, shiny bag.</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow," she said to Mrs. Reynolds, "you can cut the goods away from +under the lace on my pink dress, can't you?" She went on, not waiting +for an answer. "Shall I go right along upstairs?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds spoke gently: "Yes, Suzanna. Did you tell your mother you +were coming to me to be my own lass?"</p> + +<p>"I wrote her a letter."</p> + +<p>Suzanna on her way upstairs waited a moment while Mrs. Reynolds +whispered directions to her husband: "You run across to the little home +while I put her to bed." Then looking wistfully up into his face: "Do +you think she'll let me undress her?"</p> + +<p>"That young'un will do anything to make you happy, Margie."</p> + +<p>From the top of the stairs the words floated down: "Are you +coming—<i>mother</i>—"</p> + +<p>Suzanna's voice choked on the word, but Mrs. Reynolds heard only the +exquisite title. She lifted her face, glowing like a heaven of stars.</p> + +<p>"I'm coming, Suzanna," she called. And she went swiftly up the stairs to +the little girl. "This night you sleep under the silk coverlet—and more +I couldn't do for royalty!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>REGRETS</h3> + + +<p>Suzanna woke the next morning to a realization that she was in a strange +place. She occupied a large bed, too large, it seemed to her, for one +small girl. And even the silken coverlet failed to assuage the sudden +wave of homesickness which threatened to engulf her.</p> + +<p>She lay thinking. A clock on the dresser showed her the hour to be +seven. Maizie would be up and downstairs. She would have buttoned Peter +and would be carrying the blue dishes from the pantry to the +dining-room. Father would be in the attic for a glance at his beloved +Machine before obeying mother's cheerful call to breakfast.</p> + +<p>Suzanna choked back a lump insistent upon rising to her throat. Across +the way was home and she had adopted herself out of it! Here all was +quiet, and comfortable, very comfortable. The mattress was thick, her +small body quite sank into its depths; the bed she shared with Maizie, +she had realized on occasions, had lumps, and no silken coverlet +spreading itself brilliantly. Still <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>there were rare and beautiful +compensations for the lack of thick mattresses and silken coverlets—and +greatest grief to her of all was that she stood no longer a daughter to +a great man!</p> + +<p>The tears came perilously near. Suzanna choked them back as she heard +"Reynolds" close the front gate with what to him was a gentle click. She +felt that in a moment Mrs. Reynolds would summon her downstairs to a +breakfast hot and delicious.</p> + +<p><i>Why had she left home if she loved it so!</i></p> + +<p>The sentence formed itself in her mind.</p> + +<p>Well, she hadn't realized that home and those in it were so dear till +she left. And her reason was a good one. It had seemed she could +scarcely live possessed of a dress whose sweet possibilities were denied +by a mother's spirit of economy. Never had she so intensely wished for +anything as for the goods to be cut away from under the rows of lace.</p> + +<p>Still now, lying there alone in her strange surroundings, that desire +was losing its poignancy. It didn't seem quite to fill her entire +universe.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds put her head inside the door. She wore a crisp blue and +white dress, her black hair was drawn smoothly back from her brow. Her +eyes dwelt lovingly on the little girl.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Quite awake, Suzanna?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Suzanna nodded. She couldn't trust herself to speak.</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said Mrs. Reynolds, "I'm going to give thee a treat." She +went away quite unconscious that she had fallen into her original quaint +method of speech.</p> + +<p>Presently she returned, carrying a tray covered with a white and red +napkin.</p> + +<p>Suzanna sat up, received the tray in her lap and waited unexcitedly +while Mrs. Reynolds removed the enshrouding napkin.</p> + +<p>There lay an orange cut up and sugared; a poached egg on a slice of +perfectly browned toast, and a glass of rich milk.</p> + +<p>"For my little girl," said Mrs. Reynolds in her contralto voice. "Now +eat thee, my dearie, and take your time. I'll leave now."</p> + +<p>Alone once more, Suzanna surveyed the tray. She lifted a spoon with the +tiniest piece of orange on its tip, and found strangely that when she +attempted to swallow the fruit her throat quite closed up.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there came a memory of Drusilla. Drusilla had told of the +little silver chain, binding all to one another. Surely the chain +binding Suzanna to her mother was doubly thick, yet she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>had broken it! +She put the tray to one side and sprang from the bed. Her desire, +recently so keen, so all absorbing, seemed little indeed beside the +yearning now to be back across the way once again her Mother's Child.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds, returning, found her little guest at the window, bare +feet on the cold floor; the white gown held tightly at the neck by a +small, trembling hand. A glance at the tray on the bed revealed a +breakfast practically untasted.</p> + +<p>"Why, my lamb," began Mrs. Reynolds, "not a bite gone down!"</p> + +<p>Suzanna turned, a desperate little face she showed, eyes wide and +appealing.</p> + +<p>"I just couldn't eat, Mrs. Reynolds." No thought now of bestowing the +beloved title.</p> + +<p>"And the food brought fine to bed to you."</p> + +<p>"Not even then."</p> + +<p>"Well, come then, dear heart; you must be dressed. I put your clothes +away neat and tidy."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds opened a closet door and brought forth an armful of +garments. Suzanna surveyed them as though they had no relation to her.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds went suddenly and picked up the little figure, carried her +to a rocking chair and with no word held her close.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What is it, my little girl?" asked Mrs. Reynolds after a time, softly.</p> + +<p>Her little girl! Suzanna winced. But she <i>was</i> Mrs. Reynolds' little +girl now. Hadn't she broken all ties with the loved ones across the way?</p> + +<p>She tried to find comfort in Mrs. Reynolds' joy. "I am your little girl, +aren't I?" she asked softly, calling valiantly on her sense of justice.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds looked searchingly into Suzanna's face. With no child of +her own, she was still a mother-at-heart. She was full of understanding.</p> + +<p>"As much, my own lassie," she answered, "as any other woman's child can +be. You see," she went on after a pause, "there's a bond 'tween mother +and child that can't ever be broke."</p> + +<p>"But I adopted myself out to you," said Suzanna, though her heart was +beating with hope.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you did," admitted Mrs. Reynolds; "but you didn't at that break +the tie that binds you to your own mother. You could never do that, +Suzanna, lassie."</p> + +<p>As Suzanna looked up into the kind face, new thoughts came surging to +her. She couldn't separate them, couldn't arrange them. They all jumbled +together, like vivid picture impressions, full of color and feeling. One +thought at length cleared itself, stood out.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> + +<p>Love and the chain binding you to those you loved was the biggest thing +in the world.</p> + +<p>So she told Mrs. Reynolds about Drusilla's chain. And Mrs. Reynolds, +greatly impressed, said: "Yes, it's a blessed thread that holds us +together. Reynolds calls it the 'sense of brotherhood.'" Her voice +lowered itself: "He's a Socialist, Reynolds is, Suzanna." There was +pride and fear mixed with a little condemnation in her voice.</p> + +<p>"A Socialist—it's a nice word, isn't it?" said Suzanna, settling more +comfortably into the hollow of Mrs. Reynolds' arm.</p> + +<p>"And I'm going to see Drusilla, as you call her," said Mrs. Reynolds, +"and take her some of my crab jelly. I've seen her many's the time +sitting out in the yard with naught but a trained maid by her. Poor, +poor old soul, with a rich daughter-in-law."</p> + +<p>"And a King that's gone to the Far Country," said Suzanna; "and she +longs for him. Oh, she's a lonely old lady."</p> + +<p>"She must be that and all," said Mrs. Reynolds, wholly sympathetic.</p> + +<p>They sat rocking then in silence. Suzanna was the first to speak.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Reynolds," she began in a low voice.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> "I think I'll dress now, and +after I've helped with the breakfast dishes I'll go and see my mother."</p> + +<p>The heartbreak in the small voice touched Mrs. Reynolds deeply. "Why, +small lass," she cried: "You mustn't think I'll hold you to your giving +yourself away to me. No, not even for a bit of time. Sweet, you gave me +joy last night. I pretended that you were my own. I undressed you and +put you to bed, and heard your prayers. You did something for me, and I +be vastly grateful to you."</p> + +<p>Suzanna's eyes brightened. "Oh, thank you for saying all that, Mrs. +Reynolds."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you came to me in the night with your shiny bag, and you told in +your little way some truths to Reynolds. You made him see clear and +farther than he has for many a day, the fine man though he is, and I'll +always hold you in my heart as my dream child."</p> + +<p>"Your dream child—and I'll dream for you—that you should have your +heart's desire like the fairies say," finished Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"Ah, lack-a-me," cried Mrs. Reynolds. "Who e'er gets his deepest heart +desire in this drear world?"</p> + +<p>Suzanna sprang to her feet.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, but heart's desires change."</p> + +<p>"Change!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You can have new ones every day. Why, for many days my deepest +heart's desire has been to have the goods cut away from under the lace. +Now, I don't care so much for that—not so much—Now I want most in the +world to see—my—mother—"</p> + +<p>Fearful that she had hurt Mrs. Reynolds by her confession, she put out +her hand and stroked the capable hand lying near.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Reynolds wasn't hurt. She was smiling. "Well, it's a hard thing +at times to learn to put one wish in place of another. But I guess life +teaches you that; it hurries you forward so you have to put wish on +wish." She stood up. "And now, the morning's well started, Suzanna. +Dress quickly and come down to a warm breakfast."</p> + +<p>She raised the tray and Suzanna knew that now she was hungry.</p> + +<p>"Come down when you're ready, my wee bit girl," said Mrs. Reynolds, as +she left, carrying the tray with her.</p> + +<p>So Suzanna in a short time descended. How restful the house was; no +insistent voices of children, no clattering of dishes.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's so quiet and nice here, Mrs. Reynolds," said Suzanna, as she +entered the kitchen. "At home there's lots of talking and sometimes the +baby cries."</p> + +<p>"Do you like quiet, Suzanna?"</p> + +<p>"Ye-es," Suzanna stammered. A recurrent attack of homesickness was upon +her; that dreadful pulling of the heartstrings; that sinking feeling +that she had cut herself loose from all to whom she belonged rightfully.</p> + +<p>She stood still watching Mrs. Reynolds who was busy at the stove. She +admired the deftness with which an egg was broken and dropped into +boiling water, and in a few seconds brought to the top intact, to be +placed upon the awaiting toast.</p> + +<p>"You're awful quick, Mrs. Reynolds," she started to say when a knock +sounded upon the door.</p> + +<p>The door slowly opened and, alone, Suzanna's mother entered.</p> + +<p>She stood just looking in. She was pale, her eyes wide, languid, shadows +beneath them as though she had not slept. But those same tired eyes +lightened as they fell upon Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"Mother-eyes," the phrase grew in Suzanna's heart. She should never in +all her life forget that look of longing, of love.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<p>And somehow another impression, new, almost unbelievable, came to +Suzanna. Her mother was <i>young</i>, for wasn't that yearning note in her +voice; that tentative little gesture; her whole questioning attitude, +all her seekings, but expressions of her youngness? She wasn't after all +far removed from her little daughter, not for this minute, anyway. A +delicious sense of comradeship with this mother flooded the child.</p> + +<p>And the mother stood and looked at her child, almost as for the first +time, at least with a sense of newness, as though Suzanna had been born +anew to her.</p> + +<p>In the night a far reaching understanding had come to her. It came out +of her conclusion to strike a blow at the child's oversensitiveness by a +full dose of ridicule; by accusing her of affectation, a clever playing +to the gallery; this when the night was early, and the mother still +aching with weariness from the day's many tasks. And then as the hours +wore on, and the quiet soothed her weary nerves, the knowledge came, +flashing out of the ether, as often it does for serious mothers, that +the gift of keen sensibility, of intense desire was too valuable to be +quenched.</p> + +<p>What if Suzanna began to question her own motives; what if she should +lose belief in her own <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>spiritual integrity; learn in time to look in on +herself with a spirit of morbid analysis instead of living out her +natural qualities beautifully and spontaneously!</p> + +<p>All these truths stirred her again as she looked at her child.</p> + +<p>While Suzanna didn't move from her place, she wanted to stay at some +distance that she might look her soul's full at her mother—<i>her +mother!</i></p> + +<p>At length she spoke: "Mother—I want to be your little girl again. Will +you take me back?"</p> + +<p>Would she take her back? Mrs. Procter's arms opened wide. Into them +Suzanna flew.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds regarded the cold poached egg, the second one spoiled that +morning. Furtively she wiped the tears from her eyes. At last she +cleared her voice and spoke:</p> + +<p>"I'll go upstairs and pack your bag, Suzanna," she said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>SUZANNA MEETS A CHARACTER</h3> + + +<p>That summer was a happy one, filled to the brim, as Suzanna often said, +with joyful times. In her pink lawn dress with the petticoat after all +showing through the lace, she recited "The Little Martyr of Smyrna" and +brought much applause to herself.</p> + +<p>And then following close upon that happy occasion, Miss Massey invited +her pupils to a "lawn party." Once again the pink dress was to see the +day.</p> + +<p>"I'll be very careful with the dress, mother," Suzanna promised on the +day of the lawn party. "Perhaps it'll wear just as long if I take extra +care of it as though the goods weren't cut away."</p> + +<p>"Enjoy your dress," said Mrs. Procter. She had learned another truth +which had sprung from the episode of the pink lawn. Economy might, +indeed must dwell in a little home like hers, but sometimes, recklessly, +the stern goddess must be usurped from her place. For the child love of +beauty, the child's capacity for fine imaginings, could not be killed at +the nod of economy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> + +<p>The children were both ready and waiting anxiously at the front window +long before the hour. Maizie was the first to make her announcement.</p> + +<p>"Miss Massey's coming down the path," she cried.</p> + +<p>They all crowded to the window. Miss Massey, looking up, waved her hand +gaily, and the children delightedly waved back.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Massey, we're all ready for you," Maizie exclaimed at once as +Miss Massey entered.</p> + +<p>"Lovely," Miss Massey returned. Glancing casually at her, she appeared +young, yet looking closely it might be seen that her first youth was +over. She was perhaps in her middle thirties. Her hair beneath the +simple blue chip hat, had gray strands. There was a hesitating quality +about her, as though she had never done so daring a thing as reach a +decision; a wavering, indefinite figure, with a wistfulness, a soft +appeal, quite charming. That she had never come in contact with +realities showed in the wide innocence of the childlike eyes; the +sometime trembling of the lips as when a thought as now engendered by +the Procter home and its humbleness, its lack of many real comforts, +forced its way into the untouched depths of her mind.</p> + +<p>She was the only child of old John Massey.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> He was a large figure in the +small town, and one not cordially admired. He was masterful, choleric, +some claimed, unjust. Owner of the steel mill which stood just outside +of the town limits, the employer of hundreds of men, he had failed to +gain the esteem of one human being. Fear, for many depended upon him for +their livelihood, was the emotion he most inspired.</p> + +<p>Fairfax Massey, his daughter, inspired a deep sympathy, perhaps because +her leading characteristic was a pitiable holding to her ideals. She +painted her father as a good and loving man hiding his real tenderness +beneath gruff mannerisms. When he denied her friendship with the man she +secretly loved, she put upon that denial a high value. He could not bear +to run the chance of losing her, his one close possession. To that +chivalrous thought of her father, she sacrificed her friend and went her +way, undramatically, uncomplainingly.</p> + +<p>She spoke in a low sweet voice. "The children will have a happy time, +I'm sure, Mrs. Procter," she said, as she left, Suzanna and Maizie +clinging to her.</p> + +<p>Other little girls were waiting in the phaeton. They greeted Suzanna and +Maizie and moved to make room for them. Miss Massey took her place <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>near +the driver, from which vantage spot she could watch her little guests, +and with a great flourish off they started.</p> + +<p>"Are you quite comfortable, Suzanna?" Miss Massey asked once.</p> + +<p>Suzanna looked up quickly, a puzzled line between her eyes. After brief +hesitation she answered, merely in good manners, "Yes, thank you."</p> + +<p>The phaeton stopped several times till eight little girls filled the +vehicle to overflowing. Then with no more pauses, they were off to the +big house on the hill.</p> + +<p>The day was wonderful. A soft little breeze caressed the children and +the sky overhead was like an angel's breast, thought Suzanna. But she +did not say this, even to excited Maizie; she was gathering impressions +and burnishing them with her vivid imagination. Once her gaze fell on +Miss Massey's long, slender, tired-looking hands. Her mother's hands, +Suzanna recalled, were tired-looking, too, but in a different way. Her +mother's, she decided after a time, were just plain tired-looking, while +Miss Massey's were a sorry tired, as though they missed something. They +were never quiet, always doing futile little things. And yet, Miss +Massey lived in a wonderful house <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>and wore pretty dresses and hats with +gorgeous, real-looking flowers. Suzanna pondered unanswerable questions.</p> + +<p>The driver, with the air of a brave knight, swept round the last corner. +He commanded his horses to stand still, when even the smallest girl knew +he would have to urge and coax for a full minute before the fat, +complacent animals would start again. But Suzanna liked his play. It was +in keeping with this wondrous event. She even forgave the driver his +wrinkled red neck, from which as she sat behind him, she had earlier +deliberately turned away her eyes.</p> + +<p>The children sprang to the ground and stood looking up at the big pile +of stone, this great show house of the town. Miss Massey swung back an +iron gate and led the way first through an arbor, sun-shaded and +fragrant; then out again into a garden glowing with crimson flowers. +"The garden I love best," she said. This from simple, dear Miss Massey +into whose whole life no great color had fallen, or if there was once a +promise that life should blossom for her into a full, joyous thing, the +promise had fallen very short of fulfillment.</p> + +<p>And just then the disaster befell Suzanna. There in the wonderful red +garden, a dire sound <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>fell upon her ears and her eyes following the +direction of the sound were just in time to see one white toe burst +through the confines of the black ribbon lengthening her slipper.</p> + +<p>She stood a moment, gazing down. Then in an agony lest the others should +discover her plight, she tried to draw the toe back within the slipper, +but with no success. As Miss Massey and the little girls walked on, +Suzanna stopped and pulled the ribbon over the protruding toe, tucking +in the ravelled edges. Mercifully, the ribbon stayed in place since +Suzanna cramped her toe back that it might not force its way through +again. Hastily hopping along, she entered the massive front doors held +wide by a solemn man with brass buttons. He pointed down the wide hall. +"To the right," he said.</p> + +<p>Would the ribbon hold! was Suzanna's only thought as she later found +herself in a room called the library, with books and soft-toned +pictures; with a great fireplace banked now with greens, from above +which looked down the lovely face of a lady, Miss Massey's mother whom +the daughter scarce remembered.</p> + +<p>If only she had worn black stockings instead of her one beloved pair of +white, went on in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>thought, unhappy, humiliated Suzanna. If only—but in +conjecture Suzanna was lost. The cramped toe exerting its right, thrust +itself through again. One fleeting, horrified glance told the child that +two toes now peeped out on a world that would be scandalized should it +peep back.</p> + +<p>No time now for any furtive maneuver an active little mind might suggest +to remedy the situation, for Miss Massey at the end of the room turned +her head and looked toward Suzanna's place. In a second her eyes might +fall on the white toes! Quickly Suzanna sank into a large velvet +armchair and drew her foot beneath her. Just in time, for Miss Massey +said: "Shall we play the game of 'Answers?' You know the game, Suzanna, +don't you?"</p> + +<p>Suzanna moistened her lips: "I know it, Miss Massey, but I don't care to +play games, thank you." How could she move, since doing so would +necessitate putting confidence in Miss Massey? Telling her that once +discarded slippers too small even for Maizie had been made to do duty by +cutting the toes and lengthening with black ribbon, ribbon which in a +miserable moment failed in its work? But how eventually to extricate +herself from the miserable predicament? She could not sit forever on her +foot!</p> + +<p>Other games were suggested and played by the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>children, but Suzanna +still sat in the big armchair, one long thin leg dangling, the other +bent under her. She grew fertile in excuses when asked to join the +others. She like to "watch," then she felt a little tired, until Miss +Massey at last sensing that something was wrong did no more urging.</p> + +<p>Once little Maizie sought her sister. Why wouldn't Suzanna play? Was she +mad at something?</p> + +<p>Suzanna gulped hard, then with manifest effort she whispered: "You know +where mother put the ribbon bag so my slippers would be long enough? +Well, my toe's stuck through the ribbon, and I mustn't move."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Maizie was sorry. "Can't you tell Miss Massey and let her fix it?"</p> + +<p>Suzanna shrank back. "No, no," she cried. "You mustn't say anything, do +you hear, Maizie? Promise me."</p> + +<p>Maizie solemnly promised. "Will the other one hold?" she asked then.</p> + +<p>Thus the little Job's Comforter gave Suzanna food for unpleasant +questionings. Would, indeed, the other slipper hold?</p> + +<p>Then said Miss Massey: "We are going into the garden, Suzanna. Would you +rather stay <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>here till we return?" Her question was very gentle, her +understanding would have been very sure had Suzanna told her trouble. +But Suzanna only answered eagerly:</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'd like to stay here." She was almost happy in the moment's +relief.</p> + +<p>"If you wish to come later you can find us. Just ring this bell and Mrs. +Russell, the housekeeper, will take you to the South Garden," said Miss +Massey. She leaned down and touched Suzanna's face with her soft lips. +And then Suzanna was left alone.</p> + +<p>Now what to do! Suzanna set her fertile little mind to work on the +problem. She settled into the chair and lowered the foot on which she +was sitting. She was intently regarding the torn slipper, when she heard +distinctly an unpleasant sound. A sound which gathered volume, till +Suzanna realized that something or someone was approaching the library. +She resumed her former position, and waited!</p> + +<p>The brocade curtains were drawn aside; a little man in a sort of uniform +stood with head bowed, while a large man limped into the room.</p> + +<p>"Fix my chair, you simpering idiot," he shouted at the little man, "and +then take yourself off!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> + +<p>The small man glided to a great easy chair near the fireplace. He heaped +pillows in it, stood aside while the loud-voiced one lowered himself, +groaningly, into the downy nest. Then the valet disappeared. Suzanna +involuntarily glanced at his feet. Did he move on velvet casters?</p> + +<p>A moment, then the big man gave a twist of pain. A rheumatic dart had +seized him, had Suzanna known, but she could not know, and a little +exclamation was drawn from her. At the sound, the other occupant of the +room started and glanced around till finally his eyes came to rest upon +the small girl in a large chair thrust well away in a shadowy corner of +the room.</p> + +<p>"Well!" at length he ejaculated. And then: "Are you one of the Sunday +School class?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm Suzanna Procter. The other little girls have gone out into the +garden."</p> + +<p>He grunted and continued to glare fiercely at her. But Suzanna knew no +fear. She felt strangely a sudden high sense of exhilaration, just as +once when she had been caught in a brilliant electric storm. Some +element in her rose and responded to the big flashes; just as she had +responded to Drusilla's play of imagination. Now a force was roused in +her that claimed kinship with the big, thunderous man opposite. She sat +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>up very straight, and stared right back at him. Then she said very +calmly:</p> + +<p>"You look like an eagle!"</p> + +<p>"Then you're afraid of me!" He flung the words at her with a certain +triumph.</p> + +<p>"I'm not! I don't like the way you shout, but <i>I'm</i> not afraid of you."</p> + +<p>He sank back among his pillows, but did not take his eyes from her face. +At last he asked: "What are you sitting bent up that way for? Are you +hiding anything?"</p> + +<p>Suzanna flushed. "You're not supposed to ask a visitor if she's hiding +anything; especially when her leg's asleep and she's suffering."</p> + +<p>A spasm crossed his face. Perhaps he was trying to smile. He said only: +"Well, put your leg down, then. Seems to me you're old enough and ought +to have sense enough not to sit on it when it's asleep. Put it down, I +say!"</p> + +<p>She did not move. "Will you please turn your head away a whole minute?" +she finally asked.</p> + +<p>He did so, somewhat to his own surprise. He was unaccustomed to obeying +others. When he turned again, she uttered a cry: "Why didn't you keep +your head turned the other way till I told you to look," she exclaimed, +indignantly. "You don't play fair."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> + +<p>"See here, little girl," he commenced, when his eyes fell to her foot, +which for the moment she had forgotten, a small black-shod foot with two +protruding toes. "Eh, what's that!"</p> + +<p>"My toes!" she answered. Her face flamed, then with sudden anger against +him, against circumstances, against everything that had conspired to +spoil this beautiful and long-dreamed-of day: "They're sticking through +my slipper. That's why I had to sit on my foot. That's why my leg went +to sleep. That's why I couldn't go out in the garden with the others."</p> + +<p>He began to laugh, silently, mirthlessly, but it was laughter +nevertheless. Suzanna regarded him, her quick temper getting beyond her +control. At last she burst forth: "You're a rude man! And it isn't funny +to miss beautiful things, the flowers and the baby squirrels, and +perhaps lemonade."</p> + +<p>He didn't answer for a moment. Then he said:</p> + +<p>"Agreed! But it's certainly funny to see your toes sticking through your +shoe. No wonder you sat on your foot." Still, despite his discourteous +words, his tone changed; it was almost apologetic.</p> + +<p>Suzanna's face lost its clouds. "Of course, I had to sit on my foot," +she agreed. "I couldn't let Miss Massey see how mother put a black +rib<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>bon bag on my slippers to make them longer, could I? She wouldn't +understand like you do, would she?"</p> + +<p>"Do I understand? I wonder. Well, why did your mother put on the black +ribbon?"</p> + +<p>"The shoes were too short!"</p> + +<p>"She should have bought you a new pair."</p> + +<p>Suzanna sprang from her chair and went to the big man.</p> + +<p>"Do you know what rent week means?" she asked, lifting her earnest face +to his and standing so close that her hand touched his knee.</p> + +<p>"I think I do," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Well, this is rent week and Peter's coat was out at the elbows and two +of us needed shoes and the insurance was due on all of us and mother +can't let that go. It came in very handy when Helen, Peter's twin, went +away."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by 'went away?' Don't lean on that knee, that's where +the rheumatism is—do you mean died?"</p> + +<p>Suzanna flinched. "We say 'went away,'" she answered gently; "you think +then that someone you loved has just gone away for a little while, and +is waiting somewhere for you."</p> + +<p>The man's gaze wandered up to the lovely, smiling face above the mantel +and stayed there <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>a space before his eyes came back to Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"And so," she finished, "because everything came together, rent and +insurance and shoes, and a coat, I had to wear these slippers." Suzanna +was quite cheerful again, only very eager that he should understand the +situation.</p> + +<p>At this moment the timid little valet appeared in the doorway. "Anything +you wish, sir?" he began. "Are you quite comfortable?"</p> + +<p>"You infernal idiot!" bawled the man in the chair. "Can anyone be +comfortable with rheumatism in his knee?"</p> + +<p>The little man precipitately retired. "You're awful cross," Suzanna +commented. "What does the man mean asking if you're 'comfortable?' +That's what Miss Massey asked me in the park carriage. I was sitting +down, and nothing hurt me."</p> + +<p>"In other words," he answered, strangely catching her meaning at once, +"one chair is like another to you."</p> + +<p>"Well, is there any difference?" she queried. She was very much +interested in this question, for the subtleties of refined comfort held +no place in her life. Knowledge of luxuries was quite outside the ken of +the younger members of the Procter family.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> + +<p>The big man said: "Yes, there is a difference; a decided difference." He +was thinking of his household with its retinue of trained servants, each +helping to make the days revolve smoothly.</p> + +<p>"Why aren't you at work?" asked Suzanna then. "My father works every day +in the hardware store and sometimes way into the night on his invention +in the attic. <i>He</i> doesn't have a chair filled with pillows to lean +against. Does God like you better than He does us?"</p> + +<p>"Eh, what's that? What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Because you don't have to work! And you think one chair is better than +another to sit in, and you can shout at the little man and make him +afraid."</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll not talk of that," said the big man testily. "And now I'll +ask you a few questions. What does your mother do when rent week comes +round? Cry, and throw up to your father the fact that she can't make +ends meet? That's what women generally do, I've heard and read."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, my mother doesn't do that," said Suzanna, shaking her head. +"She just looks sad at first and sits and thinks and thinks and then +after awhile she says: 'Well, if everybody was thoughtful we'd all have +enough. But when some people waste, then others must pay the +piper'—<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>'pay the piper'—I like the singing way that sounds, don't +you?"</p> + +<p>"And who does she mean by other people?"</p> + +<p>Suzanna smiled confidently: "Oh, she just says that; so no one really is +blamed, I guess. There really isn't anyone of that kind living; 'cause +nobody in the world could waste if they knew some children needed shoes +and some little boys' elbows stuck through their coats; would anyone?"</p> + +<p>The man looked at her suspiciously. "Have you been listening to Reynolds +haranging on his soap box?" But seeing her innocence, he went on: "Well, +we don't know about those things. There's some reason why." He went on +more vigorously: "Of course, some people are privileged because they're +stronger; they've better judgment."</p> + +<p>But Suzanna didn't understand that. She put the matter aside to think +over later, and, if she could remember the words, to repeat them to her +father for his explanation at a time when he wasn't hazy and far away +from realities.</p> + +<p>"What does your father do?" Suzanna's companion resumed after a moment.</p> + +<p>"He weighs nails in Job Doane's hardware store," said Suzanna, "and he +sells washboards <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>to ladies. My father's a great man. He's an inventor! +He has a wonderful machine in the attic and sometimes when he's thinking +of his invention, he doesn't see us at all, and mother tells us not to +talk then to disturb him."</p> + +<p>"What's your father's name?"</p> + +<p>"Richard Procter," said Suzanna. And then:</p> + +<p>"You are like an eagle; that's why I like you. You'd fight, wouldn't +you, if you had to! But I shouldn't mind your shouting. And I'd rather +you'd see my toes sticking through my shoe than any person in the world +outside my family. Now, get me a needle and thread before they all come +back," she finished.</p> + +<p>The man stared into her upraised flower-face. His own turned red for the +visible second of hesitation. Then he raised his voice and called. The +timid one appeared. His master said: "Get me some black thread and a +needle; also a thimble. Don't stand there gaping! I'm waiting."</p> + +<p>With some difficulty, the amazed valet gained volition over his power of +locomotion. He returned shortly bearing the desired articles reposing on +a silver tray, and retired once more, his eyes still dazed.</p> + +<p>"Now hurry up," said the big man to Suzanna, "if you want to get into +the garden at all."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>Suzanna threaded the needle, then removed her slipper. "I'll overcast +the ribbon, like mother does seams," she said. "Will you hold the +slipper? There, that's easier. You see I need both hands."</p> + +<p>Silence, till the work was finished. "Now," said Suzanna, stopping to +bite the thread, no scissors being at hand, "I guess no toe in the world +could push through that, I've stitched so tight. You think it will hold, +don't you?"</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 261px;"><a name="carefully" id="carefully"></a> +<img src="images/image129.jpg" width="261" height="400" alt="Very carefully he looked at the mended place" title="Very carefully he looked at the mended place" /> +</div> +<div class='center'>Very carefully he looked at the mended place</div> + +<p>Very carefully he looked at the mended place. "I should say, if my +judgment's worth anything, that it's a very decent job. But see here, +you've taken up such a large seam; the shoe will be too small again."</p> + +<p>Suzanna smiled at him. "Oh, that doesn't matter, just so the toes can't +burst through again," she answered. "You don't mind hobbling a little +bit when you have to."</p> + +<p>He cleared his throat. "Well, I'll call the housekeeper and she'll take +you to the other children."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye," said Suzanna friendlily. And then very politely, "Thank you +for helping me."</p> + +<p>"Well, I suppose I might say you're welcome."</p> + +<p>But he watched the small figure, that did after all "hobble" a little +all the way down the room <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>as the summoned housekeeper led the way. +And, left alone, he sat quite still for a few moments. Once or twice he +smiled grimly, but several times he frowned.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Suzanna was full of her experience with the Eagle Man, and in spite of +her mishap she had greatly enjoyed her day. Hadn't the fierce one, the +one of the loud voice and cross face, been kind to her and helped her to +mend her slipper? And hadn't he told the housekeeper to give her a great +bunch of the purple grapes especially procured from the city for him, +she was told?</p> + +<p>She thought of all this when she and Maizie left the low phaeton in +which they had been driven home. For some indefinable reason she was +elated, and excited—an emotion far above the usual happy fatigue felt +after a day of pleasure. She meant to tell her father and mother all +about her talk with the Eagle Man when the supper dishes were washed and +put away. She would show her father just how her toes had thrust +themselves through her slipper and how she had sat upon her foot till it +went to sleep. Not, however, till the setting was right would she tell +her story. Suzanna's unconscious dramatic sense rarely failed her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span></p> + +<p>At the supper table that night the baby fell asleep in his high chair. +Peter, after a hard day of play, was nodding in his place. Maizie, +replete after her third dish of rice pudding, was quiet; a little sleepy +too, if truth must be told.</p> + +<p>It was then Suzanna told of her visit with the Eagle Man. She left out +no detail, from the time her stocking burst its confines to her +interesting intimacy with the Eagle Man.</p> + +<p>"You told old John Massey, you say, Suzanna," said her father at length, +his eyes bright, "about my machine?"</p> + +<p>Suzanna nodded. Then a little fear stole upon her. She slipped from her +place and went to her father.</p> + +<p>"Did I talk too much, daddy?" she asked, mindful of former such +indictments.</p> + +<p>His arm went about her waist. Then he drew her close and kissed her.</p> + +<p>"No, Suzanna, little girl," he said; "I guess talk from the heart rarely +hurts." He paused. "Perhaps it was meant you should talk to him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>A LEAF MISSING FROM THE BIBLE</h3> + + +<p>Suzanna thought a great deal about the Eagle Man. She was extremely +puzzled as to the exact place he filled in the world. While she admired +him, indeed was strongly drawn to him, still she considered him in some +ways quite inferior to her father. And so she wondered why he could live +in a big house, could have servants who sprang at a word to do his +bidding, and could eat all the fruit he wanted as evidenced by the great +bunch of purple grapes, one of many bunches, while her father lived in a +very small house, had no servants, and had little fruit to eat. She knew +instinctively that the Eagle Man had no need to worry about rent day, +and the many other similar things she felt harassed her father, and over +and over again she pondered on this seemingly unjust state of affairs. +It would have been so much better, she thought, if the Eagle Man +occupied with his one daughter just a little cottage while the large +Procter family had the bigger house. Though she dearly loved the lit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>tle +home, there had been times when it seemed very small for the growing +Procter family.</p> + +<p>But she concluded at last that for the present there were many +perplexities which must remain perplexities till that wonderful time +when she would be a woman, and everything made clear to her. +Experiences, too, had shown her that a troublesome question of Monday +often had resolved itself by Wednesday. So she went contentedly on her +way.</p> + +<p>On a morning following Suzanna's talk with the Eagle Man, Mrs. Procter +and all the children except the baby who was taking his early morning +nap upstairs, were in the kitchen busy at their tasks, Suzanna polishing +the stove, and Maizie peeling the potatoes for supper, a task Mrs. +Procter insisted upon being performed early in the day. Peter, exempted, +because of his sex, from household duties—and very unfair this +exemption Suzanna thought privately—was trying his awkward best to mend +a <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'base ball'">baseball</ins>. Maizie broke a rather long silence.</p> + +<p>"Mother!" she cried, and then waited.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter looked up from her kneading.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Maizie?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Didn't Jesus ever laugh?" asked Maizie.</p> + +<p>No one spoke. Maizie, engaged in peeling a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>large potato, went on quite +unconscious of the variant expressions pictured in the faces of her +audience: "He's always so sad in our Sunday School lessons, mother. Even +when He said, 'Suffer little children to come unto me,' He didn't +smile—or they never say so when they read the chapter," she finished.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter looked helplessly at Suzanna. And Suzanna rose to the +occasion. "Maizie," she said, "you know Jesus was born in a manger so +His mother didn't have much money and it was hard to make both ends +meet. And, besides, there wasn't anything to smile about in those days +when the world was so fresh."</p> + +<p>"I guess that's right," Mrs. Procter agreed. "What with going round and +trying to persuade people to be good and understand what He was trying +to tell them, there couldn't have been much excuse for smiling."</p> + +<p>Maizie, however, was tenacious. "Mother, you know at times even when +things have all gone wrong you've laughed at something the baby did," +she said looking up from her work.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," put in Suzanna, as though Maizie had spoken to her. "But +mother doesn't have to go round turning water into wine and doing lots +of other wonderful things."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, I wish He had smiled," Maizie persisted.</p> + +<p>Suzanna looked searchingly at her sister. "Why do you wish that, +Maizie?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'd think then He was more like a big brother," said Maizie. "Now, +sometimes I kind of feel afraid of Him."</p> + +<p>"If you didn't feel afraid of Him, Maizie," Suzanna asked, turning back +to the cold stove and vigorously polishing away, "do you think you'd be +a better girl?"</p> + +<p>Maizie flushed resentfully. "I'm good enough now," she answered.</p> + +<p>"But you get mad for nothing, Maizie," said Suzanna; "you always get mad +when you don't see things."</p> + +<p>"Anybody would get mad," Maizie exclaimed. "Why just yesterday when we +were playing in the yard you said, 'Behold, the lion marcheth down the +yard. Maizie, quick, quick, out of the way,' and when I said, 'I don't +see any lion, Suzanna,' you said, 'Well, he's there, right beside you. +Don't you hear him roaring?' and there wasn't any lion there at all."</p> + +<p>"Well, Maizie, you can't see anything unless it's there," deplored +Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"You mean, Suzanna," put in Mrs. Procter as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>she covered the dough with +a snowy cloth, "that you have more imagination than Maizie."</p> + +<p>"Well, anyway, Maizie," said Suzanna after a time, "I'm going to try and +make you a better girl."</p> + +<p>"Make her stop saying that, mother," said Maizie, "I'm good enough as it +is."</p> + +<p>Suzanna said nothing more then. She finished her stove, and then, when +Maizie had peeled all the potatoes, Suzanna went into the parlor and +dusted all the furniture very carefully. Maizie followed and stood +watching her sister.</p> + +<p>"How could you make me better, Suzanna?" she asked, after a time, +curiosity elbowing pride aside.</p> + +<p>"I meant to tell you a story," said Suzanna; "about something you've +never heard before." She went on dusting.</p> + +<p>"Would the story make me a better girl?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and happier, too."</p> + +<p>"Is it a nice story, Suzanna?"</p> + +<p>"Awfully sweet."</p> + +<p>"When could you tell me, Suzanna?"</p> + +<p>"We'll go out into the yard after I've finished dusting and then I'll +tell you the story, Maizie."</p> + +<p>"All right."</p> + +<p>So when the dusting was accomplished, the chil<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>dren sought the back +yard. Suzanna procured a soap box, placed it beneath the one tree, while +Maizie drew another very close to her sister that she might lose no +word, and settled with keen anticipation to listen to Suzanna's story.</p> + +<p>The day was hot, with scarcely a breeze stirring. Still, with the quiet +there was a freshness in the air that made the children draw in deep +breaths.</p> + +<p>Suzanna began very softly: "Maizie, do you see that big rose nodding +near the fence over there at Mrs. Reynolds'?"</p> + +<p>Yes, Maizie saw the rose.</p> + +<p>"Well, yesterday when you were wheeling the baby and I was sitting on +this very box putting buttons on Peter's waist, that rose all at once +walked across the road to me! It stood by my side for a long time, and +then it said softly, 'Suzanna,' and it looked at me and it was all pink +and very sweet, and it said to me, 'Suzanna, how old are you?' and I +said, 'I'm nearly eight, Lady Rose, and Maizie is nearly seven. Mother +had hardly got over my coming to her when Maizie came along.'</p> + +<p>"And the rose said, 'Maizie? Is that the little girl that is going to +ask tomorrow whether Jesus ever smiled?' And I said, 'Yes, Maizie <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>will +be peeling a big potato, and I'll be polishing the stove, and mother +will be kneading bread when Maizie will ask that question.'</p> + +<p>"'Well,' said the rose, 'you must tell her that once upon a time Jesus +<i>did</i> smile, but they didn't put it in the Bible because it didn't seem +'portant to grown folks, and they didn't think that all the little +children in the world would sometimes wish He had smiled.' And then the +rose went on to tell me the story of the dear smile."</p> + +<p>Maizie gazed wide-eyed at her sister. "Did you really see the rose with +your eyes, Suzanna?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," Suzanna answered; "truly with my eyes." She suddenly sat up very +straight and pointed a small finger, "and there it's coming again. It's +nodding its head at me. Look, Maizie!"</p> + +<p>Maizie jumped.</p> + +<p>"There, see, Maizie, it's walking right through Mrs. <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Reyonlds'">Reynolds'</ins> gate. +Isn't it graceful?"</p> + +<p>"How can it walk on one stem?" asked Maizie, the literalist.</p> + +<p>"Well, it does, doesn't it? You can see it. Now, it's coming into our +yard." Suzanna waited, then: "Good morning, Lady Rose," she greeted in a +high treble voice. "Come and stand near Maizie." Maizie moved quickly to +make <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>room. "You see it now, don't you, Maizie?" Maizie hesitated. She +stared hard at the spot near her, then up with wistful eyes into +Suzanna's face.</p> + +<p>"I can't see it, Suzanna," she said at length. "Do you think mother'd +better take me to the doctor and have my eyes examined like Mrs. +Reynolds had hers?"</p> + +<p>Suzanna felt flowing over her a sudden wave of pity. "No, Maizie, dear," +she said, putting her arms about Maizie and drawing her close. "Maybe I +see the rose with something inside of me. But never mind, lamb +girl—isn't that pretty, Mrs. Reynolds calls me that—the rose has gone +home again. Listen close and I'll tell you the story that was left out +of the Bible, just as the rose told it to me."</p> + +<p>Maizie settled herself again, expectantly.</p> + +<p>"This will be told, Maizie, in the way the Bible is written. Funny words +that we don't know the meaning of, but can guess; terrible threats."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't," cried Maizie, "don't, I don't want 'terrible threats.' It +sounds awful."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," conceded Suzanna, "I'll leave out the terrible threats, +Maizie. Now I'm beginning:</p> + +<p>"There came to the city of Jerusalem one day <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>a Little Boy with a halo +on His head. It was on a Monday that he came. The mothers were all +washing and those that were not washing, behold, they were hanging +clothes out in the yard, and as He walked He carried a message, and His +message was this: 'Beware of green tea, handsome to the eye, but +destructive to the human system.'"</p> + +<p>Maizie's memory was pricked wide awake. "Why, that's written on mother's +tea canister, and you read it aloud a thousand times one day," she +cried.</p> + +<p>"That saying has come down the ages," responded Suzanna quickly. "And +any more breaking-in and I'll not tell the story."</p> + +<p>Maizie subsided, and Suzanna continued.</p> + +<p>"Now when all the mothers heard this wonderful saying, there came sorrow +and fear into their hearts. 'Yea,' said one, 'have I not used green +tea?' And the Little Boy with the halo said, 'Thou art never to do so +again,' and all the mothers bowed their heads.</p> + +<p>"And the Little Boy grew and grew till He came to be a man. A man that +looked very much like our father. He played the harp, the one he +afterwards took to Heaven with Him. And He wore a long, white, flowing +gown, that His mother washed out every morning and ironed carefully +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>after it was dry. 'Behold,' she said, 'Yea, nay, no other hands but +mine must touch this gown.' There were no laundries in those days.</p> + +<p>"The Man with the halo walked by the sea at day, and walked under the +stars at night. Then He came on back to His mother. She said to Him: 'Is +it that Thou art tired that Thou dost not smile?' And He said, drawing +Himself up to a big height, 'There is nothing to smile at.' And His +mother said, 'Behold I have made for Thee something nice to eat, with an +orange in front of Thy plate!' But even then He did not smile. And next +day, He went off into the fields and took care of His lambs. And the day +after that, yea, He went into His father's shop and He said to His +father, 'I must away,' and then the earth trembled and rocked beneath +their feet.</p> + +<p>"Then the Man with the halo left, and for a long time His mother didn't +see Him any more. And out in the world, in Galilee, I think it was, He +didn't even there find a chance to smile. Everything was too sad and +people too bad, and then one day, behold, the Man with the halo was busy +making ten fish out of one little tiny minney for Peter who was hungry, +and had a 'normous appetite like our Peter's, when a woman came running +down the road. Everybody looked at <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>her, but she went on. And when she +came near the Man with the halo, she fell on her knees and He stopped +his work. He had just half a fish in His hand when this woman spoke. She +said: 'Pardon me, Master, but I have heard of lots of wonderful things +Thou hast done, and now I must ask a favor of Thee.'</p> + +<p>"The Man with the halo put down the fish that wasn't finished and turned +His big eyes upon her, and He said, 'Speak, woman.' And she said: 'Wilt +Thou come with me?' He waited a little, but felt pity in His heart for +her and so He went with her, His halo shining like the sun and making a +wide light path for everyone to walk in, and lots of people walked +behind Him, but no one in front.</p> + +<p>"And they came to a little house, like ours set back from the road, +where lots of children lived. And there in the middle of the room, lying +in a white box, fast asleep was the littlest baby that had ever gone to +Heaven. And though the woman had lots of other babies, and maybe lots +more would come to her like they come to us all the time, she wanted +that one tiny little baby to open its eyes and look at her.</p> + +<p>"And so she fell on her knees, and she said to the Man with the halo: +'Will you wake that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>lovely baby of mine for me? Oh, please, Master, +waken it—even though it should cry all night. Perhaps it's happy in +Heaven, but I am lonely. Dost Thou think I can have it back?'</p> + +<p>"And just then Peter came into the room. He had followed the Man with +the halo. 'But it's only a little thing,' Peter said. 'And it made so +much noise when it was awake. Its big sister had to warm milk for it, +and take it out in the buggy and to wash its clothes, sometimes when its +mother was busy or had been up the night before. Is it not better for +all that it is in Heaven?'</p> + +<p>"And then she said, 'I'm not speaking to you, Peter,' and she looked +again at the Man with the halo. And at last He spoke and His voice was +like music, thrilly and gentle. And He said, 'All mothers want their +babies and we've got plenty in Heaven, and I'll give this one back to +you.'</p> + +<p>"And He went to the white box and He looked at the baby, and pretty soon +the baby got pink like my coral beads, and then its eyes opened and it +looked up into His face and it raised its arms up to Him.</p> + +<p>"<i>Then He smiled!</i>—and He lifted the baby up and held it close, so He +warmed it all through. And then He put it into its mother's arms and +said, 'Well, I must be going.'<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And this is what I'm going to tell you, Maizie, <i>that you were that +little baby</i>, and Jesus smiled at <i>you</i> to wake you up."</p> + +<p>Maizie did not speak. Her eyes were shining, her lips trembling. Her +small soul was touched to its depths. After a long time in a whisper she +spoke: "Oh, was I really the baby that made Jesus smile? I'm happy, +Suzanna, but—it hurts me, too—"</p> + +<p>Suzanna put her arms about her sister. The emotions she had aroused in +that little sister warmed her, thrilled her through and through. They +sat on in silence. Soon a question began to puzzle Maizie. She gave it +voice. "I didn't know I'd been a baby more than once, Suzanna."</p> + +<p>"You're a baby every hundred years," said Suzanna promptly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I see." Then: "I do love Him now, Suzanna. I'll always love Him +'cause once He woke me up. Suzanna, do you think the rose will come to +you and tell you another story?"</p> + +<p>Suzanna believed the rose might.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>A PICNIC IN THE WOODS</h3> + + +<p>For days Maizie lived in the sanctity of the thought that the Master of +all had smiled at her. But even so marvelous an occurrence, so sweet a +marking out of her above all the children in the world, failed +completely on one occasion to help her overcome a mood of sullenness.</p> + +<p>She awoke late one morning, and found that Suzanna had arisen and gone +down stairs. She heard sounds indicating breakfast, but there was a +little dull feeling at her heart. Her customary joyous anticipation of +living a whole day, ripe with possibilities, was quite absent. She +decided to remain in bed, but at her mother's voice calling her name she +was prompted to put out one small foot, then the other, and soon, as +another call came up peremptorily, she went lazily ahead dressing +herself.</p> + +<p>Ready then for the day, she went to the window and looked out. The sky +was hazy, with little dull clouds floating on its breast. From far <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>away +came grumbles of thunder. Over to the east the sky seemed to open in a +long thin path of vivid light and then close again, leaving the heavens +gray, bleak. Maizie wanted to cry; it was with an effort she controlled +her tears.</p> + +<p>At last, languidly she moved from the window, went down the stairs, +through the tiny hall and into the dining-room, her little face downcast +still, with no smile lightening it to greet the other children. Suzanna +and Peter sat at the table awaiting the laggard.</p> + +<p>"Father had to leave early this morning, Maizie," said Suzanna at once. +"He ate his breakfast all alone."</p> + +<p>Maizie did not answer; silently she sank into her chair as her mother +appeared with the baby and took her usual place, after placing him in +his high chair. Maizie gazed for a moment at the oatmeal in her own blue +plate, then with a little petulant gesture, she pushed the plate away.</p> + +<p>"I don't like oatmeal with a pool of syrup in the middle," she said +slowly, not addressing anyone directly, but keeping her eyes on her +plate.</p> + +<p>"You've always liked it before this morning," her mother answered. "I +think you're just cross, Maizie."</p> + +<p>"I don't like syrup in the middle of my oat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>meal," repeated Maizie; "I +want milk on it like father has."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Maizie," said Suzanna, "father <i>must</i> have milk on his oatmeal."</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Maizie.</p> + +<p>"Because he is our father and he must have the nice things."</p> + +<p>"Well, we're his children," pursued Maizie, apparently unconvinced. "And +I don't see why we shouldn't have some nice things to eat, too."</p> + +<p>"But there's so many of us," said Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"Why did father leave orders for so many of us then?" said Maizie +looking up. Belligerence was now in her tone, in her very attitude.</p> + +<p>"Now," said Mrs. Procter, firmly. "We must not talk this way. Father +doesn't like syrup. It doesn't agree with him. You're a very naughty +little girl this morning, Maizie."</p> + +<p>Maizie was again on the point of tears. Lest they overflow she rose +quickly from the table and left the room.</p> + +<p>"Maizie's in a bad humor today," said Mrs. Procter to Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"Maybe she feels bad today, mother, because it's Wednesday."</p> + +<p>"Well, what in the world has the day to do with it!" Mrs. Procter +exclaimed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, Wednesday you know is the shape of a big black bear. It's not +like Thursday, that's the shape of a great snowy white ship on a +sparkling sea. I don't like Wednesday myself, mother."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm sorry," returned Mrs. Procter. "But it's not in my power to +shape days to please you children," she spoke crisply.</p> + +<p>"Are you tired, mother?" asked Suzanna, after a pause.</p> + +<p>"I think I'm always tired these days," Mrs. Procter admitted, "but I'm +particularly tired this morning. The baby was very restless last night."</p> + +<p>"If you were like Mrs. Martin on the other side of the town," said +Suzanna as she rose from the table and began to gather up the dishes, +while Peter escaped into the yard, "who has only one little girl, you +wouldn't be kept awake." Suzanna's eyes were widely questioning. Did her +mother regret owning so many children?</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter stood up. She lifted the baby out of his high chair. +"You're every one dear and wonderful to me," she said. "But we're all +human, dear, and apt to grow tired."</p> + +<p>Suzanna walked into the kitchen and put the dishes down on the table. On +her way back to the dining-room she glanced out of the window.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> The +early September day had changed. Miraculously every dull gray cloud had +scurried away, leaving a sky soft, yet brilliant. Birds flew about, +carolling madly, as though some elixir in the air sent their spirits +bounding. Suzanna's every fiber responded. The desire whipped her to +plunge into the beauty of outdoors, to run madly about, to shout, to +sing. But alas, she knew there was no chance to obey her ardent impulse, +since Wednesday was cleaning day, a day rigid, inflexible, when all the +Procter family were pressed into service; that is, all but Peter, +belonging to a sex blessedly free from work during its young, upgrowing +years.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter spoke: "Bring the high chair into the kitchen, Suzanna, +near the window for the baby; then we'll start cleaning."</p> + +<p>Suzanna obeyed reluctantly. She turned from the window. "Mother," she +said, "when I'm grown up I'll have no steady days for anything."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Procter.</p> + +<p>"Well, I won't wash on Monday, and iron on Tuesday, and clean on +Wednesday, and bake on Thursday. I'll let every day be a surprise."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mrs. Procter, "and a nice mix-up there'd be. You must have +set times for every task if you expect to accomplish anything."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But isn't it 'complishing anything if you're happy?" asked Suzanna, +really puzzled.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter hesitated. "But you can be happy working, too."</p> + +<p>"But I know, mother, that I'd be happier today out in the sun."</p> + +<p>"But the truth remains, Suzanna, that if we don't wash on Monday we'd +have to wash on Tuesday, and that ties up everything at the end of the +week," said her mother.</p> + +<p>Suzanna sighed. She couldn't by mere words combat her mother's +arguments. They seemed indeed unassailable if you applied plain reason +to them. But something deeper, finer than reason, made Suzanna believe +that to be out in the sun, to be under the trees, to be dreaming in the +perfume of flowers, was more important than cleaning and dusting; anyway +in a glorious, straight-from-Heaven day like this Wednesday. So she +returned unconvinced to the dishes, while her mother after tying the +baby in his high chair cast an appraising eye around, wondering just +where she should begin her upheaval.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a loud, heart-rending outcry was heard, and Peter, who a moment +before had been playing peacefully in the yard, came rushing into the +house. Out of the medley of his piteous cries,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> Suzanna at last made +sense. Not so her mother who asked anxiously:</p> + +<p>"What in the world is he crying so for, Suzanna? Is he hurt? Will he let +you look him over?"</p> + +<p>"No, he's not hurt," returned Suzanna. "He is crying because <i>never in +all his life will he be able to see his ears</i>."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter stared dumbfounded. But she soon recovered. She was +accustomed to originalities of this sort in her family.</p> + +<p>"So! Well, what am I to do about it?" she asked the small boy.</p> + +<p>Peter looked at her stolidly. "I want to see my ears," he repeated. "And +I can't only in the mirror."</p> + +<p>"Have you lived for five years," asked Mrs. Procter, "without +discovering that your ears are attached to your head, and that I can't +take them off in order that you may see them?"</p> + +<p>"And you can't see the back of your neck either, Peter," cried Suzanna +at this juncture. At which disastrous piece of information Peter cried +louder.</p> + +<p>"Now, Suzanna," exclaimed Mrs. Procter in some exasperation. "What did +you tell him that for? Isn't it enough for him to learn in one <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>day that +he'll never see his ears without telling him about the back of his neck? +Stop your crying, Peter. It's bad enough to have you cry for things that +can be mended."</p> + +<p>Maizie, attracted by the noise, unable to control her curiosity, +appeared at the door. Her face was still sullen, but it also bore a rare +expression of stubbornness. Satisfying her curiosity as to the reason +for the commotion, she then made her announcement.</p> + +<p>"Mother," she began, "I'm not going to wash the window sills upstairs +this cleaning morning."</p> + +<p>"Now, Maizie," said Suzanna, conciliatingly, "don't you remember Who +smiled at you once?"</p> + +<p>"M-hm, I remember," said Maizie, without change of expression, "but I'm +not going to wash the window sills."</p> + +<p>A little silence ensued. Then Suzanna offered a suggestion.</p> + +<p>"Mother," she said, "none of us feels right, do we? Can't we have a +picnic?"</p> + +<p>"A picnic?" exclaimed Mrs. Procter. "A picnic!" She was about vigorously +to refuse the request when she paused. She looked at the three earnest +little faces before her. Suzanna resenting steady days for doing steady +tasks; Maizie hating her porridge, and Peter grieved <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>because he +couldn't see his ears; the baby too, not his usual sunny self. But set +against the strange and varied emotions of her young family, loomed the +house with its stern demands upon her. Should she postpone her tasks +then vengeance in the double form of cleaning and baking day would +descend upon her tomorrow!</p> + +<p>Then suddenly the truth pressed in on her—the children had rights upon +her time, her thoughts, her understandings, her sweetnesses! What if for +this week the window sills upstairs did remain unwashed, the rugs +downstairs stay unshaken? She stole a glance out of the window at the +one tree in the yard, green and gently swaying in the soft breeze, and +she spoke with the impulse of youth. "Well," she said, "where could we +go?"</p> + +<p>"We could have it in the yard if you say so, mother," cried Suzanna, +mentally forecasting consent in her mother's question. "But I know some +lovely woods not very far away. We could push the baby in his cart."</p> + +<p>The baby from his high chair gurgled joyously.</p> + +<p>"And take lunch," said Maizie, brightening.</p> + +<p>"And my baseball," completed Peter.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Mrs. Procter, the brief spark that had lifted her dying, +"if I'm going to have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>grumbling all the time, something the matter with +each one of you, I might as well let the work go for once, I suppose."</p> + +<p>But though the consent fell leaden in its delivery, it <i>was</i> consent and +in a miraculously short time they were all ready to start away; even the +lunch basket was packed and the baby put into his carriage and wheeled +out to the front gate to wait till the entire family was assembled.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter locked the doors, ran across the street to ask Mrs. +Reynolds to buy certain vegetables from a daily huckster and then away +they all went down the wide white road to the woods.</p> + +<p>Soon the joy and beauty of the day stole into Mrs. Procter's heart. She +breathed in the invigorating air deeply. Cares seemed to fall from her. +Materialities were banished into the background. She looked at her +children as they went singing down the road. She had meant to bind them +to sordid tasks within four walls when a jewel of a day beckoned to all! +She visualized her house clean and in perfect order, but the children +cross, she herself irritable and tired out, and wondering a little bit +about the meaning of things. Was it worth while to let inflexible rules +remain victors at such a cost. She knew a sudden thrill of gratitude for +Suzanna, who had suggested the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>outing, and putting out her hand she +drew the little girl to her.</p> + +<p>Suzanna looked up. She caught the deep and tender look in her mother's +face, so she voiced a plea which had been in her heart, but kept from +utterance in fear that she might ask too much.</p> + +<p>"Mother, if we're going on a real picnic we ought to take the lame and +the halt with us. And I know a little girl who has cross eyes, and she's +a weeny bit pigeon-toed. She's the lame and the halt, isn't she? Because +when she looks at me I never think she is looking at me. I tried to +teach her one day how to look straight but it wouldn't do. Could I +invite her, do you think?"</p> + +<p>"Where does she live?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, just the other side of the fork road," Suzanna replied, pointing +out the direction. "If you'll go on I'll run and get Mabel and then +catch up with you. She's that new little girl. Her folks haven't lived +here long."</p> + +<p>"Very well."</p> + +<p>In a short-time Suzanna returned, holding tight to little Mabel's hand. +"I told her mother we had enough to eat with us and that we'd take good +care of her. So here she is," said Suzanna.</p> + +<p>Little Mabel looked up obliquely at Mrs. Procter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Her hair doesn't grow thick around her face," said Suzanna a little +apologetically; "and I told her mother to rub Gray's ointment into it, +like you did for the dog that came off in spots. The one Peter found, +you remember."</p> + +<p>"It didn't do any good—" began Maizie.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter plunged in to prevent further discussion about the +unfortunate dog. "Do you think you can walk quite a distance, Mabel?" +she asked.</p> + +<p>Mabel put her finger in her mouth.</p> + +<p>"Don't talk to her right away, mother," begged Suzanna. "She's a little +bit shy."</p> + +<p>So they went on, little Mabel contributing no word to the talk. They +passed fields full of yellow daisies and they walked by one group of +gentle, cud-chewing cows. "But I hope there'll be no cows in your woods, +Suzanna," said Mrs. Procter.</p> + +<p>And her wish was granted. Indeed all, sky, flowers, breeze, absence of +dust and curious animals, helped to make this a day of days. When they +reached Suzanna's little patch of woods with many spreading oak trees +that invited rest beneath their sheltering branches Mrs. Procter +exclaimed in delight.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it lovely, mother?" cried Suzanna.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> "See, there's a tiny brook, +too. I've been here often when I wanted to think of poetry."</p> + +<p>"And I've never had time," her mother murmured.</p> + +<p>"Now you just sit right down here with your back against this tree," +Suzanna went on with a delicious air of protection, "and I'll take care +of the baby. Close your eyes, dear mother-love, and forget that God sent +you a big family and that you've got to do your best by us all like you +told Mrs. Reynolds last week."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter's eyes were suddenly overflowing. Children! How rare and +fine a gift they were. How many truths they could teach! She sank down +upon the grass and Suzanna put the baby down beside her, first spreading +out a thick shawl.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter caught the small loving hand within her own: "I don't know, +Suzanna; sometimes I wonder if I'll be able to do all I'd like to do for +you all," she said in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Why, mother, <i>you love us!</i>" Suzanna exclaimed. "Don't you remember +last Sunday when I put on my leghorn hat with the bunch of daisies over +my left eye—"</p> + +<p>"I remember," said Mrs. Procter, somewhat at a loss as to the connection +between thought and thought.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, when I said, 'good-bye, mother, I'm going to Sunday School,' you +looked at me and <i>smiled</i> from your soul! And I forgot that there was +Maizie and Peter and the baby, and I didn't even remember father, and I +said to myself: '<i>That's my very own mother!</i>' Just as though we just +belonged to one another with nobody else in the whole world."</p> + +<p>"Kiss me, Suzanna darling," said Mrs. Procter, after a long moment.</p> + +<p>Suzanna stooped and kissed her mother very tenderly.</p> + +<p>"Now run away and play," said Mrs. Procter, leaning against the +supporting tree and closing her eyes, blissfully conscious that she +could rest undisturbed for at least twenty minutes.</p> + +<p>An hour later she opened her eyes and sat up straight. She had fallen +asleep, though her position was not a particularly comfortable one, and +slept sweetly, soundly. The baby still lay peacefully quiet, his little +blanket covering him. And small bees had been working about her. Spread +before her, reposing on a red table cloth lay a tempting meal. In the +middle of the table cloth, to give an air of festivity, was a bunch of +daisies. But most appealing of all to the mother was the sight of the +four children, her own three and little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> Mabel, seated quietly near the +table; they had evidently been there some time, waiting patiently till +she should open her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh," cried Maizie, great relief filling her at sight of her mother +stirring, "Suzanna made us stay so quiet till you woke up, mother, and +we're all awful hungry."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I want that fat sandwich," said Peter.</p> + +<p>And then they fell to eating with much laughter and gaiety.</p> + +<p>"Out in the woods you don't have to pretend you hate to eat, do you, +mother?" said Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"Nor anywhere else that I know of," said Mrs. Procter, smiling.</p> + +<p>"But I don't like to see anyone eat as though he liked to eat," said +Suzanna. "May I have two or three grapes, mother?"</p> + +<p>She received her grapes. And quiet fell, while each did his best to +clear the table. At length when the meal was concluded, and the basket +repacked, and the pewter knives and forks carefully wrapped in a napkin, +the children begged Suzanna for stories.</p> + +<p>So she began, and seemed never to fall short of material. Her mother +listened, dreamily contented, till another hour passed and the baby +awoke. He was a smiling, happy baby and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>crowed with delight when his +mother allowed him a cracker and a cup of milk.</p> + +<p>"Shall we play games?" asked Suzanna next, when just at the moment the +sound of wheels was heard and shortly there came into sight a low +carriage drawn by the two prosperous, fat brown horses, and seated in +the carriage was Suzanna's Eagle Man.</p> + +<p>Suzanna darted out into the road. As the carriage did not stop she +called out: "Mr. Eagle Man! Oh, Mr. Eagle Man!"</p> + +<p>The coachman involuntarily pulled in his horses. He didn't know what +peremptory signal would be given him to move on, or what inquiry as to +his sanity would scorchingly be made, but Suzanna's eager voice impelled +him to stop. Mr. Massey leaned over the side of the carriage.</p> + +<p>"I never dreamed you'd ride by our picnic," said Suzanna, all excited. +"We've got my mother here and our baby."</p> + +<p>"Well, well," said the Eagle Man. "And how are you, little girl?"</p> + +<p>"I'm awfully well," returned Suzanna. "But today was cleaning day at +home and we all started out wrong; the baby kept mother awake last night +and Maizie hated her oatmeal with the syrup in the middle and Peter +cried hard because he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>couldn't see his ears, and never in all his life +can see his ears."</p> + +<p>She paused tragically. "Never in all his life—and neither can you, or +anybody."</p> + +<p>"What a terrible loss, for sure," said the Eagle Man, after a look +darted at his coachman's imperturbable back. "And what did <i>you</i> cry +about?"</p> + +<p>She stared at him in horror. "I never cry," she said. "I mean I never +let the tears fall down my face. I cry in my heart sometimes, but never +out loud, on top. But I felt funny this morning because I wished we +didn't have to wash on Monday, and iron on Tuesday, and clean on +Wednesday, and bake on Thursday, and mend on Friday, and clean again on +Saturday."</p> + +<p>"Well, ask your mother to wash on <i>Saturday</i>," the Eagle Man suggested +easily.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't think mother would," Suzanna cried, in a little horror +herself at that idea. "She's awful set about washing on Monday. Still +I'll ask her if you say so, Eagle Man, because Saturday is kind of a wet +day anyhow. You see Saturday is just the shape of a big, immense, round +ocean. Shall I bring my mother over here to look at you?" suddenly +recalling the conventions.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I'm fit to look at this morning," the Eagle Man +muttered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh, I think you are," said Suzanna, earnestly. "I like your shiny shoes +and your very high collar. I know mother would like you, too."</p> + +<p>The Eagle Man looked down at his shiny shoes, hesitated and was lost. He +opened the carriage door, seized his cane and struggled to the ground. +"Now, let's see your wonderful family," he said to Suzanna, as he +hobbled forward toward the little group under the trees.</p> + +<p>Suzanna looked up at him. "Oh, you're the lame and the halt, too! We +took Mabel along on our picnic because her eyes don't match, you know. +They don't seem to work together. We <i>are</i> obeying the Bible today, +aren't we?"</p> + +<p>Old John Massey did not answer, since he was intent upon covering the +ground with as little wear and tear on his nerves as possible, and so in +silence they walked till they reached Mrs. Procter, still leaning +against the tree, but now holding the baby in her arms.</p> + +<p>Maizie, Mabel, and Peter all looked with vivid interest at the newcomer.</p> + +<p>"Mother," began Suzanna, "this is the gentleman I told you about. He's +John Massey; you've seen him on Main Street. <i>He loves to be +comfortable.</i> And he doesn't work during the day, either, but he sits in +a chair and shouts at a little <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>man, and the little man hops mighty +quick, I can tell you."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter's face went crimson. "How do you do?" she said. She did not +meet his keen eyes.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, madam," the Eagle Man responded. "Out for an airing with +your family?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mrs. Procter. "The children were all in a bad humor this +morning and so we thought we'd have a picnic."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, mother," said Maizie earnestly, "we weren't in a bad humor. We +just didn't like things at home."</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll put it that way," smiled her mother, "and so Suzanna +suggested a picnic." Mrs. Procter attempted to rise.</p> + +<p>"Stay where you are, madam," said the Eagle Man. Mrs. Procter sank back +against the tree.</p> + +<p>"You sit down, too, Eagle Man," said Suzanna cordially. "We've got +another shawl. Here it is." She spread it down on the ground and the +Eagle Man quite gladly accepted the invitation, though his face whitened +in the downward process of reaching the shawl.</p> + +<p>"Well, madam," he began again, "most people can't afford big families +these days."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter smiled, but did not answer. Suzanna, sensing a criticism, +spoke quickly.</p> + +<p>"Mother can't afford them either, but she's not asked anything about it. +The doctor who has charge of giving out babies stops at our gate often +and looks into mother's eyes. Then he knows she'd be awful sweet to a +little baby and so next time he gets around he brings one to us. Maybe +one that no one else will have."</p> + +<p>"I see," said the Eagle Man. He turned to Mrs. Procter. "Your daughter +is very apt with explanations."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter smiled.</p> + +<p>"Her explanations," he continued, "are a trifle more honest than the +ones I often hear."</p> + +<p>Another little silence. The Eagle Man appeared to be thinking deeply. +First he cast a glance out into the road to where his capacious vehicle +stood, then he looked over at Mrs. Procter.</p> + +<p>"I wonder, madam," he said, "if you and your family would do me the +honor to drive with me."</p> + +<p>Suzanna's eyes grew like stars, Maizie wrung her hands in a very +eloquence of prayer as she awaited her mother's answer; Peter just +stared, speech stricken from him; Mabel turned in her toes in her agony. +The baby only was unconcerned. Finally Mrs. Procter answered:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We'll be very glad to, I'm sure, Mr. Massey." And in less time than it +takes to tell, Mrs. Procter, the baby on her knees, sat beside Mr. +Massey in the carriage, while the three little girls sat on a seat +facing Mrs. Procter, a seat that could at will be let down or pushed +back. Peter, to his everlasting delight, sat beside the coachman.</p> + +<p>"Out into the country, Robert," said Mr. Massey to his coachman, and so +away they started at a leisurely pace, since the complacent horses +refused any other. Sometimes vagrant chickens wandered into the road, +exhibiting a daring that enthralled Peter. His opinion of chickens rose +when, the fat horses almost upon their tail feathers, they disdainfully +moved off.</p> + +<p>"We couldn't run one down, I suppose," he asked Robert, hopefully. "Just +take a feather off, you know, to learn 'em a lesson."</p> + +<p>"I scared a pair of 'em good and proper, once," returned Robert, who had +been, known to coddle an ailing worm, but at the moment he was just a +little boy with Peter, in very proper high spirits. And while braggingly +he went on talking to his delighted listener, the rest of the party were +silently, but with keen enjoyment, watching the passing country side. It +was a ride to be long remembered; the smooth roads wound alluringly +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>away, Suzanna wondered, to what beautiful hidden country. The breezes +fanned their cheeks with delicate, fragrant breath; the birds sang +overhead, or flew gaily about, adding harmony and color to the +atmosphere. And yet, to Suzanna's horror the baby, apparently quite +insensible to all the beauty and totally oblivious of the gratitude due +the Eagle Man, soon fell fast asleep, engagingly sucking his fat thumb.</p> + +<p>"He's not very old," whispered Suzanna to her host; "and he doesn't know +he must be truly thankful to you."</p> + +<p>"Well, let him rest comfortably," said the Eagle Man, and he moved in +such a way that the baby's head rested against his knee.</p> + +<p>"There, that's better," he said to Mrs. Procter. "I didn't suppose you +wanted its neck to be broken," he ended gruffly.</p> + +<p>"You can't talk that way to mother," said Suzanna, very gently. "She's +not used to it, you see, and she might think you meant it, though I know +you better. Father, when he isn't thinking of his invention, speaks very +kindly and sometimes he says, 'Are you tired, Little Woman?'"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter attempted to speak, but again the Eagle Man stopped +her—very gently, for him.</p> + +<p>"It's all right," he said. "It's rather interest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>ing to find someone, if +only a child, who's not afraid to be absolutely sincere."</p> + +<p>They came to a small hill where Robert stopped his horses. The breezes +had gone whispering away and stillness was upon all. Soon the birds +ceased their calls; over in the west the clouds were soft delicate folds +of bronze; and even as one looked they broke into bars of distinct +color, orange, purple, coral. An opal sunset.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how beautiful!" cried Mrs. Procter.</p> + +<p>"A daily incident," returned the Eagle Man, but he, too, gazed at the +glowing sky.</p> + +<p>"And now, I suppose we must return," he said at length, and so Robert +turned his horses upon the homeward journey.</p> + +<p>It was nearly dusk when, after leaving Mabel with her mother, the little +cottage came into sight, and then Mrs. Procter said to the Eagle Man: +"This has been one of the happiest days of my life. I thank you for +helping to make it so."</p> + +<p>"That's very kind of you to say so," the Eagle Man answered in his usual +gruff voice.</p> + +<p>They reached the gate and leaning upon it was Mr. Procter. He stared his +amazement at sight of his family returning in such state.</p> + +<p>"Father, we had a picnic," called Maizie, springing from the carriage.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And once I drove," cried Peter, almost falling from his seat, "and +scared a chicken."</p> + +<p>"We've had the grandest day, father," finished Suzanna, running to him. +"We went on a picnic and we took the lame and halt along, Mabel and the +Eagle Man, and they had a good time, too."</p> + +<p>"And twice today, father," said Maizie, taking her father's hand, "I +remembered Who smiled at me."</p> + +<p>"Who smiled at you?" asked the Eagle Man, who heard everything, it +seemed.</p> + +<p>"The Man with the halo, Jesus, you know," Maizie answered reverently. +"When first I was a baby on this earth He came to smile at me and to +wake me up. Suzanna told me so."</p> + +<p>Silence. Then the Eagle Man turned to Mr. Procter. "Glad to have met +your family, sir."</p> + +<p>"Glad you've had the opportunity," said Mr. Procter.</p> + +<p>"You sold a quantity of nails to me a few weeks ago, good nails, too; +not underweight either, I noticed," said the Eagle Man at last. "Your +little girl tells me you are an inventor."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I'm working on a machine," Mr. Procter flushed. "It is nearly +finished. That is, sometimes I think so; other times completion seems +far away."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Eagle Man paused. "I'd be interested in seeing your invention," he +said, and stopped. Yet there was promise, too, in his voice, in his +eyes.</p> + +<p>Again the color rushed to Mr. Procter's face. He stared unbelievingly at +the other, and then said: "I'll be glad any time to show my machine; to +tell you all about it—" He hesitated. "There'd be a great chance for +you, should you become interested in it."</p> + +<p>"Well, if that's the case, expect me any time. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>Suzanna spoke cordially: "You must come and see us very often," she said +warmly, "only not on Tuesday nights, if you're coming to supper, because +we have stew then made from the last of Sunday's roast."</p> + +<p>"I'll remember," said the Eagle Man gravely, as he gave the signal to +Robert to drive away.</p> + +<p>The little family went down through the yard and on to the house.</p> + +<p>"I must hurry with your supper," said Mrs. Procter. "I'm sorry you were +kept waiting." She felt rested enough not to dread preparing the meal.</p> + +<p>"Don't hurry, I found some crackers," said Mr. Procter, and added, "Why, +I've not seen you look so happy in many a long day."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, I really must thank Suzanna," said Mrs. Procter. "She insisted +upon a picnic because the day started wrong. The house is all upset +though," she finished, as they went into the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"The house?" he returned, gazing vaguely about. "It looks all right to +me. Suppose, Jane, he should really be won over to believe in the +machine. Oh, I never hoped I could interest him!"</p> + +<p>"It may be the beginning of a great day," she answered. He put his arm +about her.</p> + +<p>"What should I do without you to encourage, to help," he said.</p> + +<p>"That's my privilege," she said softly.</p> + +<p>Bending, he kissed her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOOK_II" id="BOOK_II"></a>BOOK II</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>THE INDIAN DRILL</h3> + + +<p>Mid September and school days.</p> + +<p>"I like my new teacher, that's why I'm happy," Suzanna told her mother +at the end of the first school day.</p> + +<p>"I saw her," said Maizie, who was a pupil at public school for the +second year. "She holds her arm funny."</p> + +<p>Suzanna flushed darkly. "She's beautiful," she averred; "she's my +teacher."</p> + +<p>"But didn't you see her arm?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Suzanna, "I did not."</p> + +<p>Maizie cried out triumphantly: "Well, that's the first time you didn't +see something I saw."</p> + +<p>Suzanna did not answer. She could not voice her emotions.</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't want you or anyone in the whole world even to notice Miss +Smithson's arm," she flung out, and so Maizie was silenced.</p> + +<p>Suzanna glanced through the window.</p> + +<p>"Why there's father," cried Suzanna; "I wonder why he's coming home so +early?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Procter came hurriedly down the path, pushed open the front door, +and with no word sprang up the stairs. To the attic, the children knew.</p> + +<p>"He must have thought of something to do to The Machine," said Maizie.</p> + +<p>"Yes," Suzanna answered; "whenever he has that still look on his face he +has a new idea."</p> + +<p>"Someone must be taking his place at the store," said Mrs. Procter. "I'm +glad the baby's asleep. Be very quiet, children. Father may have a +splendid thought—why there, he's coming downstairs again."</p> + +<p>He entered the kitchen at once, his face aglow.</p> + +<p>"Just the turn of a screw!" he exclaimed. He spoke directly to his wife. +"Oh, my dear, it's coming on. Nearly ready to show to John Massey."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I am happy for you," she cried.</p> + +<p>He spoke to Suzanna and Maizie: "Would you chicks like to take a walk +down town with me?" He fumbled in his pocket. "Here's a ticket good for +ten dishes of ice cream." He held up a small card.</p> + +<p>"Oh, daddy, where did you get it?" cried Maizie.</p> + +<p>"From Raymond Cunningham, leading drug<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>gist," he announced slowly. "His +soda fountain was out of order and I fixed it for him. I didn't want +money for a small act of kindness, so he issued this ticket to me."</p> + +<p>The children were delighted. Mrs. Procter smiled too. In generosity of +spirit, she forbore to point out to her husband the fact that Raymond +Cunningham was known from one end of the town to the other as one who +would "skin a gnat for its teeth."</p> + +<p>Without doubt the man now beaming upon his little daughters had saved +the druggist a bill of ten dollars for which he had issued a ticket +worth sixty cents!</p> + +<p>But she simply smiled, and going to her husband she brushed an imaginary +dust speck from his coat. He caught her hand.</p> + +<p>"Wait, Dear One, till the invention is ready," he said; "all shall give +homage to my wife."</p> + +<p>She did not answer him in words, but he seemed satisfied with the +silence. Such moments of love, of high hope, were beautiful to both.</p> + +<p>The little group started away for their trip to town.</p> + +<p>Just as they reached the drug store, Suzanna pulled her father's sleeve. +She was all excitement.</p> + +<p>"See, daddy," she cried, "that tall lady dressed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>in black standing near +the lamp post is Miss Smithson, my new teacher."</p> + +<p>"Well, let's go and say a word to her," suggested Mr. Procter, easily.</p> + +<p>"Oh, father, I don't think she talks outside of school," said Suzanna, +her voice falling. She fell into prim step as they neared Miss Smithson.</p> + +<p>Miss Smithson, seeing Suzanna, smiled.</p> + +<p>"This is my father," said Suzanna proudly.</p> + +<p>"I should know that at once by the close resemblance," returned Miss +Smithson.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Suzanna and I do look alike," said Mr. Procter, "and I think I've +sold tacks to you." He rarely failed to speak of his work. He was so +exalted a being, Suzanna thought glowingly, that he lifted his daily +labor to the dignity of a fine art. People must think so too, because +they always looked closer at him when he spoke of weighing nails, or +wrapping wringers and washboards.</p> + +<p>"We were going on to the drug store for some ice cream. Will you join +us?" asked Mr. Procter of Miss Smithson.</p> + +<p>Suzanna's face went white as she waited Miss Smithson's answer. +Teachers, being purely ethereal she felt, never descended to the +discussion of materialities. She wondered at her father's overlooking +this truth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> + +<p>But, "Thank you," said the teacher, very calmly.</p> + +<p>So together they all entered the corner drug store, Suzanna still very +quiet. Mr. Procter found a table large enough to accommodate them all. +Suzanna sat next to Maizie.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to have a chocolate ice cream soda," whispered Maizie.</p> + +<p>"No, you can't, Maizie," Suzanna returned in an agony; "take lemon ice +cream soda."</p> + +<p>"But I don't like it."</p> + +<p>"Well, that doesn't matter, Maizie. Chocolate is too dark; and besides +you smear it all over your lips and it looks dreadful; pale lemon ice +cream soda is sweet looking. We must do something to honor Miss +Smithson, who's here just because she wouldn't hurt father's feelings."</p> + +<p>But Maizie looked belligerent.</p> + +<p>Suzanna's temper threatened to flame forth. With a mighty effort she +controlled it. She turned to her father. "Father, don't you think Maizie +had better have lemon ice cream soda?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Anything she wants; anything she wants," Mr. Procter answered and not +lowering his voice, even in Miss Smithson's presence: "What do you think +you'll have, Suzanna?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'll have a lemon ice cream soda," said Suzanna primly. And she had +difficulty in restraining her tears when Maizie deliberately gave her +command for chocolate ice cream soda. When the orders came Suzanna +scarcely touched her glass. Covertly she watched Miss Smithson; she saw, +how daintily that lady ate her plain vanilla ice cream; perhaps, after +all, even teachers found it necessary to find some subsistence and Miss +Smithson had hit upon ice cream as the most aesthetic. At least Suzanna +was forced to believe this in her endeavor to keep intact her ideal of +Miss Smithson.</p> + +<p>Then Miss Smithson said in a pleasant, every-day voice:</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to have this opportunity, Mr. Procter, of asking you if +Suzanna may take part in an Indian Drill I expect to give at school next +month."</p> + +<p>"Why, I can see no reason against her taking part," said Mr. Procter. +"You would enjoy such an occasion, would you not, Suzanna?"</p> + +<p>"She will need an outfit," Miss Smithson went on, treading delicately, +since in part she guessed the state of the Procter finances and she +wished to be very sure before implicating Suzanna in any embarrassing +situation, "including dancing slippers, though I may be able to rent the +Indian <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>costumes from a masquerader in the city, and then the cost will +be lessened."</p> + +<p>"That will be all right," said Mr. Procter immediately. "Just tell us +the clothes she will need and her mother will get them."</p> + +<p>"That's very nice," said Miss Smithson, though she felt still a little +uneasy.</p> + +<p>"When will the affair take place?" Mr. Procter asked.</p> + +<p>"On the fifteenth of October. We have ample time for rehearsals."</p> + +<p>A little later Miss Smithson shook hands with Suzanna's father, +murmuring something conventional about his being fortunate in the +possession of such an interesting family. Then she was gone.</p> + +<p>The children, bidding father good-bye, hastened on home. They burst into +the house, anxious to tell mother all about the meeting with Miss +Smithson.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter listened interestedly. "And father said I might take part +in the Indian Drill," said Suzanna. "I shall have to have an outfit +perhaps and dancing shoes."</p> + +<p>"What did father say about that?" asked Mrs. Procter, an anxious little +frown growing between her eyes.</p> + +<p>"He said you would get them for me," Suzanna <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>returned. She, too, looked +a little anxiously at her mother. "But Miss Smithson said perhaps she +could hire the Indian costumes."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter's expression lightened.</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps she can," she said.</p> + +<p>"And if she can't, mother?" Suzanna breathlessly awaited the answer.</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll manage some way."</p> + +<p>And Suzanna was satisfied.</p> + +<p>A week later Mr. Procter returned home, carrying a mysterious looking +parcel.</p> + +<p>"For you, Suzanna," he said, his eyes sparkling. "But let's not open it +until after supper."</p> + +<p>Suzanna reluctantly put the package to one side. That supper would never +end that evening she had a firm conviction.</p> + +<p>And yet the end was reached, and she was opening the package, attended +by the entire family. At last her eager eyes swept the contents, and her +little beating heart for the moment palpitated strangely in her throat, +for there lay a pair of shoes.</p> + +<p>"Shoes," said Mr. Procter, "for you to wear in the Indian Drill. I saw +them thrown out in a little booth when I went into Lane's shoe shop for +a piece of leather to be made into washers. They really were marked at +so ridiculously low a figure <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>that I thought at once we could surely +afford them for Suzanna. They are, I should judge, the very thing for +the Indian Drill."</p> + +<p>To all of which Suzanna listened gravely. Her heart had gone back to its +normal rhythm, but her eyes could not leave the atrocities lying before +her. Truly, they were of fine leather, but with their high French heels, +and flat gilt buttons, they might have been in style when Suzanna's +mother was a very little girl, and, to be really candid, they would have +lain under the anathema of being out of date even then. But over and +beyond the painful vintage of the shoes was the fact that Miss Smithson +had announced that all the girls taking part in the Indian Drill should +wear the same kind of shoes. She had gone farther and told the children +that the right kind of shoes could be obtained at Bryson's for a dollar +and forty-eight cents a pair, a really reduced price because fourteen +pairs were to be purchased. She had finished by giving the children the +number to be called for, "A-14116." Suzanna knew the number well; she +had repeated it mentally over and over again.</p> + +<p>Finally Suzanna found her voice. "They're very nice, daddy," she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, they are very nice," he said. "See, you can turn them up. They're +as soft as a kid glove."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, since you've bought the shoes," said Mrs. Procter, "and probably +at a very reasonable figure—" she paused, and Mr. Procter finished:</p> + +<p>"Yes, they were only forty-eight cents, a remarkable bargain, I think."</p> + +<p>"Remarkable," said Mrs. Procter, picking them up. "Why, I believe +they're a handmade shoe! Well," she went on, "since the shoes are +accounted for, I think if I have to I can quite easily manage the rest +of the outfit."</p> + +<p>Suzanna's heart sank lower. She only wondered miserably if her mother, +seeing a piece of inexpensive goods of almost any shade, and finding a +pattern easy to manage, would make up what she thought would do quite +well for the Indian Drill costume. Then her thoughts returned to the +shoes. Perhaps after all they wouldn't fit! She was enabled by that +emancipating thought to turn a happier face to her father and again to +thank him.</p> + +<p>But alas, the shoes fitted perfectly.</p> + +<p>"I think," said Suzanna desperately, "that perhaps they're a little bit +too small—narrow, I mean."</p> + +<p>"Do they hurt you?" asked her mother.</p> + +<p>Suzanna had to confess that they didn't hurt.</p> + +<p>"They certainly make your foot look very nice and slender," said her +father.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> + +<p>Well, Suzanna thought miserably, she should have to wear them, and in +that belief all interest in the Indian Drill left her. She simply +couldn't, she felt, take her lead on the eventful day wearing those +shoes. Every eye in the audience, she knew, would be fixed upon them, so +different from those of the other girls, so terribly old-fashioned, as +instinctively she sensed them to be.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter carefully wrapped the bargains in the original tissue +paper. She was happy in the thought that her little daughter was +provided with a pretty and appropriate pair of dancing shoes.</p> + +<p>But it was very perfunctorily that Suzanna went through the ensuing +rehearsals at school. Her spirits were not lifted even when Miss +Smithson announced that the costumes were to be obtained through a +masquerader at the small cost of twenty-five cents for each pupil. But +at length, the child's natural persevering force had its way, and she +set her mind to studying the question of how to avoid wearing the +unsuitable shoes and still preserve her father's confidence in his own +good judgment. Usually she asked no help, working alone on the problems +which assailed her, but suddenly the thought of her friend Drusilla came +to her. She would ask Drusilla what she thought about the matter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>DRUSILLA'S REMINISCENCES</h3> + + +<p>One afternoon immediately after school, Suzanna, taking Maizie with her, +went to call on Drusilla. Twice since her first visit in July she had +gone to the little home, but on both occasions Drusilla had been ill, +unable to see anyone. But today the pleasant faced maid admitted the +children.</p> + +<p>"Go right up to the attic," she said. "Mrs. Bartlett is there looking +over some old trunks."</p> + +<p>In the attic, a tiny place with slanting roof and unfinished walls, the +children found Mrs. Bartlett, sitting on the floor beside a huge, +overflowing trunk. Old-fashioned dresses, high-heeled satin slippers, +dancing programs, painted fans, were all heaped together.</p> + +<p>"We've come to see you, Drusilla," said Suzanna at once. "I've been +twice before, but you didn't know it. This is my sister, Maizie. I've +got a very important question to ask you."</p> + +<p>Drusilla rose from the floor. "I'm glad to see you both. I've often +thought of you, Suzanna.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> Close the lid of that trunk and sit on it and +your little sister Maizie can sit in that old easy chair in the corner. +That is, if you want to stay up here in the attic."</p> + +<p>Suzanna looked about her. The attic was rather sad-looking, she thought, +not full of its own importance as the one at home, but still, very +interesting. Old portraits hung on the slanting walls. In corners were +piles of old furniture looking strangely lifelike in the shadows.</p> + +<p>"We'd rather stay up here, Drusilla," she said. "And we'll stay a long +time with you, if you like."</p> + +<p>"Very good," said Drusilla. She drew forth a low rocker and seated +herself.</p> + +<p>Suzanna suddenly remembered her manners. "Perhaps we shouldn't have come +today anyway," she said. "You were busy with your trunk when we came +up."</p> + +<p>"I was just looking over some old dresses and relics I've kept for many +years," said Drusilla. "There's a dress in there," she said, "that I +wore when as a young girl I lived with my parents way back across the +ocean."</p> + +<p>"A big city?" asked Maizie. "Not like Anchorville?"</p> + +<p>"A big city," returned Drusilla. "You see that glass case in the corner? +Go and look at it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> + +<p>Suzanna and Maizie sprang up and went to the dusky corner. On a table +stood the glass case, and under it was an apple, a pear, a bunch of +grapes, and a banana, all made of wax.</p> + +<p>"That came from the city across the water," said Drusilla. "It was given +to my grandmother by our old herb woman."</p> + +<p>The children left the wax fruit and went and stood quite close to +Drusilla. "What's an old herb woman?" asked Maizie, interestedly.</p> + +<p>"Why, she was our doctor in those days. She had an old shop buried away +in a part of the town that we reached by crossing a canal. Many is the +time my grandmother took me to that old shop with its rows of dried +herbs hanging from the ceiling; with its old worn corners, and its +barrel of white cocoanut oil standing near the door. Oh, I loved that +place. I loved the smell of the herbs and I loved the little old woman +who could brew teas from her herbs that would cure any ailment in the +world, I thought. And then right next to the old herb shop was a pawn +shop with three tarnished golden balls above the door."</p> + +<p>"A pawn shop?" The children wanted to know the meaning of that kind of +shop.</p> + +<p>"A shop," said Drusilla, warming to her keen audience, "to which you +could bring anything, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>from a worn out dress to a piece of jewelry, and +get money for it and a ticket. And if you wanted the dress or the +jewelry back again, then you brought the ticket and the money and a +little interest.</p> + +<p>"The old pawn shop was a landmark. It had stood next to the herb shop, +my grandmother told me, for a hundred years; during all these years +owned by the same family. When I was a little girl a woman kept the +shop. She was very tall, very thin, with quantities of black hair +braided and wound round and round her head. She wore always a Paisley +shawl of faded colors, and her hair coiled as it was made me think +always of a crown.</p> + +<p>"The shop was long and narrow and full of wonderful rare, old +curios—old violins, cameos, and uncut stones. I was allowed to go all +over the shop; to open quaint cases, to go upstairs and out upon an old +gallery and to lift from their drawers silken crapes, and to find, +buried away, whispering sea-shells and crystal bottles, and irregular +pieces of blue-veined marble and alabaster. Oh, the happy, thrilling +hours I spent in that place! My grandmother told me that scholars came +from every part of the country to see this tucked-away, historic old +pawn shop."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p> + +<p>Drusilla paused, but in a moment to the children's relief she went on: +"Then on a quite busy street, back this side of the canal, the side we +lived on, was a large place called an ovenry. And there we sent our +bread to be baked."</p> + +<p>The children's eyes widened.</p> + +<p>"Yes," went on Drusilla, "we put our dough to rise at home, made it into +little loaves, pricked our initial—or some other distinguishing +mark—on top when it lay in its pans, and then a big red-faced man with +a wagon drawn by a donkey called for our bread. Once my grandmother let +me ride with him, and I stayed all afternoon in his ovenry, though the +fire from the big ovens made it uncomfortably hot. I watched him and his +helpers put the pans of bread on big shovels and heave them into yawning +caves of flames. When they were finished, another red-faced man +delivered them baked brown, and smoking, to the customers. We paid a +penny a loaf for having our bread baked."</p> + +<p>"Oh, and that saved you buying so much coal, didn't it?" asked Maizie. +"I wish we had an ovenry in Anchorville."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Drusilla, "I think, myself, some of these old-fashioned +ideas were economical."</p> + +<p>"There isn't a pawn shop anywhere near, is <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>there?" asked Suzanna. She +was thinking about the shoes and what a blessing it would be to dispose +of them.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe so," Drusilla answered. "Anyway, there couldn't be +another like that wonderful shop of my youth."</p> + +<p>There ensued a silence. Suddenly leaning forward, Suzanna began very +earnestly:</p> + +<p>"Drusilla, I have a very important question to ask you. Which would you +rather do, be honest or suffer?"</p> + +<p>"Be honest or suffer?" repeated Drusilla. "I don't quite understand."</p> + +<p>"Well, you see, it's this way," said Suzanna. "Now, Maizie, I see you're +listening with your eyes wide open, and I want to tell you now that you +mustn't say anything to father of what I'm going to tell Drusilla." +Having delivered this ultimatum, she went on and told of the Indian +Drill and of the costumes, and then of her father's recent purchase of +the shoes. "I can't tell daddy that the shoes would be different from +everybody's else," she said, "because it will hurt his feelings. But, +oh, Drusilla! My heart jumps into my throat when I think of wearing +those shoes so different from everyone else's."</p> + +<p>"The shoes cost forty-eight cents," elaborated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> Maizie, "and so you can +see Suzanna has to wear them whether she likes them or not."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Suzanna, "forty-eight cents is very near to half a dollar +and we can't afford to lose that. I thought, Drusilla, that you could +give me some advice. That's all I want, just that you tell me which is +best, to be honest or to suffer. You told me once about the little +silver chain and that has helped me a lot."</p> + +<p>Drusilla looked puzzled. "The silver chain?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, don't you remember that day you were queen and told me about the +chain?" asked Suzanna.</p> + +<p>In a second a remarkable change came over the old lady. She rose to her +feet. Then she turned to Suzanna, her shoulders straight and her head +held high.</p> + +<p>"My crown," she demanded. "Is that to be lifted from me in these the +full years of my queenhood?"</p> + +<p>"I've never seen you with a crown on," said Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"Enough, serf!" cried the queen haughtily. "Procure me my crown." +Suzanna looked about her. An old dried-up Christmas wreath hanging on a +rafter attracted her attention. Quickly she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>procured it and held it out +to Drusilla. "Here is your crown, Queen," she said. And then, her voice +changing, she said: "You'd better let me put it on, Drusilla, it's +liable to crumble if you're not careful. Lower your head, please."</p> + +<p>The old lady did so and Suzanna placed the crown upon the silver hair.</p> + +<p>"Now," said the old lady, "if you have sought me to gain advice, repeat +your question, that I may answer in a manner worthy my exalted station."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Suzanna for the third time, "I want to know whether it's +best to be honest or to suffer?"</p> + +<p>"What shall be your course if you are honest?" asked the queen.</p> + +<p>Suzanna pondered. "I think I'll tell daddy, perhaps tonight," she said +at last, "that to wear the shoes will hurt my feelings dreadfully; that +I tremble when I think of being the only girl in the drill without low +shoes with two straps. Something like moccasins. If I tell daddy this, +then I'll be honest."</p> + +<p>"And if you decide to suffer?"</p> + +<p>"Then I'll wear the shoes at the drill and from the time I put them on +till the drill is over, I'll be full of pain. I'll know that everybody +will be just <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>looking at my feet, and I'll not enjoy the dance one bit."</p> + +<p>The queen knit her brows. Then her answer came: "Be not honest in the +way you describe, neither suffer."</p> + +<p>"But, Drusilla," Suzanna objected, "I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"<i>And can you not be brave?</i>" asked the queen with a note of scorn in +her voice. "Is it left to one who feels the time approaching when she +will be deposed from her throne and all she holds dear, alone to have +courage?" She looked straight into Suzanna's dark eyes. "Your father +knows joy in thinking he has given you your heart's desire. Why, then, +hurt him by telling him that the shoes are not your desire? Why not, +with head held high, lead the dance you speak of, and forget shoes, and +remember only the movement of the dance, the lilt of the music?"</p> + +<p>"Is that bravery?" asked Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"The greatest bravery," returned the queen, "will be to say to yourself, +'Am I so poor a maid that I cannot by the very beauty of my dancing keep +the eyes of the watchers lifted clear above my shoes? For shoes, what +are shoes? Leather and wood. Inanimate, unthinking <i>stuff!</i> They are not +worth one heart pang, one moment of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>misery to me or mine. But <i>I, I am +alive</i>. I can see and think and understand. I can go so joyously through +the mazes of the dance that the watchers may forget their sordid +cares.'"</p> + +<p>Suzanna, listening, was carried away. She cried with eager response: +"Why the night of the Indian Drill I can believe I am a fairy, dancing +over snow-topped mountains, and singing, flying clear up into the +clouds!"</p> + +<p>"You might fall, Suzanna," said Maizie, "you know you haven't wings."</p> + +<p>But on this occasion Suzanna was not to be recalled to earth, and +besides in her queen's interested, understanding face, she felt a quick +fellowship to the spirit that dwelt within her.</p> + +<p>And then breaking harshly into the wonder of this moment came the +tinkle, tinkle of the electric bell.</p> + +<p>"Oh," cried Maizie, "someone is coming."</p> + +<p>"I shall brook no intruders," cried the queen.</p> + +<p>"No matter who it is?" asked Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"No matter who it is. I desire to be alone with my court. However, you +can peep over the banisters and see who dares come thus upon us."</p> + +<p>Suzanna went to the top of the stairs. The maid was ushering in a lady +and a boy.</p> + +<p>"Go right upstairs," Suzanna heard the maid <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>say. "Mrs. Bartlett's in +the attic with two of the Procter children."</p> + +<p>The visitors appeared at the top of the stairs and paused to glance in.</p> + +<p>The lady was beautifully dressed, quite exquisitely, from the dainty +little toque upon her haughty head to her small gray cloth shoes. Her +eyes, flashing from pansy shades to lightest blue, were cold. Her white +skin seemed to hold no possibility of color. Yet, even as she stood, the +milk of it turned to rose when Drusilla gazed at her with no warmth of +recognition in her glance.</p> + +<p>The boy, about twelve, Suzanna surmised correctly, stood forward. There +was some of his mother's haughtiness in his bearing, a great deal of her +beauty. But added to both, a rare, high look as though always he were +seeking what lay beyond his grasp, and perhaps his comprehension. He +seemed altogether like a child whose emotional values did not stand +clear. He gazed half prayerfully at his grandmother, as though asking +and bestowing at the same time.</p> + +<p>Breaking into the embarrassing silence, Suzanna spoke:</p> + +<p>"Drusilla has her crown on," she said. "You see, she's a queen now, and +she's been answering some questions of mine."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> + +<p>The lady in the doorway looked at Suzanna meditatively. Then she spoke +directly to Drusilla.</p> + +<p>"May I come in, mother?" she asked. "You see I've brought Graham."</p> + +<p>Drusilla began: "Court was in session. However, I shall be glad to have +you remain." The boy, who had remained quiet, now spoke.</p> + +<p>"Oh, bully, mother; grandmother's playing again. I want to stay."</p> + +<p>But his mother put out a detaining hand as he attempted to enter the +attic.</p> + +<p>"No—we can't stay now—" She spoke directly again to Drusilla. "We'll +come again—when you are more—yourself."</p> + +<p>In a moment she was gone down the stairs, leaving after her a soft +fragrance. The boy obediently followed her. In the hall below she +encountered the maid. She whispered a few hurried words before taking +her departure.</p> + +<p>The maid went up immediately into the attic.</p> + +<p>Drusilla was again talking eloquently while Suzanna and Maizie stood +listening spellbound.</p> + +<p>"I think," said the maid, breaking in quietly but firmly, "that you +little girls had better go home now. Mrs. Bartlett is tired and I want +her to lie down."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></p> + +<p>She approached the queen. "Come, Mrs. Bartlett," she said, "you must +rest now." She raised her hand as though to remove the crown of faded +leaves.</p> + +<p>"What means this sacrilege?" cried the queen, stepping backward.</p> + +<p>"She likes to wear her crown when she's a queen," said Suzanna, much +distressed.</p> + +<p>"But she can't lie down in her crown, you know, little girl, it will +hurt her."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's true, Drusilla," Suzanna conceded. "Will you put your head +down and I'll take the crown off very carefully and we'll put it away +for another day."</p> + +<p>The queen obediently lowered her silver head to Suzanna. Suzanna very +carefully removed the wreath and hung it on its old nail.</p> + +<p>"I <i>am</i> tired," said the old lady, now in a voice that trembled a +little. "But you'll come again soon, won't you?" she asked, appealing to +Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"Yes, just as soon as I can," said Suzanna. "Come, Maizie. Good-bye, +Drusilla, and thank you very much for helping me."</p> + +<p>Drusilla brightened. "That's nice, to know that I can still help +someone," she said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>MRS. GRAHAM WOODS BARTLETT</h3> + + +<p>The great house stood on a hilltop quite two miles from the station, and +cut into the immense iron door standing guard to the grounds was the +name "Bartlett Villa."</p> + +<p>Here for a small part of the year the Graham Woods Bartletts lived. The +family consisted of mother, father, and son, named for his father. In +the city another house as large and more palatial received the family +when they tired of the country home.</p> + +<p>Mr. Graham Woods Bartlett held large interests in the Massey Steel +Mills. That he might be on the ground part of the time he had built +Bartlett Villa. In his heart he loved the small town. It was like a +retreat to him to come back to its quiet after feverish hours spent in +the crowded city. Here he seemed to recall in part a few of his vanished +dreams—those dreams so bright, so well-nigh impossible of fulfillment, +which as a young man fresh from college he had cherished. While young, +he met and loved the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>girl he married. That she had visions he perfectly +believed. That her visions were unworthy no power then could have made +him believe. She came from an impecunious family whose lineage was older +and greater than his. How she could have thought the high-browed, +sensitive-faced young man the one who could fulfill her grasping desires +is not to be fathomed. She had believed so, and he did bring to pass all +her aspirations. That in doing so he killed his finest ideals mattered +not.</p> + +<p>Young Graham, too, was always glad when the time came for a stay at +Bartlett Villa in Anchorville. He loved the big upstanding elms; loved +the many gardens, and the flaunting flowers. He loved the two people who +belonged properly in the environs of Bartlett Villa—old Nancy, who had +been his mother's nurse and his own, and David, the gardener, with his +little daughter Daphne.</p> + +<p>Nancy, old, with hard rosy cheeks, was still so real. She worked and +sang, loved and sometimes resented on behalf of those whom she served. +Often, when quite a little boy, Graham would seek her in the old nursery +of the city home and climb into her lap, rest his curly head against her +loving breast, and sometimes contentedly fall asleep.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>He never so cuddled with his mother, no matter how fervent the longings +that filled his heart. She was always finely dressed; and her eyes were +never for him alone. They were fixed on some distant and glittering +goal, quite beyond the boy's understanding.</p> + +<p>Then there was David, big of stature, big of mind. David, given over to +many long, silent periods, because David had lost a loved and cherished +one.</p> + +<p>There were times when David would take Graham with him on long rambles, +and then he would talk. He knew everything about the birds, their +habits, their peculiarities, their fears, and their courage. He put into +Graham a great love for the little creatures. Often together near a nest +they would stand, and, scarce breathing, watch the first lesson given by +a mother bird to a frightened young one.</p> + +<p>"She's greater, that mother, than some humans," David said once, when +they were on their way home.</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Graham, interestedly.</p> + +<p>"Well," said David, slowly, "we most of us hold on too long when it's +time for those we love to try their wings."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't hold on, would you, David?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> asked Graham, his boyish eyes +upturned in perfect faith to his friend.</p> + +<p>"I might, Graham; human nature is weak and wants always its own."</p> + +<p>Upon reaching home Graham would ask: "Will you have time to go riding +this afternoon, David?"</p> + +<p>And David would answer: "Perhaps, my lad, if there's not too much work +in the gardens."</p> + +<p>Once Graham asked: "Why do you do such work, David? You could be in the +city making lots of money." Thus Graham, who through heritage had been +innoculated with that thought, that money meant everything.</p> + +<p>And David had turned with a swift gesture: "Why should I mistreat my +spirit, kill my brightest self trying for money, young Graham? Here +among my flowers, working in the soil, I find time to think."</p> + +<p>Graham looked strangely at David. Time to think! On what? Well he knew +that David would tell him some day, and then he would weigh in his own +mind the question of whether it were wise to work hard at something that +took all your time in order to make lots of money; or to work at +something that while you worked gave you time to think and grow.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p> + +<p>David had an uncanny way of knowing another's thoughts. "It's not +altogether what you work at, lad," he said, "it's what your ideals of +life are." And turning, he left Graham to ponder.</p> + +<p>On the day that he and his mother had paid the visit to his grandmother +in the attic, the boy's mind was deeply concerned with the scene he had +witnessed in his grandmother's attic. He envied the Procter children, +since there grew in his imagination the treasure a grandmother could be. +She probably knew "bully" stories of long-ago days. Certainly as she +stood, crowned, she seemed the best sort of a playfellow, since she +could pretend as well as any child.</p> + +<p>His mother drove him home and then went to pay a call in a near town. He +had gone directly to his own room. A telegrapher's outfit, in which he +was then greatly interested, needed his attention. He was anxious to +resume work on it; still his undermind, even as he drew forth the +machine and began to work, was busy.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he remembered the time last year when his mother had made +elaborate preparations for an extended sojourn in the South. They were +then in their city home. He had ardently wished that she would decide to +take him with her, but <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>the thought evidently did not occur to her. He +had said good-bye to her with a strange, empty feeling at his heart.</p> + +<p>And then quite unexpectedly she had returned, her contemplated stay cut +enchantingly short. She had talked with him, taken long walks with him, +even accompanied him to several ball games.</p> + +<p>For a month she had been a friend, a good friend interested in boyish +sports, in active games, and once in an open moment she had asked him if +he had ever been lonely.</p> + +<p>He answered, not wishing to hurt her: "Sometimes, when you stayed for +months in Italy. But I was only a very small boy then. Father had to be +away most of the time too, and the tutor you got for me wouldn't allow +me to talk with other children until he knew all about where their +fathers and mothers came from and how much money they had."</p> + +<p>She was touched. She meant then to see that her boy should have more of +the normal boy life of fun and roughness.</p> + +<p>But gradually her old desire for social leadership pressed in on her. +And it took all her time and energy to dress, to entertain, to outdo her +social rivals. And Graham went his own way again, only wishing that it +was not necessary for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>both father and mother to be so occupied with +outside interests that they had little time for their one child.</p> + +<p>After a time he left his machine to look out of the window, and as he +stood, he saw his mother. She had left her small runabout, and David was +leading the horse to the stables.</p> + +<p>He saw her enter the house. In a moment he heard her talking in her +sweet voice to one of the servants before she mounted the stairs to her +own room. She would then, Graham knew, be in the hands of her maid for a +long time, since she was giving a formal dinner party that evening.</p> + +<p>When the shadows were lengthening Graham left his room and wandered +aimlessly around the house. Finally he reached the kitchen, where he sat +for a time, watching the imported French chef's noble efforts for the +coming dinner, efforts that must result in the wide proclamation of Mrs. +Graham Woods Bartlett as an original hostess. But in the kitchen it was +made manifest that Graham's presence was not welcome. At last, feeling +this truth, he left.</p> + +<p>The maid, coming from his mother's room and meeting him in the hall, +told him that his dinner was to be served at six in his own room. "Your +mother thought you'd like that," she finished.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> + +<p>Graham nodded without speaking and went on once more to his own room. He +felt lonely, dispirited. Old Nancy, to whom he might have turned, had +gone to her old home to visit some grandchildren. David, he knew, would +be very busy.</p> + +<p>At six the boy's dinner was brought, and with the hearty appetite of +boyhood he ate. Afterwards he read a little, and then, feeling tired, he +concluded to retire. But he did not go to sleep at once. Occasionally he +heard interesting sounds from below, music from a string orchestra, +laughter of women, and the bass voices of men.</p> + +<p>At nine o'clock he was still lying awake when he heard a little running +step outside his door. Out of an impulse he called softly, "Mother."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett, on her way to her private safe for a piece +of jade she wished to show one of her guests, paused at the call. Then +she pushed open Graham's door, which was slightly ajar, and went in. +Graham sat up. By the glow of a small electric light near his bed he +could plainly see his mother. She was a beautiful vision in her soft +white gown, quite untouched by any color, her hair piled high upon her +small, finely shaped head.</p> + +<p>"Did you call me, Graham?" she asked.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I wanted to see you all dressed."</p> + +<p>She went quickly and sat on the edge of the bed. "Did they serve you a +nice dinner, Graham?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He nodded. "Very nice," he answered.</p> + +<p>"I thought you'd be asleep long ago," she said. "Otherwise I should have +looked in on you."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't sleep," he answered. Then impulsively: "Mother, I know you +have to go downstairs again soon, but I've been thinking so much of +grandmother. Wouldn't it be possible to have her come to live here with +us? We've got such a big house, and she must be very lonely."</p> + +<p>She drew herself a little away from him. "Perhaps I haven't explained to +you, Graham," she said, "that your grandmother is given to periods of +hallucinations. That is, she has peculiar fancies, one of them being +that she thinks herself a queen."</p> + +<p>"Well, does it hurt if she does think she's a queen?" asked the boy.</p> + +<p>"In this way it does. It's not pleasant to have in close proximity one +who isn't what is called just normal. I think she is much better cared +for as she is and in her own home. You'll admit it would be very +unpleasant if she lived here, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>appeared before guests in one of her +unnatural moods."</p> + +<p>"But she is lonely," persisted the boy, sticking to the one line of +thought that had remained with him all afternoon, and had aroused his +mind to dwell insistently upon his grandmother. "You don't mind, mother, +do you, then since she can't come here, if I go to see her often?" He +hesitated before continuing: "Father told me he wished I would, as he +hasn't the time to do so."</p> + +<p>"Of course, you may go to see her, Graham, if you like. I didn't know +you cared so much."</p> + +<p>She rose from the bed and walked away to the window, looking through its +leaded panes to where she knew lay the broad road leading out into the +country with farm houses and plowed fields. After a moment she turned to +gaze at the little lad who still sat up in his bed; who still regarded +her with wide eyes very much like her own, but holding a depth and a +promise that hers did not seem to hold.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it's not the proper time to tell you now, Graham," she said, +"but I think I might as well do so. I'm making arrangements to leave for +Italy some time soon."</p> + +<p>"To be gone long, mother?" asked the boy.</p> + +<p>"Well, for three months anyway. I met some <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>interesting people there on +my last trip and they have invited me to pay them a prolonged visit," +she said.</p> + +<p>Graham did not answer at first. Then: "I suppose you'd better go +downstairs now, mother," he said.</p> + +<p>His mother left the window. Passing the bed she once more paused and +looked down at him.</p> + +<p>"Well, little son," she said at last, "good night. I've been up here an +outrageous time." She put her arms around his small shoulders and drew +him to her.</p> + +<p>But for the first time in his short life she felt no response in her +child. Indeed, she recognized his withdrawal from her, more poignant in +its effect upon her because it was unconscious on his part. In that one +moment the instinct of motherhood leapt full within her, a sudden +bewildering emotion, totally new to her in its aliveness, its vividness. +And then cold truth swept in on her that by some act she had wiped from +his young heart in one moment his ideal of her.</p> + +<p>She sank on her knees beside his bed, realizing dimly how great a crown +his love had been. After an appreciable length of time, his hand crept +out and rested a second lightly on her arm, and at the touch she raised +her head. "I've dis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span>appointed you, Graham," she said. He did not answer. +She waited, and then as he was still silent she rose. She shook her +unwonted mood from her and her face hardened into its habitual +brilliance.</p> + +<p>"Good night, Graham," she said and went away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>THE STRAY DOG</h3> + + +<p>Miss Smithson had had years of experience with children. She knew their +sensitiveness, their capacity for suffering through those incidents +which adults term trifles.</p> + +<p>She had questioned Suzanna with much adroit delicacy concerning the +shoes, and had elicited the story of the father's purchase. Though she +read correctly the child's real shrinking from the thought of being the +cynosure of many amused eyes, she felt herself helpless.</p> + +<p>That one odd pair of shoes in the company of participating children! In +imagination Miss Smithson visualized the unsuccessful efforts of their +owner to hide them, to find her place in the background. The +kind-hearted teacher really suffered in her anticipation of Suzanna's +pain.</p> + +<p>So when the great night arrived and the music sounded the approach of +the Indian maidens, Miss Smithson, sitting in the front row beside +Suzanna's parents, kept her eyes steadfastly lowered. At length, not +hearing the expected titters <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>from children in the audience, she found +her courage and looked up. Her eyes were immediately drawn to Suzanna's +face and rested there.</p> + +<p>For pictured there in place of depression, self-pity, troubling +self-consciousness, she found sparkle and joy. Miss Smithson gasped in +astonishment and relief. With perfect abandon Suzanna moved through the +dance; she seemed as one quite set apart from her companions; and so she +was.</p> + +<p>All that Drusilla had told her lived with her, inspiring her, lifting +her beyond mere mortals. She might have been frolicing upon a cloud in +her little bare feet, so far away from her consciousness was the thought +of the shoes.</p> + +<p>The dance ended, and with flushed cheeks and heart beating happily, +Suzanna took her seat. The applause lasted a long time.</p> + +<p>Then came a recitation and a piano solo given by a greatly embarrassed +boy, though certainly a greatly talented one. Suzanna recognizing his +anguish felt very sorry for him. She wished he had had a Drusilla to +advise him, to make him see that he was for the time greater than his +audience. That he had music in his soul. She understood now that the +greatest gift was to forget yourself and love your art so much that it +reigned supreme.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then looking out at the people seated before her, she recognized that +they were <i>kind</i>. That they had come not to criticize, but to enjoy and +to acclaim. She felt growing within her heart a great love for all +humanity.</p> + +<p>Her eyes sought out her father's. Just in front he sat, looking up at +her, his eyes filled with pride. She had made him happy. Her heart was +very full.</p> + +<p>Her eyes after a time went again over the audience. And behind her +father sat a boy, the one she had seen at Drusilla's. His eyes seemed to +be searching her face. She smiled at him and he smiled in return.</p> + +<p>The evening was over. Suzanna was down in the audience. "Did you like +the dance, daddy?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"It was beautiful," he answered with gratifying response. "I was very +proud of my little girl—and the shoes—I was so glad you could have +them—they were the prettiest in the drill."</p> + +<p>"I think they were, too," Suzanna answered, with real truth.</p> + +<p>Out in the street she saw the boy. He was standing near the gate of the +school yard, by his side a tall, dark young man.</p> + +<p>"How do you do?" said Suzanna.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> + +<p>He snatched his hat from his head. "Oh, I liked your dance," he said. +"This is my tutor," he finished.</p> + +<p>"How do you do," said Suzanna politely to the young man. She wondered +what a tutor was. Then to the boy: "Drusilla's your grandmother, isn't +she?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; do you live in this town?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, right down that road. Your big house was closed for three years, +wasn't it—since I was a little girl of five. That's why we haven't seen +one another, I suppose." Then: "How did you think of coming to the +Indian Drill?"</p> + +<p>"Why, one of the school trustees had to see my father on business and he +spoke about the entertainment. I thought I'd like to see it."</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm glad you came. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>A carriage drew up. The boy and his companion stepped into it and were +driven off.</p> + +<p>"That's young Graham Woods Bartlett," said Mrs. Procter as they started +home. "They live in the big house on the top of the hill. This is the +first time it's been open for some years."</p> + +<p>"And Drusilla's his grandmother," said Suzanna. "He's an awful nice +boy."</p> + +<p>"His father and old John Massey are business associates," put in Mr. +Procter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Such a fine big house to be occupied only a few months of the year, and +then not every year," put in Mrs. Procter. "And they rarely stay so late +in the season as they're staying this year—way into October."</p> + +<p>"I'll take Maizie and Peter and go and see him tomorrow," said Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Suzanna, I don't believe—" began Mrs. Procter. Then sensing +immediately that her small daughter would be totally unable to +understand social distinctions, she did not finish her sentence.</p> + +<p>So it was that the next afternoon right after school, Suzanna, who never +lost time in carrying out a resolve, prepared for her visit.</p> + +<p>"I wonder where Peter is?" Mrs. Procter asked.</p> + +<p>As if in answer to his mother's question, Peter opened the kitchen door. +He wore primarily a guilty expression. His hat was on one side of his +head, the suit which two seasons before he had outgrown, was short in +the legs, tight as to chest, and there was a very symphony of entreaty +in his eyes. By a frayed string he held a stray dog, the fourth one +since spring.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter looked at him sternly. As mothers do, she took in with one +glance Peter's prayer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>ful attitude and the appealing one of the +shrinking animal.</p> + +<p>"You take that dog right away and lose it!" she commanded.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother," began the small boy entering the kitchen, the dog perforce +entering also. "He followed me all the way home and we're awful good +friends already. Can't he stay?"</p> + +<p>"Not one minute," returned Mrs. Procter. She regarded the animal +scornfully. "He's not anybody's dog," she said. "He's simply a stray, +and I'm tired of feeding every stray dog that comes into the +neighborhood."</p> + +<p>Peter turned reluctantly away. "He'll be awful lonely out there," he +said, "and he's hungry, too. No lady ever thinks a dog eats. Can't I +give him a bone or something before I turn him loose?"</p> + +<p>"Take him out on the back porch and give him that soup bone left from +supper last night. And then I don't want to see him again. Now, Peter, +this time I mean it."</p> + +<p>Peter made one last effort. "He's a fine breed, his roof is black," he +said. "He'd make an awful good watch dog."</p> + +<p>"Well, we really don't need a watch dog," his mother answered, and half +smiled.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> + +<p>Maizie, advancing from the dining-room, stared at the intruder on his +way out.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but this dog has hair, mother," she cried. "You remember one of the +others hadn't."</p> + +<p>"Hair, or no hair," Mrs. Procter returned determinedly, "that dog is not +going to stay in this house. I've had enough of stray animals to last me +for quite awhile."</p> + +<p>Peter stood holding the rope and still looking at his mother. But his +hopeful expression, brought on by Maizie's words, was fast ebbing.</p> + +<p>"Hurry up," said Mrs. Procter. "Take him away."</p> + +<p>"Can't he stay for one night, mother?"</p> + +<p>Suzanna, silent during the colloquy, now spoke.</p> + +<p>"Maybe we can find another home for him, Peter. We were just going over +to Graham Bartlett's, and perhaps he'd keep the dog. We'll ask his +mother," she said.</p> + +<p>Peter brightened a trifle at that. He really wanted more than anything +in the world to keep that friendly dog. But if he was not to be allowed +to do so, finding a good home for it was the next best thing.</p> + +<p>So away the children started. It was a long walk, but the October day +was cool and exhilarating. The children kicked the fallen leaves be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>fore +them, and once Peter gave chase to his dog. Maizie sang little tunes, +and Suzanna felt new wonderments rising within her at the beauty of the +world.</p> + +<p>They came at last to the Bartlett home, but no one was about, only +several carriages stood in the road. Suzanna swung the big gate wide and +with the children following her, and the dog held in Peter's firm grasp, +she came to the house, mounted the steps and seeing the carved front +door wide open, they all walked in. In the empty hall with the high +ceilings they stood a moment embarrassed.</p> + +<p>From a side room came sounds of laughter and soft voices. Suzanna +turned. Heavy Persian rugs hung at the entrance to this room and Suzanna +hesitated one moment. She wished someone were about to direct her. But +alas, at this critical moment the hallman had escaped kitchenward. It +was Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett's at-home day, and the function in full +blast, and as his services might not be required for perhaps half an +hour he had flown, believing discovery could not fall upon him.</p> + +<p>So Suzanna, Maizie, Peter and the dog stepped within the gorgeous room.</p> + +<p>Soft music came enchantingly from a hidden <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>orchestra, ladies +beautifully gowned and bejeweled stood about in graceful postures. Mrs. +Graham Woods Bartlett attired in a flame-colored velvet gown with a +wonderful satin-lined train hanging straight from her shoulders, stood +near a table at which two very pretty girls were serving little cups of +tea and dainty cakes.</p> + +<p>Suzanna, Maizie, and Peter holding tight the frayed rope with the +hungry-looking dog on one end, gazed awe stricken at the fairylike +scene. At length Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett turned and beheld her late +guests.</p> + +<p>The children stood irresolute; some expression in Mrs. Bartlett's face +halted their advance. That look made Suzanna strangely self-conscious. +Maizie was undeniably shy, and Peter with dread at his heart for fear +Jerry (a quickly bestowed name that the dog had learned immediately to +answer to) might not act in a gentlemanly fashion when he should pass +the tea table. With all these different emotions in their hearts, the +children finally started across the beautiful room. The ladies fell back +from the dog lest in his passage he might touch their gowns, and all +gazed in wonder at the small cavalcade. When at last the children stood +before Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett, Suzanna spoke, broke into the dead +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>silence of the room, for even the orchestra had stopped its music.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 273px;"><a name="thought" id="thought"></a> +<img src="images/image221.jpg" width="273" height="400" alt=""We thought you might like a dog," began Suzanna" title=""We thought you might like a dog," began Suzanna" /> +</div> +<div class='center'>"We thought you might like a dog," began Suzanna</div> + +<p>"We thought you might like a dog," began Suzanna. "He's a very nice dog +and very loving, although if I'm to be honest, I can't say he's a +good-looking dog." She felt her courage ebbing at the icy stillness +which greeted her statement.</p> + +<p>For a long time Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett remained speechless, and as +the dog once had looked at Mrs. Procter, so he looked imploringly at her +who might eventually be his new mistress. Little Maizie, moved to a show +of bravery for Peter's sake, spoke up:</p> + +<p>"We've only got a little house, and you've got a big one, so we thought +you wouldn't mind."</p> + +<p>"And," concluded Peter, "he really is a fine dog. You can buy a nice +collar for him and maybe cut his tail—" Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett made +a little wry face—"and you'd be surprised to see how elegant he'll +look."</p> + +<p>A laugh rang out from one end of the room. It came from a fine-looking +old lady who stood near the window surrounded, it would seem by admiring +satellites, and at the little musical sound Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett's +face cleared magically, for the stately old lady was a very impor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>tant +personage to all present, envied usually too, and if this little +incident seemed to amuse her then the matter was beautifully altered. So +Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett found her voice. "Go out into the grounds and +see the gardener. If he can find a place for the animal, let him keep +it."</p> + +<p>The children felt themselves dismissed. On the way out Suzanna kept her +gaze quite away from the table with its alluring load of dainties. But +Maizie paused an infinitesimal fraction of a second and let her eyes +stray over the fascinating cakes, the glasses of pink ices, and the +Maraschino cherries and nuts and white candies. But it was Peter who +neither looked aside nor paused, but as he went by the table he +addressed the ceiling.</p> + +<p>"My dog's very fond of cakes," he said. "But mother says dogs can do +without cakes, especially stray dogs."</p> + +<p>One of the pretty girls laughed merrily, and sweeping from a silver +plate a handful of cakes she thrust them into Peter's hands. "Thank +you," he said simply. And then the children left with the dog gamboling +in expectancy behind his small master. He knew well the cakes were for +him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p> + +<p>Out in the grounds they met Graham. He had been to the stables to look +at his pony, a new gift from his father. He paused astonished at sight +of the children.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Graham," Suzanna cried at sight of him, "your mother said we should +see the gardener about this dog. She thought he'd like to have him."</p> + +<p>Graham, though startled, asked no questions.</p> + +<p>"I guess it's David mother means," he said. "Wait here and I'll see if +he's in the back garden."</p> + +<p>After Graham had gone Peter began to conjecture. "If David won't take +Jerry," he said, "what'll we do?"</p> + +<p>"You'll have to take him out and lose him then," said Maizie calmly.</p> + +<p>Peter turned a considering eye upon her. He couldn't understand her. +Quite as a matter of course she suggested his taking the dog out on some +prairie and turning it loose, to know hunger, and perhaps abuse. And +yet, he had seen this same tender-hearted little Maizie crying because a +spider had been swept down from the porch. No, in his boyish soul he +decided that should he live a thousand years, he never would understand +women with their inconsistencies and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>their peculiar viewpoints. Their +tendernesses in one direction and their complacent cruelties in others.</p> + +<p>"Let's go and sit on the steps of that cottage," said Suzanna, pointing +to a small house at the foot of the side garden. Maizie consented, but +Peter preferred not to move. He wished to stay with his dog as long as +possible. In the cottage might be a lady who would look with the same +horror-stricken eyes upon his friend as had Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett.</p> + +<p>So Suzanna and Maizie left him with his dog. They had just ensconced +themselves comfortably on the steps of the cottage when a distressing +accent struck upon their ears, and simultaneously they turned in the +direction of the sound. There on a tiny verandah, almost hidden behind a +large fern growth, a little girl sat on a low chair crying softly and +pathetically as though her small heart were broken. The children stood +for a moment not knowing just what to do. Then Maizie, the same one, +thought Peter satirically (he could see all that went on from his place +beyond) who had suggested his losing his dog on a prairie, went to the +pathetic figure and sitting beside it said in a tremulous low voice, +full of sympathy and pity:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What's the matter, little girl?"</p> + +<p>The one thus addressed took her hands down from her face and looked +around at her questioner. Her eyes were dark, with black lashes, and she +had wonderful, curly hair. When she had finished looking at Maizie, +which was a long moment, she put her hand behind her and produced a +doll, sadly deficient as to features. Indeed, noseless, entirely, and +with one eye gone. But in a very fever of love, she held it to her.</p> + +<p>"Are you crying because your doll is broken?" asked Suzanna, now coming +a little closer and standing straight and slim before the child.</p> + +<p>"No, she's not broken," said the little girl, "but she's got the +whooping cough and she keeps my father awake nights coughing."</p> + +<p>Suzanna instantly responded. "Oh, that's too bad," she said. "Can't your +mother fix her some flaxseed tea?"</p> + +<p>Now down once more went the little girl's head upon her knee, and once +more she was shaking with sobs. And at this moment young Graham returned +and in his wake, David.</p> + +<p>"David says," began Graham cheerfully to Suzanna and Maizie, "that he +can find room for an extra dog, so you may leave yours. Where's your +brother?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He is right over there," pointed Maizie.</p> + +<p>Then the gardener's glance fell upon the little girl, with her head bent +as she still wept.</p> + +<p>"She's crying awfully hard," said Suzanna to the gardener. "Do you know +whose little girl she is?"</p> + +<p>"She's mine," said the man with a big world of tenderness in his voice. +"She's my little Daphne."</p> + +<p>"We thought she was crying because her doll was broken," said Suzanna. +"Then she said it had the whooping cough and kept you awake all night +and I asked her why her mother didn't make some flaxseed tea for it."</p> + +<p>A swift shadow darkened David's fine face and he shaded his eyes with +his hand. Then he went to the little girl and raised her as though she +were one of his carefully cherished flowers. Her sobs ceased as she +found herself in her father's arms.</p> + +<p>"You see," said her father, "she has no mother!"</p> + +<p>Now the children knew by his tone and by the extreme sadness in his eyes +that the little Daphne's mother had gone away never to return. And they +knew it must be the saddest thing in the world to be without a mother; +one who was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>always ready to understand even if you had to wait till the +baby was hushed, or the bread looked at in the oven. The understanding +did come, sure and tender; a mother who sometimes smiled at you in that +complete, deep way, as Suzanna's mother had smiled at her the day she +wore her leghorn hat with the daisies.</p> + +<p>"Can Daphne play with us?" asked Suzanna after awhile. "And can we take +her home to see our mother?"</p> + +<p>The man's face brightened at this. "Why, that will be fine," he said. +"Perhaps you'd like to play here in the grounds for awhile. Then Daphne +can go home with you. You're the Procter children, aren't you? I've +talked often with your father when I've bought things in the hardware +shop. I'm coming sometime to see his machine."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Suzanna, "but how did you know we were the Procter children? +We didn't tell you our name. Did Graham?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the man, "but you're the living image of your father. You +look at a person just like he does, out of your big dark eyes."</p> + +<p>Suzanna flushed. There was nothing in all the world she so loved to hear +as that she looked like her father.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> + +<p>Little Daphne had ceased crying and her father carried her up the narrow +winding stairs to their own quarters. Shortly he returned again. The +little girl now wore a pretty lace-trimmed bonnet mother-made, one knew +at once, and a little white cape. She was a very charming and quaint +figure.</p> + +<p>"I think, daddy," she said, "I'd like to go home right away and see the +little girl's mother."</p> + +<p>He turned his head away again for a moment, but he managed at last to +meet his little daughter's eyes with a smile.</p> + +<p>"Run along, sweet," he said.</p> + +<p>"Can she stay to supper with us?" asked Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"If your mother would like to have her," said the man. "And I'll come up +later for her."</p> + +<p>"All right," replied Suzanna.</p> + +<p>Now came the hard moment for Peter, in the parting from his dog. He came +reluctantly forward.</p> + +<p>Graham, seeing Peter's distress when the animal had been delivered into +David's care, said: "You can come up here often, Peter, and see the dog. +I know it's awful hard giving him up."</p> + +<p>Peter's heart was touched. Here at last was one who understood! Here at +last was one who <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>would not condemn a dog merely because he had an +unnaturally big appetite; because he got around under people's feet and +had no manners.</p> + +<p>"You're a very nice boy," said Suzanna when they were parting, "and we +wish you would come to see us."</p> + +<p>Graham's face lit. "Oh, I will come. Do you live in that little cottage +with the crooked chimney?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Suzanna. "Come soon, won't you?"</p> + +<p>Graham promised he would do so.</p> + +<p>As the Procter children went down the road, Graham watched them, but his +gaze presently concentrated itself on Suzanna, who was leading the small +Daphne.</p> + +<p>"I like Suzanna," thought Graham. "I like to see her flush up like a +rose when she speaks." Which was a poetical observation for a boy of +twelve.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>A LENT MOTHER</h3> + + +<p>Mrs. Procter was in the dining-room arranging the shelves of her small +sideboard when she heard sounds betokening the children's return.</p> + +<p>They entered the dining-room, Suzanna leading a small stranger by the +hand, Maizie and Peter behind.</p> + +<p>"Mother," began Suzanna at once, "David, the gardener, took the dog and +we brought this little girl home to see you."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter looked questioningly at Daphne, who stood close to +Suzanna's protecting arm.</p> + +<p>"Stay with Maizie a moment, Daphne," said Suzanna, "while I tell my +mother something." Daphne smiled and did as she was told, and Suzanna +went close to Mrs. Procter. In a low tone she said: "Daphne's mother +went far away awhile ago, and I'm telling this to you in a low voice +because Daphne cried when we asked her where her mother was. I brought +her home so she could remember how beautiful a mother is."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> + +<p>In an instant the tears sprang to Mrs. Procter's eyes. She went quickly +to Daphne, and lifted the little girl.</p> + +<p>"Sit down in a rocking chair with her," said Suzanna, "and hold her +close up to you. And then when she's cuddled down, look at her like you +do at our babies."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter obeyed. Daphne nestled close. "Her father knows my father, +Mrs. Procter," said Suzanna.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter looked up quickly at this new mode of address. Suzanna +explained.</p> + +<p>"Daphne," she said, going close and looking down at the contented little +face, "I'm giving you a share in my mother while you're here today. I +give over the part I own in her to you, and I shall call her Mrs. +Procter whenever you visit us."</p> + +<p>"But you can't give away even your part in your very own mother," +protested Maizie.</p> + +<p>"But I have done so, haven't I?"</p> + +<p>"Does just saying so make a thing true?" Maizie asked.</p> + +<p>"If you say so and live up to it," Suzanna returned.</p> + +<p>"Well, anyway," said Maizie, "mother's not cuddling Daphne because she +wants to; only because she's sorry for her."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Procter. "I like little Daphne, too, and +I'm glad she's come to visit us."</p> + +<p>"But you know, mother," said Maizie, "you only find time to cuddle your +own babies. And you stop just as soon as they can walk around."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Procter cuddles all children in her heart," said Suzanna loyally. +"She'd wear her arms out if she cuddled all of us all the time."</p> + +<p>Maizie didn't answer that. But when little Daphne finally left Mrs. +Procter's sheltering clasp and went away to play with the children, +Maizie still hovered about her mother.</p> + +<p>"Mother," she said at last, "did you like to hold Daphne close up to +you?"</p> + +<p>Now mothers are very wonderful beings, and with no further word from +Maizie, Mrs. Procter understood the child's unspoken wish. In a moment +Maizie was held close to her mother's breast, and was looking up into +her mother's tender eyes. And the mother was thinking. Was mother love +selfish then in its inclusion? Weren't there little ones outside +hungering for cuddling? How children went to the heart of things! She +thought suddenly and perhaps irrelevantly of her husband's invention +upon which he poured his heart's best treasures. And yet not once had he +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>ever mentioned the money which might be his did success attend it. Only +the good to others. His seemed a wide vision. She sighed. It was hard to +find strength enough, time enough to go outside one's home doing good. +"Well, at least," she thought with a sudden uplift, "I'll adopt little +Daphne into our home circle."</p> + +<p>When Mr. Procter arrived home for supper he found, playing happily +about, the little addition to his family. Suzanna took her father off to +one corner to explain all about Daphne.</p> + +<p>"And so I've given my share in mother to Daphne whenever she visits us," +concluded Suzanna.</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter smiled and touched Suzanna's dark hair. Later he arranged a +chair so Daphne might be comfortable at the supper table. A book and a +cushion brought that state of comfort about, and the child was very +happy. She was, for the time being, a member of an interesting family, +everyone trying his best to entertain her. Even Peter forgot the loss of +his dog and said some funny things which made Daphne laugh.</p> + +<p>After supper David called for his little daughter. Daphne cried out +joyfully as he entered.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've had such a good time, Daddy David," she exclaimed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p> + +<p>He lifted her to his shoulder, then gazed about the little family +circle. His eyes lingered on Mrs. Procter.</p> + +<p>"You've been good to Daphne, I know," he said simply. "And so good +night."</p> + +<p>"While you're here, David," said Mr. Procter, "I'll show you my +invention."</p> + +<p>"Fine!" David said; he swung the little girl from his shoulder. "I'd +like to see that machine."</p> + +<p>So they all went upstairs to the attic. The machine stood brooding in +its peace.</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter lit a lamp. Its glow fell softly upon the little group.</p> + +<p>"Old John Massey came into the shop today," said Mr. Procter. "He +promised to come in and see the machine tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"Does he know its object?" asked David.</p> + +<p>"No, there's been no chance to tell him."</p> + +<p>"Why is he interested, then?" asked David. "Has his commercial instinct +been aroused?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I think not," said the inventor, "I've not spoken to him about that +part of it, only told him a great chance was his if he became interested +in the machine."</p> + +<p>"Someone's ringing the bell. Run down, Peter," said Mrs. Procter.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> + +<p>Peter went down and returned at once with a note.</p> + +<p>"A man with brass buttons brought it," he said. "It's for father."</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter tore open the letter.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's decent of John Massey to let me know," he said. "He's ill +and will be unable to come here tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"Yes, very decent for old John Massey," said David. "Well, I must be +off. And we'll come again soon, if we may."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>SUZANNA AIDS CUPID</h3> + + +<p>"Mother dear," asked Suzanna one day, "if the Eagle Man's sick, don't +you think I ought to go and see him?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter hesitated. She looked into the earnest dark eyes raised to +hers. "Well, dear, perhaps it would be kind," she said.</p> + +<p>"I ought to take him some flowers," Suzanna pursued.</p> + +<p>The time was early morning, and Mr. Procter had not yet departed for the +hardware store.</p> + +<p>"I can't think where you'll get flowers, Suzanna," he said.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's a little shaded spot in a field I know and there's some +daisies there. I'll gather them on the way to the Eagle Man."</p> + +<p>So that afternoon after school Suzanna admonished Maizie to be quick +with her buttons because she and the baby were to pay a call on the +Eagle Man.</p> + +<p>"I have to gather the daisies for him, too," said Suzanna.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't like the Eagle Man very well," said Maizie; "I'm afraid of him; +and I don't see why you should take flowers to him. He has plenty in the +big glass house in his yard."</p> + +<p>Suzanna stopped short. "You don't like him after he gave you that lovely +ride in the summer, Maizie Procter, and after he's interested in our +father's Machine? I'm 'shamed of you. You ought to like everybody Miss +Massey says, and flowers in his glass house aren't like flowers that are +a present from somebody else."</p> + +<p>Maizie did not answer this, but the look on her face indicated some +defiance of Suzanna's attempted direction of her thoughts. When they +were ready, they called good-bye to their mother and started away. +Suzanna pushed the cart containing the baby, while Maizie walked +sedately beside her.</p> + +<p>From the field Suzanna knew, she secured a small bunch of late daisies +and then the journey was continued. At length the children reached the +Massey grounds. Suzanna pushed open the big iron gate and trundled the +cart into the gravel path. The ground immediately began to be slightly +hilly.</p> + +<p>"You'd better help me, Maizie," said Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"How?" asked Maizie helplessly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Put your hands on my back and push," said Suzanna.</p> + +<p>So the little procession formed itself. And in this wise it reached the +top of the hill. The house itself lay a few yards in front of them. The +children paused to rest, and then Suzanna, looking around, beheld a +small vine-covered arbor, and within, just visible through the +enshrouding ivy, a man and a woman, Miss Massey and a stranger.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Suzanna?" Miss Massey said when she found herself +discovered. "Did you want to see me?"</p> + +<p>"I'm very glad to see you," responded Suzanna politely, "but I didn't +come expressly on purpose to look at you. I came to see the Eagle Man."</p> + +<p>"The Eagle Man?" asked Miss Massey, puzzled.</p> + +<p>"He walks with a cane," put in Maizie, "and he coughs kind of hoarse +each time he speaks."</p> + +<p>"He's your father," said Suzanna. "He sits down on a velvet chair, and +he shouts, and he gets red in the face, and he bangs his fist on the +chair when a little man doesn't hurry up, though I thought he went very +fast. He did all that the day the Sunday School pupils came to your +party."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Miss Massey, a smile lighting her face at the vivid +description, "I did not know <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>that you had met my father, but I'm afraid +you can't see him today, dear. He's not well."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know; that's why I came to see him and to bring him these +flowers."</p> + +<p>Miss Massey was a little puzzled. How did Suzanna know John Massey was +ill?</p> + +<p>"Suppose you bring the baby in here," suggested the man who was sitting +next to Miss Massey, and who up to this time had been silent. "And after +awhile Miss Massey can find out if her father is able to see you."</p> + +<p>"All right," said Suzanna with alacrity. She started to lift the baby +from his carriage when the man sprang up and took the child from her. +The baby smiled and won his way at once to the stranger's heart.</p> + +<p>"He's sweet, isn't he?" began Suzanna, as she entered the arbor, Maizie +with her. Miss Massey drew Maizie within the circle of her own arm.</p> + +<p>"He is that," said the man earnestly, "although I don't know very much +about babies. Does he cry much?"</p> + +<p>"Well, he's very sinful when he's hungry. He's getting better now +because he's growing older, but he used to shriek till his face got red. +Once in awhile now he wants what he wants right away. I was trying once +to learn a piece of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>poetry, and he suddenly shrieked and I had to stop +everything and warm his milk. I'm only hoping he'll live to grow up, +because if he should die now I'm afraid God wouldn't want him in +Heaven."</p> + +<p>"Are there ladies in Heaven that take care of babies?" asked Maizie +interestedly, a new train of thoughts started.</p> + +<p>"You know there are, Maizie," said Suzanna, allowing no one else a +chance to answer. "There are lots of little babies that go away, and do +you s'pose they'd be called if they were going to be left hungry and +cold? God has it all arranged. First, he calls a baby and then pretty +soon he calls a mother and she takes care of the baby."</p> + +<p>"Any mother?" Maizie asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, any mother; they're all good."</p> + +<p>"But why doesn't he leave them on earth with their own mothers?"</p> + +<p>"Because sometimes he takes a liking to somebody down here," Suzanna +said gravely. "But anyway, you needn't ask me such questions, because +here's Miss Massey who knows everything," Suzanna finished +magnanimously.</p> + +<p>"She does that," said the man gravely who was holding the baby.</p> + +<p>"Are you related to Miss Massey?" asked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> Suzanna. Now Miss Massey's +rather faded cheeks grew pink.</p> + +<p>"Is it a long time before the baby needs his bottle again, Suzanna?" she +asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, not for hours," said Suzanna. "You see, now he eats crackers and +bread and butter and an egg sometimes, and we gave him some before we +started." She returned relentlessly to the question again, appealing to +the man. "Are you related to Miss Massey?"</p> + +<p>"No," the stranger said after a time, "we're just friends."</p> + +<p>Miss Massey put in hastily: "Shall we go into the house, children, and +I'll show you some interesting things?"</p> + +<p>The man rose quickly, the baby still in his arms. In this manner they +all entered the big house and went into the beautiful room that Suzanna +remembered so well.</p> + +<p>"Do you live here?" asked Suzanna of the man. He shook his head.</p> + +<p>"You mean in this little town?" he asked. "I once did years ago, but I +moved away to the city. I'm paying a short visit to my sister now."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Suzanna. "My father has a sister called Aunt Martha. She +comes sometimes when we have a new baby."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why," said Maizie suddenly, as they were all seated, the baby +contentedly sitting on the man's knee, her voice shrill with new +discovery. "He <i>is</i> related to Miss Massey; he looks at her that way."</p> + +<p>The man, after a long pause in which he gathered understanding, answered +very solemnly. "Well," he said, "if loving a person makes you a +relative, then I am very closely related to Miss Massey. But if lack of +money keeps one from being related, then I'm only a stranger to her."</p> + +<p>Neither Suzanna nor Maizie could understand that statement. But Miss +Massey blushed till her face was like a lovely flower.</p> + +<p>Yet when Suzanna appeared to be about to take up a new line of +questioning, Miss Massey spoke quickly:</p> + +<p>"I think you'd like some lemonade, wouldn't you, Suzanna, you and your +sister? I'll go and order some for you."</p> + +<p>She went out of the room. The man waited for a moment, then handing the +baby to Suzanna, followed Miss Massey.</p> + +<p>"Would you like to live here, Suzanna?" asked Maizie.</p> + +<p>"No, I don't like people around with brass buttons on their coats," said +Suzanna. "And <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>then there'd be so much cleaning we'd never get through."</p> + +<p>At the moment came an unmistakable sound.</p> + +<p>"The Eagle Man!" cried Suzanna with absolute conviction. "I thought he +was sick."</p> + +<p>And indeed it was just exactly the Eagle Man. Straight he came to the +library. He paused in the doorway at sight of the children. All the high +color had faded from his face; he looked alarmingly ill.</p> + +<p>"Oh," cried Suzanna, immediately upon sight of him. "We came to see you +and to bring you these daisies."</p> + +<p>He accepted them with a little grimace. "Thank you, little girl," he +said. "Put that heavy baby down. He can crawl around."</p> + +<p>Suzanna carefully lowered the baby to the floor. He sat with blinking +eyes, so many treasures for his small hands lay within touch.</p> + +<p>The Eagle Man spoke. "Who have you been talking with?" he asked as he +looked about suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"Oh," cried Suzanna, "there's nobody hidden away. Miss Massey and her +relation went out to see about some lemonade."</p> + +<p>"Her relation!" stormed the Eagle Man.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the one who loves Miss Massey."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p> + +<p>The Eagle Man recovered all his lost color. Watching his terrible +expression, both children thought it a blessing that at this critical +moment Miss Massey and her relation returned. But, oh, it was not the +same Miss Massey, but one who had found the world. Her face was glowing +like a girl's and her eyes sparkled and shone; and when she faced her +father there was manifest in her aspect a certain courage that in his +eyes at least sat strangely upon her.</p> + +<p>"Father," she cried, "you should be in bed."</p> + +<p>"What's the meaning of all this?" he shouted, ignoring her soft concern.</p> + +<p>The new relation came forward. "My dear sir," he began, "I shall have to +ask you to refrain from attempting to intimidate the lady who is to be +my wife."</p> + +<p>"Your wife?" exclaimed the Eagle Man turning upon the speaker. "She's my +daughter."</p> + +<p>"Granted," said the man calmly, "and she's also my promised wife."</p> + +<p>"I shall never give my consent," said the Eagle Man, but his voice had +fallen.</p> + +<p>"Then, father," said delicate, timid little Miss Massey, "I shall marry +Robert without your consent."</p> + +<p>There was a long heavy silence. The baby <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>having found a gold-plated +lizard on the hearth was contemplating it with wondering eyes.</p> + +<p>"Very well," said the Eagle Man at last, trying to speak calmly. "You'll +go your own way. Not a cent of mine do you ever get."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to hear that," said the man, "for not a cent of yours shall my +wife need."</p> + +<p>Into the breach Suzanna strode.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but you will need money," she cried as she stood anchoring the baby +by means of an extended arm. "When you're married and you have a big +family you'll have to pay the rent, and you'll have to dress all the +little children, and there'll be insurance week, and something you +haven't thought of all the time, and just when you get on your feet, +there'll be the doctor at your door and his bill pretty soon."</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said the Eagle Man, as though by Suzanna's words many of his +contentions had been proved.</p> + +<p>"But we shall be together," said little Miss Massey, as though that +beloved truth answered everything. The man had thrown his arms about her +and had drawn her quite close, and she looked up into his face with eyes +that still shone. Oh, how long she had loved him! And how long had it +been since she settled to the realization that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>though he loved her, he +was proud and would not speak. This spoken love she had craved with all +her heart; and it had been withheld because he had no money and her +father had too much.</p> + +<p>"Will you tell me your real objection to me?" asked the man with frank +directness appealing to the Eagle Man. "For that you have had objections +to me I've sensed always."</p> + +<p>The Eagle Man turned and looked the younger man over, carefully, +critically, before answering. Indeed, he was so long about speaking that +the children, at least, thought he never meant to speak again.</p> + +<p>But at last: "My daughter," he began, "is now thirty-six. She has had +thirty-six years of luxury, of merely raising her finger and receiving +highly trained service. She is not a young girl who might, being more +adaptable and buoyed up by romance, settle down to a new order of life; +she is too used to the luxuries I have been able to give her, servants, +carriages, horses, travel, fine clothes—" he enumerated them all with +distinctness, giving each item a lengthy second before going on to his +conclusion. "It will work real hardship on her to be compelled to give +up all these things to do her own work and to make over her own +dresses."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You're mistaken, father," Miss Massey denied, "all that giving up, if +giving up you can call it, will be my joy if I can be with Robert." Her +voice, deep with emotion, died into a silence which reigned for moments. +No one seemed to wish to break it, not even the baby. And yet, though +the meaning of all the spoken words had not been clear to Suzanna, her +eager, sensitive little mind seized on pictures which seemed somehow to +fit in; yet pictures in their simplicity so far removed from her +surroundings of luxury that they would seem but vagrant fancies.</p> + +<p>Had she attempted to translate them, she would have failed, yet as they +grew momentarily more vivid and meaningful, interpretive words, as vivid +as the pictures themselves, rushed to her lips. She turned to the Eagle +Man.</p> + +<p>"Oh, on Saturday night when supper is over and the shades are pulled +down and the lamp is lit in the parlor, and Robert is reading a big book +with pictures in it, and the children, except the two eldest, are all +asleep upstairs and it's raining outside, and you can hear the pitapat, +pitapat of the drops on the window pane, then Miss Massey will be happy. +Before supper Miss Massey'll have felt awful tired and she'll hurry up +things and she'll make her eldest little girl <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>hurry too, but after the +dishes are cleared away, and she's sitting close to Robert, she'll be so +glad she's in out of the rain with her children all in safe too, that +she'll not care a bit about raising her finger for a little man to come +and ask her what she wants. She'll not want to go about in a carriage, +or travel in a big train!"</p> + +<p>No one spoke. Only the scene painted so simply grew in the hearts of at +least two there, so that Robert drew his promised wife a little closer +to him and she glanced up in his face with eyes full of color.</p> + +<p>Suzanna went on. She had forgotten her audience. She was just telling +out the pictures that had been built into her life; supper tables with +many young faces about; little babies who had stayed just awhile; hasty +words and loving making up; the star-dust of the real <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'everyday'">every-day</ins> life.</p> + +<p>"You know," she continued, "that Maizie and I crept downstairs one +Saturday night because I wanted to tell daddy something, and mother was +sitting right close to him, and we heard her say: 'When the children are +safe in bed, and just you and I are here—then I see things clearer—' +And he just looked at her and said, 'Sweetheart!' and his voice was +nicer than even when he says good-night to Maizie and me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span></p> + +<p>Miss Massey turned her gaze upon Suzanna. "Little girl, little girl," +she said, "come here—"</p> + +<p>So Suzanna went and stood close to Miss Massey, whilst Maizie went after +the marauding baby.</p> + +<p>The Eagle Man cleared his throat. "That child of yours is going to +sleep," he said speaking to Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said Suzanna, not meaning to contradict, but just to set him +straight, "he's wide-awake. But I guess it must be time for us to go. I +know you think so too, Mr. Eagle Man."</p> + +<p>She left Miss Massey's tender clasp, went to the baby, raised him, held +him under her arm skilfully, the while his legs stuck out straight +behind her. She spoke to Miss Massey:</p> + +<p>"If the Eagle Man's mad at you and he stays mad all night," she said, +"you can come to our house and sleep in my bed with Maizie. Mother can +fix the dining-room table for me."</p> + +<p>Miss Massey released herself from Robert's clasp and went to Suzanna. +She stooped and kissed her tenderly. "Thank you, dear little girl," she +said. "I'll remember that invitation."</p> + +<p>The Eagle Man pulled a cord hanging from the ceiling. Immediately it +seemed, one of the men with brass buttons appeared.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Carry that child to its perambulator," shouted the Eagle Man. Not a +flicker disturbed the serenity of the man addressed, no matter what were +his inner feelings. He put out two arms straight and stiff like rods, +and Suzanna placed the baby upon them. Saying quickly their adieus, +Suzanna and Maizie walked behind the uniformed man, for whom Suzanna at +least felt a stirring of pity.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>A SIMPLE WEDDING</h3> + + +<p>"And so," concluded Suzanna early one afternoon as she stood on a soap +box in her own yard, "the noble knight set forth on his prancing steed, +having finished his deeds of blood. And all about him lay those he had +slain."</p> + +<p>The children having listened entranced to the story, now stirred; Maizie +was the first to speak. "I think the knight was horrid," she said.</p> + +<p>"I like him," said soft little Daphne who was now a constant, happy +visitor at the Procter home.</p> + +<p>"I think a brave knight is bully," said Graham Bartlett, as constant a +visitor as Daphne.</p> + +<p>"I would slay mine by the hundred," cried Peter boastfully.</p> + +<p>Graham looked off into the distance. "I shall fare forth some day," he +said, "and lead my armies to victory proudly, yet disdainfully. I shall +have no love in my heart, only sternness."</p> + +<p>"Drusilla can tell some wonderful tales of knights," said Suzanna. "Does +she tell you stories when you go to visit her, Graham?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p> + +<p>Graham colored hotly. "I haven't been to see her lately," he answered; +then, "I'll tell you, let's go today."</p> + +<p>Suzanna bounded away to ask permission of her mother. She returned in a +moment. "Mother says we may go after Peter changes his blouse. Hurry up, +Peter. Don't keep us waiting."</p> + +<p>Peter moved reluctantly houseward, and Suzanna ended: "Isn't it fine +that today was teachers' meeting so we could have a holiday?"</p> + +<p>Graham looked wistfully at her. He had a tutor, and lessons alone he +felt could not be so interesting as when learned with a number of other +boys and girls.</p> + +<p>"Let's go," said Suzanna, "we can walk slowly so Peter can catch up with +us. You mustn't get tired, will you, Daphne?" Daphne was very sure she +would not, and Peter reappearing at the moment, they all started away. +They went out into a sunny day left over from the Indian summer. Still +there was crispness in the air which exhilarated them, moving Peter to +sundry manifestations which Maizie coldly designated as "showing off." +He stood on his head, turned somersaults, cast his voice up to the +heavens, immediately spoiled the crispness of his clean <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>blouse. He was +the fine, free savage, and his sisters finally gave up trying to tame +him.</p> + +<p>"It's Thanksgiving weather, isn't it?" said Suzanna. "Come on, let's all +skip."</p> + +<p>So they all fell into Peter's spirit, and thus it was that skipping and +singing they reached Drusilla's little home. It was very quiet in that +spot, the garden desolate, the flowers gone. The children instinctively +hushed their songs and went slowly up the front steps.</p> + +<p>Graham rang the bell.</p> + +<p>The kindly-faced maid answered the ring. "Oh, come in, children," she +cried. "Mrs. Bartlett certainly needs cheering today."</p> + +<p>The children, thus cordially invited, trooped in. "Is Drusilla sad +today?" asked Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"Well, she's thinking of the past," said the maid. "All day she's been +talking of her early home across the ocean, talking of the familiar +places of her childhood. She insisted even upon my preparing brouse for +her luncheon."</p> + +<p>"<i>Brouse?</i>" The children were interested. They wanted to know what +brouse was. The maid smiled.</p> + +<p>"Why brouse is just bread broken up into a bowl with hot water poured +over it and lots of butter and salt and pepper added. One day when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> Mrs. +Bartlett was a little girl, her mother took her to the home of an old +nurse, and there she had brouse to eat, and afterwards for one joyful +hour she was allowed to wear the clogs belonging to the nurse's little +granddaughter."</p> + +<p>"I know what clogs are," said Graham. "They're wooden shoes that make a +lot of noise and have brass nails in them." He had looked into the +sitting room and was interested in an object there. "What's that?" he +asked. "Can't my grandmother walk?"</p> + +<p>The maid's eyes followed his finger. "That's a wheel chair," she said. +"Your grandmother is not so strong as she was in the summer, so I take +her out in the chair when the day is bright. Well, children, go upstairs +quietly. Suzanna knows the way to Mrs. Bartlett's room."</p> + +<p>So the children on tiptoes mounted the thickly carpeted stairs. At the +top Suzanna waited for the others, then went down the hall, paused and +knocked softly on the panel to the right, and at the soft invitation to +enter, pushed open wide the door.</p> + +<p>Drusilla sat within, her chair drawn close to the window. Her hands were +lying listlessly in her lap. She looked wilted, a flower fading to its +end. She turned to the children and smiled, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>a very small wistful smile, +but it lit her pale delicate face and made Daphne advance confidentially +to the middle of the room.</p> + +<p>"We came to see you," she said in her winsome way.</p> + +<p>"I'm very glad," said Drusilla. "Won't you all come close to me?"</p> + +<p>The children obeyed. Drusilla looked inquiringly at Graham, and then +said, "Well, my boy, you've grown somewhat."</p> + +<p>"Yes, two inches in six months." He wanted to say something to lift the +sadness from her face, and at last he blurted out: "I think you're a +bully grandmother, and I'm coming often to see you."</p> + +<p>"Ah, then I'll tell you fine tales of your father when he was a lad of +your age," she answered, well pleased. She put out her white hand and +laid it on his head.</p> + +<p>And at the touch there grew in Graham's young soul a wish to defend this +dear old lady, this grandmother. He wanted to fight for her, to do +something great for her. He had visions of himself, a man, wearing her +colors. All his deepest chivalry was aroused. He looked longingly into +her face, and with loving sagacity she read his desire.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My dear," she said, "I wish you would do something for me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, grandmother, what would you like me to do?" he cried.</p> + +<p>"The day is so beautiful," she answered. "I've had my windows open and I +know. Would you be my knight and wheel me out?"</p> + +<p>"Grandmother, will you let me do that?" His voice rose. "I'll wheel you +down the wide road out into the country." He straightened his shoulders, +pride filled his heart. His grandmother trusted her frail body to his +care!</p> + +<p>"Well and good, my boy," she answered. And then to Suzanna: "Will you +tell Letty to get my cape and bonnet. My grandson would take me riding."</p> + +<p>Letty, answering Suzanna's call, came at once. She found a very cheerful +mistress and an excited little group of children. She hesitated a moment +when Graham told her he meant to take his grandmother out for a ride. +But noting the earnestness of the boy's manner she made no spoken +objections, but she went to the clothes press and took down Drusilla's +"dolman" and small close fitting bonnet.</p> + +<p>"Be very careful of your grandmother," said the maid, as she dressed +Mrs. Bartlett and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span>then offered her arm to steady the slight figure down +the stairs.</p> + +<p>"I shall be very careful," promised Graham. Never once in his young life +had any real service been asked of him. He was experiencing for the +first time a sense of responsibility and he grew beneath it.</p> + +<p>Downstairs Letty guided the rubber-tired wheel chair out into the hall, +down the front steps. She returned for Drusilla and seating her in the +chair, tucked a soft velvet rug about her.</p> + +<p>Graham took his place at the long handled bar. Gently he pushed the +chair and the small cavalcade was on its way.</p> + +<p>At first each child was quiet. Graham, ever mindful of the charge which +was his, was very serious and his thoughts turned to his mother.</p> + +<p>He wished she had taken this grandmother right into her own home to be +watched over, loved and cared for tenderly. He wondered if his father, +his ever busy father, would have liked that. Oh, why was it considered +better for a grandmother, one who had fancies, to live alone in a small +house, with every comfort it is true, but with no one of her very own +close beside her!</p> + +<p>He looked over at Suzanna. She was walking close to Drusilla, and +talking earnestly as was her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>way. Suzanna never went out into the world +but some object started a train of thought of keen interest. He could +hear snatches of her talk. It was about the trees, stripped bare now, +and their mood sad probably because of their denudement. Suzanna gazed +with concern at their stark limbs stretching out, no longer able to +shelter people or to sing softly when the wind blew through their +leaves.</p> + +<p>Drusilla contributed her share, too. She thought the trees knew that +people did not need shelter from the hot sun when the snow was about to +fly. And the snow could lie in such beautiful, straight lines on long, +unleaved limbs.</p> + +<p>And so they passed on from subject to subject, while Graham listened. +And then little Daphne grew tired and began to lag. Graham seeing the +child and about to make some suggestion for her comfort, was distracted +by Peter's call. The boy had found a rabbit hole and wished he had Jerry +with him to reach the rabbit, for which cruel wish both Suzanna and +Maizie scolded him roundly. And he gazed at them with the same old +perplexed gaze. Were these not the same sisters who looked complacently +on while a homeless, helpless dog was turned out casually into an +inhuman world?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p> + +<p>Well, again he gave up the puzzle of their contrary attitudes. Perhaps +understanding would come in the big-grown-up years.</p> + +<p>But when they returned from examining the rabbit hole, they found little +Daphne had curled herself up at Drusilla's feet. Drusilla had moved a +little and the child hopping up on the foot-rest had put her small arms +on Drusilla's knee, dropped her head and gone to sleep. Suzanna +carefully covered her with part of the velvet rug.</p> + +<p>So they started away again and came at last to a little lonely church +set back from the road. It was a quaint little edifice, made of +irregular purplish stone. The moss had crept up on one side softly, +protectingly. You thought at once it had been built by loving hands and +that loving souls had worshiped in it. And you knew that under its +assumed and momentary air of expectancy it was sad in having outlived +its usefulness. Its door was swung open hospitably and the children +stopped to look in. Graham wheeled his grandmother close to the door so +she too could gaze within.</p> + +<p>There were pews, empty, with worn cushions. A large stained glass window +with one Figure, noble despite the artist's limitations, had caught +lights and sent them down in long sapphire and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>amethyst fingers. A man +moved about the altar, changing from place to place a vase of white +roses.</p> + +<p>"Is that the minister?" whispered Maizie.</p> + +<p>Suzanna nodded. "Yes. He's going to offer up prayer, I think."</p> + +<p>The minister turned and smiled at the children. He seemed some way to +fit into the soft atmosphere of the place, seeming to belong there. +Suzanna could not fancy him moving in any merely practical environment.</p> + +<p>And while the children lingered, and Drusilla looked in through the open +church door, a man and a woman came down the road. The woman walked +slowly and the man had his arm about her in a guarding kind of way.</p> + +<p>When they neared the church they stopped. Suzanna, turning, recognized +them and with a joyful cry she ran to meet them.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Massey," she cried, "and Robert. Are you out for a walk, too?"</p> + +<p>The man looked down at her. "Yes, little girl. We are going into that +old church. Did you see the minister?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, he's inside," said Suzanna. She looked at Miss Massey. "You've +been crying," she said.</p> + +<p>Miss Massey tried to speak calmly, but there <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>was a little quiver in her +voice. "Because it's all so different from what I dreamed."</p> + +<p>"Come, dear," said Robert then, "come with me."</p> + +<p>She seemed to take courage from his manliness and the truth of his love +shining forth from his eyes, and so she put her hand into his and walked +up the path with him.</p> + +<p>At the door of the church they paused again. Suzanna who had followed +quickly, said, "This is Drusilla, my very best friend."</p> + +<p>Miss Massey looked into the sweet old face. Perhaps she thought of her +own mother, for the tears came quickly again. "I'm glad to know you," +she said simply. And then asked, "Won't you come in and see me married?"</p> + +<p>And Drusilla answered: "Indeed, I should like to very much, my dear."</p> + +<p>So Robert helped her gently from the wheel chair. He lifted small Daphne +upon the vacated seat and tucked her in carefully. And then they all +entered the church.</p> + +<p>The minister came down from the altar. He had lit two candles and they +sent their wavering light out upon the small audience. The Man above the +altar looked down with infinite tenderness upon the pale little bride.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> + +<p>The minister spoke: "Robert, take your bride upon your arm!"</p> + +<p>Thus adjured, Robert proffered his arm and Miss Massey put her small +hand upon it. Then slowly they walked behind the minister to the altar. +Suzanna, Maizie, and Peter followed.</p> + +<p>Graham offered his support to his grandmother. He had pledged his fealty +to her and he felt grateful that she leaned upon him as slowly she +mounted the four steps which led to the altar.</p> + +<p>There they grouped themselves about the bridal pair. Graham stood close +to his grandmother, Suzanna near to Miss Massey, Peter and Maizie at +Robert's right hand.</p> + +<p>The minister began: "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together—" +and on through the beautiful old ceremony.</p> + +<p>He came at length to this question: "Who giveth this woman to this man?" +and paused simply in custom. And old John Massey was far distant, +nursing his anger and yet sad, too, because he would not in his temper +attend the marriage of his daughter, though most lovingly and pleadingly +had that daughter begged his presence. And the girl's mother was lying +out on a hillside—where she had lain for many a long year.</p> + +<p>And the waiting bride had tears in her heart, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>till, suddenly, Drusilla, +with a beautiful light in her eyes, stepped forward. She put her +white-veined old hand softly on the bride's arm, and she said in a low +clear voice:</p> + +<p>"I do—I give this woman to this man."</p> + +<p>And the mother spirit in her spoke so richly that the bride all at once +felt happy and a little awed, too, as though her own mother had for the +moment raised herself and spoken.</p> + +<p>And the minister went on with the ceremony till came the end: "And I +pronounce that they are Man and Wife."</p> + +<p>And Robert folded his wife in his arms and kissed her while each face, +young and old, pictured the deep solemnity of the moment.</p> + +<p>Robert's wife at last turned to Drusilla. She put her arms about the +bravely upstanding figure in its old-fashioned dolman. "Oh, thank you, +thank you," she murmured. "I shall never forget what you've done for me +today."</p> + +<p>The color flowed like a wave up over Drusilla's face. With a quick +little breath, she leaned forward and kissed the new wife. She +experienced a sudden glow. It was as though Life for the moment, +forgetful that she was old and laid aside, had called her forward to +fill a need no other was near to fill.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p> + +<p>They all left the church after Robert had signed his name in a big book, +and his wife had written hers with a proud little flourish. Robert +helped Drusilla into the wheel chair, after lifting Daphne from her +place on the upholstered cushion. This time the little girl awoke. She +was about to cry when Robert raised her in his arms and carried her down +the road, hushing her against him, while Graham again ordered himself +his grandmother's squire.</p> + +<p>And so they went down the road together, all somewhat quiet, even +Peter's exuberant spirits moderated, till they reached Drusilla's home. +The maid, Letty, awaiting her mistress' return, ran down the steps, an +anxious frown between her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Come," said Drusilla. "You must all be my guests." She whispered some +words in Letty's ear. The girl smiled and half shyly glanced at Robert +and his bride.</p> + +<p>Robert still carrying little Daphne, who had refused to be put down, +said at once: "We should like that very much. I was so hoping you would +ask us."</p> + +<p>So they entered the little house. They went into the parlor with its +portrait above the mantel and the lilies of the valley beneath it. +Graham <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span>remembered with a little warm feeling that his father had once +left the order at a city florist's for a daily spray of those lovely +bells.</p> + +<p>Letty, carrying the dolman and small bonnet, disappeared but in a +miraculously short time returned to announce that tea was ready in the +dining-room.</p> + +<p>Drusilla flushed and happy led the way. Robert and his wife followed, +and the children came last. The hostess, from her place at the head of +the table, designated each one's chair, and when all were seated she +bowed her head and offered up a little prayer.</p> + +<p>And then Letty brought in hot muffins and marmalade, sweet butter and +fragrant tea. And amidst much laughter and merry words the feast began:</p> + +<p>And at the end Drusilla rose, and asking silence, said:</p> + +<p>"Robert, today in the name of the bride's mother, I gave her into your +keeping. I can see a promise in your eyes that she will never, never +regret going to you. Love her always."</p> + +<p>And Robert, standing, in a deep voice answered: "Drusilla," borrowing +quite unconsciously Suzanna's way of name, "Drusilla, I have taken upon +myself this day the great responsibility <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>of a woman's happiness—" he +paused and bent a look of ineffable tenderness upon his wife—"and +please God I shall keep that responsibility while life lasts."</p> + +<p>And they all pushed back their chairs, the children with a little +scraping noise. And Robert looking at his watch thought it was time to +leave, since the train would not wait for laggards.</p> + +<p>Then all in a moment it seemed he was going down the path again, his +wife upon his arm. And Graham, who had disappeared kitchenward, returned +and flung a handful of rice after them. At which the bride turned and +laughed and waved her hand.</p> + +<p>"It was a real wedding, wasn't it, Drusilla?" said Suzanna, "even to the +rice."</p> + +<p>"A real wedding, my little girl," said Drusilla.</p> + +<p>Graham spoke: "Grandmother, aren't you glad I wheeled you out today?"</p> + +<p>She answered at once. "So very glad, Graham. And I feel happier tonight +than for many a long day."</p> + +<p>"And may I do so again soon?" he asked. "And next summer I'll take you +out every day."</p> + +<p>A little smile touched her lips. "Next summer—next summer—? Ah, +laddie, come often this winter, if you can."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p> + +<p>And then the children started away. And at the last moment Drusilla drew +Suzanna to her. "Little girl," she said lovingly, "I'm so glad you came +once to visit me—that summer day."</p> + +<p>"Oh, so am I, Drusilla," Suzanna cried. She looked wistfully into her +friend's face. "Some day I want to do something wonderful for you."</p> + +<p>Drusilla, bending low, kissed the upturned face with its big seeking +eyes. But she did not speak. For why make definite by clumsy words the +miracles a little child brings to pass. No, thought Drusilla in her +wisdom, Suzanna should go her way beautifully unconscious of her good +works.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>THE EAGLE MAN VISITS THE ATTIC</h3> + + +<p>A few Saturdays after the marriage in the little wayside church, Richard +Procter reached home in a state of great excitement.</p> + +<p>The family was in the dining-room. Mrs. Procter was polishing the +drinking glasses. Though it was long past noon, Suzanna had just +commenced to clear away the luncheon dishes. Maizie was shaking napkins, +while Peter was in a corner pretending to play ball with the baby, very +much to the baby's amusement.</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter told his news triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"At last," he cried. "Jane, John Massey is absolutely coming to see the +machine this afternoon."</p> + +<p>The color flashed up into Mrs. Procter's face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Richard," she cried; "perhaps—" but she did not finish her +conjecture.</p> + +<p>"He won't take The Machine away, will he, father?" Suzanna asked +anxiously.</p> + +<p>"No, not that particular one, little girl. There'll have to be others +built. That is just the model."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p> + +<p>At two o'clock Mr. Procter was in the attic working at the machine. At +three, so interested had he grown, that he had really forgotten the +expected visit of old John Massey. So it was a real surprise when Mrs. +Procter ushered him in.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm here at last," said Mr. Massey. He looked over to where the +cabinet stood. "Your machine is rather mysterious looking."</p> + +<p>"Does it seem so? Here, lay your hat and coat on this table, Mr. Massey. +Now I'll explain the purpose of the machine."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's what I'm most interested in, what it's for; what you expect +to do with it."</p> + +<p>Richard Procter turned an eager face to the capitalist.</p> + +<p>"I'll start at the beginning," he said. "Have you ever stopped to think +what would mean the greatest happiness to humanity?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Massey coughed and moved uneasily. "Can't say I have. Food and drink +sufficient for all, so I've heard your orator across the street +announce."</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter smiled. "That, yes, might bring content, but I'm speaking of +spiritual happiness. Well, this is my idea of what would bring about a +revolution in the sum total of world content. <i>Each man at the work he +was born to do.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And having once reached that conclusion, I set about formulating plans +for the building of my machine. An instrument so delicate that it could +register a man's leading talent."</p> + +<p>Mr. Massey moved away a little. He stared doubtfully at the inventor +before the clearing thought came. Before him stood a madman, a wild +visionary.</p> + +<p>He looked over at his hat and coat. To stay was a mere waste of time, he +realized that now. Still, there was Suzanna who had made a place for +herself in his gruff old heart. The machine, he knew, could have no +commercial value. Yet he remembered a few of Suzanna's values which were +not based on the possession of money.</p> + +<p>Well, for Suzanna's sake he would listen, go away and forget. So he +seated himself, and waited condescendingly for the inventor to continue. +He himself said nothing, for silence, he had learned, was golden.</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter went on. "My first step in the work was to evolve what might +be termed a system of color interpretation."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand at all," said old John Massey sharply.</p> + +<p>The inventor hesitated. Visionary, he might truly be called, but, too, +he was sensitive and he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>had felt the capitalist's withdrawal as soon as +the purpose of the machine was explained to him. But the end was a big +one. He must not hesitate, so he went on.</p> + +<p>"May I put it broadly without arousing your derision, that color sight +was bestowed upon me. Just as my little girl Suzanna visualizes each day +as a shape, so I've always seen people in color; that out of that sight +I built my own science of color."</p> + +<p>"<i>Romance</i> of color, you mean," returned John Massey harshly, "for so +far as I can gain, there is no science about it. I deal in facts, Mr. +Procter, not in air castles. Does the machine do anything, but stand +there a silent monument to your dreams?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter hesitated but a moment, then, "Come, Mr. Massey," he said, +"take your place. Let us see what the machine says of you. Remember, +please, it will register only your truest meaning, the purpose for which +you were born; the part of you which never dies, which is never really +submerged, regardless of a turning to false gods."</p> + +<p>A little uneasy despite himself, Mr. Massey seated himself before the +machine.</p> + +<p>The inventor touched levers, opened and shut doors, lowered the helmet, +adjusted the lens.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span></p> + +<p>As the clicking sound commenced Mr. Massey stirred. "Keep very quiet," +said the inventor, "and watch the glass plate."</p> + +<p>Mr. Massey obeyed. Now a satiric smile touched his lips. He was almost +enjoying this child's play.</p> + +<p>But soon the smile faded, for in a moment there grew upon the glass +plate standing between the two tubes a pillar of color, vivid yellow, +tipped with primrose.</p> + +<p>"What—what does that mean?" asked old John Massey.</p> + +<p>The inventor lifted the helmet, and shut off his power before speaking. +"According to my belief, my understanding of color significance, the +reason for your being in this world, with, of course, interesting +variations brought about by environment and education, is identical with +that of Reynolds."</p> + +<p>Mr. Massey started forward angrily, but he thought better of whatever he +had in his heart to say. "Go on," he commanded gruffly.</p> + +<p>"As a young man you had dreams of being a practical humanitarian," said +Mr. Procter softly, "and undoubtedly with your opportunity you might +have been a valuable figure in the world. You were endowed with vision. +You saw the wrongs man labors under; as a youth you smarted <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>because of +those wrongs. And you saw the super-being man might become given equal +chances."</p> + +<p>"Like Reynolds—" repeated Mr. Massey after a time, on impulse—one +immediately regretted.</p> + +<p>"Like Reynolds, our great rough, fine-hearted Reynolds," said Mr. +Procter, "the one whom you've had threatened with arrest because he +harangued too freely on the street corner." He paused to finish +impressively: "I see now that the man who throws away his spiritual +birthright for a mess of pottage hates the one who keeps his in the face +of all—poverty—misunderstanding—ridicule."</p> + +<p>A silence dark as a cavern ensued. Mr. Massey at last got to his feet. +He stood a long moment looking at the machine, then he glanced at the +inventor, but when someone knocked softly at the door he started, +revealing how far away from his immediate surroundings his thoughts had +flown.</p> + +<p>Suzanna entered. "Here's David, daddy," she said. "He wants to talk with +you."</p> + +<p>David entered. "I had some time," he said, "and I wanted to see the +machine again."</p> + +<p>"Glad to see you," said the inventor heartily. "Mr. Massey, this is my +friend, David Ridgewood, Graham Woods Bartlett's gardener."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How do you do, Mr. Massey," said David. "I've seen you before, of +course. Heard of you often."</p> + +<p>John Massey did not answer at once, since he was somewhat at a loss. He +had not been in the habit of meeting socially his friends' gardeners. At +last he blurted forth.</p> + +<p>"How d' do. I've had a look at Procter's invention."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, I supposed so," said David. Then: "Isn't the thought back of +that machine wonderful?" Which ridiculous question quickened again all +the Eagle Man's combativeness. He spoke with a fine candor.</p> + +<p>"The thought may be wonderful, young man. I'll not pass on that. But +plainly I can't see where the commercial value of the machine comes in."</p> + +<p>David and Suzanna fell back from the cloud which gathered on the +inventor's face.</p> + +<p>"The commercial value!" he cried. "Have I spent my life working merely +that the capitalist may make more money? I tell you, sir, that I have +worked only for the betterment of the race. And to you, John Massey, I +am giving the great opportunity."</p> + +<p>"Well, out with it. Where's the great opportunity?" asked Mr. Massey +testily. "To my <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>mind you haven't an article with a wide enough appeal."</p> + +<p>"Wide enough appeal!" cried the inventor. "My dear sir, it has an appeal +world-wide, and you are to make it of such appeal." He paused to +continue impressively: "John Massey, I offer you the opportunity of +endowing an institution which shall be built to use my machine. To that +institution young men of impecunious parents may come to discover their +leading talent."</p> + +<p>"If there is a leading talent, will it take your machine to discover +it?" asked John Massey.</p> + +<p>"In most cases, yes. How many young men fail to discover until too late +what life work they are best fitted for, unless they possess a talent so +strong that it amounts to genius. How many of necessity are sent out +into the world at an unformed age to slavery in order that they and +their dependents may live. What chance or time have they, grinding away +at any work which brings a dollar, to know for what work they are most +suited. They know only when it is too late that they are bound by +chains, crucifying themselves daily at tasks they hate, and for which +they have no natural adaptation."</p> + +<p>He paused, only to continue with fire: "Or, if they have ambitions, know +what they would best <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span>like to do, how helpless they are. No money, no +opportunity."</p> + +<p>"I'll warrant, Mr. Massey," put in David, "that there are many men +employed in your steel mills who by natural inclination are totally +unfitted for their jobs. Now, wouldn't scientific investigation in their +early manhood have helped to find for them the right place and so added +to their happiness?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm not interested in that part of the question; their happiness +has nothing to do with me," returned John Massey. "I pay 'em their wages +and that's enough. And I don't believe that every man is born with a +special talent. They all look alike to me mostly."</p> + +<p>"Every man is born with the capacity to do something in a way impossible +to another," said the inventor with conviction. "There are no two +persons alike in the world."</p> + +<p>John Massey smiled. He really now felt that he was being entertained. +Such another rare specimen as this inventor with his ridiculous +contentions would be hard to find. So he said pleasantly: "And after the +machine has recorded its findings, what then?"</p> + +<p>"Then you, and other men like you who have accumulated fortunes—"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Stop!" cried the capitalist. "Let me finish for you. After the machine +has done its work, I'm to have the privilege of paying for the +professional education or trade of these same impecunious young men."</p> + +<p>"Exactly, sir. The institution you endow might be called the Temple of +Natural Ability Appraisement. There the poor in money, but the rich in +ambition may come; there the fumblers, the indecisive, may come to be +put to a test. Ah, yours can be a great work."</p> + +<p>"A great opportunity for you, Mr. Massey," emphasized David, the +gardener. "I envy you."</p> + +<p>"You'd help out, wouldn't you, Eagle Man?" Suzanna now cried with +perfect faith in his good will. "You see, you'd have to when you +remembered that there's a little silver chain stretching from your wrist +to everybody else's in the world. It must be rubber-plated, I guess."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" asked the Eagle Man, involuntarily casting his +glance down to his wrist, his flow of satire dammed.</p> + +<p>"That's what Drusilla told me; we all belong. And you can't do something +mean without breaking the chain that binds you to somebody else."</p> + +<p>"Ah, my dear," said the Eagle Man, letting his hand fall upon her bright +hair, "you belong <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>to a family of impossible visionaries." He looked +over at Suzanna's father, and his face suddenly grew crimson. "Were you +in earnest, Procter," he cried, "when you told me in Doane's hardware +store that your machine meant a big opportunity to me—were you +jesting?"</p> + +<p>"Jesting! Why, I've pointed out your opportunity, plainly."</p> + +<p>"Shown me how I can throw a fortune away!"</p> + +<p>After a moment Mr. Procter replied: "We speak in different languages. By +opportunity you can see only a chance to make more money."</p> + +<p>"Any other sane person makes the same guess," Mr. Massey replied.</p> + +<p>The inventor's face grew sad. He had dreamed of John Massey's response, +a dream built on sand, as perhaps he should have known. But hope eternal +sprang in his heart, and the belief that every man wished the best for +his brother.</p> + +<p>The silence continued. To break it Mr. Massey turned to David.</p> + +<p>"Your friend seems to think he has but to put before me the need for +charity and I shall thank him effusively."</p> + +<p>David spoke slowly: "My friend should have known better. He forgot, I +suppose, your slums where you house your mill hands."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What do you mean by that?" Mr. Massey began, when an exclamation from +Suzanna, who was standing at the window, turned his attention there.</p> + +<p>"See, there's a big fire over behind the big field," she cried +excitedly. "Oh, look at the flames! The poor, poor people!"</p> + +<p>David sprang to the window. "It's over in the huddled district," he +cried. A fierce light sprang to his eyes. "Where most of your men live +with their families, John Massey. I wonder how many will escape."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> + +<h3>SUZANNA PUTS A REQUEST</h3> + + +<p>In that devastating fire which swept out of existence the entire +tenement district of Anchorville two were lost, never to be heard of +again, parents of a twain of children, a boy of four and a girl of +three.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter, finding the mites wandering away from the smoking ruins, +had at once taken them home with her, fed them, found clothes for them, +and rocked the tired little girl to sleep.</p> + +<p>"Are we going to keep them forever, mother?" Maizie asked one afternoon +about two weeks after the fire. No one had put in a claim for the +children; they were homeless, friendless. What was to be done with them? +Mrs. Procter had turned with loathing from the thought of the orphanage.</p> + +<p>She stood at Maizie's question in deep perplexity. She could not turn +the children away or put them in an institution—and yet, how could she +care for them? There was the very definite problem of extra clothes and +food to be found out of an income already stretched to its utmost.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They haven't a home any more, have they, mother?" Suzanna asked, the +while her earnest eyes searched her mother's face. "So we should do unto +others as we'd be done by, shouldn't we?"</p> + +<p>A vague memory returned to Mrs. Procter. What was it Suzanna had once +said? "Mrs. Procter cuddles all children in her heart." And Suzanna and +Maizie stood watching her, asking a literal translation of a principle +laid down for man's guidance.</p> + +<p>"We'll see what can be done," Mrs. Procter answered finally. And then +she continued very carefully: "You see, it isn't only a question of +giving these little ones a home, but they must be clothed and fed and +educated, and we haven't a great deal of money."</p> + +<p>"So many of those poor people haven't any homes any more, have they?" +asked Suzanna. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears of pity. She looked +out of the window. The sun was shining brightly. And to be in keeping +with the suffering about them, Suzanna wished it would hide behind a +cloud. It seemed the day itself, to be in sympathy, should be dark, +depressed, altogether gloomy.</p> + +<p>Her mother answered: "It's providential in a manner that those unsightly +cottages were swept <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>away; but they meant homes for many poor souls; and +all that they possessed was contained in those homes."</p> + +<p>Suzanna's ingenious mind settled itself to work on the problem of the +bereft ones. She was no longer thinking of the two little orphans, but +of the many troubled people. If only her home were large enough to +accommodate them all! Her thoughts in natural sequence ran to the Eagle +Man and his beautiful place, but she immediately rejected the idea. She +feared he might not listen kindly to the plan of lending his home even +as a temporary abode for the stricken. Had he not been a little unkind +about her father's wonderful Machine?</p> + +<p>Suddenly she remembered Bartlett Villa, and with the memory came a +thousand thoughts. Impulsively she donned hat and coat, spoke a word to +her mother and was off.</p> + +<p>In a very short time, for she ran nearly all the way, she reached +Bartlett Villa. She pushed open the big iron gate leading into the +grounds, and stopped short, for there to the left, near a closed +fountain, stood Graham. He was talking to a tall man whose back was +toward Suzanna. About the two, in seeming happiness, played Jerry.</p> + +<p>Graham cried out when he saw Suzanna. She <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>went quickly to him. Then the +man looked down at her and smiled. Suzanna decided that she liked him, +but she wished his smile was more of a real one, one that should light +his face. She did not know the word, but he looked, despite his smile, +cynical, rather weary. Yes, she knew she should like him, for in some +indefinite way he reminded her of her father. Was it the brown, rather +nearsighted eyes? Surely they were keen, yet behind their keenness dwelt +a softness; perhaps he, too, once had cherished a vision.</p> + +<p>Graham greeted her demonstratively. "And this is my father, Suzanna," he +said. "I've told him a lot about you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know a great deal about you, Suzanna," said Mr. Bartlett; "and +David has told me of your father's invention and what he expects to do +some day with it."</p> + +<p>Suzanna's face kindled. "Yes, my father's a great man," she said, +simply.</p> + +<p>Then she turned to Graham: "I came to talk to you about something very +important. I was going to ask you afterwards to speak to your father +about my plan."</p> + +<p>"I may hear, then?" said Mr. Bartlett. "Shall we go on into the house? +There's a little chill in the air."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span></p> + +<p>So they walked toward the great house, leaving Jerry rather +disconsolate. Suzanna, looking up at Mr. Bartlett, said: "I've been here +twice and I've never seen you."</p> + +<p>"My business takes me often to different cities," he replied.</p> + +<p>They entered the house and went into a small room at the left of the +wide hall. It was lovely, Suzanna decided, done all in soft gray, except +the curtains at the window, which were of amber silk, hanging in heavy +folds. Yes, very charming, Suzanna emphasized to herself. She liked +particularly the one picture on the wall, showing a group of horses, +heads high in the air, full of fire. Suzanna could see them move, she +believed.</p> + +<p>"Sit down there, Suzanna, in that high-backed chair and tell us what you +have to say that's so important," suggested Mr. Bartlett.</p> + +<p>"I'm crazy to hear all about it, Suzanna," supplemented Graham. He +settled himself in anticipation, for Suzanna was always intensely +interesting.</p> + +<p>Suzanna seated herself. A quaint little figure she was, her fine head +thrown in relief against the gray satin of the chair. "You know," she +began, "there's been a fire."</p> + +<p>"A bully big one," said Graham.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> + +<p>Suzanna turned her dark eyes upon the boy. "It was a big one, and maybe +fun to watch," she said, "but it burned all the people's homes. We've +got two little children, at our house. We could never find their father +and mother."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett, occupying the corner of a lounge, shifted uneasily. +Evidently to put forth truths so baldly was inartistic.</p> + +<p>"My mother says it was—I can't think of the word—but she meant it was +lucky those cottages were burned down; they were so dirty." Suzanna went +on: "And babies played in the yards in ashes and old papers. I always +hurried past when I went that way because something stopped inside of +me, I felt so sorry for those babies." Suzanna paused. "I just thought +as we walked up your front path how different everything is here; your +front yard is so clean, and there's so much room!"</p> + +<p>She stopped again. She wished Mr. Bartlett would speak. He must guess +now all that she meant to convey to him; all she would ask of him.</p> + +<p>But still he didn't answer. "The Eagle Man owned those houses," she said +at last.</p> + +<p>"The Eagle Man?" Mr. Bartlett roused himself at last. "Who is the Eagle +Man?"</p> + +<p>"Mr. Massey other people call him. The Eagle Man's my own private name +for him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p> + +<p>Graham knew his father was heavily interested in the Massey Steel Mills. +But he did not speak.</p> + +<p>"You know, it's an awful fine feeling you get when you're doing +something for strangers," Suzanna pressed on. "Some way you don't feel +so excited when you're doing something for your very own family."</p> + +<p>But she was doomed to disappointment. A continued silence still greeted +her words. "When people work for you isn't it as though you were their +father or their big brother and had to help them when they needed it?" +she asked, at length.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's a new thought that you owe anything to the men who work for +you except their wages," said Mr. Bartlett at last.</p> + +<p>"Why, Drusilla told me that everyone in the world has a little silver +chain running from his wrist to his next friend's wrist; it stretches +when you run—a fellowship link my father named it when I told him. And +the chain runs from my wrist to your wrist and from yours to every other +wrist in the world." She leaned closer, finishing earnestly. "And +Drusilla says if you break your chain you're really a slave."</p> + +<p>"Very interesting," commented Mr. Bartlett.</p> + +<p>"Yes, isn't it?" agreed Suzanna. She returned tenaciously to her +subject. "There are many <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>homeless families who weren't welcome where +they had to go after the fire. Mary Holmes says her mother took in four +people and she says as long as they stay there'll have to be stews, for +in that way a pound of meat goes further, and Mary just hates stews."</p> + +<p>"Well, what is your suggestion of a remedy, Suzanna?" asked Mr. +Bartlett. At which question, though put in words beyond her, Suzanna's +eyes brightened. She caught the sense unerringly and answered promptly.</p> + +<p>"Why, I thought <i>you</i> could do something. You have so much room." And +then the solution came, out of the sky as often answers came when you +didn't expect them. "Why, you could put tents up in your big yards for +the homeless people, till their own homes are built again."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett was greatly amused. "You ask such a little thing, Suzanna."</p> + +<p>"Yes, isn't it, seeing it'll help out so much?" Suzanna returned +innocently.</p> + +<p>Graham rose and went close to his father. "Father," he said, "who's +going to build the new homes for the poor people?"</p> + +<p>His father answered: "I don't know, I'm sure; but I should think it old +John Massey's duty to do so."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Father," asked Graham, after a pause given over to thought and drawing +on his memory for what vague facts he knew of his father's business, "if +you take less money for your interests in the mill and if you speak to +him, do you suppose Mr. Massey would begin at once to build those +homes?" His young face was quite white with earnestness and other new +emotions struggling up to the surface.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett looked from one small face to the other. He smiled grimly. +They could see nothing but the humanness of a situation, the need +existing. Going against all precedent meant nothing to them; they simply +followed ridiculous altruistic impulses. Only in their minds was the +knowledge that other people were suffering; and the immediate necessity +for relief.</p> + +<p>He let his hand fall upon his son's shoulder. "How about the trip +abroad, Graham?" There was an under meaning in his question which Graham +got at once. His face lit.</p> + +<p>"I'd rather help out here, father, and give up the trip. I really +would."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett remained quiet for a long time again. In some mysterious +manner he was now for almost the first time looking upon his son as an +individual, one with opinions and the power of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>criticism. And there +grew in his heart the very fervent desire to stand well in that son's +estimation. He looked at Suzanna and envied her father. How proudly, how +simply she had said, "He is a great man!"</p> + +<p>But when he spoke, he reverted to a name used a moment before by +Suzanna, a name he knew well.</p> + +<p>"Who's your very philosophic friend, Suzanna—Drusilla, you called her."</p> + +<p>Suzanna's eyes shone. "Drusilla? She's my special friend. She lives in a +little house on the forked road. She's pretty and sweet and she has +fancies, like children. She plays sometimes she's a queen. But she's +lonely. She gave Miss Massey to Robert in the little church. And she has +no one in all the world left to call her by her first name. So I call +her Drusilla and she loves it."</p> + +<p>Graham did not stir. Neither did he look at his father till Suzanna, +suddenly remembering, cried out:</p> + +<p>"Why, Drusilla's Graham's grandmother!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett's face suddenly went very white. He didn't speak for a long +time. Then he rose and went to the window, drew back the silken curtain +and stared out.</p> + +<p>Suzanna wondered if he would ever move <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>again! At the moment he was far +away. He was a boy again at his mother's knee, listening to that +fanciful conception of the little silver chain that stretched so far. +There rushed in on him, too, other memories, blinding ones that hurt. +True, every day at the little house a spray of lilies of the valley were +delivered; but with that impersonal gift which cost him nothing but the +drawing of a check he had dismissed his mother from his busy mind, +letting her stay in loneliness, live in old dreams.</p> + +<p>A soft little swish was heard at the door and Mrs. Bartlett entered the +room. She stopped in some consternation at sight of the silent trio +within.</p> + +<p>"Why, what is the matter?" she asked, impulsively.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett turned from the window. He looked at his wife, steadily +regarded her beautiful face and bronze-colored hair piled high upon her +small and regal head. His gaze sought the soft, white hands, the tapered +fingers with pink and shining nails.</p> + +<p>At last he spoke, very quietly, but each word seemed weighed: "'And in +the morning there shall tents suddenly arise.' A quotation from +somewhere, my dear, but it shall come true here."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p> + +<p>She turned a cold gaze upon him. "Will you explain what you mean?" she +asked.</p> + +<p>"There are a few homeless people in Anchorville; their homes laid waste +by a fire," he said, pleasantly. "This small messenger has suggested +that we make use of our ample grounds for a time by putting up tents, +for a time, I say, till more substantial abiding places may be built."</p> + +<p>She clenched her hands. "You can't do that, Graham," she began, a note +of entreaty in her voice; "you can't possibly be so absurdly quixotic."</p> + +<p>"And why not?"</p> + +<p>"I can't understand!" she repeated. "Such philanthropic ideas have not +occurred to you before."</p> + +<p>He went to her, standing so he could look into her eyes. "It's late in +the day, but I'll try to do some little thing my mother would like me to +do."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bartlett was about to speak again in burning protest when her +glance fell upon the children, Suzanna and her own boy. And the eloquent +expressions upon those small faces kept her silent. At last she turned +as though to leave the room. Over her shoulder she spoke.</p> + +<p>"At least you will not insist upon my presence here while you fulfill +your preposterous plans?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p> + +<p>He replied gently: "As always, I ask nothing that you cannot give in +perfect freedom."</p> + +<p>She hesitated, was about to say something, stopped and took another +subject: "As for your mother—"</p> + +<p>He interrupted her, but to repeat "As for my mother—" but he left his +thought unfinished.</p> + +<p>Then he, too, went toward the door, and as he passed Suzanna he let his +fine, nervous hand touch her bright hair. Once he turned. "Suzanna, as I +told you," he said, "David, my fine gardener, has interested me somewhat +in your father's machine; perhaps I'll make a journey to your home some +day to see it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> + +<h3>DRUSILLA SETS OUT ON A JOURNEY</h3> + + +<p>When Suzanna, returning home on wings, opened the front door, she heard +voices in the kitchen. And there, as she entered, she saw Mrs. Reynolds +engaged in reading aloud the directions on a paper pattern. Suzanna, +full of her story, waited almost impatiently until Mrs. Reynolds had +finished.</p> + +<p>Then she burst forth: "Oh, mother, Graham Bartlett's father's going to +make tent homes in his yard for the poor people."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter, leaning over the kitchen table, selected a pin from an +ornate pin cushion and inserted it carefully in the pattern under her +hand before turning an incredulous eye upon her daughter.</p> + +<p>"It's for his mother's sake," continued Suzanna, who had grasped the +spiritual meaning of Mr. Bartlett's offer.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds was the first to voice her surprise. "Why, that man, to my +knowledge, has never taken any real interest in anything. Rey<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span>nolds says +he just draws big dividends out of the mill, runs about from one +interest to another, and cares really naught for anyone."</p> + +<p>"Oh, but he's very kind, Mrs. Reynolds," Suzanna objected. "As soon as +he knew his yards were too big to waste and that his mother would love +to have him do good, he told his wife he meant to put up tents till new +homes were built."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter cast a knowing look above Suzanna's head. Mrs. Reynolds +caught it and sent back a tender smile. "Out of the mouths of babes," +she began, when Maizie entered. In her tow were the two shy little +orphans.</p> + +<p>Maizie spoke at once to Mrs. Reynolds. "I knew you were still here, Mrs. +Reynolds," she said; "I can always tell your funny laugh."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds laughed again. "Well, little girl," she said, "did you +want something from me?"</p> + +<p>Maizie nodded vigorously. Her face was very stern. "Yes, please," she +answered. "I want you to take these bad orphans home with you. They're +cross and hateful and I don't want them to stay here any more."</p> + +<p>The two orphans stood downcast, the small boy holding tight to his +sister's hand, listening in silence to their arraignment. Mrs. Procter, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>shocked, interposed: "Why, Maizie, Maizie girl!"</p> + +<p>But Maizie went on. "You can't be kind to them; they won't let you. And +I had to slap the girl orphan."</p> + +<p>The one alluded to thrust her small fist in her eye. Her slight body +shook with sobs. Suzanna's heart was moved. She addressed her sister +vigorously. "That isn't the way to treat people who are <i>weary</i> and +<i>homeless</i>, Maizie Procter," she began. "<i>You</i> ought to be kindest in +the whole world to sorry ones!"</p> + +<p>Maizie paused. She understood perfectly her sister's reference. "When +the Man with the halo picked you out of everybody and smiled on you, you +ought to be good to all little children that He loves," pursued Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"Not to little children who won't play and who won't be kind," said +Maizie. But her voice was low. She turned half reluctantly to the +orphans and looked steadily at them, as though trying to produce in +herself a warmer glow for them.</p> + +<p>They did not stir under the look. "But naughty children have to be made +good even if you have to slap them, Suzanna," said Maizie pleadingly.</p> + +<p>"But not by you, Maizie," said Suzanna; "you never can slap or be cross. +I have a bad temper <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span>and sometimes get mad. But because of what you are +<i>You</i> always have to be loving and kind."</p> + +<p>Awe crept into Maizie's eyes. It was a great moment for her, little +child that she was. She was to remember all her days that she was as one +set apart to be loving and kind. She gazed solemnly back at Suzanna, as +she dwelt upon the miraculous truth of her heritage.</p> + +<p>At last Maizie turned. "Mrs. Reynolds," she said, "our Suzanna once +adopted herself out to you, didn't she?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds bestowed a soft look upon Suzanna. "She did that, the +lamb, and often enough I've thought of that day."</p> + +<p>"You liked her for your little girl because you haven't any of your +own?" pursued Maizie.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds nodded, and Maizie sighed her relief.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, we'll adopt these orphans out to you, Mrs. Reynolds. I'm +sorry for them now, and I know I ought to be kind to them, but it will +be easier for me if you have them. I think you'd be awfully happy with +two real children of your very own."</p> + +<p>No one spoke. The little boy, laggard usually in movement, looked up +quickly at Mrs. Reynolds. He knew that Maizie found it difficult to be +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>patient with him, and that therefore she was offering him and his +sister to the kind-looking lady.</p> + +<p>"We like them pretty well, but we'd rather you'd have them," Maizie went +on generously but with unswerving purpose. "And till you get used to +children I'll come over every day and wash and dress them."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds' face was growing pinker and pinker. She continued gazing +at the boy and the girl, and from them back to Suzanna, her favorite. +But whatever emotions surged through her she found for the moment no +words to express them. At last she spoke in a whimsical way.</p> + +<p>"It's not much you're asking, little girl, to take and raise and educate +two growing children on Reynolds' wages." And then she blushed furiously +and glanced half apologetically at Mrs. Procter. For what, indeed, was +Mrs. Procter's work? With superb defiance toward mathematical rules, she +was daily engaged in proving that though those rules contended that two +and two make four, if you have backbone and ingenuity two and two make +five, and could by stretching be compelled to make six.</p> + +<p>"I must be going," said Mrs. Reynolds. She gathered up carefully the +paper pattern, folded its long length into several pieces, opened her +hand <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>bag and thrust the small package within. "Thank you for your help, +Mrs. Procter. I think I can manage nicely now," she said, as she snapped +the bag together.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter repeated the conversation to her husband that evening, as, +the children in bed, they sat together in the little parlor. "And it +might be the most wonderful happening in the world, both for the poor +children and for Mrs. Reynolds," said Mrs. Procter.</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter did not answer. His wife, watching him keenly, realized that +he was troubled. She put down her sewing. "Tell me, Richard, what's gone +wrong," she said.</p> + +<p>He hesitated, caught her hand, held it tight. "I might as well tell you, +dear. John Massey has bought out Job Doane's hardware shop."</p> + +<p>"Bought him out?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. No one seems to know why. He paid a good price and he'll probably +sell again. I don't know, I'm sure."</p> + +<p>He pressed his hand wearily to his head. "What's to be done, dear? +What's to be done? There's no other opening for me in Anchorville."</p> + +<p>She rallied to help him as always. "At least we'll not meet trouble till +it's full upon us. There's always some way found."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p> + +<p>And, as always, he brightened beneath her touch, let hope spring again +within his heart. "Shall you work upstairs tonight?" she asked, knowing +that companionship with his beloved machine closed his mind to other +matters.</p> + +<p>"If you will come upstairs with me," he said. "Can you leave your +mending? I want you close by."</p> + +<p>She felt strongly and joyously his need of her. "I will come," she said.</p> + +<p>They were on the way upstairs, treading carefully that the lightest +sleeper, Suzanna, might not be awakened, when the hurried peal came at +the front door. They stopped. "Go on to the attic," said Mrs. Procter; +"it's perhaps Mrs. Reynolds come to borrow something," so Mr. Procter +went on. Mrs. Procter ran lightly down.</p> + +<p>She opened the front door to David. Near him stood Graham and behind, +his tail wagging furiously, Peter's dog, Jerry. David began at once.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Bartlett's mother was taken ill suddenly. Mr. Bartlett is with her. +She is begging to see the little Suzanna."</p> + +<p>"Come in," said Mrs. Procter, flinging the door wide. And as they +entered and stood all three in the hall, the dog feeling himself now in +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>his new character as welcome as his human companions, she finished: +"Suzanna's asleep."</p> + +<p>"My father wished greatly you would allow Suzanna to go to my +grandmother, though it is late," put in Graham.</p> + +<p>"Could she be awakened?" asked David. And by the expression in his eyes +Mrs. Procter understood that this wish of Drusilla's should not be +denied.</p> + +<p>The dog, feeling entreaty in the air, sat down and raised his voice. It +was a penetrative voice, too, filling the house with its echoes, echoes +that scarcely died away before a soft call came:</p> + +<p>"Mother—mother—"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter smiled at David. "There, Suzanna is awake. Jerry +accomplished what he wished. I'll go upstairs and dress her quickly."</p> + +<p>So it was that the little girl flushed, starry-eyed, appeared with her +mother a little later. Her dramatic senses were alert. "Isn't it lovely +and important," she began at once to David, "that Drusilla wants to see +me when it's away into the night?"</p> + +<p>"Very important," said David, but he did not smile. "Are you quite ready +now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Suzanna and slipped her hand within Graham's. "Are you going +too, Graham?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes. David's driving the light cart."</p> + +<p>The night was cool, but there were big rugs in the cart. David bundled +Suzanna up till only her vivid face looked out. As they went swiftly she +gazed up at the stars and the soft dark sky. She loved the night +fragrances, and the rustle of the dead leaves as lazy little winds +stirred them.</p> + +<p>They came very soon to Drusilla's home. David alighted, unwound Suzanna, +lifted her down to the ground very carefully, Graham following slowly. +David tied his horse, gave the animal a comradely pat, bade the dog +remain in the cart, and then the three went on to the house. The door +opened immediately for them, a light streaming out from within. The +sweet-faced maid, Letty, who had been crying, ushered them in.</p> + +<p>"I'll wait downstairs," said David.</p> + +<p>Letty nodded, and with the children went upstairs.</p> + +<p>They stopped when they reached the open doorway of Drusilla's bedroom. +And seated in a big velvet chair, as usual drawn near the window, though +the shade was pulled straight down, pillows heaped all about her, sat +Drusilla. Her face seemed small, oh, pitiably small, with bright eyes +quite too large for their place. But someway<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> Suzanna, looking in, knew +that Drusilla was happy.</p> + +<p>Perhaps because, kneeling beside her, his head buried in her lap, was +her son.</p> + +<p>Her thin fingers strayed through his hair, and her tremulous voice +murmured to him just as it had when as a very small, very penitent boy +he had knelt in the same way, sure of her understanding, very, very sure +of her love.</p> + +<p>The picture remained for the moment, then the man kneeling, stirred and +rose to his feet. He stood looking down at his mother, till impelled by +a sound in the doorway he turned and saw the children.</p> + +<p>They came forward then into the softly lighted room.</p> + +<p>"Drusilla!" Suzanna cried, going straight to the frail figure seated in +the velvet chair. "You wanted to see me, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"I did that, little girl," Drusilla answered. "I wanted to tell you that +the land of sunshine and love is close at hand where I shall meet my +king and be parted no more."</p> + +<p>"And where you'll reign queen?" cried Suzanna, delighted.</p> + +<p>The old head flung itself up; the faded eyes blazed; the frail figure +straightened itself. "Ay, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>queen!" She turned to Graham, who had +approached and stood regarding her, his boyish face agleam with love and +a little longing, and a little sadness, for he knew better than Suzanna +the great change at hand. "Who stands there?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He answered at once: "A courtier, my Queen."</p> + +<p>She smiled. "Approach closer then," she said with a wave of her hand. +But her eyes were on Suzanna. "My favorite princess," she said softly, +letting her hand fall upon the small head. "She came first one day when +the flowers were all in color. She listened to me, and believed my +stories of the land where I once dwelt—with my king and my young +prince, who afterwards forgot me."</p> + +<p>A sob came from the throat of the man standing near. He buried his face +in his hands. A white-clad nurse came tiptoeing in, looked at her +patient, nodded reassuringly and went out again.</p> + +<p>"I knew you were a queen, Drusilla," said Suzanna, "because you were so +beautiful, and so haughty." She leaned forward till her young face was +very close to the old fading one. "And you told me something that day +about the chain that binds everybody in the world to everyone else.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> +I've never forgotten that. I've told lots of people about it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I remember."</p> + +<p>"And I told that story to the Eagle Man, and to Graham's father, and +he's going to have tents put up in his yard for some poor people who +have no homes, for your sake, Drusilla."</p> + +<p>The frail figure suddenly fell back. "<i>Drusilla!</i> Who calls me that?" +The pale lips trembled. "Many, many years have gone since I heard that +name."</p> + +<p>The man cried out: "Mother dear—<i>Mother dear!</i>"</p> + +<p>She turned her eyes upon him. The light of recognition slowly returned +to them. "My boy," she said gently. "Come, sit beside me. All three. The +little girl who loves me, and you and your child, my grandson."</p> + +<p>So they settled themselves, all at her knee. "Mother, dear, did you hear +what Suzanna said? Your story of the chain awakened me."</p> + +<p>"Awakened you, my boy? But that story and others I told you many years +ago, and you forgot."</p> + +<p>The tears, hard-wrung, started to his eyes. "But, mother," he said in a +low voice, "is it too late? Those truths I learned many years ago <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span>from +you—is it too late to use them now?" He let his head fall suddenly upon +her knee: "Oh, mother, mother, how blind are men; what false gods they +worship!"</p> + +<p>She did not answer. Graham, a great pity sprung in his heart for his +father, spoke: "Father's good, grandmother! He does lots of kind things +for people. And he's going to take care of many families whose homes +were burned."</p> + +<p>"In your name, mother, as Suzanna says," said the man, lifting his head. +"And many, many other righteous things in your name, my mother."</p> + +<p>Her face grew luminous, with a light lent from some far place. "My +boy—my little son—" she whispered.</p> + +<p>The <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'white clad'">white-clad</ins> nurse came in again, looked sharply at her patient. "I +think," she said softly, "you must all leave now."</p> + +<p>So they rose. But Suzanna, after saying farewell, turned again. The +nurse was arranging the bed. Drusilla sat, her eyes looking off into the +distance. Suzanna went swiftly back.</p> + +<p>"Is the land you're going to very beautiful, Drusilla?" she whispered.</p> + +<p>"Fairer than you may dream, little girl," Drusilla returned. And then: +"Kiss me, Suzanna, and call me Drusilla once more."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p> + +<p>Suzanna kissed the soft, wrinkled cheek. "Good-bye, Drusilla," she +breathed. "I love you with all my heart, and I'm coming to see you again +very soon."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> + +<h3>MR. BARTLETT SEES THE MACHINE</h3> + + +<p>But Suzanna did not go to see her friend Drusilla again. For within a +few days after the hurried night visit, Drusilla set off on her journey. +There was but one with her when she left, all aquiver to be gone, her +eyes set in the distance on visions hid from earthly eyes.</p> + +<p>Her boy was close beside her, his arms about her, his heart filled with +woe for all the years he had forgotten. And when he kissed her and +begged her forgiveness, she was all love and understanding for him, even +as when a small boy he had sought her forgiveness and her understanding.</p> + +<p>The tents were up now in the big Bartlett grounds. Tents with floors and +movable stoves. Children played about the grounds on the rare sunny day +that Drusilla went away.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett, returning from his mother's bedside, went hurriedly +through his grounds, and on upstairs to his own room. There, waiting for +him, was Graham. The boy knew at once the truth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Father," he cried, and put his arms about the tall figure.</p> + +<p>They stood so, the man finding comfort in the contact of his boy. And so +Mrs. Bartlett, returned temporarily from a journey, found them.</p> + +<p>She started back at sight of them thus together. They seemed in their +new intimacy to have shut her out, quite out of their lives. "I've been +looking for you, Graham," she began, and then caught her breath sharply +at the look the boy gave her; not a premeditated cold look, only one +that he might bestow upon a stranger.</p> + +<p>"Father has just come home," he said; "grandmother—"</p> + +<p>But he did not finish. He saw that his mother understood that Drusilla +had gone away. Mr. Bartlett spoke to his wife. "I heard this morning +that you had returned to stay for a day. I'm afraid the tents and the +children will still disfigure our grounds for some time."</p> + +<p>His bitterness made her wince. But she answered calmly. "Yes, I returned +while you were absent."</p> + +<p>"For a day, as I was told?"</p> + +<p>"My plans must change now of necessity—my trip to Italy—"</p> + +<p>"Why?" he asked. "Nothing that has hap<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span>pened need interfere with any of +your plans, your mode of living. My mother would not wish that."</p> + +<p>She broke forth then, the color surging up into her face. "Why are you +so unjust to me? Did I suggest that you neglect your mother? You could +not expect me to take your place."</p> + +<p>"No—" he spoke sadly. "No, I could not expect that. Believe me, please, +when I say that I put blame on no one but myself. Money—that has been +the main thing in life. Money, and more money. There was always need for +all I could make." His eyes swept her lovely gown; the costly cape +across her arm. Thought, much money, much time had gone into building +her perfect completeness. "No. A man cannot expect another, even a wife, +to fulfill his sacred obligations."</p> + +<p>Perhaps the thought came to her that a wife need not ask so much, ask so +demandingly that a man must yield his finest dreams, his every hour to +fulfill her wishes. The color deepened and deepened in her cheek. +Perhaps she remembered their first months together when in the grayest +days he saw color, because they belonged one to the other.</p> + +<p>They had both forgotten Graham. She looked at the boy now. He stood +regarding her with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span>that strange aloofness in his eyes, that sharp +question. She felt all at once very lonely.</p> + +<p>For Graham, she knew, was estranged from her! And now she knew that she +desired most of all his love in all its purity. Her social strivings, +her desire for leadership balanced against Graham's former worshipful, +chivalrous love for her, dwindled to a pitiful insignificance.</p> + +<p>And with the value of her child's love, she suddenly realized the older +mother's longings—the one who had just gone on. An old mother—in her +full years mourning for the child she had borne, nursed, and succored. +Grieving, that in his manhood he had gone from her; that he had +seemingly forgotten in his feverish striving after wealth the lessons +she had sought to teach him.</p> + +<p>Was the wife to blame for this? But some stern sense of justice derided +her efforts to exculpate herself. She remembered how she had held the +power to influence him in the early days of their marriage; he had +believed so wonderfully in the whiteness of her ideals. He was malleable +material in her fingers.</p> + +<p>But above and beyond his love she had put wealth and fine position. He +had given her both, but now before her stood her husband and son +estranged from her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span></p> + +<p>She moved away at last. With new awakening power of perception, she felt +she was stripped of everything of worth. When she was half-way down the +wide hall she heard a step behind her. She paused, waited, and in a +moment Graham was beside her.</p> + +<p>He put his hand in hers. "Mother," he said, quietly.</p> + +<p>Her eyes filled with the near tears. She clung to his hand as though he +would protect her against her own bitter thoughts.</p> + +<p>"Does your head ache?" he asked. There was solicitude in his voice, but +still that strange, dreadful aloofness, more dreadful because he was not +conscious of it.</p> + +<p>"No," she answered. She looked down at him and out of an impulse she +cried: "Do you still love me, Graham?"</p> + +<p>"I love you, mother," he answered gravely. But she knew then that there +would be work on her part before once again she stood to him his ideal.</p> + +<p>She had dwelt in the core of his heart; perhaps in time she could once +more move near to that sanctified place. The intimate human relation, +husband and wife, parent and child—she knew with pain and yearning that +all else—position, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>great wealth, worldly power—were vain beside the +joy of those relations in their purest.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Perhaps a week later Suzanna was washing the supper dishes, and Maizie +wiping them. Their mother was upstairs with Peter and the baby, Mr. +Procter in the attic. As Maizie finished the last dish, the door bell +rang.</p> + +<p>Suzanna ran to the foot of the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother, shall I answer?" she cried.</p> + +<p>"I wish you would," Mrs. Procter called down. "Peter has a stone bruise +and I'm using liniment."</p> + +<p>So Suzanna went to the front door. She opened it to Mr. Bartlett.</p> + +<p>"Good evening, Suzanna," he said in a friendly voice. "Is your father at +home?"</p> + +<p>"He's upstairs in the attic. Shall I take you to him?" asked Suzanna +very politely.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you'd better consult him first as to that, Suzanna. He may not +wish to be disturbed."</p> + +<p>"Well, I will. Won't you sit down in the parlor?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett, half smiling, followed the small figure into the room +designated. He looked about interestedly after Suzanna had gone. A +kerosene lamp set upon a center table sent an apologetic <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span>light over the +shabby furniture. Above the mantel with its velvet cover and statuette +of a crying baby, was a picture of Suzanna, a "crayon," Mr. Bartlett +amusingly surmised. The small face looked out with a distorted +artificial smile quite unknown to the face it sought to represent. Yet +Suzanna's aura was visible, Mr. Bartlett thought. That little girl who +so simply and lovingly had called his mother Drusilla because no one in +the world was left to do so! A fragrance straight from his heart made +the ugly crayon suddenly a thing of beauty, showing forth a child's +soul.</p> + +<p>Suzanna returned, panting a little. She had run upstairs and down again. +"Father wants you to go right up," she said. "And maybe when I've +finished the dishes I'll come back, too."</p> + +<p>So he followed her up the narrow stairs. Suzanna gravely told him that +every other step creaked, except if you put your foot carefully in the +middle. At the attic door she left him.</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter looked up as his visitor entered. "I'm glad to see you, Mr. +Bartlett," he said cordially. "It's not very light in here, but we can +see to talk. Sit down."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett took the proffered chair. He looked about the dim room and +could see in outline the machine.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span></p> + +<p>"David has told you something of my invention, I remember and its +object," said Mr. Procter.</p> + +<p>"Yes, David has told me," Mr. Bartlett replied. "You're attempting a +tremendously big thing, Mr. Procter. David told me about the colors and +your theory of their meaning."</p> + +<p>"Yes. Did David tell you, too, that my daughter Suzanna produced on the +plate of the machine purple and gold? In my book I had written down . . . +'Purple: high talent for writing.'"</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett hesitated a moment before replying.</p> + +<p>"But it hasn't been proven that Suzanna can write. You will have to wait +a few years for evidence."</p> + +<p>"True, still she is talented. I may dare say that even though I happen +to be her father. She possesses an insatiable curiosity concerning life, +the divine birthright of the artist, the creator."</p> + +<p>"Still I'm not convinced that such a machine as David drew for me is +possible," said Mr. Bartlett. "I can understand that if you place a +person in contact with an instrument and proceed to change his +circulation by arousing his emotions that chemical change might be +registered upon a sensitive plate. But how can a mere machine be so +miracu<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span>lous as to show forth by color or any other method one's +'meaning'? It's too big for my imagination, that's all. There are so +many parts that go to make up a human being, so many points in his favor +for a certain line of work, so many against it."</p> + +<p>Still the inventor did not speak. And so Mr. Bartlett continued: +"There's a man's state of health, his sympathies, his hereditary +tendencies; all to be considered."</p> + +<p>"Well, you see," Mr. Procter answered at last, "the elements you +enumerate are but results of evolution, of environment, of education, +and do not alter the purpose for which the man was born. And that +purpose, even though given no chance to work itself out, is so vital a +part of the man that it remains an undying flame going on into +eternity."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett did not answer.</p> + +<p>"Will you let me make a color test of you, Mr. Bartlett?" the inventor +asked at length.</p> + +<p>"Yes, though I am very skeptical."</p> + +<p>He seated himself before the machine. Mr. Procter let the helmet down +till it was just above the subject's head. "You see no part of the +instrument touches you," he said. "There's no opportunity to say that +chemical changes in the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>circulation are the cause of the color +produced. Now please watch the glass plate." Mr. Bartlett did as +directed. For some moments the plate remained clear, then rays of color +played upon it.</p> + +<p>"Green, a rare, soft green," said Mr. Procter. He went on slowly but +without hesitation. "The color of poetry. That color belongs in one who +lies on the grass and gazes at the sky—and dreams; dreams to waken +men's souls with the beauty of his music—a poet, a maker of songs, to +uplift, to keep man's eyes from the ground."</p> + +<p>The light faded, the little clicking sound ceased, and yet Mr. Bartlett +did not speak. If in his mind there dwelt the memory of an overstuffed +drawer with reams of paper covered with verses, he said nothing. His +face gave no evidence to the inventor of his thoughts.</p> + +<p>At last he roused himself, shrugged his shoulders. "My dear man," he +said, "did you ever hear of a poet at heart making a fortune as I have +done?"</p> + +<p>"It could be done," returned Mr. Procter sadly, "even by a poet."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett rose. "I did not aver," continued Mr. Procter, "that you +could only be a poet. I said that your real meaning was to give to the +world the rare visions which grew in your heart."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett gazed with some astonishment at the machine.</p> + +<p>"The day when Suzanna was born, as I stood looking down at her, the +thought came winging to me that she had come charged with a purpose +which she alone could fulfill. And so was planted the first seed in my +mind for the making of my machine."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett spoke again after a silence given to some pondering.</p> + +<p>"Still, Procter, have you thought how impractical the machine must prove +to be? The world is after all as it is. Suppose a man, a poor young man, +has a rare gift. He must eat to live; he may have to support others. How +is he going to develop that gift?"</p> + +<p>The inventor's face was suddenly filled with a fine light. He laid his +hand on Mr. Bartlett's arm. "There, sir, as I told John Massey, is where +the capitalist seeking to invest his money in the highest way finds his +great chance. He helps that young man to live in comfort while he is +developing his talent."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Mr. Bartlett, "it's all very interesting, and if you will +let me, I'll do all I can to help you. We can talk of that at some other +time." He paused, and then said: "I hear John<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> Massey has bought out the +hardware store here. I can't understand his object, but you may lose +your position. Have you thought of what you could do in that event?"</p> + +<p>"No, I haven't."</p> + +<p>"I came primarily to see your machine," Mr. Bartlett continued, "but I +had another object too. You know I have had tents put up in my yard for +those who were made homeless by the fire. And now I find it necessary to +go away in order to attend to some large interests. Can I make you my +steward over these people—at a salary, while I am away?</p> + +<p>"There will be enough for you to do," continued Mr. Bartlett. "My wife +is away; my boy Graham will soon be in the city with his tutor. I shall +be back here before the severe weather sets in and see that these people +in some way are comfortably housed and provided for; but in the meantime +I want you."</p> + +<p>"I'll be glad to do all I can," said Mr. Procter at last; then +fervently, "and thank you."</p> + +<p>Someone knocked softly, and Suzanna entered. "This special letter came +for you, daddy," she said. "Mother said I might bring it up to you."</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter took the letter, looked curiously at it before tearing it +open. He glanced through its <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span>contents, held it a second while he looked +away then he went through it again. It ran:</p> + + +<div class="blockquot">Dear Procter:<br /> + + +<p>You've known for some time that Job Doane is +running the hardware shop in my interest. I bought +the place for a future purpose, never mind that +purpose, it isn't of interest to you or anyone in +Anchorville. I am confined to my room with an +attack of rheumatism, so I can't see you to talk +over a scheme which I have in mind. I will say +that I have concluded all arrangements to rebuild +homes for the men and their families who were +burned out some time ago, and I want you to act as +my agent. No sentiment in building these +up-to-date houses, let me assure you. Only perhaps +I've given some thought to Suzanna's little wrist +chain. Come to me within a day or two and we'll +talk over salary, and other things of interest to +you. </p> + +<div class='right'> +<span style="margin-right: 5em;">Yours,</span><br /> +John Massey.<br /> +</div></div> + +<p>Suzanna plunged into the ensuing quiet. "Is there any answer, daddy?" +she asked.</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter looked at his small daughter through a mist, then at Mr. +Bartlett still standing regarding him somewhat curiously. "No, no +answer," he said at last, "but I want to see your mother—right away."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BOOK_III" id="BOOK_III"></a>BOOK III</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> + +<h3>HAPPY DAYS</h3> + + +<p>Summer once again, with the flowers abloom and all the richness of the +season scattered lavishly about. The Procter house seemed more colorful +too, perhaps because it had acquired within some late months a new coat +of paint.</p> + +<p>Once inside if you were familiar enough to go upstairs, you could not +find the steps which had been wont to creak. And peeping into the parlor +you could see that some pretty new furniture had taken the place of the +shaky old lounge and chairs; one good marine picture hung between the +windows and a new rug lay upon the hardwood floor.</p> + +<p>Two years had gone since the fire, two years bringing some changes. +Suzanna had shot up. She was a tall, slim girl now, though with the same +dark, questioning eyes. She stood one Saturday morning in the kitchen +making a cake, yes, actually stirring the mixture all by herself in the +brown earthen vessel.</p> + +<p>Her mother, hovering near, was offering comment and a few directions. +Between times she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>attended to the "baby," a baby no longer since he was +nearly four years old. Maizie, coming in from the yard with Peter behind +her, stopped short at sight of Suzanna's work.</p> + +<p>"When can I make a cake, mother?" she asked. Her small face was as +plump, as childlike as ever. The same sweetness of expression was hers, +the same admiration in her eyes for her "big" sister.</p> + +<p>"When you're as old as Suzanna, I guess, Maizie," Mrs. Procter answered. +"What did Mrs. Reynolds say?"</p> + +<p>Peter answered before Maizie could speak, thereby gaining a reproving +look from her. "She's coming over to see you, mother. She says she wants +to ask you something, anyway." Peter went to the door, gave a sharp +whistle, a sharper direction and returned. "Jerry's out there. Graham +Bartlett's opened up his house, and David's brought my dog back."</p> + +<p>Still Peter's dog, you see. "Oh, I want to see Jerry, may he come in, +mother?" Suzanna asked.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter nodded. She was now engaged in giving the four-year-old his +ten o'clock luncheon of bread and milk. "But don't let him get into +anything, Peter," she admonished.</p> + +<p>Peter promised, with a sigh in his heart for the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span>tenacious prejudices +of woman. Jerry at a word entered the kitchen door. He came in slowly, +paused and regarded Mrs. Procter searchingly. He was a handsome animal +now. His coat was well brushed, his hair long and glossy.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Mrs. Procter, "you've been taught good manners, Jerry."</p> + +<p>He wagged his tail vigorously; then further to show himself off, he sat +down and held out a beguiling paw to Mrs. Procter. Maizie cried out in +delight.</p> + +<p>"Oh, can't we keep him now, mother? Isn't he cunning?"</p> + +<p>Peter turned quickly upon his sister. "Would that be fair?" he sternly +asked. His voice deepened suddenly. "You wouldn't, any one of you, even +look at him when he was poor and dirty and <i>afraid</i>. And now after David +has loved him and washed him and taught him how to behave, you want to +keep him. Come along, Jerry."</p> + +<p>Having thus delivered himself, Peter, with dignity, stalked from out the +kitchen. He left an eloquent silence behind him. "Should we have kept +the dog when he was dirty and lonely, mother?" asked Maizie, +interestedly.</p> + +<p>"Why, I don't think so, Maizie," Mrs. Procter answered slowly. "Really, +you remember I'd <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span>had so much trouble that summer with stray dogs of +Peter's that my patience was at an end."</p> + +<p>Maizie was forming another question when she was interrupted by a hearty +knock at the door.</p> + +<p>"Come in," Suzanna cried. She was testing the oven as her mother had +taught her and she turned a very important, if badly flushed, face to +the visitor.</p> + +<p>"I'm baking a chocolate cake, Mrs. Reynolds," she announced.</p> + +<p>"Fine, Suzanna," cried Mrs. Reynolds heartily. She advanced to the +middle of the kitchen. Two beautiful children both with large dark eyes +and dark curls, exquisitely clean, followed her.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds was a little plumper, and with a softness in her eyes +which seemed of recent growth. She lifted the smaller child, the girl, +upon a kitchen chair, watched the boy in his pilgrimage after the +darting cat, and began:</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to help with the christening robe for the Massey grandson, +Mrs. Procter," she said; "and I think 'tis a fine idea—sort of +community dress made by those who liked Miss Massey."</p> + +<p>"I thought you'd like the idea, Mrs. Reynolds," said Mrs. Procter. +"Here, take this chair."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds sat down. "The fine boy you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span>have there," she said, +indicating the "baby," "he's a bit like Suzanna."</p> + +<p>"We all think he's very much like his eldest sister," said Mrs. Procter. +She raised the small boy and held him close for a moment. When she put +him down, he wandered off toward the popular cat.</p> + +<p>"I wanted to ask you, Mrs. Procter," said Mrs. Reynolds, "what material +you think will make up best for a Sunday dress for Margaret here." She +paused, smiled, and flashing a mischievous glance at Suzanna, finished, +"It'll have to have lace, says Margaret, and I suppose she'll want the +goods cut away from underneath."</p> + +<p>Suzanna, perched near the oven door watching the precious cake, turned +to look at Mrs. Reynolds. A flame lit within her eyes; she had never +forgotten the anguish engendered by her mother's refusal to cut away the +goods from under the pink dress; then the expression softened. Was it +not on that occasion, too, she had learned the dearness of that same +mother?</p> + +<p>"There, now," said Mrs. Reynolds, "I shouldn't have teased you, +Suzanna." Her eyes grew tender. "I'd never have thought seriously of +adopting my little children here, dear lamb, if you hadn't first adopted +yourself out to me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></p> + +<p>Suzanna's face grew luminous. "Oh, do you mean that, Mrs. Reynolds?" she +cried.</p> + +<p>"I do just that, every word, Dear Heart. Why, the night I put you to bed +and you called me 'mother' I shall never forget, never. And then the +truths you spoke to Reynolds!"</p> + +<p>"He's happy now, isn't he?" asked Mrs. Procter.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Reynolds paused impressively before answering: "Do you know," she +said at length, "he forgets often to remember that the children are not +his very own. The little Margaret there creeps into his lap nights, +calls him daddy, and melts the heart of him. And the boy with his +quaintness, follows him about the house on Saturdays, and Reynolds says +often enough: 'He'll be a great man, this chap, Peggy. He says some of +the things I thought when I was his age.' He's taken to calling me Peggy +since the children came to make a distinction, the little girl bearing +my name, you see."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter nodded. Margaret stirred uneasily on her chair. "Mother," +she asked, "I want to hold the Pussy, too. I'll keep my apron clean."</p> + +<p>"And that you shall, my Sweet," said Mrs. Reynolds, her face flushing at +the title as though <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span>it would never grow old to her; "come then, go to +the cat, my pretty lass."</p> + +<p>Suzanna removed her cake from the oven. It was a beautiful object, and +Suzanna regarded it with pride. She took off her apron, looked around +the kitchen and then turning to her mother, put her request.</p> + +<p>"Mother," she said, "I'd like to go to the big house and see the Eagle +Man and Miss Massey."</p> + +<p>"Saturday morning?" asked Mrs. Procter, dubiously. "Well, I suppose that +it won't really matter."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to see Daphne," Maizie announced.</p> + +<p>"Remember to be at home by noon," said Mrs. Procter. "Father may be here +for luncheon."</p> + +<p>"I'll remember, mother," said Suzanna. She kissed her mother, said +good-bye to Mrs. Reynolds and started happily away. She reached the +house at the top of the hill in a short time. The same uniformed man as +of old gave her immediate admittance.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Massey is in the library," he said, evincing no surprise at +Suzanna's unconventional appearance.</p> + +<p>In the doorway of the library Suzanna hesitated a moment, for the sound +of voices came to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span>her. Then she went forward, and there, standing near +the white marble mantelpiece was the Eagle Man, near him Suzanna's +father.</p> + +<p>"Daddy," Suzanna cried, and ran to him.</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter turned. His face, slightly older than when he was an +employee of Job Doane of the hardware shop, was still that of the +idealist, the lover of men. Yet there was a something added. Perhaps his +well-fitting clothes gave him the new air of efficiency, of directness.</p> + +<p>"I didn't know you'd be here with the Eagle Man, daddy," Suzanna cried.</p> + +<p>Her father smiled at her. The Eagle Man spoke. "Your father is my +right-hand man, remember, little girl," he answered. He brought out the +sentence clearly with no strain of embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"Right-hand man," Suzanna repeated thoughtfully. "I don't quite know +what that means."</p> + +<p>"Well, it means that your father looks after my interests in a very +capable way," old John Massey returned. "Don't you remember how the new +homes went up under his direction for my employees?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I remember," said Suzanna, "those beautiful new, brick houses, and +the clean yards for the babies to play in."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And now your father is in my mill as my superintendent, looking after +the men." He paused. "How would you describe your way with them, Mr. +Procter?"</p> + +<p>"Looking after them humanly, perhaps," put in Mr. Procter simply.</p> + +<p>"All right, we'll let it go just that way. In any event if you're making +them happier by shifting them about a bit, trying to fit them by natural +adaptability to their jobs and so increasing efficiency, I am satisfied +with any way you put it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter stood a little ill at ease. It was so very rare for old John +Massey to so graciously express himself, almost unheard of.</p> + +<p>"You see," said the Eagle Man, softly, "I'm using Suzanna as a mask; I'm +telling her what I couldn't say to your face, Richard Procter." He +stretched out his hand and Richard Procter let his own fall into it. The +two men stood thus bound in a spirit of perfect friendship.</p> + +<p>Suzanna went on upstairs. She found "Miss Massey" in a large room with +pink curtains at the windows, pink rugs on the floor and even pink +chairs and sofas. Like a sea shell, Suzanna thought. The baby lay in a +beautiful rose-tinted crib drawn near the window, and above the crib the +new mother bent.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span></p> + +<p>She turned when Suzanna knocked softly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Suzanna," she cried at once, a glad note in her voice. She ran +across the room and enfolded the little visitor close within her arms.</p> + +<p>"And you've come back with a baby," Suzanna cried, after a time.</p> + +<p>"Yes, come and see him. He's named after my father."</p> + +<p>Suzanna went to the cradle and looked down. "He's a nice fat baby," she +admitted. She really didn't think that he was pretty, but that she did +not say.</p> + +<p>"And don't you love Saturday nights when it rains and you're safe +indoors with Robert and the baby?" asked Suzanna, interestedly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear girl, I do, I do. What a picture you painted, and how I've +tried to make it true."</p> + +<p>"And have you a cross man with buttons to jump at your bidding?" Suzanna +pursued.</p> + +<p>"No, dear; we have a little home with a garden, where in the summer all +the old-fashioned flowers bloom. I do most of my own work, and care +altogether for my baby. And I'm happier than ever before in my life. And +my father is no longer angry with me. He wrote asking me to pay him a +visit after he knew he had a grandson named for him."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span></p> + +<p>She bent above her baby for a moment, then turned her shining face to +Suzanna. "And now, tell me about yourself, Suzanna, and your loved +ones."</p> + +<p>Suzanna paused to think. "Well, you know father doesn't weigh out nails +any more; he's the Eagle Man's right-hand man." She remembered the +phrase and brought it out roundly. "And father helped build all those +nice new homes for the people who work in the Massey Steel Mills.</p> + +<p>"My father's a great man," finished Suzanna, simply as always when +stating this incontrovertible fact. "And his Machine's nearly ready now +for the world to know about it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, oh, Suzanna! And then?"</p> + +<p>"And then many, many people are going to be happy ever after because my +father thought of that machine and worked on it for years and years."</p> + +<p>After a moment Suzanna continued: "And my dear, dear Drusilla set off on +a far journey and didn't come back. And Graham cried, and went away for +a long time, and Bartlett Villa was closed. But they've come back now +and it's open again. And David and Daphne are quite well, thank you. And +Mrs. Reynolds has two little children of her own."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm so glad," said Robert's wife. "You're a very happy little girl, +then, aren't you, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, very happy," said Suzanna. "I love so many people, you see. And I +have a sister, Maizie, who was once smiled upon by a very great Man." +Her listener was puzzled, but she asked no questions. It didn't seem to +her the right moment to ask an explanation. Some day she would. But +Suzanna told the story of Maizie's rare selection, dwelling upon it with +a degree of wondrous awe, for she believed the story now. It stood so +clear to her, so real, that it had a fine influence upon her inner life. +Often when swift anger surged through her, anger directed against the +little sister, she brought to bear a strong control, as she remembered +Maizie's great awakening.</p> + +<p>She returned to her surroundings in a moment. "I must be going, Miss +Massey. I wish you'd come to see us. We've got a lovely new rug in the +front room and mother has two new dresses for herself. She is awfully +pretty in them."</p> + +<p>"I certainly shall come to visit you," Miss Massey promised, kissing the +little girl.</p> + +<p>Suzanna ran downstairs. She did not stop at the library, fearing she +would reach home late for luncheon.</p> + +<p>But she was just in time to set the table. Her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span>father had not yet +arrived. Mother, of course, was there and with an eager face full of +news, delightful news, Suzanna guessed.</p> + +<p>"Suzanna, dear, what do you think? Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett was here +during your absence."</p> + +<p>"To visit us, mother? Oh, tell me all about it," Suzanna cried.</p> + +<p>"She wants to take you and Maizie and Peter to the seashore for a whole +month. There, Suzanna! What do you think of that?"</p> + +<p>Suzanna stood absolutely still. Then exclaimed: "To the seashore, +mother! Why—I don't think I can stand the joy of it. Oh, mother, I'm +too happy!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> + +<h3>TO THE SEASHORE</h3> + + +<p>Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett sat in her own perfectly appointed room one +morning in late June. She sat quietly, hands folded. She could hear +Graham, her son, downstairs beneath her window talking to David and +Daphne. She caught disconnected words. They floated to her broken like +meaningless flakes of snow.</p> + +<p>She had just returned from her call on Mrs. Procter, that impulsive call +made on the wings of an impulsive, quixotic thought. There still +remained sharp in her memory the picture of the little home; the busy +mother, washing out small woolen garments. She had gone unconsciously +prepared to patronize and had returned completely shorn of her feeling +of superiority. In truth, a little envy for that sweet-faced mother was +in her heart.</p> + +<p>From the time when her husband's mother died, she had not been happy. +Pursuits that hitherto had satisfied her altogether lost their power. +New values were slowly born in her. Still pos<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span>sessing a degree of +sensibility not killed by her false life, she had been by the attitude +of her husband and her son, able to see herself clearly. Both had been +dependent upon her in a measure for their happiness, and she had failed +them. Their reaction had hurt her bitterly.</p> + +<p>She had tried in the past two years to make amends, but some hurts heal +slowly. Perhaps it was hard for her husband and son to realize that she +was trying to make amends. In any event, each went his separate way, a +household divided. Early in the morning had come the thought of the +seashore and she had wasted no time in seeking the little home. And now +its atmosphere filled her mind.</p> + +<p>She heard Daphne's young voice, and a sudden rare pity filled her for +the motherless child, her gardener's daughter. She would ask Daphne, +too.</p> + +<p>She went to seek David, and as she came upon him spading a flower bed, +the two children with him, a station carriage stopped before the big +iron gates and her husband alighted. He had been away on one of his long +trips and was now returning home, unheralded, unexpected.</p> + +<p>He came quickly down the path and stopped short at sight of his wife. "I +did not think to find you here," he said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span></p> + +<p>She did not answer at once. He looked closer at her. "You look a bit +fagged," he said, uncertainly. Perhaps he felt a softer appeal about her +which took him back to their young days together.</p> + +<p>"I am a little tired," she said.</p> + +<p>"I thought you intended to spend the summer in the East," he went on.</p> + +<p>"Strangely, Bartlett Villa held more fascination for me than any other +place. I returned here a week ago," she hesitated before continuing. "I +obeyed a whim this morning and invited the Procter children to accompany +Graham and me to the seashore to spend a month."</p> + +<p>He looked at her incredulously. "I—I don't understand," he said.</p> + +<p>She returned his gaze, then suddenly she turned from him and hastened +back to the house. Many emotions bit at her, among them anger with her +husband for his difficulty in believing she had done something which +would mean, some trouble to her; which in the days just behind she would +have designated as impossible, or "boring."</p> + +<p>After a moment he followed her and overtook her as she reached the small +side room where Suzanna had once sat telling of the poor people who had +been burned out of their homes. She <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span>knew he was near her, but she gave +no heed. Instead she flung herself down in a near chair and buried her +face in her hands.</p> + +<p>He stood, looking down at her in silence. At last he let his hand fall +gently on her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Ina," he said, softly.</p> + +<p>She looked up at him.</p> + +<p>"Dear," he went on, "have you and I just been playing at life?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, it seems so," she cried. "I know I am unhappy, groping." She stood +up and put out her hands to him. He took them, drew her close to him. +"Ina," he said, "let me go with you and the children to the seashore. +Let's try to know one another better."</p> + +<p>A radiance came upon her, filling her eyes. She did not speak, only she +held very fast to his hand, as though in the clasp she found an anchor.</p> + +<p>There came the glorious summer day marked for the journey to the +seashore. Suzanna, Maizie, and Peter waited for the Bartlett carriage +which was to convey them to the depot. At last they heard it coming. At +last it stood before the gate, and Daphne put her small head out of the +carriage window. Then Graham opened the door and sprang to the ground. +He said a word to David who was driving, and ran up the path.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span></p> + +<p>Maizie began to dance, Peter to whistle. But Suzanna stood quite still, +the glow of anticipation falling from her face.</p> + +<p>"Are you quite ready, Suzanna?" asked Mrs. Procter.</p> + +<p>At the words Suzanna's control broke. With a little cry she ran into her +mother's arms. "Oh, mother, mother," she sobbed, "I can't go away, so +far away and leave you—a whole month!"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter held the small figure close. Her own eyes were wet, but she +spoke calmly:</p> + +<p>"Why, little girl, mother will be here waiting for your return, and +longing to hear all about your good time. Come, dry your eyes and think +how happy you're going to be."</p> + +<p>"But I know you'll be lonesome, mother, and so shall I be for you."</p> + +<p>"But when you grow lonesome," Mrs. Procter whispered, "just think how +lovely it will be to return home; and remember that father's machine +will be given its great test before you come back. Mr. Bartlett and Mr. +Massey have made all arrangements."</p> + +<p>Suzanna's face brightened; the clouds dispelled themselves, so she was +able to greet Graham with much of her old smile.</p> + +<p>"All ready?" he cried as he ran up the steps.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span> "Father and mother and a +maid are following in another carriage. Nancy is with us."</p> + +<p>He was quite plainly excited by some thought deeper than the mere fact +of going to the seashore. Suzanna's companionship was promised for long +days to come; he knew her eye for beauty hidden from others; her quaint +speech. And then, too, a new relationship had come to pass between +himself and his mother. Between them an understanding that made him +glow.</p> + +<p>It seemed but a moment before they were all together in the train. +Suzanna settled herself to look out of the window at the passing +landscape, so exhilaratingly new to her. Maizie sat beside her, Peter +across the aisle with Graham. Little Daphne was cuddled close to Mrs. +Bartlett. Mr. Bartlett was in the dining-car.</p> + +<p>Maizie whispered to her sister: "We've come to the future now, haven't +we, Suzanna?"</p> + +<p>"Why, you can't ever come to the future," returned Suzanna.</p> + +<p>Maizie puzzled a moment. "But don't you remember, mother said we might +travel on a train some time in the future? So now we're doing it, why +haven't we come to the future?"</p> + +<p>"Because you never can come to the future," Suzanna repeated. She leaned +forward and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span>spoke to Mrs. Bartlett. "When you're living a day it's the +present, isn't it, Mrs. Bartlett?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bartlett looked long at the two children. "Maizie thinks the future +an occasion, I think," she said, and then, because lucid explanation was +beyond her, she continued: "You know we have a big cottage at the +seashore, and the cottage is close to the water."</p> + +<p>Maizie it was who at last broke the thrilling silence: "Where there's an +ocean? And where you can go wading and swimming?" she cried.</p> + +<p>"And will there be sand?" asked Suzanna, hanging upon the answer +breathlessly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, there's a wide yellow beach running into the ocean where you can +dig and build castles all day," said Mrs. Bartlett.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my cup is full and runneth over," said Suzanna solemnly.</p> + +<p>The train swept on through small towns and the children's delight and +amazement increased. And when at noon the climax came, and they all went +forward into the dining-car, they were one and all silent. No words +great enough were in their vocabulary to express this moment.</p> + +<p>Said Mr. Bartlett when they were all seated: "Now, children, you may +order just exactly what you'd like. You first, Suzanna."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well," she said, without hesitation, "I should like some golden brown +toast that isn't burned, with lots of butter on it, and a cup of cocoa +with a marshmallow floating on top, and at the very last, a dish of +striped ice cream with a cherry right in the middle."</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett wrote the order rapidly on a card. Each of the children +spoke out his deepest, perhaps his long-cherished desire. Some of the +dishes were secretly and mercifully modified by Mrs. Bartlett, who sat +in enjoyment of the scene.</p> + +<p>"It's like a dream, Mrs. Bartlett," said Suzanna when, dinner finished, +they were all back once more in the parlor car. "You don't think we'll +wake up, do you?"</p> + +<p>"No, I think not; you'll simply get wider and wider awake."</p> + +<p>But, as the hours crept on and as she watched the flying landscape, the +reaction to all her excitement came and a haze fell over everything, and +she slept, to awaken some time later, full of contrition.</p> + +<p>She spoke anxiously to Mrs. Bartlett: "Oh, I appreciated it all, Mrs. +Bartlett, but my eyes just closed down of themselves," she said.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bartlett smiled. "It's a long journey," she said, "but we'll soon +see the end of it."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span></p> + +<p>At nine o'clock the train stopped for the first time since dark had +fallen. "Here we are," cried Mr. Bartlett. And in a few moments they +were all standing on the platform of a little railroad station waiting +while carriages were being secured to take them for the night to a hotel +nestling on the top of a tall hill.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> + +<h3>THE SEASHORE</h3> + + +<p>Morning came—a rather misty morning that promised better as the day +advanced. Suzanna, sleeping with Maizie in a small room on the second +floor of the hotel, woke, gazed about her unfamiliar surroundings, +sprang out of bed, and in her bare feet ran to the window. There before +her was a magnificent group of mountains, wooded with majestic trees +whose tops seemed to touch the sky. Beneath the mountains, just at their +feet, a river ran, the sun dancing on its breast. Suzanna held her +breath in sheer awe; she could not move even to call Maizie. She felt as +though something great out there in the mountains called to her spirit +and though she wished to answer she could not do so.</p> + +<p>The tapestry spread below the mountains of water and green slopes and +velvet meadows sun-kissed too, called to her; the artist in her was +keenly, deeply responsive to the call, still she could not answer, only +stand and gaze and gaze, and drink in the beauty that stretched before +her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then old Nancy came with hurrying words, waking Maizie. "We can stay in +this town but two hours before our train is due," she said. "So you must +dress at once, Suzanna."</p> + +<p>So Suzanna dressed in silence, answering none of Maizie's chatter, as +though she had been in a far, unexplored country and had returned +steeped in the mysteries of that distant land.</p> + +<p>Her silence still lay upon her when after breakfast they all set out for +a walk around the historic old town. There were babies, happy, dirty +babies, playing about doorsteps of one-storied plaster houses, or +toddling about the cobble-stoned roads.</p> + +<p>The streets were narrow and steep, the roads wide with moss edged in +between the wide cracks. Suzanna kept her eyes down; she would not look +up at the mountains, and finally Mr. Bartlett, noticing her silence, +asked: "Do you like it here, Suzanna?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said. "But I can't look at the mountains. They take my breath +away and make me stand still inside. Maybe some day I'll be able to look +straight at them, but not now, and some day when I'm a woman I'm going +to come back here and make a poem and set it to a wonderful painting."</p> + +<p>He smiled at the way she put it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And I," said Maizie, "am going to come back and take care of some of +those poor little babies that play alone out on the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'cobble stones'">cobble-stones</ins>."</p> + +<p>"We'll see," said Mr. Bartlett. "Time alone can tell what you two little +girls will do."</p> + +<p>Returning to the hotel they found vehicles awaiting them. And shortly +they were again on a train, speeding away.</p> + +<p>Three hours, and they were at their destination. A short ride in an +electric car, a shorter walk down a tree-lined street, and they were at +the "cottage."</p> + +<p>"A cottage," cried Suzanna, "why it's a big house!"</p> + +<p>"Everything is called a cottage down here," said Mrs. Bartlett.</p> + +<p>Mr. Bartlett used the brass knocker and its echo reverberated down the +street. An elderly Scotch woman, Bessie, who had been long with Mrs. +Bartlett's family, met them in the hall, her pleasant face alight with +smiles. She said now:</p> + +<p>"Everything is ready, and the trunks, I suppose, will be here within a +short time."</p> + +<p>"What's that sound?" Suzanna asked.</p> + +<p>"That's the ocean booming," said Mrs. Bartlett. "Now let's go upstairs +and prepare ourselves for luncheon. Nancy will show you children your +different rooms."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span></p> + +<p>So upstairs they went, Nancy in the lead. She threw open the door of the +bedrooms. Suzanna and Maizie were given one from whose windows the ocean +could be seen. Peter had a room all to himself, a small one with a cot +which was much to his liking. "It's like camping out," he made himself +believe. Graham occupied one next door. Little Daphne was with Mrs. +Bartlett.</p> + +<p>"There's two closets," cried Maizie, as she went on a tour of +investigation. "One for your clothes and one for mine. Sometimes, +Suzanna," she said, "I can hardly believe it all yet."</p> + +<p>"That's the way I feel," said Suzanna. Nancy appeared at the door +bearing snowy towels which she gave to the children. "Here, children," +she said, "the bath room is at the end of the hall, and you must hurry."</p> + +<p>So Suzanna and Maizie hurried and they were the first downstairs. The +house was much more simply furnished, of course, than the big one in +Anchorville, but as the children went about they found many interesting +things. In one long, narrow room, the length of the first floor, was a +fireplace taking up one entire end, and built of irregular stones, +giving a charming effect. There were big easy chairs and sofas; tables +heaped with magazines and books. On the walls were color <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span>pictures +suspended by long, dim-worn chains—ocean scenes, a ship at sea, and +over the piano, fifty years old as they discovered later, hung several +faded miniatures of ladies of a long past age. Most interesting of all +to Suzanna was an album she found in an old cabinet, an album that as +you looked through it at ladies with voluminous skirts, at men with wing +collars, and little girls with white pantalettes, a hidden music box +tinkled forth dainty airs from a long-forgotten operetta.</p> + +<p>In another room on the opposite side, which was entered by mounting +three steps, was a large table covered with green felt and with nets +stretched across it, and little balls and paddles in corner pockets, and +Mr. Bartlett, entering at the moment, the children learned that many +happy games were played on this big table.</p> + +<p>Later, out of this room, the children stepped upon a wide porch, and +here there burst upon them a view of the ocean.</p> + +<p>"You see," said Mr. Bartlett, "that those of us who go into the water +may dress in bathing suits here, then put on long cloaks and run down to +the beach. Then when we return, we step under a shower arrangement over +there near that little house. . . ."</p> + +<p>"Please, Mr. Bartlett," begged Suzanna,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span> "don't tell us any more now. I +don't think I can stand any more joy for today."</p> + +<p>"Well, then," Mr. Bartlett smiled, "let's start away for our luncheon. +We simply live in this house and take our meals at the hotel."</p> + +<p>And at this moment the rest of the family appearing, they all started +away. A short walk brought them to the hotel where all was life and +light and excitement. Children played on the wide piazzas, young girls +walked about chatting merrily, and mothers and fathers sat in easy +chairs reading or pleasantly regarding the children.</p> + +<p>In the dining-room a large table had been previously ordered reserved +for the Bartlett family.</p> + +<p>"We'll have," said Mr. Bartlett, when they were all seated, speaking to +the interested waiter, "just exactly what you think we'd like, John."</p> + +<p>John, who knew Mr. Bartlett well, smiled in fatherly fashion and +disappeared. He returned shortly bearing a tray filled with just those +things that children most love. There was cream soup, and salted +crackers, big pitchers of milk, little hot biscuits, fresh honey, and +broiled ham—pink and very delicious as was soon discovered. Then there +was sweet fruit pudding with whipped cream and, of course, ice cream.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Will John always know what we like?" asked Suzanna as the meal +progressed.</p> + +<p>"Well, we'll change about," said Mrs. Bartlett, who looked as though she +were enjoying every moment. "Sometimes when we know particularly what +we'd like, we'll give our order, other times when we want to be +surprised we'll let John serve us what he thinks we'd enjoy. Don't you +think that way will be nice?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, that will be very interesting," said Suzanna; then added, "Does the +water make that sound all the time?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it's always restless."</p> + +<p>"Well, it seems as though it were asking for something," said Suzanna, +"a kind of sad asking."</p> + +<p>"Now," said Mr. Bartlett, leaning across and speaking softly to her, +"suppose, Suzanna, you think for a moment that it's a happy sound and +see how almost at once it becomes a happy sound."</p> + +<p>Suzanna listened intently. Then her face brightened. "Why, it is a happy +murmuring," she cried. "Just as though it had to sing and sing all day +long."</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said Mr. Bartlett.</p> + +<p>"Well, then," said Suzanna, quickly drawing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span>the deduction, "it's really +just in me to make it say happy things or sad things."</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said Mr. Bartlett again, and then they all rose and went back +to the cottage.</p> + +<p>Since the trunks which contained the beach outfits did not arrive till +late that afternoon, the children did not go down to the sands till the +next morning. Then with joyous hearts and eager feet, they set off, +Suzanna, Maizie, Peter, Graham, and Daphne; Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett +following more slowly.</p> + +<p>A bath house reserved for their use stood, door wide open. They entered, +discarded their coats and immediately appeared again clad in their +pretty bathing suits for the water.</p> + +<p>But when they reached the sands, already alive with gay children who +were building houses or running gaily about, and with happy shrieks +wading into the water, the Procter children stood awed, unable to speak, +so many emotions beat within them.</p> + +<p>Maizie was the first to recover her power of speech. "There's a girl +down there with a shovel and pail like mine," she said.</p> + +<p>And that broke the spell. Peter and Graham walked bravely out into the +water, finally reaching their necks as they went farther and far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span>ther +into the ocean. But the little girls contented themselves by simply +wetting their feet and with every wave dashing up to them, leaping back +with glad little cries. As the morning advanced, they returned to the +older group and sat on the sand.</p> + +<p>On the sixth day of their stay all the children were trying bravely to +swim, clinging it must be confessed rather desperately to Mr. Bartlett +and the beach man, secured to help them; but when he procured for them +large water wings, they soon struck out for themselves. Peter really +learned to swim before either of his sisters, and one morning he went +out as far as the end of a quarter-mile pier.</p> + +<p>They all grew rosy and strong, out in the fine air nearly every moment +as they were. Some afternoons they went fishing, and, with a strange +reversal of type, Suzanna was the patient one, Maizie the impatient. +Suzanna would sit in the boat next to Mr. Bartlett, holding her line, +and breathlessly wait for hours if need be, statue-like, till she felt +the thrilling nibble. Maizie would grow tired immediately, and to +Peter's disgust, she would wriggle her feet or move restlessly about, +quite spoiling for him the day's outing. Maizie at last begged to be let +off from the fishing expeditions.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'd rather just lie in the sand and paddle in the water, or watch the +big white ships," she said.</p> + +<p>"You're to do exactly as you please," said Mr. Bartlett, and so they +did, each and every one.</p> + +<p>Many hours they all spent on one of the large piers running out a great +distance into the ocean, where always there were gaiety and music, and +here one afternoon Suzanna, Peter, Graham, and Mr. Bartlett, all seated +at the end of the pier saw a huge shark darting about the water. The few +daring swimmers in his vicinity quickly moved away.</p> + +<p>"A real shark," cried Suzanna. "When I go to bed tonight I'll just think +I dreamed it."</p> + +<p>Said Mr. Bartlett: "Suppose, Suzanna, I buy you a book filled with blank +pages, and having a little padlock with a small key, for your very own, +so that every night you may write the happenings of the day and the +impressions made upon you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'd like to do that," cried Suzanna, her eyes shining, "and then +surely I won't forget any single little thing to tell daddy and mother."</p> + +<p>"I'll write for the book," Mr. Bartlett promised, "when we return to the +cottage."</p> + +<p>After a time they left the pier and walked down the street, running +along with the sands. The street was lined with little stores of all +kinds; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span>one where fresh fish were sold, another where French fried +potatoes and vinegar were offered to a hungry multitude; a place in +which handmade laces were made and sold. A florist booth kept by a +dark-faced Greek was neighbor to a shop built with turrets like a +castle. Here a happy-faced Italian women exhibited trays of uncut +stones, semi-precious ones, explained Mr. Bartlett, and strings of +beads, coral, pearl, flat turquoise, topaz, and amethysts. There were +bits of old porcelain, crystal cups, and oriental embroideries, and +little carved gods on ebony pedestals. The place reminded Suzanna of +Drusilla's historic old pawn shop and she stood entranced.</p> + +<p>Soon they were at the place of Graham and Peter's delight, a shooting +gallery, where if one were very skillful he might, with a massive +looking gun, hit a small moving black ball and hear a bell ring. Mr. +Bartlett hit the ball today three times out of four, Graham once out of +five, but Peter, manfully lifting the large gun and scanning its barrel, +left a scar on the target four inches to the left of the little swinging +ball. This occurred after eight trials.</p> + +<p>"Well, there's another day, Peter," said Mr. Bartlett, as they moved +away.</p> + +<p>"And Mr. Bartlett practiced a long time, you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span>must remember, Peter," +said Suzanna, seeing the little fellow's downcast expression.</p> + +<p>"Do you think before we go back to the city," asked the small boy, "that +I'll be able to make the bell ring so I can tell daddy?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Mr. Bartlett, encouragingly. "We'll come over here and +practice every day."</p> + +<p>They found the others in the cottage in the big room, resting awhile +before preparing for dinner.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Suzanna," began Maizie at once, "we're going to have a beach party +on the sands tonight. And Mrs. Bartlett says we'll have a fire built so +we can toast marshmallows."</p> + +<p>Suzanna did not say anything. Then quickly she crossed the room and +stood before Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett. "I wish," she said solemnly, "that +all the children in the world had such dear friends as we have."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> + +<h3>LAST DAYS</h3> + + +<p>They held many a beach party during that wonderful month. And always +they ended the evening by drawing close together and singing happy +little songs. Till, when a little coolness crept into the air, they +would leave the ocean and go happily homeward, to sleep deep and +dreamlessly till another morning awakened them to the thought of fresh +delights.</p> + +<p>On one morning after a beach party, the children, coming downstairs to +join their elders for breakfast at the hotel, found standing on the road +in front of the cottage, a little brown donkey attached to a basket +cart.</p> + +<p>"Could it be, could it possibly be for them?" each child's heart asked.</p> + +<p>And Mr. Bartlett answered the unspoken question by: "It's for you all. +Peter is to drive first because he assured me the other day he knew all +about horses; then Graham. And in a few days Suzanna, and Maizie, and +even little Daphne, can take their turns."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span></p> + +<p>He went to the small donkey and stroked its nose, and the little fellow +whinnied with pleasure. The children crowded about the cart. Couldn't +they have a drive now? their eager eyes asked. But Mr. Bartlett thought +breakfast the logical beginning of the day, so reluctantly they left +their new possession.</p> + +<p>When breakfast was finished, Mr. Bartlett said: "I'll go for the first +ride or two with you just to see how this little fellow acts, though +I've been assured that he's as gentle as any lamb ever born."</p> + +<p>And whoever it was that had given Mr. Bartlett this assurance had not +exaggerated the amiable qualities of the donkey. "Little Brownie," as +the children had unanimously and immediately named him, was of equable +and even nature. True, as the days went by it was discovered that he was +somewhat lazy, also self-willed. If he wanted to stop he would not move +again until he wished to, in face of all pleading, urging, or +inducements. He refused even to be led, and stood very pleasantly +viewing the surrounding landscape till with a sudden jerk he would +resume his usual trot. The children finally accepted Brownie's one +vagary, and when they were driving home among other vehicles, and +Brownie sud<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span>denly stopped and raised his right ear, a sign which meant, +"I shall not move till I wish to," they only laughed, and others about +them knowing the ways of little donkeys, laughed good-naturedly too, and +drove around the little cart.</p> + +<p>It is an unvarying law that the days roll on and bring to an end even +periods of thrilling delight; and so there came the last evening to be +spent in the cottage at the seashore. The night was early in August, but +it had elected to borrow from its cooler sister September a rather chill +wind which, to the children's delight, necessitated the building of a +fire in the grate in the long room.</p> + +<p>"And we'll pop corn," said Mr. Bartlett when they were all gathered +together watching the roaring flames, the only light in the room.</p> + +<p>And Nancy, who could on a moment's notice, produce anything asked of +her, brought the popper and a big bag of dried corn.</p> + +<p>After a time, when several bowls of corn were popped and buttered, +salted and eaten, Nancy put on the hearth a dish of fine, rosy apples. +These the children peeled and then cast the skins into the grate. A +hardy fragrance came from them, but hardly pungent enough to overpower +the salt-water odor that swept in from the ocean.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span></p> + +<p>The flames lit all the faces, young and old. They fell on Mrs. Bartlett, +touching her lovely hair to molten gold, touching her thoughtful face +till it seemed a smile beyond itself rested upon it. She was +thinking—"Tomorrow we start back, and in my hands lie the happiness of +many. In my hands lies the keeping of the ideals of two—" She closed +her eyes and asked for clear vision, for strength to keep true to life's +highest values.</p> + +<p>Graham, at her knee, looked up at her. Feeling that his eyes were upon +her, she opened hers and gazed at him. She did not speak, nor did he, +but she felt his heart's nearness.</p> + +<p>And then his gaze wandered to Suzanna, Suzanna gazing into the flames, +her dark eyes like glowing jewels, her soft lips parted. And into Mrs. +Bartlett's heart crept a little fear and a little yearning and a little +great knowledge—that composite emotion all mothers are born to know.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> + +<h3>SUZANNA AND HER FATHER</h3> + + +<p>At home again after the glorious month spent at the seashore! Habits, +dear customs, taken up once more. The splendor of the trip had not faded +for the Procter children. But home was home after all, with father and +mother and sisters and brothers all sharing the common life; with short +wanderings away and joyous returns; with small resentments, quick +flashes, and happy reconciliations.</p> + +<p>"It was lovely at the seashore," said Suzanna to her mother one Saturday +afternoon, "but I'm awfully glad to be at home again. Were you lonely +without us?"</p> + +<p>"Very," said Mrs. Procter, "but then I knew you were all having such +interesting experiences."</p> + +<p>"Is father coming home early, mother?" Maizie asked, looking up from her +work. She was sewing buttons on Peter's blouse with the strongest linen +thread obtainable in Anchorville.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter's face shadowed. She looked at Suzanna and Maizie as though +pondering the wis<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span>dom of giving them some piece of news. Evidently she +decided against doing so, for she answered:</p> + +<p>"I can't tell, Maizie, he may be kept at the mills. Mr. Massey is +growing more dependent on father every day," she ended, with a little +burst of pride.</p> + +<p>Father did not come home in the afternoon. The children lost hope after +a time, and followed their separate whims.</p> + +<p>But at six he arrived. Suzanna had noticed at once upon her return, that +he was quieter, less exuberant than he had been since entering old John +Massey's employ. Some light seemed to have gone from his face. Suzanna +wanted always to comfort him, and he, though saying nothing, was quite +conscious of his little daughter's yearning over him.</p> + +<p>During supper his absorption continued, and immediately afterward he +went into the parlor, selected a big book from a shelf, and drawing a +chair near the lamp began to read. Mother put the "baby" and Peter to +bed. Suzanna and Maizie, after the dishes were finished, followed +father, and drawing their chairs close, looked over some pictures +together.</p> + +<p>"Saturday night"—how Suzanna loved it!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span> It seemed the hush time of the +week, the hush before waking to the next beautiful day, Sunday, when all +the family were together—father in his nice dark suit, mother in her +soft <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'wistaria'">wisteria</ins> gown, all the children in pretty clothes; church, with its +resonant organ, and the minister's deep voice reading from the old book. +Then, weather propitious, the walk with father and mother in the +afternoon down the country road, and at night the lamps again lit—all +the homely significances of the place where love and peace and courage +dwelt.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Procter returned from putting the children to bed. "I think I'll go +upstairs for a little while," said Mr. Procter looking up at her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, do, Richard," she urged.</p> + +<p>Suzanna went close to him, her hand sought his. "Could—could you invite +us for a little while, daddy," she asked, beseechingly.</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, if you wish," he answered. "You and mother and Maizie."</p> + +<p>It was rather a heavy consent, but they all accompanied him up to the +attic. He lit the shaded lamp standing on the corner table, regulated it +till it gave out a subdued glow, and then walked and stood before his +machine.</p> + +<p>He stood a long time looking at it. Once he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span>put out his hand and +touched it softly, as a mother might a sleeping child.</p> + +<p>Suzanna and Maizie, awed and troubled, they knew not why, watched their +father. Only their mother, with a little tender smile that held in it a +great deal of wistfulness, went close to him.</p> + +<p>"Richard," she said softly.</p> + +<p>He turned from the machine. His face was strangely colorless, strangely +drained of all light. She did not speak, but the loyalty and faith +deepened in her eyes. Perhaps he gained some comfort from their steady +gaze, his tenseness seemed to relax, his arms fell to his sides.</p> + +<p>Suzanna unable to stand the strain longer, flew to him and put her small +arms tight about him. "Oh, are you sick, daddy?" she cried, tears in her +voice.</p> + +<p>He hesitated, looked down at her, and said simply, very quietly:</p> + +<p>"Suzanna, you might as well know the truth now as later. My machine is a +failure—I am a failure!"</p> + +<p>Her heart leaped sickeningly, her arms fell from about him. In all her +life she had never lived through so intense an emotion. Her father, the +Great Man, proclaimed himself a failure in tones which struck through +her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span></p> + +<p>The mother's voice rang out clear. "Richard, you cannot say that." She +looked about the attic made sacred by its high use, "Here while you +worked we all, your children and I, have learned great lessons. You're +looking at your machine, an insensate thing, and losing sight of what +during its building, you put into the lives of those near to you, living +stuff, Richard."</p> + +<p>And then Maizie cried out, "Oh, daddy, it's just like being on a +mountain top when we're in the attic with you. We'll never, never have +to stop coming, will we?"</p> + +<p>And Suzanna, still deeply troubled, cried: "Daddy, how could the machine +be a failure when it was born because you loved all men, and wanted to +make them happy? And the very thought of it up here made me happy. Why, +in school on Monday I'd look down all the shapes of the week, and think +of Saturday afternoon and wish it would come quick." Her voice broke and +the sobs came uncontrollable, shaking the slender body. In a moment she +was clasped tight in her father's arms.</p> + +<p>After she had regained some composure she looked up at him. "It hurts +me, daddy, so that I can't breathe when you forget that you're a Great +Man."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span></p> + +<p>A silence fell, and into it plunged a voice. "Good evening," it said.</p> + +<p>There in the doorway stood the Eagle Man. He laughed at their bewildered +expressions. "I rang and rang," he explained, "and when no one answered, +I looked up at the attic window and thought you must all be upstairs."</p> + +<p>"And was the door unlocked," cried Mrs. Procter. "I thought I attended +to the doors and windows right after supper."</p> + +<p>"The door was unlocked," said the Eagle Man, "and so I took the liberty +of coming right in."</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you did," said Mr. Procter.</p> + +<p>"Well, I need your help, Richard," said old John Massey in an +affectionate tone.</p> + +<p>"It's ready for you, Mr. Massey," the inventor answered warmly.</p> + +<p>Suzanna gazing at her old friend, suddenly cried out: "Oh, your eyes +have changed, Eagle Man, they're all nice and shiny."</p> + +<p>He smiled with great fondness at her. "My dear," he said, "how can a man +fail to indulge in nice shining eyes after contact with a family of rare +visionaries?"</p> + +<p>Suzanna did not understand that. She knew only that the Eagle Man had +greatly changed, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span>that he seemed kinder, more understanding, and all at +once she knew why. He had had of late the ineffable privilege of being +close to her father. Of course, by such proximity he must grow kind and +understanding.</p> + +<p>"Richard," said the capitalist, "there's trouble threatened in the +foreign section of the mills."</p> + +<p>"Trouble?" Richard Procter's head went up.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the men are dissatisfied, surly. It's the one department where +your touch hasn't been felt. I want you to go there on Monday and begin +your work."</p> + +<p>"I'll be ready," said Richard Procter. Strength and purpose seemed to +flow back to him.</p> + +<p>The Eagle Man turned as though to go, but he paused at the door to look +again at Suzanna.</p> + +<p>"And so your father's been telling you that he has failed, that his +machine refused to work in the final test we gave it at the mills."</p> + +<p>"My father hasn't failed," Suzanna said proudly.</p> + +<p>"No, he hasn't failed," the Eagle Man agreed. "He hasn't failed. He's +the most brilliant success I know. He built into a piece of machinery +his ideals, and when the machine was finished he saw in his experiments +with it on those in his home ultimate triumph. But when it was taken <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span>to +my mills the machine failed to register color in personalities whose +chief talent by years of wrong work had been nearly strangled."</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter spoke: "It shouldn't have failed even there. It did +register, if you remember your color and Mr. Bartlett's, and both of you +had pulled far away from your purpose."</p> + +<p>"Yes, for some reason, it did register us," agreed the Eagle Man. He +paused, and then his voice rang out. "Let me tell you all something that +the inventor of that machine did, some miracle he brought to pass I +should have thought impossible. He awakened old ideals in a hard old +breast, he made hard old eyes see in men, not automatons born only to +add to his wealth, but human beings to be rendered happy in their work."</p> + +<p>"Was yours the hard old breast, Eagle Man?" Suzanna asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Suzanna. A result like that is worth while, eh, Richard?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Procter did not answer, could not, because he feared at the moment +that he could not speak intelligently.</p> + +<p>The Eagle Man turned to the wife, adoringly silent as she listened.</p> + +<p>"Three men Richard Procter brought to me <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span>on his first day in my mills. +He said: 'These men have ambitions, they are greatly talented. You must +give them their chance.'"</p> + +<p>"And what did you say?" asked Mrs. Procter softly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I snarled as usual, but that was really the work I wanted him to +do. I wanted him to do in the circumscribed field of my mills that which +he had built his machine to do. And so I snapped out: 'All right, put +the burden on me! I'll give them their chance just because you say so.' +And where men were dissatisfied he got at them and discovered the +trouble, and down there they all trust him, and his influence will be +like a river flowing on, ever widening. So there's the late history of +the man who stands and calls himself a failure."</p> + +<p>So he finished, said not another word, looked once at the inventor, and +then went away.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Suzanna, trying in vain that night to sleep, tossed about restlessly. +Maizie, a sound sleeper, did not stir despite her sister's wakefulness. +Suzanna was thinking of her father, of the Eagle Man, of The Machine.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she lay quite still. She was remembering the day when The +Machine had registered <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span>her color, a soft purple, gold tipped. How +stirred her father had been when the wavering color spread itself upon +the glass plate. It had repeated its marvel for Maizie and Peter. Why +then when The Machine was removed and conveyed to the big steel mills, +did it stand brooding, sulky, refusing to make any record of any +personality. She sat up straight in bed, her eyes yearning forward into +the dark. And all at once the answer came to her. Only in the attic, +where, piece by piece, in prayer, hope, and jubilation it had been +assembled; where love and belief had formed the atmosphere could The +Machine be its own highly sensitive self, reacting and responding.</p> + +<p>With that big thought flowing through her, she slipped from the bed. The +night was warm, soft little breezes coming through the open window. She +went to the closet, found her slippers, put them on, and with a backward +glance at the unconscious Maizie, left the room.</p> + +<p>The hall lay quiet, the tiny night lamp flickering in its place on the +small table set near her mother's room—that mother, ready at the first +sound to spring to any need of her children.</p> + +<p>Downstairs Suzanna went swiftly, and there in the dining-room, as she +had thought, she found <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span>her father. He was sitting at the long table, +above which hung the new lamp with its pink shade and long brass chain. +His head was bent over a big book, and Suzanna knew that he was +studying. She paused half-way to him. In her white night gown, her hair +flowing over her shoulders, she looked like a small visitor from another +higher plane. At last her father, impelled, turned and saw her. At once +he opened wide his arms, and she went into them.</p> + +<p>She lay, her cheek pressed against his, for a long time. All the +thoughts that had raced through her upstairs in the sleepless hours +returned to her, but she had to struggle to find language in which to +tell them.</p> + +<p>"Daddy," she began, "maybe The Machine can't work except where it was +born."</p> + +<p>"Tell me all that's in your heart, little girl," he said.</p> + +<p>"Well, we've all thought of The Machine, and loved it and believed in it +ever since I was the tiniest girl, and you've talked to us of what it +was to mean."</p> + +<p>"All true, my child, all true."</p> + +<p>"And The Machine stood there and listened, daddy." She released herself +from his clasp and stood very straight. Her dark eyes seeing pic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span>tures, +were brilliantly wide. Her breath came quickly from between her parted +lips: "And so it grew and grew, and soon out of its soul it sent colors. +And it loved the man who made it, and it loved his little children, and +made them all want to be good and do something for others.</p> + +<p>"And then one day, they took it away from its home and into a big mill, +and men crowded around it and looked at it, but they didn't love it, and +they didn't believe in it. And it felt shy and hurt and the color stayed +in its soul and wouldn't come forth.</p> + +<p>"And the man who had made it felt sad and he cried, and he took his +machine home. And then one day, years and years after when the man's +little girl, Suzanna, was a woman and she was out in the world trying to +do good, as her father had taught her, trying to make other people +happy, the colors crept out from The Machine again, all gold and purple +and rose and green, this time for everybody."</p> + +<p>She finished, and with a great cry her father folded her to him. The +tears came streaming to his eyes, and quite frankly now he wept. She +felt the hot tears upon her face, they burned her, but she knew she had +helped him and she was satisfied.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span></p> + +<p>They sat on in a wonderful silence. A distant clock struck one. They +heard the sound of quickly descending feet, and turning, Suzanna saw her +mother standing in the doorway.</p> + +<p>"I heard voices," said Mrs. Procter.</p> + +<p>"Come here," her husband said. She saw his face transfigured, and she +went to him and fell on her knees beside him.</p> + +<p>"Courage—belief?" she questioned.</p> + +<p>"Yes, they have returned," he said.</p> + +<p>Suzanna spoke again: "Daddy," she said, in her eager voice, "I forgot to +tell you of a nice happening. You know when we were at the seashore with +Mr. Bartlett, John, the waiter at the hotel, said something one day +about a son of his who wanted to write beautiful music, and Mr. Bartlett +said right before me: 'John, let me help that boy of yours. This little +girl's father has shown me the beauty of doing good for others.'"</p> + +<p>The inventor did not speak. He sat, his arms about his wife and child, +and in his eyes the radiance of new inspiration, new purpose.</p> + +<p>At last his wife spoke. "Richard, could success as you planned it, have +meant more, and wouldn't it have brushed some of the butterfly dust +away?"</p> + +<p>He took the thought, pondered it, and his wife <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span>went on. "There's the +joy of striving, of waking fresh every day to hope. Can attainment, +after all, give any greater joy?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not," he murmured.</p> + +<p>"So, dear," she went on, "think of what has been done, not of what you +wished for. Think what you've done for our children. You took them with +you into your land of dreams, letting them share with you as far as you +might, that thrill which comes to the creator."</p> + +<p>"And, daddy," finished Suzanna, "if The Machine had gone away to stay, +we couldn't have any more beautiful Saturday afternoons in the attic +with you."</p> + +<p>They remained then all very still. Peter cried out a little in his +sleep. His mother, alert at once, listened, then relaxed when the cry +did not come again, and then Suzanna asked, "Are you still very, very +sad, daddy?"</p> + +<p>And he answered, "The sadness has gone, Suzanna. Come another Saturday, +I shall take up the work again—and some day—"</p> + +<p>"Some day all the world will say my father is a great man," ended +Suzanna, an unfaltering faith written upon her face.</p> + +<p>And so her love, like an essence, flowed out and healed his spirit.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3> + +<p>Corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the correction. +Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Suzanna Stirs the Fire, by Emily Calvin Blake + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUZANNA STIRS THE FIRE *** + +***** This file should be named 18499-h.htm or 18499-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/4/9/18499/ + +Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Brian Janes, Emmy and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Suzanna Stirs the Fire + +Author: Emily Calvin Blake + +Release Date: June 4, 2006 [EBook #18499] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUZANNA STIRS THE FIRE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Brian Janes, Emmy and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + +SUZANNA STIRS THE FIRE + + [Illustration: "I've come to you, Mrs. Reynolds, to stay. I've + adopted myself out to you" + [_Page 83_]] + + +Suzanna Stirs the Fire + +BY + +Emily Calvin Blake + +_Author of "Marcia of the Little Home," etc._ + + + +Illustrations by F. V. Poole + + +[Illustration] + + +CHICAGO + +A. C. McCLURG & CO. + +1915 + +Copyright + +A. C. McClurg & Co. 1915 + +Published September, 1915 + +Copyrighted in Great Britain + + + +W. F. HALL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO + + + + +CONTENTS + + BOOK I + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I The Tucked-In Day 3 + + II The Only Child 27 + + III With Father in the Attic 40 + + IV The New Dress 55 + + V Suzanna Comes to a Decision 69 + + VI Suzanna Makes her Entry 82 + + VII Regrets 88 + + VIII Suzanna Meets a Character 99 + + IX A Leaf Missing from the Bible 119 + + X A Picnic in the Woods 132 + + + BOOK II + + XI The Indian Drill 161 + + XII Drusilla's Reminiscences 172 + + XIII Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett 185 + + XIV The Stray Dog 197 + + XV A Lent Mother 215 + + XVI Suzanna Aids Cupid 221 + + XVII A Simple Wedding 236 + + XVIII The Eagle Man Visits the Attic 253 + + XIX Suzanna Puts a Request 265 + + XX Drusilla Sets Out on a Journey 278 + + XXI Mr. Bartlett Sees the Machine 292 + + + BOOK III + + XXII Happy Days 307 + + XXIII To the Seashore 320 + + XXIV The Seashore 329 + + XXV Last Days 341 + + XXVI Suzanna and her Father 345 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + PAGE + + "I've come to you, Mrs. Reynolds, to stay. I've adopted + myself out to you" _Frontispiece_ + + The prettiest old lady she had ever seen 14 + + Very carefully he looked at the mended place 116 + + "We thought you might like a dog," began Suzanna 206 + + + + +BOOK I + + + + +SUZANNA STIRS THE FIRE + + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE TUCKED-IN DAY + + +Maizie wanted to sleep a little longer, but though the clock had but +just chimed six Suzanna was up and had drawn the window curtain letting +in a flood of sunshine. Maizie lay watching her sister, her gray eyes +still blurred with sleep; not wide and interested as a little later they +would be. Her soft little features expressing her naive personality +seemed unsubtle, yet of contours so lovely in this period just after +babyhood that one longed to cuddle her. + +Suzanna stood a long time at the window, so long indeed that Maizie +feared she was lost to all materialities. Suzanna, wonderful one, who +could strike from dull stuff magic dreams; who could vivify and +gloriously color the little things of life; who could into the simplest +happenings read thrilling interpretations! What bliss to accompany her +upon her wanderings, and what sadness to be forgotten! + +Indeed Suzanna seemed oblivious. Certainly in spirit she was absent and +at last Maizie could bear the silence no longer. + +"Suzanna!" she cried. + +Then Suzanna turned. She did not speak, however, but placed a warning +finger upon her lips. Then she went swiftly to the closet and took down +her best white dress. She laid it tenderly on the back of a chair till +she had found in the lowest bureau drawer her white stockings and +slippers, then she brushed and combed her hair, confined it lightly with +a length of ribbon, washed her hands and face in the little bowl which +stood in one corner near the window and leisurely donned the white +dress. + +Maizie sat straight up in bed watching in amazement. At last Suzanna +glanced over at her little wistful sister, then in stately fashion +advanced toward the bed, till close to Maizie she paused. Tall and +slender she stood, with eyes amber-colored, eyes which turned to black +in moments of deep emotion. Her brown hair touched with copper sprang +back from her brow in waving grace; her delicate features called for +small attention, excepting her mouth which was softly curved, eager of +speech, grave, mutinous, the most expressive part of an expressive +face. + +Suzanna danced through life, sang her way to the hearts of others, left +her touch wherever she went; yet, beneath the lightness, philosophies of +life formed themselves intuitively, one after another, truer perhaps in +their findings than those which filtered through the pure intellect of +the grown-up. + +At length she spoke to Maizie. "You mustn't say anything to me, Maizie, +unless I ask you a question," she commanded, "because I'm a princess who +lives in a crystal palace in a wonderful country with oceans and +mountains." + +Maizie did not reply; what could she say? Simply she stared as Suzanna +moved gracefully about the room with the slow movements she considered +fitting a princess. + +At last she returned to the bed. She began: "Maizie, I wish you to rise, +dress thyself, then go into thy parents' room and if the baby is awake, +dress him as Suzanna, thy sister, did when she was here and not a +princess." + +Maizie rose and obediently dressed herself, ever watchful of Suzanna and +thrilled by the new personality which seemed to have entered with the +princess. When she was quite dressed, even to her little enshrouding +gingham apron, she asked: + +"Are you going to school today, Suzanna?" + +Suzanna fixed her eyes in the distance. + +"I'm here, Princess," corrected Maizie, "right in front of you. You can +touch me with your hand. And besides, I had to ask that question. It was +burning on my tongue." + +Suzanna did not stir. At last: "I'm not going to school today," she half +chanted. "A princess does not go to school. She wanders through the +fields and over the mountains and when she returns to her palace she +eats roses smothered in cream." + +"Oh," cried Maizie. "Rose petals are bitter and beside we only have +cream on Sundays." + +Suzanna turned away. Sometimes she found it a trifle difficult to play +with Maizie. She went slowly, majestically down the stairs and into the +little parlor. She regretted she had no train, since she might switch it +about as she walked. But she could _think_ she had a train, and ever and +anon glance behind to see that it had not curled up. + +In the parlor she stood and looked about her. Her physical eyes saw the +worn spots in the carpet, the picture of her father's mother, faded and +dim, her own "crayon," the old horsehair sofa and chair, and the piano +with its yellow keys and its scratched case. But with her inner eyes +she beheld a lovely rose-colored room, heaped with soft rugs and +satin-lined chairs; fine, soft-grained woods, and a harp studded with +rare jewels. + +At first she stood alone. Then by a slight wave of her hand she +commanded the appearance of many ladies and gentlemen who came and bowed +low before her. While she was still living in her vision, her father +descended the stairs and entered the parlor. He started at sight of +Suzanna all dressed in her best. + +"I'm a princess, father," said Suzanna. + +"A princess?" he repeated. + +Her father wore his store clothes, shiny and grown tight for him. Above +his winged collar his sensitive face showed pale and thin in the early +morning light. His eyes, brown, soft, were like Suzanna's--they had +vision. He smiled now, half whimsically and wholly lovingly at her. + +"An eight-year-old princess," he said. Then the smile faded, and he half +turned to the door. "Well, that's all right, your Majesty," he said. +"Continue with your play. I'm going up into the attic just for ten +minutes." + +"You'll be late for the store, won't you, daddy?" she asked, anxiously, +forgetting for the moment her role. + +He turned upon her quickly. "Late for the store!" he cried, "late to +weigh nails, sell wash boards, and mops. What does that matter, my dear, +when by my invention the world will some day be better." Suddenly the +passion died from his voice. He stood again the tall shabby figure, +somewhat stooped, with long fine hands that moved restlessly. "Ah, well, +Suzanna," he went on, "weighing nails brings us our livelihood." + +Suzanna went and stood close to him. She put her small hand out and +touched his arm. "Daddy," she said, earnestly, "this is my tucked-in +day. I'm going to have two of them. Perhaps you can have a tucked-in day +sometime when you can work for hours at your invention." + +Again he smiled at her. "Where did you get your tucked-in day, Suzanna," +he asked. + +"Why, it's a great beautiful white space that comes between last week +and this. It's all empty, that big space, and so I have filled it in +with a day of my own. If mother will let me, I'm going to have two +tucked-in days. On the first I'm a princess, and on the second, I shall +be an Only Child." + +"Very well, little girl," said Suzanna's father. "And now I hear others +moving about upstairs. Will you stay to breakfast with us, Princess?" + +"Oh, yes," said Suzanna, who began to feel the healthy pangs of hunger. +"I suppose perhaps I had better set the table." + +A half-hour later the house was in a bustle. The baby was crying, Peter, +the five-year-old, was sliding in his usual exuberant manner down the +banisters, and at the stove in the kitchen, Mrs. Procter, the mother, +was filling pans and opening and closing the oven door with quick, +somewhat noisy movements. + +When in time all were gathered about the dining table, they were an +interesting looking family. Mrs. Procter, young, despite her four +children, wore a little worried frown strangely at conflict with her +palpable desire to make the best of things. She darted here and there, +soothing the baby with a practiced hand, pouring her husband's coffee, +helping voracious Peter, her busy mind anticipating all the day's tasks. +Suzanna loved and admired her mother. She loved the way the luxuriant +dark hair was wound round and round the small head. She loved the rare +smile, the soft blue eyes fringed in black lashes. She liked to meet +those eyes when they were filled with understanding, when they seemed to +speak as plainly as the tender lips made just for lullabies--and +encouragements when the inventor-father stumbled, lost his belief in +himself and in his Machine. + +Maizie, younger than Suzanna by only a year, looked like her +mother--sweet, very practical, always in a wide-eyed condition of +surprise at Suzanna's wonderful imagination; a dependable little body +who rarely fell from grace by reason of naughtiness. + +Peter, a strange composite of his dreamy father and practical mother, +sat near the baby. Peter had had a twin, a little girl, who died when +she was three years old. Sometimes, even now, Peter cried himself to +sleep for Helen. + +The baby, now crowing in his armchair beside his mother, was a bright +little chap of not quite a year. Too plump to even try his sturdy legs, +he was oftentimes very much of a burden to his devoted sisters. + +Mrs. Procter's eyes had taken in at once Suzanna's finery, but Mrs. +Procter knew Suzanna; besides she did not always ask a direct question. +Suzanna's mind worked clearly, but it worked by its own laws. So now the +mother waited and toward the end of the meal she was rewarded for her +patience. Suzanna put down her fork and began: + +"Mother, this is my first tucked-in day to do as I please in. I know +Monday's supposed to be wash day, but you said it wasn't a big wash and +I did all the sorting Saturday night. I am all fixed up for a princess, +and something inside me tells me I must wander about my palace and +perhaps find paths leading to far-off snow countries." + +It was Maizie who looked now questioningly at her mother. Could it be +that Suzanna would be given her own way? In truth the entire table +awaited breathlessly Mrs. Procter's answer. It came at last: + +"Very well, Princess, you may have your tucked-in day." + +There followed a short silence. At last: + +"Mother, I must be honest with you," said Suzanna, "there are to be +_two_ tucked-in days. In my next space I want to be an Only Child." + +Again her mother agreed. Rarely could she deny Suzanna her jaunts into +the land of dreams. + +So after breakfast, quite free, Suzanna left the house. The little town +lay quiet, except for the rhythmic noises coming from the big Massey +Steel Mills. Suzanna looked in their direction and stood a moment +watching the sparks coming from the big round chimneys. Over across +fields were the tumble-down cottages occupied by the employees of the +Massey Steel Mills. Suzanna did not often go in their direction. The +squalor made her unhappy and set in train so many questions she was +quite unable to answer. + +The day was early July with a spicy breeze that promised its delight for +many hours. Suzanna walked out into the road, and turned to gaze at the +little home in which she had been born. She loved it with its many +memories. She fancied it held its head high because it sheltered her +father's great Machine. At length she turned south toward the country. +She breathed deeply as she went, feeling how wonderful it was to be a +princess and to wander about as she pleased. + +Throbbing with life and the beauty of it, the marvel of it, she began to +dance. Strange thoughts flowed through her, strange understandings, +that, little child as she was, she could find no words for. Only it +seemed color lay within her, rich color for a thought of love; a wistful +rose shade for a passing desire, a brilliant orange for the uplifting +knowledge that just to be alive was great. She stopped to gather a +passion flower because with its deep purple, its hidden heart that she +could very gently discover and gaze into, it fitted into her mood. + +Oh, to be big, grown up! All these brightly winged thoughts uplifting +her, some of which puzzled her, some that frightened her, she would +quite understand then! In those far-off years of absolute knowledge +there would be no limitations; no commonplaces, only miracles. You could +make what you wished then of all your days. + +She came at last upon a little house lying far back from the road. It +was like a toy house, and had stood open for years. The Procter children +had often played in the rooms of the small house, and once when Peter +was a baby he had fallen down the stairs, and his twin Helen, anguished +because he was hurt, had cried piteously until they were home again. + +Now Suzanna opened the gate, mended, she noticed, and hanging straight, +and started down the garden path. Lovely old-fashioned flowers--pansies +and phlox and pinks and balsam were all in their happiest bloom. Suzanna +wondered who watered and tended them. As she lingered beside a pansy +bed, the door of the little house opened and a rather frail little old +lady came out, followed by a maid who carried a chair that was filled +with pillows. She set the chair under a tree midway in the garden +between the house and the road. The old lady sank into it and the maid +deftly covered her with a large woolen shawl; then saying some word, and +placing a small silver bell on the grass within easy reach of the lady +in the chair the maid left. + +Suzanna stood, unable to run. Someone then had moved into the tiny +house. And who? Suzanna knew everyone in the village of Anchorville, and +the old lady was a stranger. Suzanna gave up the question and started +back toward the gate when the old lady suddenly turned and saw the +child. + +[Illustration: The prettiest old lady she had ever seen] + +"Come here," she called, and Suzanna perforce obeyed. When she stood +near the small figure in the chair she waited, while she decided that +this was quite the prettiest old lady she had ever seen. The wavy silver +hair lying under a white lace cap, with two little curls falling on +either side made the blue eyes seems like a very little baby's at the +stage when they're deciding just what color they shall be. Like Suzanna, +the lady was dressed in white, flowing as to skirt, and trimmed with +quantities of fine old lace. On her hand was one ring, a lovely +moonstone. Suzanna at once loved that ring, not because it was a piece +of jewelry, but because it did look like a stray moonbeam that the rain +had fallen on. + +"And who may you be?" asked the old lady at once. + +Now something about her hostess called out all of Suzanna's colorful +imagination. She felt an instant response to this personality. + +"I am a princess, the Princess Cecilia," she answered promptly. + +"Ah," the old lady straightened up and a sudden, vivid change became at +once manifest in her manner. "Draw closer to me." + +Suzanna obeyed, moving till she touched the old lady's hand that rested +on the wings of the old-fashioned chair. + +"You should be a princess," said the old lady, "for I am a queen!" + +Suzanna gazed without at first speaking. "A real one?" she whispered at +last. + +"A real queen," returned the old lady. "It's not generally known by +those who serve me, nor even suspected by my own son who lives yonder in +the big house on the hill. But I'm the real queen of Spain, deposed from +the hearts of her people, from the hearts of her own nearest." + +Suzanna nodded. She looked over toward the hill. "That's Bartlett +Villa," she said; "the people only live there part of the year. I know +Mrs. Bartlett, she's the richest lady in Anchorville, but I didn't know +her mother was a queen." + +The old lady didn't appear to be particularly interested. She went on: +"It's not generally known, I believe, that I am a queen." After another +pause: "Over yonder is a camp chair. Bring it hither." + +Suzanna found the chair at one end of the garden. Quickly she brought it +and sank herself upon it gracefully as became a princess of the blood, +but she was surprised a moment later to meet reproval in the eyes of the +queen. + +"It's not permissible to seat yourself in the presence of royalty," said +the queen, rather sternly. + +"But, I, too, am royalty and you told me to get the chair," said +Suzanna. "Of course, I thought it was to sit on." + +"You are merely a princess," returned the old lady. "I am your queen, +and you must await my permission to recline." + +Suzanna rose. + +"Ask permission," said the queen, "and perhaps I shall allow you to seat +yourself." + +"May I sit down?" asked Suzanna. + +The queen inclined her head graciously. "You may," she returned. So once +more the little visitor resumed her seat. Then for a long time the old +lady sat with folded hands and looking off into the distance. She was +very, very still. Only the lace on her bosom moved gently to show that +she breathed. Suzanna thought perhaps she had better go. But she feared +to rise lest she again meet with reproof. + +At last the queen remembered her guest. + +"I wish to traverse my garden and in the absence of my lady-in-waiting I +request your arm, Princess Cecilia," she said. + +Suzanna rose quickly and bending her small arm, she offered its support +to the old lady, who though now standing very straight and slender, +still was scarce two heads taller than her visitor. She slipped her +blue-veined hand within Suzanna's arm and they began a friendly walk up +and down the path. + +"Once," began the queen, "when I lived beyond the snow-capped mountains +within my own palace, I was not so lonely as I now am. There was one who +afterwards became my king, with whom I walked by the sea. We saw +together the sapphire sparkle of the water, the golden yellow of the +sands; but in reality we beheld only one another's face." + +By this time they had reached the gate and both stopped and stood +looking down the quiet road. But the little old lady still clung to +Suzanna's arm and her eyes had a far-away look. + +"And after a time," went on the queen, "we were wedded and lived +together in my palace and we were happy as the birds; happy and less +care free. And always we found our greatest happiness in walking by the +sea or in climbing the mountains; I sometimes clinging to his ready hand +or skipping before him. And once we ran away from all the pomp and +ceremony that was merely surface and we found a little house right at +the edge of town, and there together for some months we lived. There, +too, our little prince came to us, and from there he went away. + +"And one day my king, too, left, and my little prince forgot me, and I +am alone. Queen as I am, I am alone!" + +Suzanna was silent. Indeed, she was at a loss just how to offer comfort. +When Helen, Peter's twin, went away her heart had ached, and when a +little baby, soft and cuddly had gone away forever, Suzanna had wept for +days and far into the nights. This queen, she found was very sad, and +very longing, and very lonely, three things she thought queenhood exempt +from, sadness, and longing and loneliness. + +Once more they turned, and walked down the garden path till they reached +the chairs under the tree. The queen sank again among her pillows and +Suzanna was about to use her camp chair when the queen spoke in her old +commanding manner: + +"I am hungry, serf," she cried. "Go, prepare my food! All the dainties +that you can find. I wish cream beaten to a froth and peaches, halved +and stoned. I wish strawberries still wet with dew and reposing in their +green leaves." + +"But," began Suzanna, "I can't get strawberries for you." + +The old lady rose to her full height. "Wilt begone, serf?" in stern +accents she cried. "Wilt begone and prepare what I demand?" + +Now Suzanna had a very firm idea of her own standing as a princess. Had +she not earlier in the day impressed Maizie? And now, was this stranger, +even though she were a queen, to demand menial service of one of royal +blood? Suzanna thought not. So she said firmly, though gently: + +"I am not a serf, if that means a slave! I am a visiting princess, the +Princess Cecilia. I will not go into your kitchen and prepare food." And +then forgetting her role, she assumed her ordinary voice. "Why, this +morning I didn't even warm the baby's bottle, because mother said I +needn't seeing that I was a princess and living in my own tucked-in +day." + +"'Tucked-in day!'" responded the queen. "What do you mean by that?" + +"Why, it's my very own day, a day tucked in between last week and this +week," said Suzanna. + +The old lady's eyes wandered away again looking into distant countries, +Suzanna had no doubt, and she hoped the strawberries were forgotten. But +alas, she was wrong, for in a few moments the queen, bringing her eyes +back to Suzanna's face recalled her desire: + +"I will have my strawberries," she began peremptorily. And then with a +complete change of voice; one with some satire in its tone she +concluded: "Dost think because thou art a princess thou art exempt from +all service in the world?" + +"A princess does not work," said Suzanna wisely. + +"I would have you know," said the queen, "that all those of the world +must give service in one way or another. Dost think that when in my +palace I reigned a queen I gave no service? There were those who loved +me and needed me. As their queen did I not owe them something in return +for their love? And could I leave their needs unrelieved?" + +"But," faltered Suzanna, "you were a queen!" + +The old lady's eyes lit with a sudden fire. "And 'twas because I +reigned a queen," she answered, "that I must do more than those of less +exalted station. In my kingdom there were little children, there were +the old, and there were the feeble, and there were the poor. Could I go +about unconcerned as to their welfare?" Her voice suddenly softened. She +put out her hand, now trembling with her emotion, and drew Suzanna close +to her. "My sweet little princess," she said, "no one in all the world +stands alone. A little silver chain binds each one of us to his fellow. +You may break that chain and you may feel yourself free, but you will be +a greater slave than ever." + +"I think I understand," said Suzanna, and indeed she had a fair meaning +of the other's words. "The chain runs from wrist to wrist and is rubber +plated." + +With a sudden change of manner the old lady spoke again, going back to +her former imperious manner: "Am I thus to starve because no slave +springs forth to do my bidding?" + +At this important moment the maid reappeared. She came swiftly down the +garden to the old lady. She paused when she saw Suzanna. She had a very +gentle face, Suzanna decided, and when she spoke to the old lady it was +tenderly as one would speak to a child. Suzanna decided that she liked +her. + +Said Suzanna: "The queen wants her strawberries wet with dew and buried +in their own green leaves." + +"The queen," returned the maid, "shall have her luncheon." + +"And the Princess Cecilia," said the queen, "shall eat with me, Letty." + +Suzanna was very glad to hear this since for a long time past she had +been hungry, and had been thinking rather longingly of the midday dinner +at home. + +The maid left, but in a very short time she came into the garden again +and announced that lunch was ready in the dining-room. + +"Walk behind me," said the old lady, and Suzanna took her place behind +the queen. In that sequence they went down the path, up the four steps +leading to the little house, through the open door, and paused in a +short, narrow hall, through which Suzanna and her sister and brother had +often walked. + +"Place your coat here," said the old lady, indicating a black walnut +hall-tree. + +Suzanna did as she was bid and then followed her hostess into the +dining-room, to the left of the small hall, where a table +flower-decked, stood set for two. + +Suzanna sat down at the place the queen indicated and waited +interestedly. In time the maid brought on a silver tray with little cups +of cream soup, and then cold chicken buried in pink jelly, a most +delicious concoction. Finally there was cocoa with whipped cream and +marshmallows and melting angel food cake. + +The old lady ate daintily, and long before Suzanna's appetite was +satisfied she announced that she was finished and demanded that the +princess rise from the table with her. She did not mention the +strawberries. With a little sigh Suzanna obeyed. And now, instead of +returning to the garden, the old lady led the way into the parlor, which +lay to the right of the hall. She went straight to the picture that hung +above a marble mantel. Below the picture in the center of the mantel +rested a crystal vase containing sprays of lilies of the valley. + +"This was my king," murmured the old lady, and Suzanna looked up into +the pictured face. "I like him," she said immediately; "has he gone far +away?" + +At these words the old lady suddenly sank down into a chair and covered +her face with her hands. She began to cry softly, but in a way that +hurt Suzanna inexpressibly. She stood for a moment hesitant. The sobs +still continued and then Suzanna, deciding on her course, went to the +little shaking figure and put her hands softly on the drooping +shoulders. + +"Can I help you," she asked. "Just tell me what to do for you." + +"Nothing," came the muffled tones, "there is no one to do for me; no one +to do for me in love. I am alone, forgotten." + +"Haven't you a brother or a sister?" in a moment she asked softly. + +"No one," said the little lady. + +"Oh, then," said Suzanna pityingly, as a dire thought came to her, +"there's no one to call you by your first name!" + +And then the old lady lowered her hands and looked into Suzanna's face. +"No one," she said sadly, "and it's such a pretty name, Drusilla. It's +many long years since I was called that." + +"I'd hate to come to a time when no one would call me Suzanna," Suzanna +said, and she leaned forward and touched the blue-veined hands. "May I +call you Drusilla?" she asked. + +"That would be sweet of you," said the little old lady. She seemed less +of the queen now than before, just a fluttering, little creature to be +tenderly protected and cared for. + +The maid came in at this moment. She went straight to the old lady. + +"I think," she said gently, "that you must take your nap now. This is +the day for Mrs. Bartlett's call." + +The queen rose quite obediently. Suzanna said at once: "Well, I must be +going. But I'll come again. Good-bye, Drusilla." + +"Good-bye, dear," returned "Drusilla" sweetly. "I'd like to have you +kiss me." + +Suzanna lifted her young face and kissed Drusilla's withered cheek. + + * * * * * + +Once out in the road and going swiftly toward home, Suzanna pondered +many things. She thought of what the old lady had said about the little +silver chain binding one to another; that no one really stood alone--no +one with a family, at least, Suzanna decided. It was a big thought; you +could go on and on in your heart and find many places for it to fit--and +then she reached her own gate and felt as always a sense of happiness. +No matter how happily she had spent the day, there was always a little +throb which stirred her heart when she went up the steps leading to the +rather battered front door of the place she called home. + +Maizie opened the door. She was as happy in beholding Suzanna returned +as though weeks had parted them, for she knew Suzanna's aptitude for +great adventures. Always they came to her, while another might walk +forever and meet no Heralds of Romance. + +"Did something happen, Suzanna?" she began eagerly. + +"Yes, I found a queen and we had lunch together," Suzanna responded. +"I'll tell you all about it when we're in bed." + +"Are you going to play at something tomorrow?" + +"Tomorrow I shall be an Only Child," said Suzanna. "Don't you remember?" + +"And not my sister?" asked Maizie. + +Suzanna caught the yearning in Maizie's voice. + +"Well," she said, "I'll be your closest friend, Maizie." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE ONLY CHILD + + +Breakfast the next morning was nearly concluded when Suzanna made her +appearance, but she met with no reproof. She had anticipated none, for +surely an Only Child was entitled to many privileges; no rules should be +made to bind her. + +Her father was gone. It was a day of stock-taking at the hardware store, +and his early presence had been requested by his employer, Job Doane. +Suzanna's mother and the children still lingered at the table. + +"Good morning, Suzanna," said Mrs. Procter, while the other children +gazed with interest at their tardy sister. + +"Good morning," Suzanna returned as she took her place; then, "Will you +remind Maizie that I am an Only Child today?" + +"You hear, Maizie," said Mrs. Procter smiling. + +"Mustn't any of us speak to her?" asked Peter. + +"No one but her mother," said Suzanna addressing the ceiling. + +She went on with her breakfast, eating daintily with the small finger on +her right hand cocked outward. Maizie stared, fascinated. Countless +words rushed to her lips, but she had been bidden to silence, and she +feared, should she speak to Suzanna, dire results would follow. Suzanna +might even go away by herself in pursuit of some wonderful dream, and +leave Maizie out of her scheme of things entirely. + +So Maizie waited patiently. + +"Since you sent Bridget away on an errand of mercy, Mother," Suzanna +began later, "I'll help you with the dishes." + +In Suzanna's estimation the family boasting an Only Child boasted also +servants. + +"I'll be glad of your help," said Mrs. Procter, "and since Bridget is +away, perhaps you will be kind enough to make your own bed and dust your +own room." + +Suzanna's face fell. Maizie put out a small hand and touched her sister. +"I'll help you," she said, "if you want me to." + +"Very well," said Suzanna, and together the children went upstairs. + +In the little room shared by the sisters, Suzanna went to work. +Ardently she shook pillows and carefully she smoothed sheets, while +Maizie, with a reflective eye ever upon Suzanna, dusted the dresser and +hung up the clothes. + +"Is your mother well this morning?" asked Suzanna politely. + +"Why, you saw her," Maizie cried off guard. "She didn't have a headache +this morning, did she?" + +"I'm speaking of _your_ mother," said Suzanna. "You belong to an +entirely different family from me." + +"Well," said Maizie after a time, "she's not suffering, thank you." + +"Have you any brothers and sisters?" pursued Suzanna in an interested +though rather aloof tone. + +"Oh, yes," said Maizie, trying hard to fill her role satisfactorily. "We +have a very large family, and once we had twins." + +Suzanna looked her pity. "I'm so glad," she said, "that I'm an Only +Child. This morning I was very joyous when I had whipped cream and +oatmeal." + +"You just had syrup, Suzanna Procter!" cried Maizie. + +Suzanna cast a scathing look at her sister: "I had whipped cream!" she +cried, "because I am an Only Child!" Then falling into her natural tone: +"If you forget again, Maizie, I can't even be a friend of yours." She +continued after a pause, reassuming her Only-Child voice, "That's why I +wear this beautiful satin dress and diamond bracelets and shining +buckles on my shoes." + +Now Maizie saw only Suzanna's lawn dress, rather worn Sunday shoes with +patent leather tips; she saw Suzanna's bare arms. + +"Maybe you'd like, really, to wear a white satin dress and bracelets and +buckles, but you know you haven't got them, don't you, Suzanna?" she +asked. + +Suzanna did not answer, plainly ignoring Maizie's conciliatory tone, and +so finding the silence continuing unbroken, Maizie changed the subject. + +"Will you play school with me this afternoon, Suzanna?" + +Suzanna thought a moment: "I don't just know. I may go and play with +some of the other girls today, and, remember, if I do that a friend +can't get mad like a sister can." + +Maizie began to whimper. + +"All right, if you're going to act that way, I am going off to see +Drusilla," with which statement Suzanna turned and went downstairs. + +Maizie came running down after her. "Mother, mother," she called loudly, +"I don't like Suzanna when she's the Only Child." + +Mrs. Procter, busy with the baby, looked up. She was a little cross now. +"I wish, Suzanna," she said, "that you would learn to be sensible and +not always be acting in plays you make up." + +Suzanna, who a moment before had bounded joyfully into her mother's +presence, now paused, the light dying from her eyes. She looked at her +mother and her mother, uncomfortable beneath the steady gaze, spoke +again with an irritation partially assumed. + +"I mean just that, Suzanna," she said. "Maizie can't easily follow all +your imaginings; and I have enough to do without always trying to keep +the peace between you." + +Suzanna stood perfectly still. The color rose to her temples, while the +dark eyes flashed. Waves of emotion swept through her. Emotions she +could not express. At last in a tense voice she spoke: "I wish I wasn't +your child, Mother." + +"Go at once to your room," said Mrs. Procter, "and stay there till I +tell you you may come down again." + +With no word Suzanna turned, went slowly up the stairs again, drew a +chair to the window and sat down. She was flaming under a bitter sense +of injustice. With all the intensity of her nature for the moment she +hated the entire world. + +Time passed. She heard sounds downstairs, Maizie going out to play in +the yard with Peter; her mother singing the baby to sleep, and still +Suzanna sat near the window, and still her small heart beat resentfully. + +Later, she heard her father's voice. Perhaps he cared for her. But even +of this she was not sure. Then she sat up very straight. Someone was +coming up the stairs. + +It was Maizie. The little girl slowly opened the bedroom door, peeped +cautiously in, and then on tiptoes approached Suzanna. "Mother says," +she began, "that you're to come down to lunch." + +"I don't want any lunch," said Suzanna. The bright color still stained +her cheek. "You can just go downstairs and eat up everything in the +house, and be sure and tell mother I said so." + +Maizie looked her awe at this defiant sister. Downstairs she returned to +deliver verbatim Suzanna's message. + +Suzanna sat on. From bitter disillusion felt against everything in her +world her mind chilled to analysis. Her mother loved her, she believed, +and yet--she did not complete her swift thought; indeed, she looked +quickly about in fear of her disloyalty. She had once thought that +mothers were perfect, rare beings removed worlds from other mere +mortals. Hadn't she, when a very small girl of four, been quite unable +to comprehend that mother was a mere human being? "Mother is just +mother," she had said in her baby way, and that sentence spelled all the +devotion and admiration of a pure little heart for one enshrined within +it. + +And now mother had fallen short. Mother had disappointed that +desperately loving, intense soul. The tears started to her eyes. It was +as though on this second tucked-in day an epoch had come marking the day +for all time, placing it by itself as containing an experience never to +be forgotten. + +After a time she realized she was hungry. So she went quietly to the top +of the stairs, but no sound came up from below. + +Some clock struck one, and then Suzanna heard running footsteps mounting +the stairs. She sat straight and gazed out of the window. She knew the +moment her mother entered the room, but she did not turn her head. + +Mrs. Procter approached until she stood close to Suzanna. She looked +down into the mutinous little face. She had come intending to scold, +but something electric about the child kept hasty words back. + +At length: "Aren't you going to speak to me, Suzanna?" she said. + +Suzanna did not answer immediately. That strange, awful thought that her +very own mother had been unjustly irritable held her tongue-tied. At +length words, short, curt, came: + +"You weren't _all right_ to me this morning, Mother," she said, raising +her stormy eyes. "Yesterday you were nice to me when I was a princess. +Today you were cross because Maizie couldn't understand, and she never +understands. You never were cross about that before." She gazed straight +back into her mother's face--"I'm mad at the whole world." + +What perfection the child expects of the mother! No human deviations! +Mrs. Procter sighed. How could she live out her child's exalted ideal of +her! She looked helplessly at Suzanna. The eyes lifted to hers lacked +the wonted expression of perfect belief, of passionate admiration. That +this first little daughter, so close to her heart fibers, should in any +degree turn from her, pierced the mother. She put her arms about the +unyielding small figure. + +"Suzanna, little daughter," she whispered. "Mother is sometimes tired, +but always, always she loves you." + +The response was immediate. With a little cry Suzanna pressed her lips +to her mother's. All her reticence was gone. This mother who enfolded +her stood once more the unwavering star that guided Suzanna's life. + +"You see, little girl," Mrs. Procter said after a few moments, "mother +sometimes has a great deal to think about--and baby was cross." + +"Oh, mother, dear, I'll help you," cried Suzanna. "I'll always be good +to you and when I'm grown up I'll buy you silk dresses and pretty hats +and take you to hear beautiful music." + +Later they went downstairs together. In the kitchen Maizie was amusing +the baby as he sat in his high chair. She looked around as Suzanna +entered: "Are you going to see Drusilla now," asked Maizie. + +"Who's Drusilla?" asked Mrs. Procter with interest. + +Now Suzanna had not told her mother of her new friend. She had wished to +keep in character, and a princess, she felt, was rather secretive and +aloof. But now the renewed closeness she felt to her mother opened her +heart. + +"Yesterday when I was a princess, living my very own first tucked-in +day, I walked and walked, and at last came to a little house with a +garden," she said, "and there was an old lady with no one to call her by +her first name--and so I'm going to call her Drusilla." + +"Is she a little old lady with white hair, and curls on each side of her +face?" asked Mrs. Procter. + +"Yes," said Suzanna. + +"Why, she's Mr. Graham Woods Bartlett's mother, and she's a little--" +Mrs. Procter hesitated believing it wiser to leave her sentence +unfinished. + +"A little what, mother?" asked Suzanna anxiously. + +"Oh, she has fancies," evaded Mrs. Procter. "For instance, there are +times when she thinks herself a queen." + +"What was the word you were going to use, mother?" persisted Suzanna. + +"Well, then, Suzanna, such a person is called a little strange." + +"Then I'm a little strange, too," said Suzanna. + +"But you're a child, Suzanna," said Mrs. Procter, "and Mrs. Bartlett is +a very old lady." + +"Does that make the difference?" asked Suzanna. "If it does, I can't +understand why. I think that an old lady, especially if she's lonely and +if she grieves for her king who went far away from her, has just as much +right to have fancies as a little girl has." + +"Well, I don't know," said Mrs. Procter, turning a soft look upon +Suzanna. + +Maizie, who had been standing near listening intently, now spoke: "A +girl I know had a grandfather who thought he was a cat and every once in +awhile he meowed, and he liked to sit in the sun. He thought he was a +nice, gentle, Maltese cat, and when he wasn't busy meowing he was awful +sweet to the children, and played with them and took care of the little +ones; but the big people thought they'd better send him far away, +because it wasn't right that he should think himself a cat." + +Suzanna's eyes flamed in anger. "I think they were cruel," she cried, +"not to let him stay at home. I know the girl whose grandfather he was. +Her name's Mary Holmes, and she cried because they sent her grandfather +away. But she didn't tell me why." + +"I'm her special friend on Wednesday recess day," said Maizie bashfully, +"that's why she told me." + +"I like old people," Suzanna continued. "I like Drusilla, and I like +Mrs. Reynold's mother that once came to see her, and I like old Joe, the +vegetable man, who made whistles for us last summer. They all seem to +understand you when you talk to them, and they can see things just like +you can." + +"Well, I've heard it said," said Mrs. Procter musingly, "that old people +are very much like the young in their fancies. Maybe that's why you +enjoy them, Suzanna." + +"Well, mother," Suzanna was very much in earnest now, "can't you always +tell everybody who has an old lady or an old gentleman living with them +that if they're not loving to old ladies and gentlemen, their silver +chain will break?" + +"Silver chain?" cried Maizie, puzzled. "I don't know what you mean, +Suzanna." + +"Why, every one of us," Suzanna explained carefully, "carries a little +silver chain which binds him to everyone else, but especially, I +suppose, to our very own father and mother and brothers and sisters." + +"Where is the chain?" asked Maizie. + +"It runs from your wrist to mine. It stretches as you move, and it's +given to everybody as soon as he's born. Sometimes it's broken." + +"Well, Suzanna," said Maizie solemnly, "then you've broken the silver +chain that ties you to me and to Peter and the baby and to daddy and +mother. You don't belong to us any more--you're an Only Child." + + * * * * * + +Maizie's literalness drew a new vivid picture for Suzanna. She had cut +herself from those she loved. She looked through a mist into Maizie's +face, the little face with the gray eyes and straight fine hair that +_would_ lie flat to the little head, and a big love flooded her. She +went swiftly to the little sister and lifted her hand. She made a feint +of clasping something at her wrist. "Maizie," she said, "I put the chain +on again. You are once more my little sister." + +"Not just your closest friend, but your little sister, with a silver +chain holding us together?" Maizie asked. + +"Always," said Suzanna. "I don't think after all that it's any fun to be +an Only Child." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +WITH FATHER IN THE ATTIC + + +A special Saturday in the Procter home, since father expected to spend +the afternoon in the attic working at his invention! Once a month he had +this half-day vacation from the hardware store. True, to make up he +returned to work in the evening after supper, and remained sometimes +till midnight, but that was the bargain he had made with Job Doane, the +owner of the shop, and he stuck bravely by it. + +The house was in beautiful order when father arrived at noon. He went at +once to the dining-room. Suzanna and Maizie, putting the last touches to +the table, greeted him cordially. + +"We have carrots and turnips chopped up for lunch," announced Maizie +immediately. + +"And baked apples, with the tiniest drop of cream for each one," +completed Suzanna. + +"And the baby has a clean dress on, too," Maizie added, like an +anticlimax. + +Mr. Procter exclaimed in appropriate manner. He seemed younger today, +charged with a high spirit. His step was light, he held his head high; +his eyes, too, were full of fire. The children knew some vital flame +energized him, some great hope vivified him. + +"Sold a scythe to old Farmer Hawkes this morning," he began, when they +were all seated around the table, the smoking dishes before them. He +smiled at his wife and the subtle understanding went around the board +that it was ridiculous for father, the great man, to waste his time +selling a scythe to close old Farmer Hawkes; also the perfect belief +that Farmer Hawkes was highly favored in being able to make a purchase +through such a rare agency. + +Luncheon concluded, father rose. The children pushed back their chairs +and stood in a little group, all regarding him with longing eyes. + +"Well, children," he said at last, "if things go well with me upstairs +and I can spare an hour, I'll call you. But don't let me keep you from +your work, or your play. Ball for you, I suppose, Peter, since it is +Saturday afternoon," he finished facetiously. Well he knew the +fascination of the attic and its wonder Machine. + +And Peter didn't answer. Let father have his joke; they both understood. + +Father went singing joyfully up the stairs. The children listened till +they heard the attic door close, then all was silent. + +Suzanna found a book, and at Maizie's earnest request read a chapter +from it aloud, while Peter descended into the cellar on business of his +own. + +"I'd rather you'd tell me a story of your own, Suzanna," said Maizie, +when the chapter was concluded. + +"Well, I can't make up stories today," said Suzanna. "Today is father's +day, and I'm thinking every minute of The Machine." + +"It's going to be a great thing, isn't it, Suzanna?" said Maizie, in an +awed voice. + +"Yes, and nobody in the world could have made it but our father," said +Suzanna solemnly. "Father was made to do that work, and the whole world +will be better because of his invention." + +"The whole outside world?" asked Maizie, "or just Anchorville?" + +"Oh, the whole world," said Suzanna, and then as Peter once more made +his appearance: "Peter, take your tie out of your mouth. Father may call +us upstairs at any moment, and you must look as nice as nice can be." + +Peter obediently removed his tie from between his teeth, and just then +the awaited summons came. + +"Children! You may come up and bring mother." + +Suzanna ran out into the kitchen. Mother had her hands in a pan of dough +and was kneading vigorously. She looked up at Suzanna's message and +replied: "You children run up to father; I'll come when I can. Go +quietly by the bedroom door, the baby's asleep." + +Upstairs then the children flew. At the top they paused and looked in. +Father was standing close to The Machine; he turned as they appeared, +and with a princely gesture (Suzanna's private term), invited them in. + +The attic was dimly lit. Shadows seemed to lurk in its corners. It was +an attic in name only, since it held no stored treasures of former days. +It stood consecrated to a great endeavor. The children knew that, and +instinctively paused at the threshold. They got the sense that big +thoughts filled this room, big ambitions for Man. + +They approached and paused before The Machine. It stood high, +cabinet-shaped, of brilliantly polished wood whose surface seemed to +catch and hold soft, rosy lights from out the shadows. Above The Machine +rose a nickel-plated flexible arm, at the end of which hung a sort of +helmet. Some distance back of the arm, and extending about a foot above +the cabinet, were two tubes connected by a glass plate; and beneath the +plate, a telescope arrangement into which was set a gleaming lens. + +Mr. Procter opened a door at the side of the cabinet. The children, +peering in, beheld interesting looking springs, coils, and batteries. He +shut the door, walked around to the front of the cabinet and opened +another and smaller door. Here the children, following, saw a number of +small black discs. The inventor reached in, touched a lever, and +immediately a rhythmic, clicking sound ensued. + +Next he drew down dark shades over the low windows. The filmed glass +plate above the cabinet alone showed clear in the eclipse, as though +waiting. + +"Now, Suzanna, come!" + +Suzanna, at some new electric quality in her father's voice, sprang +forward. He procured a chair, placed it directly before the cabinet, +drew the flexible arm till the helmet rested perhaps four inches above +the child's head but did not touch it, pulled forward the telescope and +focused its lens upon her expectant face. + +"Watch the plate glass," he said in a tense whisper, and Suzanna kept +her eyes as directed. + +A moment passed. No sound came but the rhythmic ticking. The inventor's +face was white. His eyes, dark, held a gleam and a prayer. Another +space, and then very slowly a shadowy line of color played upon the +glass set between the two tubes; color so faint, so delicate, that +Suzanna wondered if she saw clearly. + +But the color strengthened, and at last all saw plainly a line of rich +deep purple touched with gold. It remained there triumphant upon the +glass, a royal bar. + +Silent moments breathed themselves away, for the test had come and it +had not failed. Suzanna, at last moving her gaze from the color +registered, turned to her father. She saw, with a leap of the heart, +that his eyes were wet. He seemed to have turned to an immovable image, +and yet never did life seem to flow out so richly from him. + +Peter broke the quiet. "What does it mean, daddy, that color?" he asked. + +Suddenly galvanized, Mr. Procter ran to the stairs outside. His voice +rang out like a bell. + +"Jane, come, come!" + +Mrs. Procter, in the kitchen, caught the exultant note in his voice. She +was stirring batter for a cake, but she flung down the spoon and ran up +the stairs. + +"Oh, Richard, what is it," she cried, as she reached him. His eyes, +half frightened, half elated, looked into hers. + +"I will show you," he cried. He took her hand and led her to The Machine +before which Suzanna still sat. + +The wave of color still persisted on the glass. "See," he said, +"registered color, for which I have worked and worked, died a thousand +deaths of despair, and been resurrected to hope. This afternoon the +color seemed promised, and so in fear and trembling I placed Suzanna +before the machine." + +"Oh, my dear, my dear, after all these years!" She lifted her face and +kissed him solemnly. + +And then Peter repeated his question, to which before there had been no +answer. + +"What does the color mean, daddy?" he asked. + +"Two colors recording in that manner means great versatility; purple +means the artist, probably a writer." + +Peter looked his bewilderment. His mother, smiling a little, reduced the +explanation to simpler form. Even then Peter was befogged. + +The inventor went to a remote corner and brought forth a large book +containing many pages. This he placed upon a small table, and the +children and their mother crowded about him, eager to see and to hear. + +Mr. Procter lit a side lamp so the light fell upon the book, then he +turned the pages slowly. Blocks of color lay upon each, some in squares +alone, some merging into others like a disjointed rainbow. Above each +block, or merged block, were writings, interpretations of color meaning, +word above word; many erasures, as though fresh thought thrust out the +integrity of early ones. + +Mr. Procter spoke to his wife. "Till the machine showed the +possibilities of ultimate success, I have said nothing even to you of +its inception. Now, however, I may speak. + +"It may sound strange, but from the time I was a very young boy, I've +seen others in color. That is, a vivid personality never failed to +translate itself in purple to me; a pale one in blue. It was out of that +spiritual sight that I built my theory of color. It took me years, but +time after time have I proved to my own complete satisfaction that each +individual has a keynote of color; a color explaining his purpose." + +A thousand questions of details, of practicalities that his theory did +not seem in the rough to touch, rushed to Mrs. Procter's lips; but she +could not voice one, she could not quench his uplifted expression and, +indeed, so great was her belief in him that she had faith that he would +overcome all obstacles. + +He went on: "After I had my system of color worked out, I began to plan +my machine, then to build it, and now--" He covered his face with his +hands. Suddenly he took them down, turned to his children and with eyes +alight, cried: + +"For the progress of humanity have I worked, my children. To read men's +meanings, the purposes for which they live, have I created this +machine." + +The children, deeply stirred with him, gazed back into his kindled face. +His magnetism lifted them. For humanity he had worked, should always +work, and with him they understood that this was the greatest service. +With him they rose on the wings of creative imagination. Desire ran deep +in each small heart to do something for the benefit of man. Not money, +not position, but love for one's fellows, work for one's fellows! Never +in all their lives were they to forget this moving hour in the attic. +Its influence would be with them for always. + +After a moment Maizie spoke: "How does The Machine know your color, +daddy?" + +The inventor smiled. "It has an eye, see?" He pointed to the lens in +the telescope. Then he opened the small door. "In this place it has +sensitized plates; this helmet, too, is highly sensitized." He paused +and then laughed at himself as he saw the mystified expressions of his +children. "Well, let us try Maizie. I know her color, but let's see what +the machine says." He turned out the lamp. "Come, Maizie," he said. + +So Maizie seated herself before the machine and watched to see what the +glass plate should say of her. The plate remained for a moment clear, +then slowly there grew a feather of color. Smoke color, a sort of dove +gray, it was and so remained, despite its neutrality, quite plainly +visible. + +Mr. Procter lifted the helmet, hushed the machine. He went to his book, +took it to the window, raised the shade a trifle and peered down. "As I +knew," he said. Then closing the book and turning to his small daughter, +he went on: "My little Maizie will some day nurse back to health those +who are weary and worn; she will be patient, full of understanding, and +she will be greatly beloved." + +Maizie's face grew luminous. "And so I'll do good too, just like you," +she said, with a beautiful faith. + +"You will do good, too, my daughter," he answered, with exquisite +egotism in his inclusion. + +Peter, eager-eyed, looked up at his father. + +"Do you think I have a color, too, daddy?" he asked. + +"Yes, Peter. Take your place." + +Peter did so. + +For him there grew a tongue of sturdy bronze. In the dim light it waved +across the surface of the glass plate. + +And Mr. Procter said: "In time our little boy Peter will build great +bridges." + +"That four horses can walk across, daddy?" Peter cried in ecstasy. + +"That a hundred horses can walk across, and a big engine pull safely its +train of cars." + +Then again into the inventor's eyes leaped a radiance. He placed his +hand lovingly upon the machine as though it were alive, and indeed so it +seemed to be, for into it he had put his finest ideals, his deepest +hopes for the development of man. + +"A few months more of work," he cried. "And then it will be ready to +give to the world." + +Someone came lightly up the stairs. A head appeared, then a body, then a +hearty voice: "May I come in?" it asked. + +Mrs. Procter swung the door wide to Mr. Reynolds, neighbor across the +way. He entered with a little hesitation. He was a large man with a +heavy brick-colored face, yet with eyes that had preserved some spirit +of youth. Mr. Reynolds was as great an idealist as his friend, the +inventor, though his idealism gave out in totally different directions. +He read all sorts of books, but reacted to them with originality. His +imagination only grasped their meanings, not his intellect. He worked in +another town, several miles from Anchorville, in a large chair factory, +and several times a week in the evening he stood upon a soap box on a +street corner, and amused a mixed audience by his picturesque setting +forth of what he thought was wrong with the world; also what methods he +believed would, if employed, straighten out the tangles. + +Since he spoke "straight from the shoulder," as he put it, touching +dramatically upon the hand of wealth as causing the tangles, he had +called down upon himself the wrath of the town's richest man, old John +Massey, owner of the Massey Steel Mills. Twice Mr. Massey had threatened +the eloquent and fearless orator with arrest, and twice for some unknown +reason he had refrained from carrying out his threat, and the +authorities of the town complacently allowed Mr. Reynolds to continue +his pastime. + +"I knew you were at home today," said Mr. Reynolds, "and I must see the +machine." He looked at the joyous face of the inventor. + +"Why, have you been trying it out?" he cried. + +"Yes, and with a fair degree of success. Of course, I realize it may not +always work as it did today. Indeed, the colors are not so strong as I +expect eventually to get them." + +"A great piece of work," said Mr. Reynolds, advancing to the middle of +the room and falling into the orator's attitude. "I've thought of it +every day since you told me of it. When I see men in the factory working +at jobs they fair hate, because they and theirs need bread--and breaking +under the bondage--Oh, I say, Procter, I wish you could bring the +machine to perfection soon and get others to believe in it." + +Mr. Procter's eyes lost their light. "That's it, to make others +believe!" + +Mrs. Procter went to her husband. She put her hand on his arm and looked +up into his face with a gaze of perfect faith. "A big purposeful idea +like yours, that's going to make humanity happier, can't fail but some +day to be brought to the world's attention. Never lose faith, my man." + +The shadow of discouragement fell swiftly from him. + +"And, now," she continued before he could speak, "all wait here a little +while. The baby's still asleep," she flung over her shoulder as she left +the room. + +Shortly she returned bearing a large tray which she set down on the +table. Then she lit the side lamp; it cast a soft glow over the room. +"Now all draw close," Mrs. Procter invited. + +So they drew chairs near the table. There was milk for the children, +little seed cakes, thin bread and butter, and cups of strong tea for the +inventor and the visitor. + +The children, sipping their milk and eating the little sweet cakes, +listening to the talk of their father and Mr. Reynolds, their expressed +hopes for the success of the machine and its effect upon humanity, gazed +at the invention. The sense of a community of interest filled them. They +felt that they, each and all, had put something of everlasting worth +into The Machine, just as it had put some enduring understanding into +them. + +"I feel," whispered Suzanna to Maizie, "as though we were in church." + +Mr. Reynolds caught the whisper. "And well you may, little lassie," he +returned. "Your father is a fine, good man with no thought at all of +himself, and some day," finished Mr. Reynolds, grandly, "his name will +go rolling down the ages as a benefactor to all mankind." + +A tribute and a prophecy! The children were glad that Mr. Reynolds had +such clear vision. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE NEW DRESS + + +An influence vaguely felt by all the Procter family lingered for days +after father's Saturday afternoon at home. And then ordinary hours +intruded and filled the small lives with their duties and their +pleasures. Still shadowy, deeply hidden, the influence of the visionary +father lay. Even small Maizie awoke to tiny dreams, her literalness for +moments drowned out. + +At school, Maizie and Suzanna were perhaps the least extravagantly +dressed little girls. Exquisitely clean, often quaintly adorned with +ribbons placed according to Suzanna's fancies, it still could be seen +that they came from an humble home. + +Still, in their attitude there was toward their companions an +unconscious patronage, felt but hardly resented by the others, since +Suzanna and Maizie gave love and warmth besides. + +And this unconscious feeling of superiority sprang from "belonging" to a +father who worked in his free hours that others out in the big world +might some day be glad he had lived! This idealism lent luster even to +his calling of weighing nails and selling washboards to the town of +Anchorville. + +Jenny Bryson, in Suzanna's class, bragged of her father's financial +condition, and indeed she was a resplendent advertisement of his +success. + +Suzanna listened interestedly. She gazed with admiration at the velvet +dress, the gold ring, and the pearl neck beads. She loved them all--the +smoothness of the velvet, the sparkle of the gold, the soft luster of +the pearls. But she felt no envy. She loved the adornments with her +imagination, not with desire. And though she could not say so to Jenny, +she rather pitied her for not having a father to whom a future +generation would bow in great gratitude. + +Then too, as mother said, if you merely bought clothes, you lost the joy +of creating. Witness the ingenious way, following Suzanna's suggestion, +that mother had draped a lace curtain over a worn blue dress, and +behold, a result wonderful. + +It was fun then to "make the best of your material," as mother again +said. Mother, who, when not too tired from many tasks, could paint rare +word pictures, build for eager little listeners castles of hope; build, +especially for Suzanna, colorful palaces with flaming jewels, crystal +lamps, scented draperies. + +Joys sometimes come close together. Father's day, then Sunday with an +hour spent in the Massey pew with gentle Miss Massey, old John Massey's +only child, setting forth the lesson from the Bible, and then the +thrilling announcement by the Superintendent that a festival was to be +given by the primary teachers some time in August, the exact date to be +told later. + +Miss Massey, taking up the subject when the Superintendent had finished, +thought it might add to the brilliance of the affair if Suzanna were to +recite. So she gave Suzanna a sheet of paper printed in blue ink, with a +title in red. "The Little Martyr of Smyrna," Suzanna spelled out. + +"You are to learn the poem by heart, of course, Suzanna," said Miss +Massey, "and if you need any help as to emphasis or gesture, you may +come to me on any afternoon." + +Suzanna flushed exalted. "I don't believe I'll need any help, thank you, +Miss Massey," she said. She could scarcely wait then till she reached +home to tell her mother the great news. + +"You'll have to study hard," said Mrs. Procter after she had read over +the verses, "but Suzanna, you have nothing suitable to wear." + +"The lace curtain dress, mother?" asked Suzanna, hopefully. + +"Beyond repair," returned Mrs. Procter. + +Father, sitting near, looked around at his small daughter. "I have two +dollars that I couldn't possibly use. Take them for a dress, Suzanna." + +"But, dear--" began mother, and went on haltingly about a pair of new +shoes she believed father had been saving for. + +But father did not hear, and so behold Suzanna and her mother the next +day at four o'clock in the afternoon in Bryson's drygoods store deciding +upon a pink lawn and a soft valenciennes lace. And later, green cambric +for a petticoat. And then on Wednesday the cutting out of the dress with +suggestions and help from Mrs. Reynolds, the very kind neighbor across +the way. On Thursday, baking day, mother put in every waking moment +between the oven in the kitchen and the sewing machine in the +dining-room. + +"Mother dear, don't work so hard," Suzanna begged once. She held the +fretful baby in her arms and tried to soothe him. He was always fretful, +it seemed, when mother was very busy. + +"The dress must be finished this week," said Mrs. Procter, basting away +furiously. + +"But there's two weeks yet to the festival, mother," said Suzanna, as +she hushed the baby against her shoulder. + +"Next week, Suzanna, the bedrooms must be thoroughly cleaned, the +carpets taken up. O, please take the baby out into the yard and keep him +amused." + +Two red spots burned on Mrs. Procter's cheeks. Suzanna saw them. +Ardently she wished mother would stop and rest. Such driving haste, such +tenacity, meant later a nervous headache with mother put aside in a +darkened room. Suzanna sighed as she took the baby out into the yard. + +She put him into his carriage and wheeled him about till he fell asleep. +Then she called Maizie to watch him, while she tiptoed back into the +dining-room. Her mother still sat, dress in hand. Now she was drawing +out the bastings. The red spots still burned. + +"The baby's asleep, mother," whispered Suzanna. She longed ardently for +the return of the loved one who could laugh and say something funny +about sleep claiming the baby when he had made up his small mind to +remain exasperatingly wide awake. + +But instead--"Take out the stockings, Suzanna, and darn them. I'll call +you when I need your help for supper. Keep your eye on Peter." + +That was all. Suzanna lingered, but no further word came. + +Suzanna dragged a low rocking chair into the yard, emptied the bag of +freshly washed stockings on the ground beside her, selected a pair of +Peter's, slipped the egg down, threaded her needle and began the task of +filling in the huge holes. Then she called Maizie from beside the still +sleeping baby. + +"Maizie," she began, "listen to me say two verses of 'The Little Martyr +of Smyrna.'" + +Maizie sank down at her sister's feet. She listened in awe as Suzanna +dramatically repeated the first part of the poem. Her gestures were +remarkable, her voice charged with feeling. + +"It's beautiful, Suzanna," said Maizie. "Everybody will listen and look +at you in your new dress." + +"O, it isn't a dress, Maizie," cried Suzanna, the while her small +fingers dexterously wove the needle in and out. "It's a rose blossom. +And when I recite in it on the last day of school my heart will be a +butterfly sipping honey from the flower." + +"I thought it was only a pale pink lawn at ten cents a yard," said +Maizie. She spoke somewhat timidly now, fearful of Suzanna's scorn. + +"You think everything is just what it is," answered Suzanna +reproachfully. "Go see if the baby is still asleep, and look down the +road for Peter." + +Maizie went off obediently, but she returned in a moment with the news +that the baby still slept and Peter was playing near Mr. Reynolds' gate. +She seated herself as before. She wanted to hear more of Suzanna's +fancies, but Suzanna remained silent, having been chilled a little by +Maizie's practicality. So Maizie put out her hand and touched her +sister. "Will the petticoat be a petticoat?" she asked, and wondered +excitedly into what beauty Suzanna's imagination would transmute this +ordinary piece of cambric. + +Suzanna's spirits rose again. "It'll be a green satin cup for the rose," +she answered, gazing dreamily before her. She let Peter's stocking fall +to the ground while she clasped her hands ecstatically. "O, Maizie, it's +almost too much joy! To wear a flower dress and to recite something that +makes you so happy and yet you want to cry too." + +Maizie nestled a little closer. "Do you think, Suzanna, when the green +petticoat's nearly worn, that it'll come down to me?" + +Suzanna pondered this for a moment. "Yes, it'll go down to you, Maizie, +but not for years and years," she answered, finally. "Things do last so +in this family." + +Maizie, by a sad little shake of the head, agreed with this statement, +and the sisters were silent. In different manner, however, for Maizie +simply accepted an unpleasant fact, while Suzanna worked mentally to a +solution of any situation. She found the solution at last. + +"I'll tell you what I'll do, Maizie," she said. "Once a month, when we +love each other madly, I'll let you wear my petticoat." + +"I hope it'll come on Sunday when we love each other that way," said +Maizie, wistfully; "I'm sure mother wouldn't let you lend the petticoat +to me for an every-day." + +"We can fix that, too," said ready Suzanna. "Some Friday you can begin +to fuss about washing Peter. I'll have to wash him myself if you're +_too_ mean. And Saturday morning you can peel the potatoes so thick that +mother'll say: 'Maizie, do you think we're made of money! Here, let +Suzanna show you how to peel those potatoes thin.' And then I'll be so +mad I'll give you a push, and I won't speak to you for the rest of the +day." + +"Yes, go on," said Maizie, her eyes shining. + +"And then on Sunday morning, just before breakfast, you'll come to me +and put your arms around my neck and say: 'Dear, sweet, _lovely_ +Suzanna, I'm so sorry I've been so hateful. I'll go down on my knees for +your forgiveness. _And I'll sew on all the buttons this week!_'" + +Maizie drew away a little then. Suzanna went on, however. "And I'll say: +'Yes, dear sinner, I forgive you freely. You may wear my green petticoat +today.'" + +There fell an hour of a never-to-be-forgotten day when the pink dress +lay on the dining-room table, full length, finished, marvelous to little +eyes with its yards and yards of valenciennes lace that graduated in +width from very narrow to one broad band around the bottom of the skirt. +Suzanna, Maizie, Peter, and even the baby bowed before the miracle of +beauty. + +"How many yards of lace are on it, mother?" asked Suzanna, for the sixth +time, and for the sixth time Mrs. Procter looked up from her sewing +machine at which she was busy with the green petticoat and answered: "A +whole bolt, Suzanna." + +The children at this information stared rounder-eyed and then turned to +gaze with uncovered awe at Suzanna, the owner. + +"Do you think, mother," asked Maizie, "that when I'm older I can have a +pink dress with no trimming of yours on it?" + +"We'll see," said Mrs. Procter, who knew how strictly to the letter she +was held to her promises. + +Now Suzanna reluctantly left the dress and went to her mother. "Mother," +she cried, softly, "when I recite 'The Little Martyr of Smyrna' up on +the big platform, I'm afraid I won't be humble in spirit. It's too much +to be humble, isn't it, when you've got a whole bolt of lace on your +dress?" + +Mrs. Procter, quite used to Suzanna's intensities, answered, running the +machine deftly as she spoke: "Oh, you'll be all right, Suzanna. The +minister means something else when he preaches of being humble. What +bothers me now is how to manage a pair of shoes for you. Yours are so +shabby." + +"Can't I wear my patent leather slippers?" + +"You've outgrown them, Suzanna. They're too short even for Maizie, you +remember." + +"I could stand them for that one time, mother." + +"No," said Mrs. Procter decidedly; "I should be distressed seeing you in +shoes too small for you." + +"Mother, you could open the end of my patent leather slipper so my toes +can push through and then put a puff of black, ribbon over the hole!" +The idea was an inspiration, and Suzanna's eyes shone. + +Mrs. Procter saw immediately possibilities in the idea. Years of working +and scheming and praying to raise her ever increasing family on the +inadequate and varying income of her inventor husband had ultimated in +keen sensibilities for opportunities. "Why, I think I can do that," she +said. "I'll make a sort of shirred bag into which your toes will fit and +so lengthen the slipper and cover the stitching with a bow. I hope I can +find a needle strong enough to go through the leather." Her face was +bright, her voice clear. She was all at once quite different from the +weary, dragged mother of the past few days, determined against all odds +to finish the dress so the cleaning might be started the following week. + +Suzanna gazed delightedly. With the fine intuition of an imaginative +child she understood the reason for the metamorphosis. It was the +quickening of the senses that rallied themselves to meet and solve a +problem that brought a high glow; stimulated, and uplifted. She herself +was no stranger to that glow. + +She put her arms about her mother's shoulder. + +"Isn't it nice, mother, to have to think out things?" + +A little puzzled, Mrs. Procter looked at Suzanna. Then her face cleared. + +"O, I understand. It is--can you understand the word, +Suzanna--'exhilarating' sometimes." + +"I feel what the word means, mother--like catching in your breath when +you touch cold water." + +"Exactly. Now please get the slippers." + +Suzanna ran upstairs. Returning, slippers in hand, she found the other +children had left. + +"Has Maizie got the baby?" Suzanna asked anxiously. + +Her mother smiled. "Yes, I carried him out to the yard. He's kicking +about, happy on his blanket." + +Suzanna, relieved, handed the slippers to her mother. + +"And I brought my old black hair ribbon. That will do for the shirring, +won't it, mother?" + +"Nicely." + +Together they evolved, worked, tried on, completed. + +"It's more fun doing this than going to Bryson's and buying a new pair, +isn't it, mother?" + +"Well, I believe it is, daughter." + +"I feel so warm here--" Suzanna touched her heart--"because we're doing +something harder than just going out to the store and buying what we'd +like." + +Mrs. Procter gazed at her handiwork reflectively. "Well, it does make +you feel that you've accomplished a great deal when you've created +something out of nothing." + +Mrs. Procter rose then, touched the new dress lovingly, and said: "So, +we can put it away now, Suzanna; it's quite finished. The petticoat +needs just a button and buttonhole." + +Suzanna stood quite still. At last she looked up into her mother's face +and put her question: "When will you begin to cut the goods out from +under the lace, mother?" + +Mrs. Procter, her thoughts now supperward, spoke abstractedly: "Oh, +we'll not do that." + +There was a silence, while the room suddenly whirled for Suzanna. +Recovering from the dizziness, with eyes large and black and her face +very pale, Suzanna gazed unbelievingly at her mother. For a moment she +was quite unable to speak. Then in a tiny voice which she endeavored to +keep steady, she asked: "Not even from under the wide row round the +bottom, mother?" + +"No, Suzanna," Mrs. Procter answered, quite unconscious of the storm in +the child's breast. She moved towards the door. + +"But, mother, listen, please." Suzanna's hands were locked till they +showed white at the knuckles. "If you don't cut the goods away the green +petticoat won't gleam through the lace! You see, it's a rose dress and a +rose has shining green leaves, just showing." + +The plea was ardent, but Mrs. Procter was firm. Indeed she did not +glance at Suzanna. The reaction from her days of hard and continuous +work was setting in. She merely said: "Suzanna, we must make that dress +last a long time. I made it so that it can be lengthened five inches. We +can't weaken it by cutting the goods away from under the lace. Now, +dear, go and see that the children aren't in mischief. I must start +supper." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +SUZANNA COMES TO A DECISION + + +The children were playing contentedly in the road, Suzanna assured +herself. And finding them so, she wandered disconsolately back to the +front porch, where seated in a little rocking chair she stared straight +before her. She felt as one thrown suddenly from a great height. One +moment she had been thrillingly happy, the next, the bitter fruit of +disappointment touched her lips. So events occur lightningly quick in +this world. The day itself was as beautiful as it had been an hour +before, yet its sun had ceased to shine for little Suzanna, since the +crowning touch of The Dress, the poetic completeness of it, was denied +her. + +Years ago it seemed she had wakened in the morning after dreaming of a +rose gown with its glimpses of cool green flickering through rows of +open lace; but no more could she dream, since that lace was now +condemned to blindness, unable even to hint at concealed beauties, and +this because Economy, the stern god of the Procter home, so ordained. + +Two tears at last found their slow way down her cheek. Not the least of +her woe was caused by the realization that now the dress was +ingloriously what Maizie had termed it, a pale pink lawn at ten cents a +yard, bearing no appeal to her imagination, fulfilling no place in +Suzanna's great Scheme of Things. + +Suzanna's distress, as the days passed, did not abate. She never spoke +of the dress, nor did she go to look at it as it hung shrouded in cheese +cloth in the hall closet upstairs. No longer did she look forward with +delight to the day when feelingly she should recite the troubles and the +heroism of "The Little Martyr of Smyrna." + +Instead she went quietly about performing her customary duties, finding +for the time no real zest in life. + +Mrs. Procter, innocent of the cause of Suzanna's listlessness, spoke no +word. She wondered why the child had lost interest in the festival, +indeed in all things pertaining to the occasion. It was difficult, she +finally decided, to know how to cope with a child so complex, so +changeable. She determined to treat the new mood with indifference, as +being the most potent method. So she asked of Suzanna the performance of +daily duties just as usual. When she discovered Suzanna gazing at her, +Maizie close beside her with the same degree of reflection in her gray +eyes, Mrs. Procter grew uncomfortable, then a trifle irritable. Both +children seemed to regard her as an alien, one, for the time, quite +outside their pale. + +Suzanna, then, had taken Maizie into her confidence. + +"One needs be clairvoyant," Mrs. Procter told her husband one evening, +"to know what passes through small minds." + +"Clairvoyant and full of patience," he answered, looking up from his +color book. "I can remember even now my own sensations when at times my +mother failed to go with me into my land of dreams." + +Mrs. Procter cast her memory back over the events of several days. + +"I can't think what has so changed Suzanna," she said at last; "I've +disappointed her, I fear, about something or other. Dear me, what +insight versatile children do demand in a mother. And Suzanna takes +everything so very seriously. And Maizie stares at me too, with a little +bewildered expression. It's strange that Maizie, with all her +literalness, can understand at times Suzanna's disappointments when her +fancies are not given due value. For, of course, it is some fancy of +Suzanna's that I've either not noticed, or perhaps laughed at." She +paused to smile at her husband. + +"Such children come of giving them an inventor father, an 'impractical +genius,' as I've heard myself in satire called." + +She flushed up angrily at this. + +"You've done wonderfully well," she said, and believed the assertion; +just as though at forty to weigh nails correctly and to sell so many +yards of garden hose a week was a fine measure of success. "And your +name will go ringing down the ages." She would never let him lose +confidence in his own powers. Circumstances alone had thrown him into a +mediocre position in a small town, but they should never hold him down. + +He grew beneath her look; beneath her belief in him. And so the +conversation ended on the personal note; ended with hands clasped and +fond eyes seeing each the other's charm after many years. + +Suzanna, arranging the pantry the next morning, sought her mother +upstairs with a domestic announcement. + +"The vinegar bottle is empty," she said. + +"And the gherkins all ready," cried Mrs. Procter. "Will you run over to +Mrs. Reynolds and ask her for some vinegar, Suzanna?" + +Listlessly, Suzanna returned downstairs, and from the pantry procured a +cup. Slowly she left the house, walked down the front path and across +the road to Mrs. Reynolds' home. Arrived there, she went round to the +back door and knocked with slack knuckles. + +Mrs. Reynolds, a white cloth tied about her forehead, opened the door. +She gave out redolently the pungent odor of the commodity Suzanna sought +to borrow. + +Mrs. Reynolds was stout and comfortable looking ordinarily. A quaint and +interesting personality, sprung from Welsh parentage, she fitted into +the life of Anchorville only because of a certain natural adaptability. +She seemed to belong to a wilder, more passionate people than those +plain lives which surrounded her. + +Suzanna knew her tenderness, her tragic depressions. She loved her deep +voice, her resonant tones, all her quick changes of mood, and her +occasional strange ways of expression, revealing her understanding of +men and women's vagaries. + +Mrs. Reynolds adored Suzanna. She had said often there was one thing she +coveted from her neighbor, and that was her neighbor's child. + +Mrs. Reynolds had no children and in that deplorable fact lay her +keenest unhappiness. + +She greeted Suzanna cordially. + +"Come in, Suzanna, come in," she said. "I've been using vinegar and red +pepper all morning," she continued, as she went her way to the pantry +with Suzanna's cup. "I've one of my old headaches." + +"Oh, I'm so sorry," said Suzanna, with immediate sympathy. "Have you +been worrying?" + +"Not more than usual, Suzanna," said Mrs. Reynolds with a sigh. "Here's +your vinegar. Hold it steady. Vinegar's a bad thing to spill." + +"Thank you," said Suzanna, politely, as she received the cup. And then: +"I don't see why you should worry. You have no children. It's mother's +many children that sometimes give her worry." + +"Your mother'd have worries even without you all," returned Mrs. +Reynolds. "Won't you sit down a spell, Suzanna?" + +"No, I can't, mother's waiting." Suzanna walked toward the door, pausing +on her way to glance about her. "My, but you're very clean here," she +said, appreciatively. "Your cleanness is different from ours. Ours +doesn't show so." + +"There's no little hands to clutter things up," said Mrs. Reynolds, but +her voice wasn't glad. + +Suzanna, intuitively sensing the real trouble, said: "Reynolds slammed +the door this morning, Mrs. Reynolds. We heard the slam in our +dining-room and my mother jumped." Suzanna quite innocently borrowed +Mrs. Reynolds' way of referring to her husband. + +Mrs. Reynolds' face darkened. "Yes, I know he did. That man is getting +more like a bear every day." + +"He liked our twin that went away, Mrs. Reynolds. He wasn't like a bear +when he played with her." + +At this statement Mrs. Reynolds suddenly threw her apron over her head +and sobbed: "That's just it, Suzanna, that's just it; there aren't any +little cluttering fingers about." + +Suzanna set the vinegar cup carefully down on the table, the while her +keenly sensitive mind worked rapidly. Those gifts which by dint of their +frequency in her own home seemed rather overdone were actually missed +here! A strong, deep sympathy for Mrs. Reynolds' disappointment grew +within her, but did not entirely crowd out the thought that through this +very disappointment her own burning desire might be brought to pass. She +now went swiftly and touched the weeping woman. + +"Mrs. Reynolds," she began, "will you tell me how you feel about +cutting pink goods away from under lace. Can you afford to do that?" + +Mrs. Reynolds' apron came down with a jerk, and for a second she stared +her perplexity at the upturned, earnest little face. Then with quick +understanding which revealed her real mother-spirit, she answered: "Why +land, Honey-Girl, Reynolds makes pretty good money at times. I guess we +can do about as we please in most simple ways." + +"Well, then, keep your apron down," advised Suzanna; "and just think +this thought over and over: 'Reynolds is not going to be cross any +more!' Thank you again for the vinegar, I must be going now." + +It was not without misgiving that Suzanna started immediately to put her +secret plan into execution. And her judicious side urged the completion +of all details before she said anything to those most nearly concerned +in her new move. Only to Maizie, whose constant attendance she +skillfully managed to elude while she made her simple preparations, did +she at last give any confidence, and it was in this manner she spoke: + +"There's going to be a great change, Maizie; and tonight you must manage +to stay awake to do something for me." + +Maizie, at once interested, grew wildly expectant. Though she could send +up no airships of her own, she loved to contemplate Suzanna's daring +flights. + +"I'll do anything, Suzanna," she promised. + +So Suzanna gave Maizie her news. Hearing it, Maizie's lips quivered, but +she kept back the tears by the exercise of great control. They were +upstairs in their own room. It was late afternoon. Peter was out +playing. Mrs. Procter, the baby with her, was downtown ordering +groceries. + +"Now, you mustn't cry, Maizie," said Suzanna; "it all had to be, and +what is to be is for the best." Suzanna quoted from Mrs. Reynolds. "Go +downstairs and get father's dictionary." + +Maizie obeyed, returning quickly with the desired book. + +"And now stand at the window so as to tell me when you see mother +coming." + +So Maizie took her stand while Suzanna labored hard with the pen. An +hour passed. Once Suzanna flew downstairs to the kitchen, then returned +to her work. At last, Maizie in excited tones announced that her mother +and the baby had turned the corner. Suzanna laid down her pen. + +"Well, it's all finished," she said. + +Maizie looked at her sister. Now the tears came, blurring the big gray +eyes. + +"You mustn't cry, Maizie," said Suzanna, trying to subdue her own +emotions. + +"Couldn't you just wear the dress as it is?" asked Maizie in a small +voice, touching the crux of the whole matter, the cause of the great +change. + +"I just couldn't," Suzanna returned. "It wouldn't be a rose blossom, you +see, Maizie, _when it could just as well be one_." + +Maizie nodded. Perhaps she understood Suzanna's sense of waste. +Undoubtedly her grief at Suzanna's contemplated step had sharpened her +sensibilities. Vague stirrings told her that the artist in Suzanna had +been desperately hurt; and for the once her imagination thrilled as did +her sister's to the dress as a Rose Blossom. She knew with passion that +it could not remain simply pink lawn cut and slashed into a mere +garment. + +So she went softly to Suzanna and touched her gently. + +"I'll help you all I can, sister," she said. + +So it was that just as the clock was striking nine, little Maizie stole +from her room--shared as long as she remembered with Suzanna--crept down +the stairs and into the parlor where her father sat studying, as always, +a formidable book, the while her mother sat sewing, her chair drawn +close to his. Maizie went straight to the quiet figure. + +"Mother," she said, "Suzanna told me to stay awake till the clock struck +nine and then to give you this." + +"This" was a note folded into the shape of a cocked hat, which Suzanna +thought very elegant. Mrs. Procter, accustomed to Suzanna's ways, +unfolded the note, smiled at the large printed letters, sighed a little +at the thought of the great effort put into their forming, read once, +twice, then sat up very straight. The note thus told its own story: + + My Loving Mother: + + I have given myself to the Reynolds for there own. + Mrs. Reynolds is not happy with Reynolds' slams of + doors and crossness be cause they have no child. + They will be pretty sprised to see me to night and + glad with my big shiny bag witch I have borrowed + from my once very loved father. I have my pink + dress witch will soon be a rose in it and my other + things. I wore my hat and coat even if it is warm. + You will not miss me much because the last baby + went away and a baby always makes more work. And + anyway one little girl out of a big family wont + make any difrunce. But if you want any fine + errands ran, you can borrow Mrs. Reynolds new + child. Tell father I am loving my naybor as + myself. It hurt me till something stopped inside + to see Mrs. Reynolds put her apron over her head + at Reynolds slams. Perhaps the mother angel that + stops at our house all the time will pause at Mrs. + Reynolds' next time and leave a bundle, thinking + when I'm there a family don't have to be started + which is always hard, I suppose. Mother, please + don't forget about borrowing. It is not polite to + come 2 often even to borrow me for some thing big. + It took me an hour and twenty minutes to write + this while you were at the butshers and grosers + and Maizie at the window. I had to stop too, to + watch the beans on the stove. I have labored over + some of the big spelling with fathers dicsionary + on my knee, remembering to make all my i's big + I's. + + Farewell forever, + Suzanna _Reynolds_. + + P. S. Mrs. Reynolds can afford to cut away the + goods from under all lace, which makes my heart + jump! Perhaps tho even tho I'm sorry for her, if + she hadn't promised to cut away the goods from + under the lace in my pink dress, I wouldn't have + adopted myself out to her. So I shall see you when + I recite "The Little Martyr of Smyrna" with the + green showing through the windows of my many yards + of lace. O, Mother, I couldn't bare to ware that + dress which is just a _dress_ when it could be a + _rose_. + +"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Procter, attracted by the strange, almost +solemn silence. "What's the trouble, Jane?" + +She handed the note to him, waited while he read it through not once, +but many times, as she had. + +He passed it back to her. "Shall we go for her?" he asked. + +But she shook her head. "Sometimes I don't know just how to act where +Suzanna's concerned," she said. She folded the note. "No, sometimes I +feel just helpless." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +SUZANNA MAKES HER ENTRY + + +Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds were in the kitchen, she belatedly washing the +supper dishes, he smoking his pipe near the window. She lent, through +her vivid personality, color to him. Big, hearty, he was not +picturesque. He seemed to take note of realities more than she did. +Perhaps springing from emotional folk, she stood with a quality of rich +background denied to him by a line of unimaginative ancestors. + +He read his big books, she found truths in her own heart. She found a +quick, tender language springing from her understanding. He used his +words like bludgeons. + +Still they loved one another, and her deepest hurt was that he wanted +that which she could not give him. So she placed his longing before hers +and grieved most for his lack. + +The front door-bell rang. They looked at one another wonderingly, then +Mr. Reynolds slowly withdrew his feet from the window sill and went as +slowly down the hall. He opened the door to Suzanna, who stood waiting, +conventionally attired in hat and cloak, pale, and with eyes wide and +dark. + +"Good evening, Reynolds," said Suzanna. + +"O! good evening, come in, come in," urged Mr. Reynolds hospitably, but +totally at a loss as he looked at the little figure. "Come right out to +the kitchen." + +Suzanna followed him. When once in the kitchen, she stood for a moment +blinking in the light streaming from the hanging lamp under which Mrs. +Reynolds stood; then she said: + +"I've come to you, Mrs. Reynolds, to stay. I've adopted myself out to +you." + +"Well, I never, dear love!" was all Mrs. Reynolds could say as she wiped +her hands on a convenient roller towel. + +Mr. Reynolds laughed. "Oh, you think you'd like a change of homes, +Suzanna?" + +Suzanna turned to him then. She spoke quietly, but decisively so he +might perfectly understand. "No, that's not it, Reynolds. I love my +little home; but first I don't want Mrs. Reynolds to throw her apron +over her head at your slams. And second it's for myself I come, because +you can afford to do something for me my own mother thinks she can't on +account of little money." + +But Mr. Reynolds caught only the first reason. "What do you mean, young +lady, about slammin'; that's what I want to know." His tone was +belligerent. Mrs. Reynolds threw him a withering look. "Here, Suzanna," +she said; "give me the bag, and you sit down. Take your hat off, my +brave little lass. 'Twas but you and you alone could think of this sweet +thought." + +"I'd rather have things settled before I take my hat off," said Suzanna. +She relinquished the bag, however, and seated herself in the chair Mrs. +Reynolds pulled forward. Then she went on: "You know, Reynolds, you do +slam doors and make Mrs. Reynolds cry. And you know, anyway, you +oughtn't to blame Mrs. Reynolds because you get no visits. It may be +just as much your fault because the mother angel don't like your ways." + +She paused a moment before continuing. "And, anyway, my father never +blames mother for anything, only when she's tired and cries he remembers +to love her even if he's on the way upstairs to the attic to his +wonderful Machine, and he puts his arm about her waist, though mother +says it's much larger now than it was years ago. That's what my father +that used to be, does." + +"Why bless my soul!" blustered Mr. Reynolds, his face a fine glowing +color; "bless my soul!" he repeated, removing his shoes and slamming +them down, as he always did under stress. "Women, my dear, will make up +all sorts of stories. If I did give the door a bit of a slam, it was +because the bacon didn't set right, perhaps. And a woman's always +fancying things." + +"But you don't put your arm about her, you know that, Reynolds. I was +born in this town and I've never seen you put your arm about her." + +Mrs. Reynolds' apron was over her head again, but she made no sound. Her +husband knocked the ashes from his pipe, and ran his fingers through his +thick hair. Then he stared helplessly at Suzanna. She rose valiantly to +the occasion. + +"If you say, 'There, there, don't cry, you should have married a better +man,' she'll say: 'There couldn't be a better' and take her apron down." +Thus innocently Suzanna exposed a tender home method of salving hurts, +and her listener, as near as his nature could, appropriated the method. +He rose from his chair and went softly to his wife. At her side he +hesitated in sheer embarrassment, but as she began to sob, he hurriedly +repeated Suzanna's formula: "There, there, dear, don't cry. I'm a bad +'un, I am--" + +Mrs. Reynolds lowered her shield. "You know better than that, +Reynolds," she denied, almost indignantly. "You're a good provider, with +a bit of a temper." + +"Well, out with it then. What _is_ the trouble? I'm willing to do what I +can, even occasionally to doing what the little lass suggests." And with +the words, his big arm went clumsily about his wife, the while he looked +at Suzanna for approval. She nodded vigorously, her eyes shining. + +"It's just this, then, Reynolds," the words were now a whisper, and the +big red-faced man had to stoop to hear. "It's that I'm achin' all the +time to hold one in my arms; and always to you I've let on that I didn't +care. An'--an'--I know the hunger in your own fine heart, my lad." + +Mr. Reynolds' face grew wonderfully soft; indeed, tender in a new +understanding. "I didn't know, Margie, that you grieved. Come, look up. +You and me are together anyway." + +"And you have me, now, too," broke in Suzanna, eager to help. "I'm going +to stay with you forever'n forever, only except when my mother that used +to be wants to borrow me back. Now, I'll go to bed, if you please." + +And then one swift, cuddling memory of little Maizie alone in bed across +the street brought the hot tears to Suzanna's eyes, but she winked them +resolutely back as she lifted the black, shiny bag. + +"Tomorrow," she said to Mrs. Reynolds, "you can cut the goods away from +under the lace on my pink dress, can't you?" She went on, not waiting +for an answer. "Shall I go right along upstairs?" + +Mrs. Reynolds spoke gently: "Yes, Suzanna. Did you tell your mother you +were coming to me to be my own lass?" + +"I wrote her a letter." + +Suzanna on her way upstairs waited a moment while Mrs. Reynolds +whispered directions to her husband: "You run across to the little home +while I put her to bed." Then looking wistfully up into his face: "Do +you think she'll let me undress her?" + +"That young'un will do anything to make you happy, Margie." + +From the top of the stairs the words floated down: "Are you +coming--_mother_--" + +Suzanna's voice choked on the word, but Mrs. Reynolds heard only the +exquisite title. She lifted her face, glowing like a heaven of stars. + +"I'm coming, Suzanna," she called. And she went swiftly up the stairs to +the little girl. "This night you sleep under the silk coverlet--and more +I couldn't do for royalty!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +REGRETS + + +Suzanna woke the next morning to a realization that she was in a strange +place. She occupied a large bed, too large, it seemed to her, for one +small girl. And even the silken coverlet failed to assuage the sudden +wave of homesickness which threatened to engulf her. + +She lay thinking. A clock on the dresser showed her the hour to be +seven. Maizie would be up and downstairs. She would have buttoned Peter +and would be carrying the blue dishes from the pantry to the +dining-room. Father would be in the attic for a glance at his beloved +Machine before obeying mother's cheerful call to breakfast. + +Suzanna choked back a lump insistent upon rising to her throat. Across +the way was home and she had adopted herself out of it! Here all was +quiet, and comfortable, very comfortable. The mattress was thick, her +small body quite sank into its depths; the bed she shared with Maizie, +she had realized on occasions, had lumps, and no silken coverlet +spreading itself brilliantly. Still there were rare and beautiful +compensations for the lack of thick mattresses and silken coverlets--and +greatest grief to her of all was that she stood no longer a daughter to +a great man! + +The tears came perilously near. Suzanna choked them back as she heard +"Reynolds" close the front gate with what to him was a gentle click. She +felt that in a moment Mrs. Reynolds would summon her downstairs to a +breakfast hot and delicious. + +_Why had she left home if she loved it so!_ + +The sentence formed itself in her mind. + +Well, she hadn't realized that home and those in it were so dear till +she left. And her reason was a good one. It had seemed she could +scarcely live possessed of a dress whose sweet possibilities were denied +by a mother's spirit of economy. Never had she so intensely wished for +anything as for the goods to be cut away from under the rows of lace. + +Still now, lying there alone in her strange surroundings, that desire +was losing its poignancy. It didn't seem quite to fill her entire +universe. + +Mrs. Reynolds put her head inside the door. She wore a crisp blue and +white dress, her black hair was drawn smoothly back from her brow. Her +eyes dwelt lovingly on the little girl. + +"Quite awake, Suzanna?" she asked. + +Suzanna nodded. She couldn't trust herself to speak. + +"Well, then," said Mrs. Reynolds, "I'm going to give thee a treat." She +went away quite unconscious that she had fallen into her original quaint +method of speech. + +Presently she returned, carrying a tray covered with a white and red +napkin. + +Suzanna sat up, received the tray in her lap and waited unexcitedly +while Mrs. Reynolds removed the enshrouding napkin. + +There lay an orange cut up and sugared; a poached egg on a slice of +perfectly browned toast, and a glass of rich milk. + +"For my little girl," said Mrs. Reynolds in her contralto voice. "Now +eat thee, my dearie, and take your time. I'll leave now." + +Alone once more, Suzanna surveyed the tray. She lifted a spoon with the +tiniest piece of orange on its tip, and found strangely that when she +attempted to swallow the fruit her throat quite closed up. + +Suddenly there came a memory of Drusilla. Drusilla had told of the +little silver chain, binding all to one another. Surely the chain +binding Suzanna to her mother was doubly thick, yet she had broken it! +She put the tray to one side and sprang from the bed. Her desire, +recently so keen, so all absorbing, seemed little indeed beside the +yearning now to be back across the way once again her Mother's Child. + +Mrs. Reynolds, returning, found her little guest at the window, bare +feet on the cold floor; the white gown held tightly at the neck by a +small, trembling hand. A glance at the tray on the bed revealed a +breakfast practically untasted. + +"Why, my lamb," began Mrs. Reynolds, "not a bite gone down!" + +Suzanna turned, a desperate little face she showed, eyes wide and +appealing. + +"I just couldn't eat, Mrs. Reynolds." No thought now of bestowing the +beloved title. + +"And the food brought fine to bed to you." + +"Not even then." + +"Well, come then, dear heart; you must be dressed. I put your clothes +away neat and tidy." + +Mrs. Reynolds opened a closet door and brought forth an armful of +garments. Suzanna surveyed them as though they had no relation to her. + +Mrs. Reynolds went suddenly and picked up the little figure, carried her +to a rocking chair and with no word held her close. + +"What is it, my little girl?" asked Mrs. Reynolds after a time, softly. + +Her little girl! Suzanna winced. But she _was_ Mrs. Reynolds' little +girl now. Hadn't she broken all ties with the loved ones across the way? + +She tried to find comfort in Mrs. Reynolds' joy. "I am your little girl, +aren't I?" she asked softly, calling valiantly on her sense of justice. + +Mrs. Reynolds looked searchingly into Suzanna's face. With no child of +her own, she was still a mother-at-heart. She was full of understanding. + +"As much, my own lassie," she answered, "as any other woman's child can +be. You see," she went on after a pause, "there's a bond 'tween mother +and child that can't ever be broke." + +"But I adopted myself out to you," said Suzanna, though her heart was +beating with hope. + +"Yes, you did," admitted Mrs. Reynolds; "but you didn't at that break +the tie that binds you to your own mother. You could never do that, +Suzanna, lassie." + +As Suzanna looked up into the kind face, new thoughts came surging to +her. She couldn't separate them, couldn't arrange them. They all jumbled +together, like vivid picture impressions, full of color and feeling. One +thought at length cleared itself, stood out. + +Love and the chain binding you to those you loved was the biggest thing +in the world. + +So she told Mrs. Reynolds about Drusilla's chain. And Mrs. Reynolds, +greatly impressed, said: "Yes, it's a blessed thread that holds us +together. Reynolds calls it the 'sense of brotherhood.'" Her voice +lowered itself: "He's a Socialist, Reynolds is, Suzanna." There was +pride and fear mixed with a little condemnation in her voice. + +"A Socialist--it's a nice word, isn't it?" said Suzanna, settling more +comfortably into the hollow of Mrs. Reynolds' arm. + +"And I'm going to see Drusilla, as you call her," said Mrs. Reynolds, +"and take her some of my crab jelly. I've seen her many's the time +sitting out in the yard with naught but a trained maid by her. Poor, +poor old soul, with a rich daughter-in-law." + +"And a King that's gone to the Far Country," said Suzanna; "and she +longs for him. Oh, she's a lonely old lady." + +"She must be that and all," said Mrs. Reynolds, wholly sympathetic. + +They sat rocking then in silence. Suzanna was the first to speak. + +"Mrs. Reynolds," she began in a low voice. "I think I'll dress now, and +after I've helped with the breakfast dishes I'll go and see my mother." + +The heartbreak in the small voice touched Mrs. Reynolds deeply. "Why, +small lass," she cried: "You mustn't think I'll hold you to your giving +yourself away to me. No, not even for a bit of time. Sweet, you gave me +joy last night. I pretended that you were my own. I undressed you and +put you to bed, and heard your prayers. You did something for me, and I +be vastly grateful to you." + +Suzanna's eyes brightened. "Oh, thank you for saying all that, Mrs. +Reynolds." + +"Yes, you came to me in the night with your shiny bag, and you told in +your little way some truths to Reynolds. You made him see clear and +farther than he has for many a day, the fine man though he is, and I'll +always hold you in my heart as my dream child." + +"Your dream child--and I'll dream for you--that you should have your +heart's desire like the fairies say," finished Suzanna. + +"Ah, lack-a-me," cried Mrs. Reynolds. "Who e'er gets his deepest heart +desire in this drear world?" + +Suzanna sprang to her feet. + +"Oh, but heart's desires change." + +"Change!" + +"Yes. You can have new ones every day. Why, for many days my deepest +heart's desire has been to have the goods cut away from under the lace. +Now, I don't care so much for that--not so much--Now I want most in the +world to see--my--mother--" + +Fearful that she had hurt Mrs. Reynolds by her confession, she put out +her hand and stroked the capable hand lying near. + +But Mrs. Reynolds wasn't hurt. She was smiling. "Well, it's a hard thing +at times to learn to put one wish in place of another. But I guess life +teaches you that; it hurries you forward so you have to put wish on +wish." She stood up. "And now, the morning's well started, Suzanna. +Dress quickly and come down to a warm breakfast." + +She raised the tray and Suzanna knew that now she was hungry. + +"Come down when you're ready, my wee bit girl," said Mrs. Reynolds, as +she left, carrying the tray with her. + +So Suzanna in a short time descended. How restful the house was; no +insistent voices of children, no clattering of dishes. + +"It's so quiet and nice here, Mrs. Reynolds," said Suzanna, as she +entered the kitchen. "At home there's lots of talking and sometimes the +baby cries." + +"Do you like quiet, Suzanna?" + +"Ye-es," Suzanna stammered. A recurrent attack of homesickness was upon +her; that dreadful pulling of the heartstrings; that sinking feeling +that she had cut herself loose from all to whom she belonged rightfully. + +She stood still watching Mrs. Reynolds who was busy at the stove. She +admired the deftness with which an egg was broken and dropped into +boiling water, and in a few seconds brought to the top intact, to be +placed upon the awaiting toast. + +"You're awful quick, Mrs. Reynolds," she started to say when a knock +sounded upon the door. + +The door slowly opened and, alone, Suzanna's mother entered. + +She stood just looking in. She was pale, her eyes wide, languid, shadows +beneath them as though she had not slept. But those same tired eyes +lightened as they fell upon Suzanna. + +"Mother-eyes," the phrase grew in Suzanna's heart. She should never in +all her life forget that look of longing, of love. + +And somehow another impression, new, almost unbelievable, came to +Suzanna. Her mother was _young_, for wasn't that yearning note in her +voice; that tentative little gesture; her whole questioning attitude, +all her seekings, but expressions of her youngness? She wasn't after all +far removed from her little daughter, not for this minute, anyway. A +delicious sense of comradeship with this mother flooded the child. + +And the mother stood and looked at her child, almost as for the first +time, at least with a sense of newness, as though Suzanna had been born +anew to her. + +In the night a far reaching understanding had come to her. It came out +of her conclusion to strike a blow at the child's oversensitiveness by a +full dose of ridicule; by accusing her of affectation, a clever playing +to the gallery; this when the night was early, and the mother still +aching with weariness from the day's many tasks. And then as the hours +wore on, and the quiet soothed her weary nerves, the knowledge came, +flashing out of the ether, as often it does for serious mothers, that +the gift of keen sensibility, of intense desire was too valuable to be +quenched. + +What if Suzanna began to question her own motives; what if she should +lose belief in her own spiritual integrity; learn in time to look in on +herself with a spirit of morbid analysis instead of living out her +natural qualities beautifully and spontaneously! + +All these truths stirred her again as she looked at her child. + +While Suzanna didn't move from her place, she wanted to stay at some +distance that she might look her soul's full at her mother--_her +mother_! + +At length she spoke: "Mother--I want to be your little girl again. Will +you take me back?" + +Would she take her back? Mrs. Procter's arms opened wide. Into them +Suzanna flew. + +Mrs. Reynolds regarded the cold poached egg, the second one spoiled that +morning. Furtively she wiped the tears from her eyes. At last she +cleared her voice and spoke: + +"I'll go upstairs and pack your bag, Suzanna," she said. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +SUZANNA MEETS A CHARACTER + + +That summer was a happy one, filled to the brim, as Suzanna often said, +with joyful times. In her pink lawn dress with the petticoat after all +showing through the lace, she recited "The Little Martyr of Smyrna" and +brought much applause to herself. + +And then following close upon that happy occasion, Miss Massey invited +her pupils to a "lawn party." Once again the pink dress was to see the +day. + +"I'll be very careful with the dress, mother," Suzanna promised on the +day of the lawn party. "Perhaps it'll wear just as long if I take extra +care of it as though the goods weren't cut away." + +"Enjoy your dress," said Mrs. Procter. She had learned another truth +which had sprung from the episode of the pink lawn. Economy might, +indeed must dwell in a little home like hers, but sometimes, recklessly, +the stern goddess must be usurped from her place. For the child love of +beauty, the child's capacity for fine imaginings, could not be killed at +the nod of economy. + +The children were both ready and waiting anxiously at the front window +long before the hour. Maizie was the first to make her announcement. + +"Miss Massey's coming down the path," she cried. + +They all crowded to the window. Miss Massey, looking up, waved her hand +gaily, and the children delightedly waved back. + +"Oh, Miss Massey, we're all ready for you," Maizie exclaimed at once as +Miss Massey entered. + +"Lovely," Miss Massey returned. Glancing casually at her, she appeared +young, yet looking closely it might be seen that her first youth was +over. She was perhaps in her middle thirties. Her hair beneath the +simple blue chip hat, had gray strands. There was a hesitating quality +about her, as though she had never done so daring a thing as reach a +decision; a wavering, indefinite figure, with a wistfulness, a soft +appeal, quite charming. That she had never come in contact with +realities showed in the wide innocence of the childlike eyes; the +sometime trembling of the lips as when a thought as now engendered by +the Procter home and its humbleness, its lack of many real comforts, +forced its way into the untouched depths of her mind. + +She was the only child of old John Massey. He was a large figure in the +small town, and one not cordially admired. He was masterful, choleric, +some claimed, unjust. Owner of the steel mill which stood just outside +of the town limits, the employer of hundreds of men, he had failed to +gain the esteem of one human being. Fear, for many depended upon him for +their livelihood, was the emotion he most inspired. + +Fairfax Massey, his daughter, inspired a deep sympathy, perhaps because +her leading characteristic was a pitiable holding to her ideals. She +painted her father as a good and loving man hiding his real tenderness +beneath gruff mannerisms. When he denied her friendship with the man she +secretly loved, she put upon that denial a high value. He could not bear +to run the chance of losing her, his one close possession. To that +chivalrous thought of her father, she sacrificed her friend and went her +way, undramatically, uncomplainingly. + +She spoke in a low sweet voice. "The children will have a happy time, +I'm sure, Mrs. Procter," she said, as she left, Suzanna and Maizie +clinging to her. + +Other little girls were waiting in the phaeton. They greeted Suzanna and +Maizie and moved to make room for them. Miss Massey took her place near +the driver, from which vantage spot she could watch her little guests, +and with a great flourish off they started. + +"Are you quite comfortable, Suzanna?" Miss Massey asked once. + +Suzanna looked up quickly, a puzzled line between her eyes. After brief +hesitation she answered, merely in good manners, "Yes, thank you." + +The phaeton stopped several times till eight little girls filled the +vehicle to overflowing. Then with no more pauses, they were off to the +big house on the hill. + +The day was wonderful. A soft little breeze caressed the children and +the sky overhead was like an angel's breast, thought Suzanna. But she +did not say this, even to excited Maizie; she was gathering impressions +and burnishing them with her vivid imagination. Once her gaze fell on +Miss Massey's long, slender, tired-looking hands. Her mother's hands, +Suzanna recalled, were tired-looking, too, but in a different way. Her +mother's, she decided after a time, were just plain tired-looking, while +Miss Massey's were a sorry tired, as though they missed something. They +were never quiet, always doing futile little things. And yet, Miss +Massey lived in a wonderful house and wore pretty dresses and hats with +gorgeous, real-looking flowers. Suzanna pondered unanswerable questions. + +The driver, with the air of a brave knight, swept round the last corner. +He commanded his horses to stand still, when even the smallest girl knew +he would have to urge and coax for a full minute before the fat, +complacent animals would start again. But Suzanna liked his play. It was +in keeping with this wondrous event. She even forgave the driver his +wrinkled red neck, from which as she sat behind him, she had earlier +deliberately turned away her eyes. + +The children sprang to the ground and stood looking up at the big pile +of stone, this great show house of the town. Miss Massey swung back an +iron gate and led the way first through an arbor, sun-shaded and +fragrant; then out again into a garden glowing with crimson flowers. +"The garden I love best," she said. This from simple, dear Miss Massey +into whose whole life no great color had fallen, or if there was once a +promise that life should blossom for her into a full, joyous thing, the +promise had fallen very short of fulfillment. + +And just then the disaster befell Suzanna. There in the wonderful red +garden, a dire sound fell upon her ears and her eyes following the +direction of the sound were just in time to see one white toe burst +through the confines of the black ribbon lengthening her slipper. + +She stood a moment, gazing down. Then in an agony lest the others should +discover her plight, she tried to draw the toe back within the slipper, +but with no success. As Miss Massey and the little girls walked on, +Suzanna stopped and pulled the ribbon over the protruding toe, tucking +in the ravelled edges. Mercifully, the ribbon stayed in place since +Suzanna cramped her toe back that it might not force its way through +again. Hastily hopping along, she entered the massive front doors held +wide by a solemn man with brass buttons. He pointed down the wide hall. +"To the right," he said. + +Would the ribbon hold! was Suzanna's only thought as she later found +herself in a room called the library, with books and soft-toned +pictures; with a great fireplace banked now with greens, from above +which looked down the lovely face of a lady, Miss Massey's mother whom +the daughter scarce remembered. + +If only she had worn black stockings instead of her one beloved pair of +white, went on in thought, unhappy, humiliated Suzanna. If only--but in +conjecture Suzanna was lost. The cramped toe exerting its right, thrust +itself through again. One fleeting, horrified glance told the child that +two toes now peeped out on a world that would be scandalized should it +peep back. + +No time now for any furtive maneuver an active little mind might suggest +to remedy the situation, for Miss Massey at the end of the room turned +her head and looked toward Suzanna's place. In a second her eyes might +fall on the white toes! Quickly Suzanna sank into a large velvet +armchair and drew her foot beneath her. Just in time, for Miss Massey +said: "Shall we play the game of 'Answers?' You know the game, Suzanna, +don't you?" + +Suzanna moistened her lips: "I know it, Miss Massey, but I don't care to +play games, thank you." How could she move, since doing so would +necessitate putting confidence in Miss Massey? Telling her that once +discarded slippers too small even for Maizie had been made to do duty by +cutting the toes and lengthening with black ribbon, ribbon which in a +miserable moment failed in its work? But how eventually to extricate +herself from the miserable predicament? She could not sit forever on her +foot! + +Other games were suggested and played by the children, but Suzanna +still sat in the big armchair, one long thin leg dangling, the other +bent under her. She grew fertile in excuses when asked to join the +others. She like to "watch," then she felt a little tired, until Miss +Massey at last sensing that something was wrong did no more urging. + +Once little Maizie sought her sister. Why wouldn't Suzanna play? Was she +mad at something? + +Suzanna gulped hard, then with manifest effort she whispered: "You know +where mother put the ribbon bag so my slippers would be long enough? +Well, my toe's stuck through the ribbon, and I mustn't move." + +"Oh!" Maizie was sorry. "Can't you tell Miss Massey and let her fix it?" + +Suzanna shrank back. "No, no," she cried. "You mustn't say anything, do +you hear, Maizie? Promise me." + +Maizie solemnly promised. "Will the other one hold?" she asked then. + +Thus the little Job's Comforter gave Suzanna food for unpleasant +questionings. Would, indeed, the other slipper hold? + +Then said Miss Massey: "We are going into the garden, Suzanna. Would you +rather stay here till we return?" Her question was very gentle, her +understanding would have been very sure had Suzanna told her trouble. +But Suzanna only answered eagerly: + +"Yes, I'd like to stay here." She was almost happy in the moment's +relief. + +"If you wish to come later you can find us. Just ring this bell and Mrs. +Russell, the housekeeper, will take you to the South Garden," said Miss +Massey. She leaned down and touched Suzanna's face with her soft lips. +And then Suzanna was left alone. + +Now what to do! Suzanna set her fertile little mind to work on the +problem. She settled into the chair and lowered the foot on which she +was sitting. She was intently regarding the torn slipper, when she heard +distinctly an unpleasant sound. A sound which gathered volume, till +Suzanna realized that something or someone was approaching the library. +She resumed her former position, and waited! + +The brocade curtains were drawn aside; a little man in a sort of uniform +stood with head bowed, while a large man limped into the room. + +"Fix my chair, you simpering idiot," he shouted at the little man, "and +then take yourself off!" + +The small man glided to a great easy chair near the fireplace. He heaped +pillows in it, stood aside while the loud-voiced one lowered himself, +groaningly, into the downy nest. Then the valet disappeared. Suzanna +involuntarily glanced at his feet. Did he move on velvet casters? + +A moment, then the big man gave a twist of pain. A rheumatic dart had +seized him, had Suzanna known, but she could not know, and a little +exclamation was drawn from her. At the sound, the other occupant of the +room started and glanced around till finally his eyes came to rest upon +the small girl in a large chair thrust well away in a shadowy corner of +the room. + +"Well!" at length he ejaculated. And then: "Are you one of the Sunday +School class?" + +"Yes, I'm Suzanna Procter. The other little girls have gone out into the +garden." + +He grunted and continued to glare fiercely at her. But Suzanna knew no +fear. She felt strangely a sudden high sense of exhilaration, just as +once when she had been caught in a brilliant electric storm. Some +element in her rose and responded to the big flashes; just as she had +responded to Drusilla's play of imagination. Now a force was roused in +her that claimed kinship with the big, thunderous man opposite. She sat +up very straight, and stared right back at him. Then she said very +calmly: + +"You look like an eagle!" + +"Then you're afraid of me!" He flung the words at her with a certain +triumph. + +"I'm not! I don't like the way you shout, but _I'm_ not afraid of you." + +He sank back among his pillows, but did not take his eyes from her face. +At last he asked: "What are you sitting bent up that way for? Are you +hiding anything?" + +Suzanna flushed. "You're not supposed to ask a visitor if she's hiding +anything; especially when her leg's asleep and she's suffering." + +A spasm crossed his face. Perhaps he was trying to smile. He said only: +"Well, put your leg down, then. Seems to me you're old enough and ought +to have sense enough not to sit on it when it's asleep. Put it down, I +say!" + +She did not move. "Will you please turn your head away a whole minute?" +she finally asked. + +He did so, somewhat to his own surprise. He was unaccustomed to obeying +others. When he turned again, she uttered a cry: "Why didn't you keep +your head turned the other way till I told you to look," she exclaimed, +indignantly. "You don't play fair." + +"See here, little girl," he commenced, when his eyes fell to her foot, +which for the moment she had forgotten, a small black-shod foot with two +protruding toes. "Eh, what's that!" + +"My toes!" she answered. Her face flamed, then with sudden anger against +him, against circumstances, against everything that had conspired to +spoil this beautiful and long-dreamed-of day: "They're sticking through +my slipper. That's why I had to sit on my foot. That's why my leg went +to sleep. That's why I couldn't go out in the garden with the others." + +He began to laugh, silently, mirthlessly, but it was laughter +nevertheless. Suzanna regarded him, her quick temper getting beyond her +control. At last she burst forth: "You're a rude man! And it isn't funny +to miss beautiful things, the flowers and the baby squirrels, and +perhaps lemonade." + +He didn't answer for a moment. Then he said: + +"Agreed! But it's certainly funny to see your toes sticking through your +shoe. No wonder you sat on your foot." Still, despite his discourteous +words, his tone changed; it was almost apologetic. + +Suzanna's face lost its clouds. "Of course, I had to sit on my foot," +she agreed. "I couldn't let Miss Massey see how mother put a black +ribbon bag on my slippers to make them longer, could I? She wouldn't +understand like you do, would she?" + +"Do I understand? I wonder. Well, why did your mother put on the black +ribbon?" + +"The shoes were too short!" + +"She should have bought you a new pair." + +Suzanna sprang from her chair and went to the big man. + +"Do you know what rent week means?" she asked, lifting her earnest face +to his and standing so close that her hand touched his knee. + +"I think I do," he answered. + +"Well, this is rent week and Peter's coat was out at the elbows and two +of us needed shoes and the insurance was due on all of us and mother +can't let that go. It came in very handy when Helen, Peter's twin, went +away." + +"What do you mean by 'went away?' Don't lean on that knee, that's where +the rheumatism is--do you mean died?" + +Suzanna flinched. "We say 'went away,'" she answered gently; "you think +then that someone you loved has just gone away for a little while, and +is waiting somewhere for you." + +The man's gaze wandered up to the lovely, smiling face above the mantel +and stayed there a space before his eyes came back to Suzanna. + +"And so," she finished, "because everything came together, rent and +insurance and shoes, and a coat, I had to wear these slippers." Suzanna +was quite cheerful again, only very eager that he should understand the +situation. + +At this moment the timid little valet appeared in the doorway. "Anything +you wish, sir?" he began. "Are you quite comfortable?" + +"You infernal idiot!" bawled the man in the chair. "Can anyone be +comfortable with rheumatism in his knee?" + +The little man precipitately retired. "You're awful cross," Suzanna +commented. "What does the man mean asking if you're 'comfortable?' +That's what Miss Massey asked me in the park carriage. I was sitting +down, and nothing hurt me." + +"In other words," he answered, strangely catching her meaning at once, +"one chair is like another to you." + +"Well, is there any difference?" she queried. She was very much +interested in this question, for the subtleties of refined comfort held +no place in her life. Knowledge of luxuries was quite outside the ken of +the younger members of the Procter family. + +The big man said: "Yes, there is a difference; a decided difference." He +was thinking of his household with its retinue of trained servants, each +helping to make the days revolve smoothly. + +"Why aren't you at work?" asked Suzanna then. "My father works every day +in the hardware store and sometimes way into the night on his invention +in the attic. _He_ doesn't have a chair filled with pillows to lean +against. Does God like you better than He does us?" + +"Eh, what's that? What do you mean?" + +"Because you don't have to work! And you think one chair is better than +another to sit in, and you can shout at the little man and make him +afraid." + +"Well, we'll not talk of that," said the big man testily. "And now I'll +ask you a few questions. What does your mother do when rent week comes +round? Cry, and throw up to your father the fact that she can't make +ends meet? That's what women generally do, I've heard and read." + +"Oh, no, my mother doesn't do that," said Suzanna, shaking her head. +"She just looks sad at first and sits and thinks and thinks and then +after awhile she says: 'Well, if everybody was thoughtful we'd all have +enough. But when some people waste, then others must pay the +piper'--'pay the piper'--I like the singing way that sounds, don't +you?" + +"And who does she mean by other people?" + +Suzanna smiled confidently: "Oh, she just says that; so no one really is +blamed, I guess. There really isn't anyone of that kind living; 'cause +nobody in the world could waste if they knew some children needed shoes +and some little boys' elbows stuck through their coats; would anyone?" + +The man looked at her suspiciously. "Have you been listening to Reynolds +haranging on his soap box?" But seeing her innocence, he went on: "Well, +we don't know about those things. There's some reason why." He went on +more vigorously: "Of course, some people are privileged because they're +stronger; they've better judgment." + +But Suzanna didn't understand that. She put the matter aside to think +over later, and, if she could remember the words, to repeat them to her +father for his explanation at a time when he wasn't hazy and far away +from realities. + +"What does your father do?" Suzanna's companion resumed after a moment. + +"He weighs nails in Job Doane's hardware store," said Suzanna, "and he +sells washboards to ladies. My father's a great man. He's an inventor! +He has a wonderful machine in the attic and sometimes when he's thinking +of his invention, he doesn't see us at all, and mother tells us not to +talk then to disturb him." + +"What's your father's name?" + +"Richard Procter," said Suzanna. And then: + +"You are like an eagle; that's why I like you. You'd fight, wouldn't +you, if you had to! But I shouldn't mind your shouting. And I'd rather +you'd see my toes sticking through my shoe than any person in the world +outside my family. Now, get me a needle and thread before they all come +back," she finished. + +The man stared into her upraised flower-face. His own turned red for the +visible second of hesitation. Then he raised his voice and called. The +timid one appeared. His master said: "Get me some black thread and a +needle; also a thimble. Don't stand there gaping! I'm waiting." + +With some difficulty, the amazed valet gained volition over his power of +locomotion. He returned shortly bearing the desired articles reposing on +a silver tray, and retired once more, his eyes still dazed. + +"Now hurry up," said the big man to Suzanna, "if you want to get into +the garden at all." + +Suzanna threaded the needle, then removed her slipper. "I'll overcast +the ribbon, like mother does seams," she said. "Will you hold the +slipper? There, that's easier. You see I need both hands." + +Silence, till the work was finished. "Now," said Suzanna, stopping to +bite the thread, no scissors being at hand, "I guess no toe in the world +could push through that, I've stitched so tight. You think it will hold, +don't you?" + +[Illustration: Very carefully he looked at the mended place] + +Very carefully he looked at the mended place. "I should say, if my +judgment's worth anything, that it's a very decent job. But see here, +you've taken up such a large seam; the shoe will be too small again." + +Suzanna smiled at him. "Oh, that doesn't matter, just so the toes can't +burst through again," she answered. "You don't mind hobbling a little +bit when you have to." + +He cleared his throat. "Well, I'll call the housekeeper and she'll take +you to the other children." + +"Good-bye," said Suzanna friendlily. And then very politely, "Thank you +for helping me." + +"Well, I suppose I might say you're welcome." + +But he watched the small figure, that did after all "hobble" a little +all the way down the room as the summoned housekeeper led the way. +And, left alone, he sat quite still for a few moments. Once or twice he +smiled grimly, but several times he frowned. + + * * * * * + +Suzanna was full of her experience with the Eagle Man, and in spite of +her mishap she had greatly enjoyed her day. Hadn't the fierce one, the +one of the loud voice and cross face, been kind to her and helped her to +mend her slipper? And hadn't he told the housekeeper to give her a great +bunch of the purple grapes especially procured from the city for him, +she was told? + +She thought of all this when she and Maizie left the low phaeton in +which they had been driven home. For some indefinable reason she was +elated, and excited--an emotion far above the usual happy fatigue felt +after a day of pleasure. She meant to tell her father and mother all +about her talk with the Eagle Man when the supper dishes were washed and +put away. She would show her father just how her toes had thrust +themselves through her slipper and how she had sat upon her foot till it +went to sleep. Not, however, till the setting was right would she tell +her story. Suzanna's unconscious dramatic sense rarely failed her. + +At the supper table that night the baby fell asleep in his high chair. +Peter, after a hard day of play, was nodding in his place. Maizie, +replete after her third dish of rice pudding, was quiet; a little sleepy +too, if truth must be told. + +It was then Suzanna told of her visit with the Eagle Man. She left out +no detail, from the time her stocking burst its confines to her +interesting intimacy with the Eagle Man. + +"You told old John Massey, you say, Suzanna," said her father at length, +his eyes bright, "about my machine?" + +Suzanna nodded. Then a little fear stole upon her. She slipped from her +place and went to her father. + +"Did I talk too much, daddy?" she asked, mindful of former such +indictments. + +His arm went about her waist. Then he drew her close and kissed her. + +"No, Suzanna, little girl," he said; "I guess talk from the heart rarely +hurts." He paused. "Perhaps it was meant you should talk to him." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A LEAF MISSING FROM THE BIBLE + + +Suzanna thought a great deal about the Eagle Man. She was extremely +puzzled as to the exact place he filled in the world. While she admired +him, indeed was strongly drawn to him, still she considered him in some +ways quite inferior to her father. And so she wondered why he could live +in a big house, could have servants who sprang at a word to do his +bidding, and could eat all the fruit he wanted as evidenced by the great +bunch of purple grapes, one of many bunches, while her father lived in a +very small house, had no servants, and had little fruit to eat. She knew +instinctively that the Eagle Man had no need to worry about rent day, +and the many other similar things she felt harassed her father, and over +and over again she pondered on this seemingly unjust state of affairs. +It would have been so much better, she thought, if the Eagle Man +occupied with his one daughter just a little cottage while the large +Procter family had the bigger house. Though she dearly loved the little +home, there had been times when it seemed very small for the growing +Procter family. + +But she concluded at last that for the present there were many +perplexities which must remain perplexities till that wonderful time +when she would be a woman, and everything made clear to her. +Experiences, too, had shown her that a troublesome question of Monday +often had resolved itself by Wednesday. So she went contentedly on her +way. + +On a morning following Suzanna's talk with the Eagle Man, Mrs. Procter +and all the children except the baby who was taking his early morning +nap upstairs, were in the kitchen busy at their tasks, Suzanna polishing +the stove, and Maizie peeling the potatoes for supper, a task Mrs. +Procter insisted upon being performed early in the day. Peter, exempted, +because of his sex, from household duties--and very unfair this +exemption Suzanna thought privately--was trying his awkward best to mend +a baseball. Maizie broke a rather long silence. + +"Mother!" she cried, and then waited. + +Mrs. Procter looked up from her kneading. + +"What is it, Maizie?" she asked. + +"Didn't Jesus ever laugh?" asked Maizie. + +No one spoke. Maizie, engaged in peeling a large potato, went on quite +unconscious of the variant expressions pictured in the faces of her +audience: "He's always so sad in our Sunday School lessons, mother. Even +when He said, 'Suffer little children to come unto me,' He didn't +smile--or they never say so when they read the chapter," she finished. + +Mrs. Procter looked helplessly at Suzanna. And Suzanna rose to the +occasion. "Maizie," she said, "you know Jesus was born in a manger so +His mother didn't have much money and it was hard to make both ends +meet. And, besides, there wasn't anything to smile about in those days +when the world was so fresh." + +"I guess that's right," Mrs. Procter agreed. "What with going round and +trying to persuade people to be good and understand what He was trying +to tell them, there couldn't have been much excuse for smiling." + +Maizie, however, was tenacious. "Mother, you know at times even when +things have all gone wrong you've laughed at something the baby did," +she said looking up from her work. + +"Yes, I know," put in Suzanna, as though Maizie had spoken to her. "But +mother doesn't have to go round turning water into wine and doing lots +of other wonderful things." + +"Well, I wish He had smiled," Maizie persisted. + +Suzanna looked searchingly at her sister. "Why do you wish that, +Maizie?" she asked. + +"Oh, I'd think then He was more like a big brother," said Maizie. "Now, +sometimes I kind of feel afraid of Him." + +"If you didn't feel afraid of Him, Maizie," Suzanna asked, turning back +to the cold stove and vigorously polishing away, "do you think you'd be +a better girl?" + +Maizie flushed resentfully. "I'm good enough now," she answered. + +"But you get mad for nothing, Maizie," said Suzanna; "you always get mad +when you don't see things." + +"Anybody would get mad," Maizie exclaimed. "Why just yesterday when we +were playing in the yard you said, 'Behold, the lion marcheth down the +yard. Maizie, quick, quick, out of the way,' and when I said, 'I don't +see any lion, Suzanna,' you said, 'Well, he's there, right beside you. +Don't you hear him roaring?' and there wasn't any lion there at all." + +"Well, Maizie, you can't see anything unless it's there," deplored +Suzanna. + +"You mean, Suzanna," put in Mrs. Procter as she covered the dough with +a snowy cloth, "that you have more imagination than Maizie." + +"Well, anyway, Maizie," said Suzanna after a time, "I'm going to try and +make you a better girl." + +"Make her stop saying that, mother," said Maizie, "I'm good enough as it +is." + +Suzanna said nothing more then. She finished her stove, and then, when +Maizie had peeled all the potatoes, Suzanna went into the parlor and +dusted all the furniture very carefully. Maizie followed and stood +watching her sister. + +"How could you make me better, Suzanna?" she asked, after a time, +curiosity elbowing pride aside. + +"I meant to tell you a story," said Suzanna; "about something you've +never heard before." She went on dusting. + +"Would the story make me a better girl?" + +"Yes, and happier, too." + +"Is it a nice story, Suzanna?" + +"Awfully sweet." + +"When could you tell me, Suzanna?" + +"We'll go out into the yard after I've finished dusting and then I'll +tell you the story, Maizie." + +"All right." + +So when the dusting was accomplished, the children sought the back +yard. Suzanna procured a soap box, placed it beneath the one tree, while +Maizie drew another very close to her sister that she might lose no +word, and settled with keen anticipation to listen to Suzanna's story. + +The day was hot, with scarcely a breeze stirring. Still, with the quiet +there was a freshness in the air that made the children draw in deep +breaths. + +Suzanna began very softly: "Maizie, do you see that big rose nodding +near the fence over there at Mrs. Reynolds'?" + +Yes, Maizie saw the rose. + +"Well, yesterday when you were wheeling the baby and I was sitting on +this very box putting buttons on Peter's waist, that rose all at once +walked across the road to me! It stood by my side for a long time, and +then it said softly, 'Suzanna,' and it looked at me and it was all pink +and very sweet, and it said to me, 'Suzanna, how old are you?' and I +said, 'I'm nearly eight, Lady Rose, and Maizie is nearly seven. Mother +had hardly got over my coming to her when Maizie came along.' + +"And the rose said, 'Maizie? Is that the little girl that is going to +ask tomorrow whether Jesus ever smiled?' And I said, 'Yes, Maizie will +be peeling a big potato, and I'll be polishing the stove, and mother +will be kneading bread when Maizie will ask that question.' + +"'Well,' said the rose, 'you must tell her that once upon a time Jesus +_did_ smile, but they didn't put it in the Bible because it didn't seem +'portant to grown folks, and they didn't think that all the little +children in the world would sometimes wish He had smiled.' And then the +rose went on to tell me the story of the dear smile." + +Maizie gazed wide-eyed at her sister. "Did you really see the rose with +your eyes, Suzanna?" + +"Yes," Suzanna answered; "truly with my eyes." She suddenly sat up very +straight and pointed a small finger, "and there it's coming again. It's +nodding its head at me. Look, Maizie!" + +Maizie jumped. + +"There, see, Maizie, it's walking right through Mrs. Reynolds' gate. +Isn't it graceful?" + +"How can it walk on one stem?" asked Maizie, the literalist. + +"Well, it does, doesn't it? You can see it. Now, it's coming into our +yard." Suzanna waited, then: "Good morning, Lady Rose," she greeted in a +high treble voice. "Come and stand near Maizie." Maizie moved quickly to +make room. "You see it now, don't you, Maizie?" Maizie hesitated. She +stared hard at the spot near her, then up with wistful eyes into +Suzanna's face. + +"I can't see it, Suzanna," she said at length. "Do you think mother'd +better take me to the doctor and have my eyes examined like Mrs. +Reynolds had hers?" + +Suzanna felt flowing over her a sudden wave of pity. "No, Maizie, dear," +she said, putting her arms about Maizie and drawing her close. "Maybe I +see the rose with something inside of me. But never mind, lamb +girl--isn't that pretty, Mrs. Reynolds calls me that--the rose has gone +home again. Listen close and I'll tell you the story that was left out +of the Bible, just as the rose told it to me." + +Maizie settled herself again, expectantly. + +"This will be told, Maizie, in the way the Bible is written. Funny words +that we don't know the meaning of, but can guess; terrible threats." + +"Oh, don't," cried Maizie, "don't, I don't want 'terrible threats.' It +sounds awful." + +"Well, then," conceded Suzanna, "I'll leave out the terrible threats, +Maizie. Now I'm beginning: + +"There came to the city of Jerusalem one day a Little Boy with a halo +on His head. It was on a Monday that he came. The mothers were all +washing and those that were not washing, behold, they were hanging +clothes out in the yard, and as He walked He carried a message, and His +message was this: 'Beware of green tea, handsome to the eye, but +destructive to the human system.'" + +Maizie's memory was pricked wide awake. "Why, that's written on mother's +tea canister, and you read it aloud a thousand times one day," she +cried. + +"That saying has come down the ages," responded Suzanna quickly. "And +any more breaking-in and I'll not tell the story." + +Maizie subsided, and Suzanna continued. + +"Now when all the mothers heard this wonderful saying, there came sorrow +and fear into their hearts. 'Yea,' said one, 'have I not used green +tea?' And the Little Boy with the halo said, 'Thou art never to do so +again,' and all the mothers bowed their heads. + +"And the Little Boy grew and grew till He came to be a man. A man that +looked very much like our father. He played the harp, the one he +afterwards took to Heaven with Him. And He wore a long, white, flowing +gown, that His mother washed out every morning and ironed carefully +after it was dry. 'Behold,' she said, 'Yea, nay, no other hands but +mine must touch this gown.' There were no laundries in those days. + +"The Man with the halo walked by the sea at day, and walked under the +stars at night. Then He came on back to His mother. She said to Him: 'Is +it that Thou art tired that Thou dost not smile?' And He said, drawing +Himself up to a big height, 'There is nothing to smile at.' And His +mother said, 'Behold I have made for Thee something nice to eat, with an +orange in front of Thy plate!' But even then He did not smile. And next +day, He went off into the fields and took care of His lambs. And the day +after that, yea, He went into His father's shop and He said to His +father, 'I must away,' and then the earth trembled and rocked beneath +their feet. + +"Then the Man with the halo left, and for a long time His mother didn't +see Him any more. And out in the world, in Galilee, I think it was, He +didn't even there find a chance to smile. Everything was too sad and +people too bad, and then one day, behold, the Man with the halo was busy +making ten fish out of one little tiny minney for Peter who was hungry, +and had a 'normous appetite like our Peter's, when a woman came running +down the road. Everybody looked at her, but she went on. And when she +came near the Man with the halo, she fell on her knees and He stopped +his work. He had just half a fish in His hand when this woman spoke. She +said: 'Pardon me, Master, but I have heard of lots of wonderful things +Thou hast done, and now I must ask a favor of Thee.' + +"The Man with the halo put down the fish that wasn't finished and turned +His big eyes upon her, and He said, 'Speak, woman.' And she said: 'Wilt +Thou come with me?' He waited a little, but felt pity in His heart for +her and so He went with her, His halo shining like the sun and making a +wide light path for everyone to walk in, and lots of people walked +behind Him, but no one in front. + +"And they came to a little house, like ours set back from the road, +where lots of children lived. And there in the middle of the room, lying +in a white box, fast asleep was the littlest baby that had ever gone to +Heaven. And though the woman had lots of other babies, and maybe lots +more would come to her like they come to us all the time, she wanted +that one tiny little baby to open its eyes and look at her. + +"And so she fell on her knees, and she said to the Man with the halo: +'Will you wake that lovely baby of mine for me? Oh, please, Master, +waken it--even though it should cry all night. Perhaps it's happy in +Heaven, but I am lonely. Dost Thou think I can have it back?' + +"And just then Peter came into the room. He had followed the Man with +the halo. 'But it's only a little thing,' Peter said. 'And it made so +much noise when it was awake. Its big sister had to warm milk for it, +and take it out in the buggy and to wash its clothes, sometimes when its +mother was busy or had been up the night before. Is it not better for +all that it is in Heaven?' + +"And then she said, 'I'm not speaking to you, Peter,' and she looked +again at the Man with the halo. And at last He spoke and His voice was +like music, thrilly and gentle. And He said, 'All mothers want their +babies and we've got plenty in Heaven, and I'll give this one back to +you.' + +"And He went to the white box and He looked at the baby, and pretty soon +the baby got pink like my coral beads, and then its eyes opened and it +looked up into His face and it raised its arms up to Him. + +"_Then He smiled!_--and He lifted the baby up and held it close, so He +warmed it all through. And then He put it into its mother's arms and +said, 'Well, I must be going.' + +"And this is what I'm going to tell you, Maizie, _that you were that +little baby_, and Jesus smiled at _you_ to wake you up." + +Maizie did not speak. Her eyes were shining, her lips trembling. Her +small soul was touched to its depths. After a long time in a whisper she +spoke: "Oh, was I really the baby that made Jesus smile? I'm happy, +Suzanna, but--it hurts me, too--" + +Suzanna put her arms about her sister. The emotions she had aroused in +that little sister warmed her, thrilled her through and through. They +sat on in silence. Soon a question began to puzzle Maizie. She gave it +voice. "I didn't know I'd been a baby more than once, Suzanna." + +"You're a baby every hundred years," said Suzanna promptly. + +"Oh, I see." Then: "I do love Him now, Suzanna. I'll always love Him +'cause once He woke me up. Suzanna, do you think the rose will come to +you and tell you another story?" + +Suzanna believed the rose might. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +A PICNIC IN THE WOODS + + +For days Maizie lived in the sanctity of the thought that the Master of +all had smiled at her. But even so marvelous an occurrence, so sweet a +marking out of her above all the children in the world, failed +completely on one occasion to help her overcome a mood of sullenness. + +She awoke late one morning, and found that Suzanna had arisen and gone +down stairs. She heard sounds indicating breakfast, but there was a +little dull feeling at her heart. Her customary joyous anticipation of +living a whole day, ripe with possibilities, was quite absent. She +decided to remain in bed, but at her mother's voice calling her name she +was prompted to put out one small foot, then the other, and soon, as +another call came up peremptorily, she went lazily ahead dressing +herself. + +Ready then for the day, she went to the window and looked out. The sky +was hazy, with little dull clouds floating on its breast. From far away +came grumbles of thunder. Over to the east the sky seemed to open in a +long thin path of vivid light and then close again, leaving the heavens +gray, bleak. Maizie wanted to cry; it was with an effort she controlled +her tears. + +At last, languidly she moved from the window, went down the stairs, +through the tiny hall and into the dining-room, her little face downcast +still, with no smile lightening it to greet the other children. Suzanna +and Peter sat at the table awaiting the laggard. + +"Father had to leave early this morning, Maizie," said Suzanna at once. +"He ate his breakfast all alone." + +Maizie did not answer; silently she sank into her chair as her mother +appeared with the baby and took her usual place, after placing him in +his high chair. Maizie gazed for a moment at the oatmeal in her own blue +plate, then with a little petulant gesture, she pushed the plate away. + +"I don't like oatmeal with a pool of syrup in the middle," she said +slowly, not addressing anyone directly, but keeping her eyes on her +plate. + +"You've always liked it before this morning," her mother answered. "I +think you're just cross, Maizie." + +"I don't like syrup in the middle of my oatmeal," repeated Maizie; "I +want milk on it like father has." + +"Oh, Maizie," said Suzanna, "father _must_ have milk on his oatmeal." + +"Why?" asked Maizie. + +"Because he is our father and he must have the nice things." + +"Well, we're his children," pursued Maizie, apparently unconvinced. "And +I don't see why we shouldn't have some nice things to eat, too." + +"But there's so many of us," said Suzanna. + +"Why did father leave orders for so many of us then?" said Maizie +looking up. Belligerence was now in her tone, in her very attitude. + +"Now," said Mrs. Procter, firmly. "We must not talk this way. Father +doesn't like syrup. It doesn't agree with him. You're a very naughty +little girl this morning, Maizie." + +Maizie was again on the point of tears. Lest they overflow she rose +quickly from the table and left the room. + +"Maizie's in a bad humor today," said Mrs. Procter to Suzanna. + +"Maybe she feels bad today, mother, because it's Wednesday." + +"Well, what in the world has the day to do with it!" Mrs. Procter +exclaimed. + +"Well, Wednesday you know is the shape of a big black bear. It's not +like Thursday, that's the shape of a great snowy white ship on a +sparkling sea. I don't like Wednesday myself, mother." + +"Well, I'm sorry," returned Mrs. Procter. "But it's not in my power to +shape days to please you children," she spoke crisply. + +"Are you tired, mother?" asked Suzanna, after a pause. + +"I think I'm always tired these days," Mrs. Procter admitted, "but I'm +particularly tired this morning. The baby was very restless last night." + +"If you were like Mrs. Martin on the other side of the town," said +Suzanna as she rose from the table and began to gather up the dishes, +while Peter escaped into the yard, "who has only one little girl, you +wouldn't be kept awake." Suzanna's eyes were widely questioning. Did her +mother regret owning so many children? + +Mrs. Procter stood up. She lifted the baby out of his high chair. +"You're every one dear and wonderful to me," she said. "But we're all +human, dear, and apt to grow tired." + +Suzanna walked into the kitchen and put the dishes down on the table. On +her way back to the dining-room she glanced out of the window. The +early September day had changed. Miraculously every dull gray cloud had +scurried away, leaving a sky soft, yet brilliant. Birds flew about, +carolling madly, as though some elixir in the air sent their spirits +bounding. Suzanna's every fiber responded. The desire whipped her to +plunge into the beauty of outdoors, to run madly about, to shout, to +sing. But alas, she knew there was no chance to obey her ardent impulse, +since Wednesday was cleaning day, a day rigid, inflexible, when all the +Procter family were pressed into service; that is, all but Peter, +belonging to a sex blessedly free from work during its young, upgrowing +years. + +Mrs. Procter spoke: "Bring the high chair into the kitchen, Suzanna, +near the window for the baby; then we'll start cleaning." + +Suzanna obeyed reluctantly. She turned from the window. "Mother," she +said, "when I'm grown up I'll have no steady days for anything." + +"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Procter. + +"Well, I won't wash on Monday, and iron on Tuesday, and clean on +Wednesday, and bake on Thursday. I'll let every day be a surprise." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Procter, "and a nice mix-up there'd be. You must have +set times for every task if you expect to accomplish anything." + +"But isn't it 'complishing anything if you're happy?" asked Suzanna, +really puzzled. + +Mrs. Procter hesitated. "But you can be happy working, too." + +"But I know, mother, that I'd be happier today out in the sun." + +"But the truth remains, Suzanna, that if we don't wash on Monday we'd +have to wash on Tuesday, and that ties up everything at the end of the +week," said her mother. + +Suzanna sighed. She couldn't by mere words combat her mother's +arguments. They seemed indeed unassailable if you applied plain reason +to them. But something deeper, finer than reason, made Suzanna believe +that to be out in the sun, to be under the trees, to be dreaming in the +perfume of flowers, was more important than cleaning and dusting; anyway +in a glorious, straight-from-Heaven day like this Wednesday. So she +returned unconvinced to the dishes, while her mother after tying the +baby in his high chair cast an appraising eye around, wondering just +where she should begin her upheaval. + +Suddenly a loud, heart-rending outcry was heard, and Peter, who a moment +before had been playing peacefully in the yard, came rushing into the +house. Out of the medley of his piteous cries, Suzanna at last made +sense. Not so her mother who asked anxiously: + +"What in the world is he crying so for, Suzanna? Is he hurt? Will he let +you look him over?" + +"No, he's not hurt," returned Suzanna. "He is crying because _never in +all his life will he be able to see his ears_." + +Mrs. Procter stared dumbfounded. But she soon recovered. She was +accustomed to originalities of this sort in her family. + +"So! Well, what am I to do about it?" she asked the small boy. + +Peter looked at her stolidly. "I want to see my ears," he repeated. "And +I can't only in the mirror." + +"Have you lived for five years," asked Mrs. Procter, "without +discovering that your ears are attached to your head, and that I can't +take them off in order that you may see them?" + +"And you can't see the back of your neck either, Peter," cried Suzanna +at this juncture. At which disastrous piece of information Peter cried +louder. + +"Now, Suzanna," exclaimed Mrs. Procter in some exasperation. "What did +you tell him that for? Isn't it enough for him to learn in one day that +he'll never see his ears without telling him about the back of his neck? +Stop your crying, Peter. It's bad enough to have you cry for things that +can be mended." + +Maizie, attracted by the noise, unable to control her curiosity, +appeared at the door. Her face was still sullen, but it also bore a rare +expression of stubbornness. Satisfying her curiosity as to the reason +for the commotion, she then made her announcement. + +"Mother," she began, "I'm not going to wash the window sills upstairs +this cleaning morning." + +"Now, Maizie," said Suzanna, conciliatingly, "don't you remember Who +smiled at you once?" + +"M-hm, I remember," said Maizie, without change of expression, "but I'm +not going to wash the window sills." + +A little silence ensued. Then Suzanna offered a suggestion. + +"Mother," she said, "none of us feels right, do we? Can't we have a +picnic?" + +"A picnic?" exclaimed Mrs. Procter. "A picnic!" She was about vigorously +to refuse the request when she paused. She looked at the three earnest +little faces before her. Suzanna resenting steady days for doing steady +tasks; Maizie hating her porridge, and Peter grieved because he +couldn't see his ears; the baby too, not his usual sunny self. But set +against the strange and varied emotions of her young family, loomed the +house with its stern demands upon her. Should she postpone her tasks +then vengeance in the double form of cleaning and baking day would +descend upon her tomorrow! + +Then suddenly the truth pressed in on her--the children had rights upon +her time, her thoughts, her understandings, her sweetnesses! What if for +this week the window sills upstairs did remain unwashed, the rugs +downstairs stay unshaken? She stole a glance out of the window at the +one tree in the yard, green and gently swaying in the soft breeze, and +she spoke with the impulse of youth. "Well," she said, "where could we +go?" + +"We could have it in the yard if you say so, mother," cried Suzanna, +mentally forecasting consent in her mother's question. "But I know some +lovely woods not very far away. We could push the baby in his cart." + +The baby from his high chair gurgled joyously. + +"And take lunch," said Maizie, brightening. + +"And my baseball," completed Peter. + +"Well," said Mrs. Procter, the brief spark that had lifted her dying, +"if I'm going to have grumbling all the time, something the matter with +each one of you, I might as well let the work go for once, I suppose." + +But though the consent fell leaden in its delivery, it _was_ consent and +in a miraculously short time they were all ready to start away; even the +lunch basket was packed and the baby put into his carriage and wheeled +out to the front gate to wait till the entire family was assembled. + +Mrs. Procter locked the doors, ran across the street to ask Mrs. +Reynolds to buy certain vegetables from a daily huckster and then away +they all went down the wide white road to the woods. + +Soon the joy and beauty of the day stole into Mrs. Procter's heart. She +breathed in the invigorating air deeply. Cares seemed to fall from her. +Materialities were banished into the background. She looked at her +children as they went singing down the road. She had meant to bind them +to sordid tasks within four walls when a jewel of a day beckoned to all! +She visualized her house clean and in perfect order, but the children +cross, she herself irritable and tired out, and wondering a little bit +about the meaning of things. Was it worth while to let inflexible rules +remain victors at such a cost. She knew a sudden thrill of gratitude for +Suzanna, who had suggested the outing, and putting out her hand she +drew the little girl to her. + +Suzanna looked up. She caught the deep and tender look in her mother's +face, so she voiced a plea which had been in her heart, but kept from +utterance in fear that she might ask too much. + +"Mother, if we're going on a real picnic we ought to take the lame and +the halt with us. And I know a little girl who has cross eyes, and she's +a weeny bit pigeon-toed. She's the lame and the halt, isn't she? Because +when she looks at me I never think she is looking at me. I tried to +teach her one day how to look straight but it wouldn't do. Could I +invite her, do you think?" + +"Where does she live?" + +"Oh, just the other side of the fork road," Suzanna replied, pointing +out the direction. "If you'll go on I'll run and get Mabel and then +catch up with you. She's that new little girl. Her folks haven't lived +here long." + +"Very well." + +In a short-time Suzanna returned, holding tight to little Mabel's hand. +"I told her mother we had enough to eat with us and that we'd take good +care of her. So here she is," said Suzanna. + +Little Mabel looked up obliquely at Mrs. Procter. + +"Her hair doesn't grow thick around her face," said Suzanna a little +apologetically; "and I told her mother to rub Gray's ointment into it, +like you did for the dog that came off in spots. The one Peter found, +you remember." + +"It didn't do any good--" began Maizie. + +Mrs. Procter plunged in to prevent further discussion about the +unfortunate dog. "Do you think you can walk quite a distance, Mabel?" +she asked. + +Mabel put her finger in her mouth. + +"Don't talk to her right away, mother," begged Suzanna. "She's a little +bit shy." + +So they went on, little Mabel contributing no word to the talk. They +passed fields full of yellow daisies and they walked by one group of +gentle, cud-chewing cows. "But I hope there'll be no cows in your woods, +Suzanna," said Mrs. Procter. + +And her wish was granted. Indeed all, sky, flowers, breeze, absence of +dust and curious animals, helped to make this a day of days. When they +reached Suzanna's little patch of woods with many spreading oak trees +that invited rest beneath their sheltering branches Mrs. Procter +exclaimed in delight. + +"Isn't it lovely, mother?" cried Suzanna. "See, there's a tiny brook, +too. I've been here often when I wanted to think of poetry." + +"And I've never had time," her mother murmured. + +"Now you just sit right down here with your back against this tree," +Suzanna went on with a delicious air of protection, "and I'll take care +of the baby. Close your eyes, dear mother-love, and forget that God sent +you a big family and that you've got to do your best by us all like you +told Mrs. Reynolds last week." + +Mrs. Procter's eyes were suddenly overflowing. Children! How rare and +fine a gift they were. How many truths they could teach! She sank down +upon the grass and Suzanna put the baby down beside her, first spreading +out a thick shawl. + +Mrs. Procter caught the small loving hand within her own: "I don't know, +Suzanna; sometimes I wonder if I'll be able to do all I'd like to do for +you all," she said in a low voice. + +"Why, mother, _you love us_!" Suzanna exclaimed. "Don't you remember +last Sunday when I put on my leghorn hat with the bunch of daisies over +my left eye--" + +"I remember," said Mrs. Procter, somewhat at a loss as to the connection +between thought and thought. + +"Well, when I said, 'good-bye, mother, I'm going to Sunday School,' you +looked at me and _smiled_ from your soul! And I forgot that there was +Maizie and Peter and the baby, and I didn't even remember father, and I +said to myself: '_That's my very own mother!_' Just as though we just +belonged to one another with nobody else in the whole world." + +"Kiss me, Suzanna darling," said Mrs. Procter, after a long moment. + +Suzanna stooped and kissed her mother very tenderly. + +"Now run away and play," said Mrs. Procter, leaning against the +supporting tree and closing her eyes, blissfully conscious that she +could rest undisturbed for at least twenty minutes. + +An hour later she opened her eyes and sat up straight. She had fallen +asleep, though her position was not a particularly comfortable one, and +slept sweetly, soundly. The baby still lay peacefully quiet, his little +blanket covering him. And small bees had been working about her. Spread +before her, reposing on a red table cloth lay a tempting meal. In the +middle of the table cloth, to give an air of festivity, was a bunch of +daisies. But most appealing of all to the mother was the sight of the +four children, her own three and little Mabel, seated quietly near the +table; they had evidently been there some time, waiting patiently till +she should open her eyes. + +"Oh," cried Maizie, great relief filling her at sight of her mother +stirring, "Suzanna made us stay so quiet till you woke up, mother, and +we're all awful hungry." + +"Yes, I want that fat sandwich," said Peter. + +And then they fell to eating with much laughter and gaiety. + +"Out in the woods you don't have to pretend you hate to eat, do you, +mother?" said Suzanna. + +"Nor anywhere else that I know of," said Mrs. Procter, smiling. + +"But I don't like to see anyone eat as though he liked to eat," said +Suzanna. "May I have two or three grapes, mother?" + +She received her grapes. And quiet fell, while each did his best to +clear the table. At length when the meal was concluded, and the basket +repacked, and the pewter knives and forks carefully wrapped in a napkin, +the children begged Suzanna for stories. + +So she began, and seemed never to fall short of material. Her mother +listened, dreamily contented, till another hour passed and the baby +awoke. He was a smiling, happy baby and crowed with delight when his +mother allowed him a cracker and a cup of milk. + +"Shall we play games?" asked Suzanna next, when just at the moment the +sound of wheels was heard and shortly there came into sight a low +carriage drawn by the two prosperous, fat brown horses, and seated in +the carriage was Suzanna's Eagle Man. + +Suzanna darted out into the road. As the carriage did not stop she +called out: "Mr. Eagle Man! Oh, Mr. Eagle Man!" + +The coachman involuntarily pulled in his horses. He didn't know what +peremptory signal would be given him to move on, or what inquiry as to +his sanity would scorchingly be made, but Suzanna's eager voice impelled +him to stop. Mr. Massey leaned over the side of the carriage. + +"I never dreamed you'd ride by our picnic," said Suzanna, all excited. +"We've got my mother here and our baby." + +"Well, well," said the Eagle Man. "And how are you, little girl?" + +"I'm awfully well," returned Suzanna. "But today was cleaning day at +home and we all started out wrong; the baby kept mother awake last night +and Maizie hated her oatmeal with the syrup in the middle and Peter +cried hard because he couldn't see his ears, and never in all his life +can see his ears." + +She paused tragically. "Never in all his life--and neither can you, or +anybody." + +"What a terrible loss, for sure," said the Eagle Man, after a look +darted at his coachman's imperturbable back. "And what did _you_ cry +about?" + +She stared at him in horror. "I never cry," she said. "I mean I never +let the tears fall down my face. I cry in my heart sometimes, but never +out loud, on top. But I felt funny this morning because I wished we +didn't have to wash on Monday, and iron on Tuesday, and clean on +Wednesday, and bake on Thursday, and mend on Friday, and clean again on +Saturday." + +"Well, ask your mother to wash on _Saturday_," the Eagle Man suggested +easily. + +"Oh, I don't think mother would," Suzanna cried, in a little horror +herself at that idea. "She's awful set about washing on Monday. Still +I'll ask her if you say so, Eagle Man, because Saturday is kind of a wet +day anyhow. You see Saturday is just the shape of a big, immense, round +ocean. Shall I bring my mother over here to look at you?" suddenly +recalling the conventions. + +"I don't think I'm fit to look at this morning," the Eagle Man +muttered. + +"Oh, I think you are," said Suzanna, earnestly. "I like your shiny shoes +and your very high collar. I know mother would like you, too." + +The Eagle Man looked down at his shiny shoes, hesitated and was lost. He +opened the carriage door, seized his cane and struggled to the ground. +"Now, let's see your wonderful family," he said to Suzanna, as he +hobbled forward toward the little group under the trees. + +Suzanna looked up at him. "Oh, you're the lame and the halt, too! We +took Mabel along on our picnic because her eyes don't match, you know. +They don't seem to work together. We _are_ obeying the Bible today, +aren't we?" + +Old John Massey did not answer, since he was intent upon covering the +ground with as little wear and tear on his nerves as possible, and so in +silence they walked till they reached Mrs. Procter, still leaning +against the tree, but now holding the baby in her arms. + +Maizie, Mabel, and Peter all looked with vivid interest at the newcomer. + +"Mother," began Suzanna, "this is the gentleman I told you about. He's +John Massey; you've seen him on Main Street. _He loves to be +comfortable._ And he doesn't work during the day, either, but he sits in +a chair and shouts at a little man, and the little man hops mighty +quick, I can tell you." + +Mrs. Procter's face went crimson. "How do you do?" she said. She did not +meet his keen eyes. + +"How do you do, madam," the Eagle Man responded. "Out for an airing with +your family?" + +"Yes," said Mrs. Procter. "The children were all in a bad humor this +morning and so we thought we'd have a picnic." + +"Oh, no, mother," said Maizie earnestly, "we weren't in a bad humor. We +just didn't like things at home." + +"Well, we'll put it that way," smiled her mother, "and so Suzanna +suggested a picnic." Mrs. Procter attempted to rise. + +"Stay where you are, madam," said the Eagle Man. Mrs. Procter sank back +against the tree. + +"You sit down, too, Eagle Man," said Suzanna cordially. "We've got +another shawl. Here it is." She spread it down on the ground and the +Eagle Man quite gladly accepted the invitation, though his face whitened +in the downward process of reaching the shawl. + +"Well, madam," he began again, "most people can't afford big families +these days." + +Mrs. Procter smiled, but did not answer. Suzanna, sensing a criticism, +spoke quickly. + +"Mother can't afford them either, but she's not asked anything about it. +The doctor who has charge of giving out babies stops at our gate often +and looks into mother's eyes. Then he knows she'd be awful sweet to a +little baby and so next time he gets around he brings one to us. Maybe +one that no one else will have." + +"I see," said the Eagle Man. He turned to Mrs. Procter. "Your daughter +is very apt with explanations." + +Mrs. Procter smiled. + +"Her explanations," he continued, "are a trifle more honest than the +ones I often hear." + +Another little silence. The Eagle Man appeared to be thinking deeply. +First he cast a glance out into the road to where his capacious vehicle +stood, then he looked over at Mrs. Procter. + +"I wonder, madam," he said, "if you and your family would do me the +honor to drive with me." + +Suzanna's eyes grew like stars, Maizie wrung her hands in a very +eloquence of prayer as she awaited her mother's answer; Peter just +stared, speech stricken from him; Mabel turned in her toes in her agony. +The baby only was unconcerned. Finally Mrs. Procter answered: + +"We'll be very glad to, I'm sure, Mr. Massey." And in less time than it +takes to tell, Mrs. Procter, the baby on her knees, sat beside Mr. +Massey in the carriage, while the three little girls sat on a seat +facing Mrs. Procter, a seat that could at will be let down or pushed +back. Peter, to his everlasting delight, sat beside the coachman. + +"Out into the country, Robert," said Mr. Massey to his coachman, and so +away they started at a leisurely pace, since the complacent horses +refused any other. Sometimes vagrant chickens wandered into the road, +exhibiting a daring that enthralled Peter. His opinion of chickens rose +when, the fat horses almost upon their tail feathers, they disdainfully +moved off. + +"We couldn't run one down, I suppose," he asked Robert, hopefully. "Just +take a feather off, you know, to learn 'em a lesson." + +"I scared a pair of 'em good and proper, once," returned Robert, who had +been, known to coddle an ailing worm, but at the moment he was just a +little boy with Peter, in very proper high spirits. And while braggingly +he went on talking to his delighted listener, the rest of the party were +silently, but with keen enjoyment, watching the passing country side. It +was a ride to be long remembered; the smooth roads wound alluringly +away, Suzanna wondered, to what beautiful hidden country. The breezes +fanned their cheeks with delicate, fragrant breath; the birds sang +overhead, or flew gaily about, adding harmony and color to the +atmosphere. And yet, to Suzanna's horror the baby, apparently quite +insensible to all the beauty and totally oblivious of the gratitude due +the Eagle Man, soon fell fast asleep, engagingly sucking his fat thumb. + +"He's not very old," whispered Suzanna to her host; "and he doesn't know +he must be truly thankful to you." + +"Well, let him rest comfortably," said the Eagle Man, and he moved in +such a way that the baby's head rested against his knee. + +"There, that's better," he said to Mrs. Procter. "I didn't suppose you +wanted its neck to be broken," he ended gruffly. + +"You can't talk that way to mother," said Suzanna, very gently. "She's +not used to it, you see, and she might think you meant it, though I know +you better. Father, when he isn't thinking of his invention, speaks very +kindly and sometimes he says, 'Are you tired, Little Woman?'" + +Mrs. Procter attempted to speak, but again the Eagle Man stopped +her--very gently, for him. + +"It's all right," he said. "It's rather interesting to find someone, if +only a child, who's not afraid to be absolutely sincere." + +They came to a small hill where Robert stopped his horses. The breezes +had gone whispering away and stillness was upon all. Soon the birds +ceased their calls; over in the west the clouds were soft delicate folds +of bronze; and even as one looked they broke into bars of distinct +color, orange, purple, coral. An opal sunset. + +"Oh, how beautiful!" cried Mrs. Procter. + +"A daily incident," returned the Eagle Man, but he, too, gazed at the +glowing sky. + +"And now, I suppose we must return," he said at length, and so Robert +turned his horses upon the homeward journey. + +It was nearly dusk when, after leaving Mabel with her mother, the little +cottage came into sight, and then Mrs. Procter said to the Eagle Man: +"This has been one of the happiest days of my life. I thank you for +helping to make it so." + +"That's very kind of you to say so," the Eagle Man answered in his usual +gruff voice. + +They reached the gate and leaning upon it was Mr. Procter. He stared his +amazement at sight of his family returning in such state. + +"Father, we had a picnic," called Maizie, springing from the carriage. + +"And once I drove," cried Peter, almost falling from his seat, "and +scared a chicken." + +"We've had the grandest day, father," finished Suzanna, running to him. +"We went on a picnic and we took the lame and halt along, Mabel and the +Eagle Man, and they had a good time, too." + +"And twice today, father," said Maizie, taking her father's hand, "I +remembered Who smiled at me." + +"Who smiled at you?" asked the Eagle Man, who heard everything, it +seemed. + +"The Man with the halo, Jesus, you know," Maizie answered reverently. +"When first I was a baby on this earth He came to smile at me and to +wake me up. Suzanna told me so." + +Silence. Then the Eagle Man turned to Mr. Procter. "Glad to have met +your family, sir." + +"Glad you've had the opportunity," said Mr. Procter. + +"You sold a quantity of nails to me a few weeks ago, good nails, too; +not underweight either, I noticed," said the Eagle Man at last. "Your +little girl tells me you are an inventor." + +"Yes, I'm working on a machine," Mr. Procter flushed. "It is nearly +finished. That is, sometimes I think so; other times completion seems +far away." + +The Eagle Man paused. "I'd be interested in seeing your invention," he +said, and stopped. Yet there was promise, too, in his voice, in his +eyes. + +Again the color rushed to Mr. Procter's face. He stared unbelievingly at +the other, and then said: "I'll be glad any time to show my machine; to +tell you all about it--" He hesitated. "There'd be a great chance for +you, should you become interested in it." + +"Well, if that's the case, expect me any time. Good-bye." + +Suzanna spoke cordially: "You must come and see us very often," she said +warmly, "only not on Tuesday nights, if you're coming to supper, because +we have stew then made from the last of Sunday's roast." + +"I'll remember," said the Eagle Man gravely, as he gave the signal to +Robert to drive away. + +The little family went down through the yard and on to the house. + +"I must hurry with your supper," said Mrs. Procter. "I'm sorry you were +kept waiting." She felt rested enough not to dread preparing the meal. + +"Don't hurry, I found some crackers," said Mr. Procter, and added, "Why, +I've not seen you look so happy in many a long day." + +"Well, I really must thank Suzanna," said Mrs. Procter. "She insisted +upon a picnic because the day started wrong. The house is all upset +though," she finished, as they went into the kitchen. + +"The house?" he returned, gazing vaguely about. "It looks all right to +me. Suppose, Jane, he should really be won over to believe in the +machine. Oh, I never hoped I could interest him!" + +"It may be the beginning of a great day," she answered. He put his arm +about her. + +"What should I do without you to encourage, to help," he said. + +"That's my privilege," she said softly. + +Bending, he kissed her. + + + + +BOOK II + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE INDIAN DRILL + + +Mid September and school days. + +"I like my new teacher, that's why I'm happy," Suzanna told her mother +at the end of the first school day. + +"I saw her," said Maizie, who was a pupil at public school for the +second year. "She holds her arm funny." + +Suzanna flushed darkly. "She's beautiful," she averred; "she's my +teacher." + +"But didn't you see her arm?" + +"No," said Suzanna, "I did not." + +Maizie cried out triumphantly: "Well, that's the first time you didn't +see something I saw." + +Suzanna did not answer. She could not voice her emotions. + +"Well, I don't want you or anyone in the whole world even to notice Miss +Smithson's arm," she flung out, and so Maizie was silenced. + +Suzanna glanced through the window. + +"Why there's father," cried Suzanna; "I wonder why he's coming home so +early?" + +Mr. Procter came hurriedly down the path, pushed open the front door, +and with no word sprang up the stairs. To the attic, the children knew. + +"He must have thought of something to do to The Machine," said Maizie. + +"Yes," Suzanna answered; "whenever he has that still look on his face he +has a new idea." + +"Someone must be taking his place at the store," said Mrs. Procter. "I'm +glad the baby's asleep. Be very quiet, children. Father may have a +splendid thought--why there, he's coming downstairs again." + +He entered the kitchen at once, his face aglow. + +"Just the turn of a screw!" he exclaimed. He spoke directly to his wife. +"Oh, my dear, it's coming on. Nearly ready to show to John Massey." + +"Oh, I am happy for you," she cried. + +He spoke to Suzanna and Maizie: "Would you chicks like to take a walk +down town with me?" He fumbled in his pocket. "Here's a ticket good for +ten dishes of ice cream." He held up a small card. + +"Oh, daddy, where did you get it?" cried Maizie. + +"From Raymond Cunningham, leading druggist," he announced slowly. "His +soda fountain was out of order and I fixed it for him. I didn't want +money for a small act of kindness, so he issued this ticket to me." + +The children were delighted. Mrs. Procter smiled too. In generosity of +spirit, she forbore to point out to her husband the fact that Raymond +Cunningham was known from one end of the town to the other as one who +would "skin a gnat for its teeth." + +Without doubt the man now beaming upon his little daughters had saved +the druggist a bill of ten dollars for which he had issued a ticket +worth sixty cents! + +But she simply smiled, and going to her husband she brushed an imaginary +dust speck from his coat. He caught her hand. + +"Wait, Dear One, till the invention is ready," he said; "all shall give +homage to my wife." + +She did not answer him in words, but he seemed satisfied with the +silence. Such moments of love, of high hope, were beautiful to both. + +The little group started away for their trip to town. + +Just as they reached the drug store, Suzanna pulled her father's sleeve. +She was all excitement. + +"See, daddy," she cried, "that tall lady dressed in black standing near +the lamp post is Miss Smithson, my new teacher." + +"Well, let's go and say a word to her," suggested Mr. Procter, easily. + +"Oh, father, I don't think she talks outside of school," said Suzanna, +her voice falling. She fell into prim step as they neared Miss Smithson. + +Miss Smithson, seeing Suzanna, smiled. + +"This is my father," said Suzanna proudly. + +"I should know that at once by the close resemblance," returned Miss +Smithson. + +"Yes, Suzanna and I do look alike," said Mr. Procter, "and I think I've +sold tacks to you." He rarely failed to speak of his work. He was so +exalted a being, Suzanna thought glowingly, that he lifted his daily +labor to the dignity of a fine art. People must think so too, because +they always looked closer at him when he spoke of weighing nails, or +wrapping wringers and washboards. + +"We were going on to the drug store for some ice cream. Will you join +us?" asked Mr. Procter of Miss Smithson. + +Suzanna's face went white as she waited Miss Smithson's answer. +Teachers, being purely ethereal she felt, never descended to the +discussion of materialities. She wondered at her father's overlooking +this truth. + +But, "Thank you," said the teacher, very calmly. + +So together they all entered the corner drug store, Suzanna still very +quiet. Mr. Procter found a table large enough to accommodate them all. +Suzanna sat next to Maizie. + +"I'm going to have a chocolate ice cream soda," whispered Maizie. + +"No, you can't, Maizie," Suzanna returned in an agony; "take lemon ice +cream soda." + +"But I don't like it." + +"Well, that doesn't matter, Maizie. Chocolate is too dark; and besides +you smear it all over your lips and it looks dreadful; pale lemon ice +cream soda is sweet looking. We must do something to honor Miss +Smithson, who's here just because she wouldn't hurt father's feelings." + +But Maizie looked belligerent. + +Suzanna's temper threatened to flame forth. With a mighty effort she +controlled it. She turned to her father. "Father, don't you think Maizie +had better have lemon ice cream soda?" she asked. + +"Anything she wants; anything she wants," Mr. Procter answered and not +lowering his voice, even in Miss Smithson's presence: "What do you think +you'll have, Suzanna?" + +"I'll have a lemon ice cream soda," said Suzanna primly. And she had +difficulty in restraining her tears when Maizie deliberately gave her +command for chocolate ice cream soda. When the orders came Suzanna +scarcely touched her glass. Covertly she watched Miss Smithson; she saw, +how daintily that lady ate her plain vanilla ice cream; perhaps, after +all, even teachers found it necessary to find some subsistence and Miss +Smithson had hit upon ice cream as the most aesthetic. At least Suzanna +was forced to believe this in her endeavor to keep intact her ideal of +Miss Smithson. + +Then Miss Smithson said in a pleasant, every-day voice: + +"I'm glad to have this opportunity, Mr. Procter, of asking you if +Suzanna may take part in an Indian Drill I expect to give at school next +month." + +"Why, I can see no reason against her taking part," said Mr. Procter. +"You would enjoy such an occasion, would you not, Suzanna?" + +"She will need an outfit," Miss Smithson went on, treading delicately, +since in part she guessed the state of the Procter finances and she +wished to be very sure before implicating Suzanna in any embarrassing +situation, "including dancing slippers, though I may be able to rent the +Indian costumes from a masquerader in the city, and then the cost will +be lessened." + +"That will be all right," said Mr. Procter immediately. "Just tell us +the clothes she will need and her mother will get them." + +"That's very nice," said Miss Smithson, though she felt still a little +uneasy. + +"When will the affair take place?" Mr. Procter asked. + +"On the fifteenth of October. We have ample time for rehearsals." + +A little later Miss Smithson shook hands with Suzanna's father, +murmuring something conventional about his being fortunate in the +possession of such an interesting family. Then she was gone. + +The children, bidding father good-bye, hastened on home. They burst into +the house, anxious to tell mother all about the meeting with Miss +Smithson. + +Mrs. Procter listened interestedly. "And father said I might take part +in the Indian Drill," said Suzanna. "I shall have to have an outfit +perhaps and dancing shoes." + +"What did father say about that?" asked Mrs. Procter, an anxious little +frown growing between her eyes. + +"He said you would get them for me," Suzanna returned. She, too, looked +a little anxiously at her mother. "But Miss Smithson said perhaps she +could hire the Indian costumes." + +Mrs. Procter's expression lightened. + +"Well, perhaps she can," she said. + +"And if she can't, mother?" Suzanna breathlessly awaited the answer. + +"Well, we'll manage some way." + +And Suzanna was satisfied. + +A week later Mr. Procter returned home, carrying a mysterious looking +parcel. + +"For you, Suzanna," he said, his eyes sparkling. "But let's not open it +until after supper." + +Suzanna reluctantly put the package to one side. That supper would never +end that evening she had a firm conviction. + +And yet the end was reached, and she was opening the package, attended +by the entire family. At last her eager eyes swept the contents, and her +little beating heart for the moment palpitated strangely in her throat, +for there lay a pair of shoes. + +"Shoes," said Mr. Procter, "for you to wear in the Indian Drill. I saw +them thrown out in a little booth when I went into Lane's shoe shop for +a piece of leather to be made into washers. They really were marked at +so ridiculously low a figure that I thought at once we could surely +afford them for Suzanna. They are, I should judge, the very thing for +the Indian Drill." + +To all of which Suzanna listened gravely. Her heart had gone back to its +normal rhythm, but her eyes could not leave the atrocities lying before +her. Truly, they were of fine leather, but with their high French heels, +and flat gilt buttons, they might have been in style when Suzanna's +mother was a very little girl, and, to be really candid, they would have +lain under the anathema of being out of date even then. But over and +beyond the painful vintage of the shoes was the fact that Miss Smithson +had announced that all the girls taking part in the Indian Drill should +wear the same kind of shoes. She had gone farther and told the children +that the right kind of shoes could be obtained at Bryson's for a dollar +and forty-eight cents a pair, a really reduced price because fourteen +pairs were to be purchased. She had finished by giving the children the +number to be called for, "A-14116." Suzanna knew the number well; she +had repeated it mentally over and over again. + +Finally Suzanna found her voice. "They're very nice, daddy," she said. + +"Yes, they are very nice," he said. "See, you can turn them up. They're +as soft as a kid glove." + +"Well, since you've bought the shoes," said Mrs. Procter, "and probably +at a very reasonable figure--" she paused, and Mr. Procter finished: + +"Yes, they were only forty-eight cents, a remarkable bargain, I think." + +"Remarkable," said Mrs. Procter, picking them up. "Why, I believe +they're a handmade shoe! Well," she went on, "since the shoes are +accounted for, I think if I have to I can quite easily manage the rest +of the outfit." + +Suzanna's heart sank lower. She only wondered miserably if her mother, +seeing a piece of inexpensive goods of almost any shade, and finding a +pattern easy to manage, would make up what she thought would do quite +well for the Indian Drill costume. Then her thoughts returned to the +shoes. Perhaps after all they wouldn't fit! She was enabled by that +emancipating thought to turn a happier face to her father and again to +thank him. + +But alas, the shoes fitted perfectly. + +"I think," said Suzanna desperately, "that perhaps they're a little bit +too small--narrow, I mean." + +"Do they hurt you?" asked her mother. + +Suzanna had to confess that they didn't hurt. + +"They certainly make your foot look very nice and slender," said her +father. + +Well, Suzanna thought miserably, she should have to wear them, and in +that belief all interest in the Indian Drill left her. She simply +couldn't, she felt, take her lead on the eventful day wearing those +shoes. Every eye in the audience, she knew, would be fixed upon them, so +different from those of the other girls, so terribly old-fashioned, as +instinctively she sensed them to be. + +Mrs. Procter carefully wrapped the bargains in the original tissue +paper. She was happy in the thought that her little daughter was +provided with a pretty and appropriate pair of dancing shoes. + +But it was very perfunctorily that Suzanna went through the ensuing +rehearsals at school. Her spirits were not lifted even when Miss +Smithson announced that the costumes were to be obtained through a +masquerader at the small cost of twenty-five cents for each pupil. But +at length, the child's natural persevering force had its way, and she +set her mind to studying the question of how to avoid wearing the +unsuitable shoes and still preserve her father's confidence in his own +good judgment. Usually she asked no help, working alone on the problems +which assailed her, but suddenly the thought of her friend Drusilla came +to her. She would ask Drusilla what she thought about the matter. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +DRUSILLA'S REMINISCENCES + + +One afternoon immediately after school, Suzanna, taking Maizie with her, +went to call on Drusilla. Twice since her first visit in July she had +gone to the little home, but on both occasions Drusilla had been ill, +unable to see anyone. But today the pleasant faced maid admitted the +children. + +"Go right up to the attic," she said. "Mrs. Bartlett is there looking +over some old trunks." + +In the attic, a tiny place with slanting roof and unfinished walls, the +children found Mrs. Bartlett, sitting on the floor beside a huge, +overflowing trunk. Old-fashioned dresses, high-heeled satin slippers, +dancing programs, painted fans, were all heaped together. + +"We've come to see you, Drusilla," said Suzanna at once. "I've been +twice before, but you didn't know it. This is my sister, Maizie. I've +got a very important question to ask you." + +Drusilla rose from the floor. "I'm glad to see you both. I've often +thought of you, Suzanna. Close the lid of that trunk and sit on it and +your little sister Maizie can sit in that old easy chair in the corner. +That is, if you want to stay up here in the attic." + +Suzanna looked about her. The attic was rather sad-looking, she thought, +not full of its own importance as the one at home, but still, very +interesting. Old portraits hung on the slanting walls. In corners were +piles of old furniture looking strangely lifelike in the shadows. + +"We'd rather stay up here, Drusilla," she said. "And we'll stay a long +time with you, if you like." + +"Very good," said Drusilla. She drew forth a low rocker and seated +herself. + +Suzanna suddenly remembered her manners. "Perhaps we shouldn't have come +today anyway," she said. "You were busy with your trunk when we came +up." + +"I was just looking over some old dresses and relics I've kept for many +years," said Drusilla. "There's a dress in there," she said, "that I +wore when as a young girl I lived with my parents way back across the +ocean." + +"A big city?" asked Maizie. "Not like Anchorville?" + +"A big city," returned Drusilla. "You see that glass case in the corner? +Go and look at it." + +Suzanna and Maizie sprang up and went to the dusky corner. On a table +stood the glass case, and under it was an apple, a pear, a bunch of +grapes, and a banana, all made of wax. + +"That came from the city across the water," said Drusilla. "It was given +to my grandmother by our old herb woman." + +The children left the wax fruit and went and stood quite close to +Drusilla. "What's an old herb woman?" asked Maizie, interestedly. + +"Why, she was our doctor in those days. She had an old shop buried away +in a part of the town that we reached by crossing a canal. Many is the +time my grandmother took me to that old shop with its rows of dried +herbs hanging from the ceiling; with its old worn corners, and its +barrel of white cocoanut oil standing near the door. Oh, I loved that +place. I loved the smell of the herbs and I loved the little old woman +who could brew teas from her herbs that would cure any ailment in the +world, I thought. And then right next to the old herb shop was a pawn +shop with three tarnished golden balls above the door." + +"A pawn shop?" The children wanted to know the meaning of that kind of +shop. + +"A shop," said Drusilla, warming to her keen audience, "to which you +could bring anything, from a worn out dress to a piece of jewelry, and +get money for it and a ticket. And if you wanted the dress or the +jewelry back again, then you brought the ticket and the money and a +little interest. + +"The old pawn shop was a landmark. It had stood next to the herb shop, +my grandmother told me, for a hundred years; during all these years +owned by the same family. When I was a little girl a woman kept the +shop. She was very tall, very thin, with quantities of black hair +braided and wound round and round her head. She wore always a Paisley +shawl of faded colors, and her hair coiled as it was made me think +always of a crown. + +"The shop was long and narrow and full of wonderful rare, old +curios--old violins, cameos, and uncut stones. I was allowed to go all +over the shop; to open quaint cases, to go upstairs and out upon an old +gallery and to lift from their drawers silken crapes, and to find, +buried away, whispering sea-shells and crystal bottles, and irregular +pieces of blue-veined marble and alabaster. Oh, the happy, thrilling +hours I spent in that place! My grandmother told me that scholars came +from every part of the country to see this tucked-away, historic old +pawn shop." + +Drusilla paused, but in a moment to the children's relief she went on: +"Then on a quite busy street, back this side of the canal, the side we +lived on, was a large place called an ovenry. And there we sent our +bread to be baked." + +The children's eyes widened. + +"Yes," went on Drusilla, "we put our dough to rise at home, made it into +little loaves, pricked our initial--or some other distinguishing +mark--on top when it lay in its pans, and then a big red-faced man with +a wagon drawn by a donkey called for our bread. Once my grandmother let +me ride with him, and I stayed all afternoon in his ovenry, though the +fire from the big ovens made it uncomfortably hot. I watched him and his +helpers put the pans of bread on big shovels and heave them into yawning +caves of flames. When they were finished, another red-faced man +delivered them baked brown, and smoking, to the customers. We paid a +penny a loaf for having our bread baked." + +"Oh, and that saved you buying so much coal, didn't it?" asked Maizie. +"I wish we had an ovenry in Anchorville." + +"Yes," said Drusilla, "I think, myself, some of these old-fashioned +ideas were economical." + +"There isn't a pawn shop anywhere near, is there?" asked Suzanna. She +was thinking about the shoes and what a blessing it would be to dispose +of them. + +"I don't believe so," Drusilla answered. "Anyway, there couldn't be +another like that wonderful shop of my youth." + +There ensued a silence. Suddenly leaning forward, Suzanna began very +earnestly: + +"Drusilla, I have a very important question to ask you. Which would you +rather do, be honest or suffer?" + +"Be honest or suffer?" repeated Drusilla. "I don't quite understand." + +"Well, you see, it's this way," said Suzanna. "Now, Maizie, I see you're +listening with your eyes wide open, and I want to tell you now that you +mustn't say anything to father of what I'm going to tell Drusilla." +Having delivered this ultimatum, she went on and told of the Indian +Drill and of the costumes, and then of her father's recent purchase of +the shoes. "I can't tell daddy that the shoes would be different from +everybody's else," she said, "because it will hurt his feelings. But, +oh, Drusilla! My heart jumps into my throat when I think of wearing +those shoes so different from everyone else's." + +"The shoes cost forty-eight cents," elaborated Maizie, "and so you can +see Suzanna has to wear them whether she likes them or not." + +"Yes," said Suzanna, "forty-eight cents is very near to half a dollar +and we can't afford to lose that. I thought, Drusilla, that you could +give me some advice. That's all I want, just that you tell me which is +best, to be honest or to suffer. You told me once about the little +silver chain and that has helped me a lot." + +Drusilla looked puzzled. "The silver chain?" she asked. + +"Yes, don't you remember that day you were queen and told me about the +chain?" asked Suzanna. + +In a second a remarkable change came over the old lady. She rose to her +feet. Then she turned to Suzanna, her shoulders straight and her head +held high. + +"My crown," she demanded. "Is that to be lifted from me in these the +full years of my queenhood?" + +"I've never seen you with a crown on," said Suzanna. + +"Enough, serf!" cried the queen haughtily. "Procure me my crown." +Suzanna looked about her. An old dried-up Christmas wreath hanging on a +rafter attracted her attention. Quickly she procured it and held it out +to Drusilla. "Here is your crown, Queen," she said. And then, her voice +changing, she said: "You'd better let me put it on, Drusilla, it's +liable to crumble if you're not careful. Lower your head, please." + +The old lady did so and Suzanna placed the crown upon the silver hair. + +"Now," said the old lady, "if you have sought me to gain advice, repeat +your question, that I may answer in a manner worthy my exalted station." + +"Well," said Suzanna for the third time, "I want to know whether it's +best to be honest or to suffer?" + +"What shall be your course if you are honest?" asked the queen. + +Suzanna pondered. "I think I'll tell daddy, perhaps tonight," she said +at last, "that to wear the shoes will hurt my feelings dreadfully; that +I tremble when I think of being the only girl in the drill without low +shoes with two straps. Something like moccasins. If I tell daddy this, +then I'll be honest." + +"And if you decide to suffer?" + +"Then I'll wear the shoes at the drill and from the time I put them on +till the drill is over, I'll be full of pain. I'll know that everybody +will be just looking at my feet, and I'll not enjoy the dance one bit." + +The queen knit her brows. Then her answer came: "Be not honest in the +way you describe, neither suffer." + +"But, Drusilla," Suzanna objected, "I don't understand." + +"_And can you not be brave?_" asked the queen with a note of scorn in +her voice. "Is it left to one who feels the time approaching when she +will be deposed from her throne and all she holds dear, alone to have +courage?" She looked straight into Suzanna's dark eyes. "Your father +knows joy in thinking he has given you your heart's desire. Why, then, +hurt him by telling him that the shoes are not your desire? Why not, +with head held high, lead the dance you speak of, and forget shoes, and +remember only the movement of the dance, the lilt of the music?" + +"Is that bravery?" asked Suzanna. + +"The greatest bravery," returned the queen, "will be to say to yourself, +'Am I so poor a maid that I cannot by the very beauty of my dancing keep +the eyes of the watchers lifted clear above my shoes? For shoes, what +are shoes? Leather and wood. Inanimate, unthinking _stuff_! They are not +worth one heart pang, one moment of misery to me or mine. But _I, I am +alive_. I can see and think and understand. I can go so joyously through +the mazes of the dance that the watchers may forget their sordid +cares.'" + +Suzanna, listening, was carried away. She cried with eager response: +"Why the night of the Indian Drill I can believe I am a fairy, dancing +over snow-topped mountains, and singing, flying clear up into the +clouds!" + +"You might fall, Suzanna," said Maizie, "you know you haven't wings." + +But on this occasion Suzanna was not to be recalled to earth, and +besides in her queen's interested, understanding face, she felt a quick +fellowship to the spirit that dwelt within her. + +And then breaking harshly into the wonder of this moment came the +tinkle, tinkle of the electric bell. + +"Oh," cried Maizie, "someone is coming." + +"I shall brook no intruders," cried the queen. + +"No matter who it is?" asked Suzanna. + +"No matter who it is. I desire to be alone with my court. However, you +can peep over the banisters and see who dares come thus upon us." + +Suzanna went to the top of the stairs. The maid was ushering in a lady +and a boy. + +"Go right upstairs," Suzanna heard the maid say. "Mrs. Bartlett's in +the attic with two of the Procter children." + +The visitors appeared at the top of the stairs and paused to glance in. + +The lady was beautifully dressed, quite exquisitely, from the dainty +little toque upon her haughty head to her small gray cloth shoes. Her +eyes, flashing from pansy shades to lightest blue, were cold. Her white +skin seemed to hold no possibility of color. Yet, even as she stood, the +milk of it turned to rose when Drusilla gazed at her with no warmth of +recognition in her glance. + +The boy, about twelve, Suzanna surmised correctly, stood forward. There +was some of his mother's haughtiness in his bearing, a great deal of her +beauty. But added to both, a rare, high look as though always he were +seeking what lay beyond his grasp, and perhaps his comprehension. He +seemed altogether like a child whose emotional values did not stand +clear. He gazed half prayerfully at his grandmother, as though asking +and bestowing at the same time. + +Breaking into the embarrassing silence, Suzanna spoke: + +"Drusilla has her crown on," she said. "You see, she's a queen now, and +she's been answering some questions of mine." + +The lady in the doorway looked at Suzanna meditatively. Then she spoke +directly to Drusilla. + +"May I come in, mother?" she asked. "You see I've brought Graham." + +Drusilla began: "Court was in session. However, I shall be glad to have +you remain." The boy, who had remained quiet, now spoke. + +"Oh, bully, mother; grandmother's playing again. I want to stay." + +But his mother put out a detaining hand as he attempted to enter the +attic. + +"No--we can't stay now--" She spoke directly again to Drusilla. "We'll +come again--when you are more--yourself." + +In a moment she was gone down the stairs, leaving after her a soft +fragrance. The boy obediently followed her. In the hall below she +encountered the maid. She whispered a few hurried words before taking +her departure. + +The maid went up immediately into the attic. + +Drusilla was again talking eloquently while Suzanna and Maizie stood +listening spellbound. + +"I think," said the maid, breaking in quietly but firmly, "that you +little girls had better go home now. Mrs. Bartlett is tired and I want +her to lie down." + +She approached the queen. "Come, Mrs. Bartlett," she said, "you must +rest now." She raised her hand as though to remove the crown of faded +leaves. + +"What means this sacrilege?" cried the queen, stepping backward. + +"She likes to wear her crown when she's a queen," said Suzanna, much +distressed. + +"But she can't lie down in her crown, you know, little girl, it will +hurt her." + +"Well, that's true, Drusilla," Suzanna conceded. "Will you put your head +down and I'll take the crown off very carefully and we'll put it away +for another day." + +The queen obediently lowered her silver head to Suzanna. Suzanna very +carefully removed the wreath and hung it on its old nail. + +"I _am_ tired," said the old lady, now in a voice that trembled a +little. "But you'll come again soon, won't you?" she asked, appealing to +Suzanna. + +"Yes, just as soon as I can," said Suzanna. "Come, Maizie. Good-bye, +Drusilla, and thank you very much for helping me." + +Drusilla brightened. "That's nice, to know that I can still help +someone," she said. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +MRS. GRAHAM WOODS BARTLETT + + +The great house stood on a hilltop quite two miles from the station, and +cut into the immense iron door standing guard to the grounds was the +name "Bartlett Villa." + +Here for a small part of the year the Graham Woods Bartletts lived. The +family consisted of mother, father, and son, named for his father. In +the city another house as large and more palatial received the family +when they tired of the country home. + +Mr. Graham Woods Bartlett held large interests in the Massey Steel +Mills. That he might be on the ground part of the time he had built +Bartlett Villa. In his heart he loved the small town. It was like a +retreat to him to come back to its quiet after feverish hours spent in +the crowded city. Here he seemed to recall in part a few of his vanished +dreams--those dreams so bright, so well-nigh impossible of fulfillment, +which as a young man fresh from college he had cherished. While young, +he met and loved the girl he married. That she had visions he perfectly +believed. That her visions were unworthy no power then could have made +him believe. She came from an impecunious family whose lineage was older +and greater than his. How she could have thought the high-browed, +sensitive-faced young man the one who could fulfill her grasping desires +is not to be fathomed. She had believed so, and he did bring to pass all +her aspirations. That in doing so he killed his finest ideals mattered +not. + +Young Graham, too, was always glad when the time came for a stay at +Bartlett Villa in Anchorville. He loved the big upstanding elms; loved +the many gardens, and the flaunting flowers. He loved the two people who +belonged properly in the environs of Bartlett Villa--old Nancy, who had +been his mother's nurse and his own, and David, the gardener, with his +little daughter Daphne. + +Nancy, old, with hard rosy cheeks, was still so real. She worked and +sang, loved and sometimes resented on behalf of those whom she served. +Often, when quite a little boy, Graham would seek her in the old nursery +of the city home and climb into her lap, rest his curly head against her +loving breast, and sometimes contentedly fall asleep. + +He never so cuddled with his mother, no matter how fervent the longings +that filled his heart. She was always finely dressed; and her eyes were +never for him alone. They were fixed on some distant and glittering +goal, quite beyond the boy's understanding. + +Then there was David, big of stature, big of mind. David, given over to +many long, silent periods, because David had lost a loved and cherished +one. + +There were times when David would take Graham with him on long rambles, +and then he would talk. He knew everything about the birds, their +habits, their peculiarities, their fears, and their courage. He put into +Graham a great love for the little creatures. Often together near a nest +they would stand, and, scarce breathing, watch the first lesson given by +a mother bird to a frightened young one. + +"She's greater, that mother, than some humans," David said once, when +they were on their way home. + +"Why?" asked Graham, interestedly. + +"Well," said David, slowly, "we most of us hold on too long when it's +time for those we love to try their wings." + +"You wouldn't hold on, would you, David?" asked Graham, his boyish eyes +upturned in perfect faith to his friend. + +"I might, Graham; human nature is weak and wants always its own." + +Upon reaching home Graham would ask: "Will you have time to go riding +this afternoon, David?" + +And David would answer: "Perhaps, my lad, if there's not too much work +in the gardens." + +Once Graham asked: "Why do you do such work, David? You could be in the +city making lots of money." Thus Graham, who through heritage had been +innoculated with that thought, that money meant everything. + +And David had turned with a swift gesture: "Why should I mistreat my +spirit, kill my brightest self trying for money, young Graham? Here +among my flowers, working in the soil, I find time to think." + +Graham looked strangely at David. Time to think! On what? Well he knew +that David would tell him some day, and then he would weigh in his own +mind the question of whether it were wise to work hard at something that +took all your time in order to make lots of money; or to work at +something that while you worked gave you time to think and grow. + +David had an uncanny way of knowing another's thoughts. "It's not +altogether what you work at, lad," he said, "it's what your ideals of +life are." And turning, he left Graham to ponder. + +On the day that he and his mother had paid the visit to his grandmother +in the attic, the boy's mind was deeply concerned with the scene he had +witnessed in his grandmother's attic. He envied the Procter children, +since there grew in his imagination the treasure a grandmother could be. +She probably knew "bully" stories of long-ago days. Certainly as she +stood, crowned, she seemed the best sort of a playfellow, since she +could pretend as well as any child. + +His mother drove him home and then went to pay a call in a near town. He +had gone directly to his own room. A telegrapher's outfit, in which he +was then greatly interested, needed his attention. He was anxious to +resume work on it; still his undermind, even as he drew forth the +machine and began to work, was busy. + +Suddenly he remembered the time last year when his mother had made +elaborate preparations for an extended sojourn in the South. They were +then in their city home. He had ardently wished that she would decide to +take him with her, but the thought evidently did not occur to her. He +had said good-bye to her with a strange, empty feeling at his heart. + +And then quite unexpectedly she had returned, her contemplated stay cut +enchantingly short. She had talked with him, taken long walks with him, +even accompanied him to several ball games. + +For a month she had been a friend, a good friend interested in boyish +sports, in active games, and once in an open moment she had asked him if +he had ever been lonely. + +He answered, not wishing to hurt her: "Sometimes, when you stayed for +months in Italy. But I was only a very small boy then. Father had to be +away most of the time too, and the tutor you got for me wouldn't allow +me to talk with other children until he knew all about where their +fathers and mothers came from and how much money they had." + +She was touched. She meant then to see that her boy should have more of +the normal boy life of fun and roughness. + +But gradually her old desire for social leadership pressed in on her. +And it took all her time and energy to dress, to entertain, to outdo her +social rivals. And Graham went his own way again, only wishing that it +was not necessary for both father and mother to be so occupied with +outside interests that they had little time for their one child. + +After a time he left his machine to look out of the window, and as he +stood, he saw his mother. She had left her small runabout, and David was +leading the horse to the stables. + +He saw her enter the house. In a moment he heard her talking in her +sweet voice to one of the servants before she mounted the stairs to her +own room. She would then, Graham knew, be in the hands of her maid for a +long time, since she was giving a formal dinner party that evening. + +When the shadows were lengthening Graham left his room and wandered +aimlessly around the house. Finally he reached the kitchen, where he sat +for a time, watching the imported French chef's noble efforts for the +coming dinner, efforts that must result in the wide proclamation of Mrs. +Graham Woods Bartlett as an original hostess. But in the kitchen it was +made manifest that Graham's presence was not welcome. At last, feeling +this truth, he left. + +The maid, coming from his mother's room and meeting him in the hall, +told him that his dinner was to be served at six in his own room. "Your +mother thought you'd like that," she finished. + +Graham nodded without speaking and went on once more to his own room. He +felt lonely, dispirited. Old Nancy, to whom he might have turned, had +gone to her old home to visit some grandchildren. David, he knew, would +be very busy. + +At six the boy's dinner was brought, and with the hearty appetite of +boyhood he ate. Afterwards he read a little, and then, feeling tired, he +concluded to retire. But he did not go to sleep at once. Occasionally he +heard interesting sounds from below, music from a string orchestra, +laughter of women, and the bass voices of men. + +At nine o'clock he was still lying awake when he heard a little running +step outside his door. Out of an impulse he called softly, "Mother." + +Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett, on her way to her private safe for a piece +of jade she wished to show one of her guests, paused at the call. Then +she pushed open Graham's door, which was slightly ajar, and went in. +Graham sat up. By the glow of a small electric light near his bed he +could plainly see his mother. She was a beautiful vision in her soft +white gown, quite untouched by any color, her hair piled high upon her +small, finely shaped head. + +"Did you call me, Graham?" she asked. + +"Yes," he said, "I wanted to see you all dressed." + +She went quickly and sat on the edge of the bed. "Did they serve you a +nice dinner, Graham?" she asked. + +He nodded. "Very nice," he answered. + +"I thought you'd be asleep long ago," she said. "Otherwise I should have +looked in on you." + +"I couldn't sleep," he answered. Then impulsively: "Mother, I know you +have to go downstairs again soon, but I've been thinking so much of +grandmother. Wouldn't it be possible to have her come to live here with +us? We've got such a big house, and she must be very lonely." + +She drew herself a little away from him. "Perhaps I haven't explained to +you, Graham," she said, "that your grandmother is given to periods of +hallucinations. That is, she has peculiar fancies, one of them being +that she thinks herself a queen." + +"Well, does it hurt if she does think she's a queen?" asked the boy. + +"In this way it does. It's not pleasant to have in close proximity one +who isn't what is called just normal. I think she is much better cared +for as she is and in her own home. You'll admit it would be very +unpleasant if she lived here, and appeared before guests in one of her +unnatural moods." + +"But she is lonely," persisted the boy, sticking to the one line of +thought that had remained with him all afternoon, and had aroused his +mind to dwell insistently upon his grandmother. "You don't mind, mother, +do you, then since she can't come here, if I go to see her often?" He +hesitated before continuing: "Father told me he wished I would, as he +hasn't the time to do so." + +"Of course, you may go to see her, Graham, if you like. I didn't know +you cared so much." + +She rose from the bed and walked away to the window, looking through its +leaded panes to where she knew lay the broad road leading out into the +country with farm houses and plowed fields. After a moment she turned to +gaze at the little lad who still sat up in his bed; who still regarded +her with wide eyes very much like her own, but holding a depth and a +promise that hers did not seem to hold. + +"Perhaps it's not the proper time to tell you now, Graham," she said, +"but I think I might as well do so. I'm making arrangements to leave for +Italy some time soon." + +"To be gone long, mother?" asked the boy. + +"Well, for three months anyway. I met some interesting people there on +my last trip and they have invited me to pay them a prolonged visit," +she said. + +Graham did not answer at first. Then: "I suppose you'd better go +downstairs now, mother," he said. + +His mother left the window. Passing the bed she once more paused and +looked down at him. + +"Well, little son," she said at last, "good night. I've been up here an +outrageous time." She put her arms around his small shoulders and drew +him to her. + +But for the first time in his short life she felt no response in her +child. Indeed, she recognized his withdrawal from her, more poignant in +its effect upon her because it was unconscious on his part. In that one +moment the instinct of motherhood leapt full within her, a sudden +bewildering emotion, totally new to her in its aliveness, its vividness. +And then cold truth swept in on her that by some act she had wiped from +his young heart in one moment his ideal of her. + +She sank on her knees beside his bed, realizing dimly how great a crown +his love had been. After an appreciable length of time, his hand crept +out and rested a second lightly on her arm, and at the touch she raised +her head. "I've disappointed you, Graham," she said. He did not answer. +She waited, and then as he was still silent she rose. She shook her +unwonted mood from her and her face hardened into its habitual +brilliance. + +"Good night, Graham," she said and went away. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE STRAY DOG + + +Miss Smithson had had years of experience with children. She knew their +sensitiveness, their capacity for suffering through those incidents +which adults term trifles. + +She had questioned Suzanna with much adroit delicacy concerning the +shoes, and had elicited the story of the father's purchase. Though she +read correctly the child's real shrinking from the thought of being the +cynosure of many amused eyes, she felt herself helpless. + +That one odd pair of shoes in the company of participating children! In +imagination Miss Smithson visualized the unsuccessful efforts of their +owner to hide them, to find her place in the background. The +kind-hearted teacher really suffered in her anticipation of Suzanna's +pain. + +So when the great night arrived and the music sounded the approach of +the Indian maidens, Miss Smithson, sitting in the front row beside +Suzanna's parents, kept her eyes steadfastly lowered. At length, not +hearing the expected titters from children in the audience, she found +her courage and looked up. Her eyes were immediately drawn to Suzanna's +face and rested there. + +For pictured there in place of depression, self-pity, troubling +self-consciousness, she found sparkle and joy. Miss Smithson gasped in +astonishment and relief. With perfect abandon Suzanna moved through the +dance; she seemed as one quite set apart from her companions; and so she +was. + +All that Drusilla had told her lived with her, inspiring her, lifting +her beyond mere mortals. She might have been frolicing upon a cloud in +her little bare feet, so far away from her consciousness was the thought +of the shoes. + +The dance ended, and with flushed cheeks and heart beating happily, +Suzanna took her seat. The applause lasted a long time. + +Then came a recitation and a piano solo given by a greatly embarrassed +boy, though certainly a greatly talented one. Suzanna recognizing his +anguish felt very sorry for him. She wished he had had a Drusilla to +advise him, to make him see that he was for the time greater than his +audience. That he had music in his soul. She understood now that the +greatest gift was to forget yourself and love your art so much that it +reigned supreme. + +Then looking out at the people seated before her, she recognized that +they were _kind_. That they had come not to criticize, but to enjoy and +to acclaim. She felt growing within her heart a great love for all +humanity. + +Her eyes sought out her father's. Just in front he sat, looking up at +her, his eyes filled with pride. She had made him happy. Her heart was +very full. + +Her eyes after a time went again over the audience. And behind her +father sat a boy, the one she had seen at Drusilla's. His eyes seemed to +be searching her face. She smiled at him and he smiled in return. + +The evening was over. Suzanna was down in the audience. "Did you like +the dance, daddy?" she asked. + +"It was beautiful," he answered with gratifying response. "I was very +proud of my little girl--and the shoes--I was so glad you could have +them--they were the prettiest in the drill." + +"I think they were, too," Suzanna answered, with real truth. + +Out in the street she saw the boy. He was standing near the gate of the +school yard, by his side a tall, dark young man. + +"How do you do?" said Suzanna. + +He snatched his hat from his head. "Oh, I liked your dance," he said. +"This is my tutor," he finished. + +"How do you do," said Suzanna politely to the young man. She wondered +what a tutor was. Then to the boy: "Drusilla's your grandmother, isn't +she?" + +"Yes; do you live in this town?" + +"Yes, right down that road. Your big house was closed for three years, +wasn't it--since I was a little girl of five. That's why we haven't seen +one another, I suppose." Then: "How did you think of coming to the +Indian Drill?" + +"Why, one of the school trustees had to see my father on business and he +spoke about the entertainment. I thought I'd like to see it." + +"Well, I'm glad you came. Good-bye." + +A carriage drew up. The boy and his companion stepped into it and were +driven off. + +"That's young Graham Woods Bartlett," said Mrs. Procter as they started +home. "They live in the big house on the top of the hill. This is the +first time it's been open for some years." + +"And Drusilla's his grandmother," said Suzanna. "He's an awful nice +boy." + +"His father and old John Massey are business associates," put in Mr. +Procter. + +"Such a fine big house to be occupied only a few months of the year, and +then not every year," put in Mrs. Procter. "And they rarely stay so late +in the season as they're staying this year--way into October." + +"I'll take Maizie and Peter and go and see him tomorrow," said Suzanna. + +"Oh, Suzanna, I don't believe--" began Mrs. Procter. Then sensing +immediately that her small daughter would be totally unable to +understand social distinctions, she did not finish her sentence. + +So it was that the next afternoon right after school, Suzanna, who never +lost time in carrying out a resolve, prepared for her visit. + +"I wonder where Peter is?" Mrs. Procter asked. + +As if in answer to his mother's question, Peter opened the kitchen door. +He wore primarily a guilty expression. His hat was on one side of his +head, the suit which two seasons before he had outgrown, was short in +the legs, tight as to chest, and there was a very symphony of entreaty +in his eyes. By a frayed string he held a stray dog, the fourth one +since spring. + +Mrs. Procter looked at him sternly. As mothers do, she took in with one +glance Peter's prayerful attitude and the appealing one of the +shrinking animal. + +"You take that dog right away and lose it!" she commanded. + +"Oh, mother," began the small boy entering the kitchen, the dog perforce +entering also. "He followed me all the way home and we're awful good +friends already. Can't he stay?" + +"Not one minute," returned Mrs. Procter. She regarded the animal +scornfully. "He's not anybody's dog," she said. "He's simply a stray, +and I'm tired of feeding every stray dog that comes into the +neighborhood." + +Peter turned reluctantly away. "He'll be awful lonely out there," he +said, "and he's hungry, too. No lady ever thinks a dog eats. Can't I +give him a bone or something before I turn him loose?" + +"Take him out on the back porch and give him that soup bone left from +supper last night. And then I don't want to see him again. Now, Peter, +this time I mean it." + +Peter made one last effort. "He's a fine breed, his roof is black," he +said. "He'd make an awful good watch dog." + +"Well, we really don't need a watch dog," his mother answered, and half +smiled. + +Maizie, advancing from the dining-room, stared at the intruder on his +way out. + +"Oh, but this dog has hair, mother," she cried. "You remember one of the +others hadn't." + +"Hair, or no hair," Mrs. Procter returned determinedly, "that dog is not +going to stay in this house. I've had enough of stray animals to last me +for quite awhile." + +Peter stood holding the rope and still looking at his mother. But his +hopeful expression, brought on by Maizie's words, was fast ebbing. + +"Hurry up," said Mrs. Procter. "Take him away." + +"Can't he stay for one night, mother?" + +Suzanna, silent during the colloquy, now spoke. + +"Maybe we can find another home for him, Peter. We were just going over +to Graham Bartlett's, and perhaps he'd keep the dog. We'll ask his +mother," she said. + +Peter brightened a trifle at that. He really wanted more than anything +in the world to keep that friendly dog. But if he was not to be allowed +to do so, finding a good home for it was the next best thing. + +So away the children started. It was a long walk, but the October day +was cool and exhilarating. The children kicked the fallen leaves before +them, and once Peter gave chase to his dog. Maizie sang little tunes, +and Suzanna felt new wonderments rising within her at the beauty of the +world. + +They came at last to the Bartlett home, but no one was about, only +several carriages stood in the road. Suzanna swung the big gate wide and +with the children following her, and the dog held in Peter's firm grasp, +she came to the house, mounted the steps and seeing the carved front +door wide open, they all walked in. In the empty hall with the high +ceilings they stood a moment embarrassed. + +From a side room came sounds of laughter and soft voices. Suzanna +turned. Heavy Persian rugs hung at the entrance to this room and Suzanna +hesitated one moment. She wished someone were about to direct her. But +alas, at this critical moment the hallman had escaped kitchenward. It +was Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett's at-home day, and the function in full +blast, and as his services might not be required for perhaps half an +hour he had flown, believing discovery could not fall upon him. + +So Suzanna, Maizie, Peter and the dog stepped within the gorgeous room. + +Soft music came enchantingly from a hidden orchestra, ladies +beautifully gowned and bejeweled stood about in graceful postures. Mrs. +Graham Woods Bartlett attired in a flame-colored velvet gown with a +wonderful satin-lined train hanging straight from her shoulders, stood +near a table at which two very pretty girls were serving little cups of +tea and dainty cakes. + +Suzanna, Maizie, and Peter holding tight the frayed rope with the +hungry-looking dog on one end, gazed awe stricken at the fairylike +scene. At length Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett turned and beheld her late +guests. + +The children stood irresolute; some expression in Mrs. Bartlett's face +halted their advance. That look made Suzanna strangely self-conscious. +Maizie was undeniably shy, and Peter with dread at his heart for fear +Jerry (a quickly bestowed name that the dog had learned immediately to +answer to) might not act in a gentlemanly fashion when he should pass +the tea table. With all these different emotions in their hearts, the +children finally started across the beautiful room. The ladies fell back +from the dog lest in his passage he might touch their gowns, and all +gazed in wonder at the small cavalcade. When at last the children stood +before Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett, Suzanna spoke, broke into the dead +silence of the room, for even the orchestra had stopped its music. + +[Illustration: "We thought you might like a dog," began Suzanna] + +"We thought you might like a dog," began Suzanna. "He's a very nice dog +and very loving, although if I'm to be honest, I can't say he's a +good-looking dog." She felt her courage ebbing at the icy stillness +which greeted her statement. + +For a long time Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett remained speechless, and as +the dog once had looked at Mrs. Procter, so he looked imploringly at her +who might eventually be his new mistress. Little Maizie, moved to a show +of bravery for Peter's sake, spoke up: + +"We've only got a little house, and you've got a big one, so we thought +you wouldn't mind." + +"And," concluded Peter, "he really is a fine dog. You can buy a nice +collar for him and maybe cut his tail--" Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett made +a little wry face--"and you'd be surprised to see how elegant he'll +look." + +A laugh rang out from one end of the room. It came from a fine-looking +old lady who stood near the window surrounded, it would seem by admiring +satellites, and at the little musical sound Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett's +face cleared magically, for the stately old lady was a very important +personage to all present, envied usually too, and if this little +incident seemed to amuse her then the matter was beautifully altered. So +Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett found her voice. "Go out into the grounds and +see the gardener. If he can find a place for the animal, let him keep +it." + +The children felt themselves dismissed. On the way out Suzanna kept her +gaze quite away from the table with its alluring load of dainties. But +Maizie paused an infinitesimal fraction of a second and let her eyes +stray over the fascinating cakes, the glasses of pink ices, and the +Maraschino cherries and nuts and white candies. But it was Peter who +neither looked aside nor paused, but as he went by the table he +addressed the ceiling. + +"My dog's very fond of cakes," he said. "But mother says dogs can do +without cakes, especially stray dogs." + +One of the pretty girls laughed merrily, and sweeping from a silver +plate a handful of cakes she thrust them into Peter's hands. "Thank +you," he said simply. And then the children left with the dog gamboling +in expectancy behind his small master. He knew well the cakes were for +him. + +Out in the grounds they met Graham. He had been to the stables to look +at his pony, a new gift from his father. He paused astonished at sight +of the children. + +"Oh, Graham," Suzanna cried at sight of him, "your mother said we should +see the gardener about this dog. She thought he'd like to have him." + +Graham, though startled, asked no questions. + +"I guess it's David mother means," he said. "Wait here and I'll see if +he's in the back garden." + +After Graham had gone Peter began to conjecture. "If David won't take +Jerry," he said, "what'll we do?" + +"You'll have to take him out and lose him then," said Maizie calmly. + +Peter turned a considering eye upon her. He couldn't understand her. +Quite as a matter of course she suggested his taking the dog out on some +prairie and turning it loose, to know hunger, and perhaps abuse. And +yet, he had seen this same tender-hearted little Maizie crying because a +spider had been swept down from the porch. No, in his boyish soul he +decided that should he live a thousand years, he never would understand +women with their inconsistencies and their peculiar viewpoints. Their +tendernesses in one direction and their complacent cruelties in others. + +"Let's go and sit on the steps of that cottage," said Suzanna, pointing +to a small house at the foot of the side garden. Maizie consented, but +Peter preferred not to move. He wished to stay with his dog as long as +possible. In the cottage might be a lady who would look with the same +horror-stricken eyes upon his friend as had Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett. + +So Suzanna and Maizie left him with his dog. They had just ensconced +themselves comfortably on the steps of the cottage when a distressing +accent struck upon their ears, and simultaneously they turned in the +direction of the sound. There on a tiny verandah, almost hidden behind a +large fern growth, a little girl sat on a low chair crying softly and +pathetically as though her small heart were broken. The children stood +for a moment not knowing just what to do. Then Maizie, the same one, +thought Peter satirically (he could see all that went on from his place +beyond) who had suggested his losing his dog on a prairie, went to the +pathetic figure and sitting beside it said in a tremulous low voice, +full of sympathy and pity: + +"What's the matter, little girl?" + +The one thus addressed took her hands down from her face and looked +around at her questioner. Her eyes were dark, with black lashes, and she +had wonderful, curly hair. When she had finished looking at Maizie, +which was a long moment, she put her hand behind her and produced a +doll, sadly deficient as to features. Indeed, noseless, entirely, and +with one eye gone. But in a very fever of love, she held it to her. + +"Are you crying because your doll is broken?" asked Suzanna, now coming +a little closer and standing straight and slim before the child. + +"No, she's not broken," said the little girl, "but she's got the +whooping cough and she keeps my father awake nights coughing." + +Suzanna instantly responded. "Oh, that's too bad," she said. "Can't your +mother fix her some flaxseed tea?" + +Now down once more went the little girl's head upon her knee, and once +more she was shaking with sobs. And at this moment young Graham returned +and in his wake, David. + +"David says," began Graham cheerfully to Suzanna and Maizie, "that he +can find room for an extra dog, so you may leave yours. Where's your +brother?" + +"He is right over there," pointed Maizie. + +Then the gardener's glance fell upon the little girl, with her head bent +as she still wept. + +"She's crying awfully hard," said Suzanna to the gardener. "Do you know +whose little girl she is?" + +"She's mine," said the man with a big world of tenderness in his voice. +"She's my little Daphne." + +"We thought she was crying because her doll was broken," said Suzanna. +"Then she said it had the whooping cough and kept you awake all night +and I asked her why her mother didn't make some flaxseed tea for it." + +A swift shadow darkened David's fine face and he shaded his eyes with +his hand. Then he went to the little girl and raised her as though she +were one of his carefully cherished flowers. Her sobs ceased as she +found herself in her father's arms. + +"You see," said her father, "she has no mother!" + +Now the children knew by his tone and by the extreme sadness in his eyes +that the little Daphne's mother had gone away never to return. And they +knew it must be the saddest thing in the world to be without a mother; +one who was always ready to understand even if you had to wait till the +baby was hushed, or the bread looked at in the oven. The understanding +did come, sure and tender; a mother who sometimes smiled at you in that +complete, deep way, as Suzanna's mother had smiled at her the day she +wore her leghorn hat with the daisies. + +"Can Daphne play with us?" asked Suzanna after awhile. "And can we take +her home to see our mother?" + +The man's face brightened at this. "Why, that will be fine," he said. +"Perhaps you'd like to play here in the grounds for awhile. Then Daphne +can go home with you. You're the Procter children, aren't you? I've +talked often with your father when I've bought things in the hardware +shop. I'm coming sometime to see his machine." + +"Yes," said Suzanna, "but how did you know we were the Procter children? +We didn't tell you our name. Did Graham?" + +"No," said the man, "but you're the living image of your father. You +look at a person just like he does, out of your big dark eyes." + +Suzanna flushed. There was nothing in all the world she so loved to hear +as that she looked like her father. + +Little Daphne had ceased crying and her father carried her up the narrow +winding stairs to their own quarters. Shortly he returned again. The +little girl now wore a pretty lace-trimmed bonnet mother-made, one knew +at once, and a little white cape. She was a very charming and quaint +figure. + +"I think, daddy," she said, "I'd like to go home right away and see the +little girl's mother." + +He turned his head away again for a moment, but he managed at last to +meet his little daughter's eyes with a smile. + +"Run along, sweet," he said. + +"Can she stay to supper with us?" asked Suzanna. + +"If your mother would like to have her," said the man. "And I'll come up +later for her." + +"All right," replied Suzanna. + +Now came the hard moment for Peter, in the parting from his dog. He came +reluctantly forward. + +Graham, seeing Peter's distress when the animal had been delivered into +David's care, said: "You can come up here often, Peter, and see the dog. +I know it's awful hard giving him up." + +Peter's heart was touched. Here at last was one who understood! Here at +last was one who would not condemn a dog merely because he had an +unnaturally big appetite; because he got around under people's feet and +had no manners. + +"You're a very nice boy," said Suzanna when they were parting, "and we +wish you would come to see us." + +Graham's face lit. "Oh, I will come. Do you live in that little cottage +with the crooked chimney?" + +"Yes," said Suzanna. "Come soon, won't you?" + +Graham promised he would do so. + +As the Procter children went down the road, Graham watched them, but his +gaze presently concentrated itself on Suzanna, who was leading the small +Daphne. + +"I like Suzanna," thought Graham. "I like to see her flush up like a +rose when she speaks." Which was a poetical observation for a boy of +twelve. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +A LENT MOTHER + + +Mrs. Procter was in the dining-room arranging the shelves of her small +sideboard when she heard sounds betokening the children's return. + +They entered the dining-room, Suzanna leading a small stranger by the +hand, Maizie and Peter behind. + +"Mother," began Suzanna at once, "David, the gardener, took the dog and +we brought this little girl home to see you." + +Mrs. Procter looked questioningly at Daphne, who stood close to +Suzanna's protecting arm. + +"Stay with Maizie a moment, Daphne," said Suzanna, "while I tell my +mother something." Daphne smiled and did as she was told, and Suzanna +went close to Mrs. Procter. In a low tone she said: "Daphne's mother +went far away awhile ago, and I'm telling this to you in a low voice +because Daphne cried when we asked her where her mother was. I brought +her home so she could remember how beautiful a mother is." + +In an instant the tears sprang to Mrs. Procter's eyes. She went quickly +to Daphne, and lifted the little girl. + +"Sit down in a rocking chair with her," said Suzanna, "and hold her +close up to you. And then when she's cuddled down, look at her like you +do at our babies." + +Mrs. Procter obeyed. Daphne nestled close. "Her father knows my father, +Mrs. Procter," said Suzanna. + +Mrs. Procter looked up quickly at this new mode of address. Suzanna +explained. + +"Daphne," she said, going close and looking down at the contented little +face, "I'm giving you a share in my mother while you're here today. I +give over the part I own in her to you, and I shall call her Mrs. +Procter whenever you visit us." + +"But you can't give away even your part in your very own mother," +protested Maizie. + +"But I have done so, haven't I?" + +"Does just saying so make a thing true?" Maizie asked. + +"If you say so and live up to it," Suzanna returned. + +"Well, anyway," said Maizie, "mother's not cuddling Daphne because she +wants to; only because she's sorry for her." + +"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Procter. "I like little Daphne, too, and +I'm glad she's come to visit us." + +"But you know, mother," said Maizie, "you only find time to cuddle your +own babies. And you stop just as soon as they can walk around." + +"Mrs. Procter cuddles all children in her heart," said Suzanna loyally. +"She'd wear her arms out if she cuddled all of us all the time." + +Maizie didn't answer that. But when little Daphne finally left Mrs. +Procter's sheltering clasp and went away to play with the children, +Maizie still hovered about her mother. + +"Mother," she said at last, "did you like to hold Daphne close up to +you?" + +Now mothers are very wonderful beings, and with no further word from +Maizie, Mrs. Procter understood the child's unspoken wish. In a moment +Maizie was held close to her mother's breast, and was looking up into +her mother's tender eyes. And the mother was thinking. Was mother love +selfish then in its inclusion? Weren't there little ones outside +hungering for cuddling? How children went to the heart of things! She +thought suddenly and perhaps irrelevantly of her husband's invention +upon which he poured his heart's best treasures. And yet not once had he +ever mentioned the money which might be his did success attend it. Only +the good to others. His seemed a wide vision. She sighed. It was hard to +find strength enough, time enough to go outside one's home doing good. +"Well, at least," she thought with a sudden uplift, "I'll adopt little +Daphne into our home circle." + +When Mr. Procter arrived home for supper he found, playing happily +about, the little addition to his family. Suzanna took her father off to +one corner to explain all about Daphne. + +"And so I've given my share in mother to Daphne whenever she visits us," +concluded Suzanna. + +Mr. Procter smiled and touched Suzanna's dark hair. Later he arranged a +chair so Daphne might be comfortable at the supper table. A book and a +cushion brought that state of comfort about, and the child was very +happy. She was, for the time being, a member of an interesting family, +everyone trying his best to entertain her. Even Peter forgot the loss of +his dog and said some funny things which made Daphne laugh. + +After supper David called for his little daughter. Daphne cried out +joyfully as he entered. + +"Oh, I've had such a good time, Daddy David," she exclaimed. + +He lifted her to his shoulder, then gazed about the little family +circle. His eyes lingered on Mrs. Procter. + +"You've been good to Daphne, I know," he said simply. "And so good +night." + +"While you're here, David," said Mr. Procter, "I'll show you my +invention." + +"Fine!" David said; he swung the little girl from his shoulder. "I'd +like to see that machine." + +So they all went upstairs to the attic. The machine stood brooding in +its peace. + +Mr. Procter lit a lamp. Its glow fell softly upon the little group. + +"Old John Massey came into the shop today," said Mr. Procter. "He +promised to come in and see the machine tomorrow." + +"Does he know its object?" asked David. + +"No, there's been no chance to tell him." + +"Why is he interested, then?" asked David. "Has his commercial instinct +been aroused?" + +"Oh, I think not," said the inventor, "I've not spoken to him about that +part of it, only told him a great chance was his if he became interested +in the machine." + +"Someone's ringing the bell. Run down, Peter," said Mrs. Procter. + +Peter went down and returned at once with a note. + +"A man with brass buttons brought it," he said. "It's for father." + +Mr. Procter tore open the letter. + +"Well, that's decent of John Massey to let me know," he said. "He's ill +and will be unable to come here tomorrow." + +"Yes, very decent for old John Massey," said David. "Well, I must be +off. And we'll come again soon, if we may." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +SUZANNA AIDS CUPID + + +"Mother dear," asked Suzanna one day, "if the Eagle Man's sick, don't +you think I ought to go and see him?" + +Mrs. Procter hesitated. She looked into the earnest dark eyes raised to +hers. "Well, dear, perhaps it would be kind," she said. + +"I ought to take him some flowers," Suzanna pursued. + +The time was early morning, and Mr. Procter had not yet departed for the +hardware store. + +"I can't think where you'll get flowers, Suzanna," he said. + +"Oh, there's a little shaded spot in a field I know and there's some +daisies there. I'll gather them on the way to the Eagle Man." + +So that afternoon after school Suzanna admonished Maizie to be quick +with her buttons because she and the baby were to pay a call on the +Eagle Man. + +"I have to gather the daisies for him, too," said Suzanna. + +"I don't like the Eagle Man very well," said Maizie; "I'm afraid of him; +and I don't see why you should take flowers to him. He has plenty in the +big glass house in his yard." + +Suzanna stopped short. "You don't like him after he gave you that lovely +ride in the summer, Maizie Procter, and after he's interested in our +father's Machine? I'm 'shamed of you. You ought to like everybody Miss +Massey says, and flowers in his glass house aren't like flowers that are +a present from somebody else." + +Maizie did not answer this, but the look on her face indicated some +defiance of Suzanna's attempted direction of her thoughts. When they +were ready, they called good-bye to their mother and started away. +Suzanna pushed the cart containing the baby, while Maizie walked +sedately beside her. + +From the field Suzanna knew, she secured a small bunch of late daisies +and then the journey was continued. At length the children reached the +Massey grounds. Suzanna pushed open the big iron gate and trundled the +cart into the gravel path. The ground immediately began to be slightly +hilly. + +"You'd better help me, Maizie," said Suzanna. + +"How?" asked Maizie helplessly. + +"Put your hands on my back and push," said Suzanna. + +So the little procession formed itself. And in this wise it reached the +top of the hill. The house itself lay a few yards in front of them. The +children paused to rest, and then Suzanna, looking around, beheld a +small vine-covered arbor, and within, just visible through the +enshrouding ivy, a man and a woman, Miss Massey and a stranger. + +"How do you do, Suzanna?" Miss Massey said when she found herself +discovered. "Did you want to see me?" + +"I'm very glad to see you," responded Suzanna politely, "but I didn't +come expressly on purpose to look at you. I came to see the Eagle Man." + +"The Eagle Man?" asked Miss Massey, puzzled. + +"He walks with a cane," put in Maizie, "and he coughs kind of hoarse +each time he speaks." + +"He's your father," said Suzanna. "He sits down on a velvet chair, and +he shouts, and he gets red in the face, and he bangs his fist on the +chair when a little man doesn't hurry up, though I thought he went very +fast. He did all that the day the Sunday School pupils came to your +party." + +"Oh, yes," said Miss Massey, a smile lighting her face at the vivid +description, "I did not know that you had met my father, but I'm afraid +you can't see him today, dear. He's not well." + +"Yes, I know; that's why I came to see him and to bring him these +flowers." + +Miss Massey was a little puzzled. How did Suzanna know John Massey was +ill? + +"Suppose you bring the baby in here," suggested the man who was sitting +next to Miss Massey, and who up to this time had been silent. "And after +awhile Miss Massey can find out if her father is able to see you." + +"All right," said Suzanna with alacrity. She started to lift the baby +from his carriage when the man sprang up and took the child from her. +The baby smiled and won his way at once to the stranger's heart. + +"He's sweet, isn't he?" began Suzanna, as she entered the arbor, Maizie +with her. Miss Massey drew Maizie within the circle of her own arm. + +"He is that," said the man earnestly, "although I don't know very much +about babies. Does he cry much?" + +"Well, he's very sinful when he's hungry. He's getting better now +because he's growing older, but he used to shriek till his face got red. +Once in awhile now he wants what he wants right away. I was trying once +to learn a piece of poetry, and he suddenly shrieked and I had to stop +everything and warm his milk. I'm only hoping he'll live to grow up, +because if he should die now I'm afraid God wouldn't want him in +Heaven." + +"Are there ladies in Heaven that take care of babies?" asked Maizie +interestedly, a new train of thoughts started. + +"You know there are, Maizie," said Suzanna, allowing no one else a +chance to answer. "There are lots of little babies that go away, and do +you s'pose they'd be called if they were going to be left hungry and +cold? God has it all arranged. First, he calls a baby and then pretty +soon he calls a mother and she takes care of the baby." + +"Any mother?" Maizie asked. + +"Yes, any mother; they're all good." + +"But why doesn't he leave them on earth with their own mothers?" + +"Because sometimes he takes a liking to somebody down here," Suzanna +said gravely. "But anyway, you needn't ask me such questions, because +here's Miss Massey who knows everything," Suzanna finished +magnanimously. + +"She does that," said the man gravely who was holding the baby. + +"Are you related to Miss Massey?" asked Suzanna. Now Miss Massey's +rather faded cheeks grew pink. + +"Is it a long time before the baby needs his bottle again, Suzanna?" she +asked. + +"Oh, not for hours," said Suzanna. "You see, now he eats crackers and +bread and butter and an egg sometimes, and we gave him some before we +started." She returned relentlessly to the question again, appealing to +the man. "Are you related to Miss Massey?" + +"No," the stranger said after a time, "we're just friends." + +Miss Massey put in hastily: "Shall we go into the house, children, and +I'll show you some interesting things?" + +The man rose quickly, the baby still in his arms. In this manner they +all entered the big house and went into the beautiful room that Suzanna +remembered so well. + +"Do you live here?" asked Suzanna of the man. He shook his head. + +"You mean in this little town?" he asked. "I once did years ago, but I +moved away to the city. I'm paying a short visit to my sister now." + +"Oh," said Suzanna. "My father has a sister called Aunt Martha. She +comes sometimes when we have a new baby." + +"Why," said Maizie suddenly, as they were all seated, the baby +contentedly sitting on the man's knee, her voice shrill with new +discovery. "He _is_ related to Miss Massey; he looks at her that way." + +The man, after a long pause in which he gathered understanding, answered +very solemnly. "Well," he said, "if loving a person makes you a +relative, then I am very closely related to Miss Massey. But if lack of +money keeps one from being related, then I'm only a stranger to her." + +Neither Suzanna nor Maizie could understand that statement. But Miss +Massey blushed till her face was like a lovely flower. + +Yet when Suzanna appeared to be about to take up a new line of +questioning, Miss Massey spoke quickly: + +"I think you'd like some lemonade, wouldn't you, Suzanna, you and your +sister? I'll go and order some for you." + +She went out of the room. The man waited for a moment, then handing the +baby to Suzanna, followed Miss Massey. + +"Would you like to live here, Suzanna?" asked Maizie. + +"No, I don't like people around with brass buttons on their coats," said +Suzanna. "And then there'd be so much cleaning we'd never get through." + +At the moment came an unmistakable sound. + +"The Eagle Man!" cried Suzanna with absolute conviction. "I thought he +was sick." + +And indeed it was just exactly the Eagle Man. Straight he came to the +library. He paused in the doorway at sight of the children. All the high +color had faded from his face; he looked alarmingly ill. + +"Oh," cried Suzanna, immediately upon sight of him. "We came to see you +and to bring you these daisies." + +He accepted them with a little grimace. "Thank you, little girl," he +said. "Put that heavy baby down. He can crawl around." + +Suzanna carefully lowered the baby to the floor. He sat with blinking +eyes, so many treasures for his small hands lay within touch. + +The Eagle Man spoke. "Who have you been talking with?" he asked as he +looked about suspiciously. + +"Oh," cried Suzanna, "there's nobody hidden away. Miss Massey and her +relation went out to see about some lemonade." + +"Her relation!" stormed the Eagle Man. + +"Yes, the one who loves Miss Massey." + +The Eagle Man recovered all his lost color. Watching his terrible +expression, both children thought it a blessing that at this critical +moment Miss Massey and her relation returned. But, oh, it was not the +same Miss Massey, but one who had found the world. Her face was glowing +like a girl's and her eyes sparkled and shone; and when she faced her +father there was manifest in her aspect a certain courage that in his +eyes at least sat strangely upon her. + +"Father," she cried, "you should be in bed." + +"What's the meaning of all this?" he shouted, ignoring her soft concern. + +The new relation came forward. "My dear sir," he began, "I shall have to +ask you to refrain from attempting to intimidate the lady who is to be +my wife." + +"Your wife?" exclaimed the Eagle Man turning upon the speaker. "She's my +daughter." + +"Granted," said the man calmly, "and she's also my promised wife." + +"I shall never give my consent," said the Eagle Man, but his voice had +fallen. + +"Then, father," said delicate, timid little Miss Massey, "I shall marry +Robert without your consent." + +There was a long heavy silence. The baby having found a gold-plated +lizard on the hearth was contemplating it with wondering eyes. + +"Very well," said the Eagle Man at last, trying to speak calmly. "You'll +go your own way. Not a cent of mine do you ever get." + +"I'm glad to hear that," said the man, "for not a cent of yours shall my +wife need." + +Into the breach Suzanna strode. + +"Oh, but you will need money," she cried as she stood anchoring the baby +by means of an extended arm. "When you're married and you have a big +family you'll have to pay the rent, and you'll have to dress all the +little children, and there'll be insurance week, and something you +haven't thought of all the time, and just when you get on your feet, +there'll be the doctor at your door and his bill pretty soon." + +"Exactly," said the Eagle Man, as though by Suzanna's words many of his +contentions had been proved. + +"But we shall be together," said little Miss Massey, as though that +beloved truth answered everything. The man had thrown his arms about her +and had drawn her quite close, and she looked up into his face with eyes +that still shone. Oh, how long she had loved him! And how long had it +been since she settled to the realization that though he loved her, he +was proud and would not speak. This spoken love she had craved with all +her heart; and it had been withheld because he had no money and her +father had too much. + +"Will you tell me your real objection to me?" asked the man with frank +directness appealing to the Eagle Man. "For that you have had objections +to me I've sensed always." + +The Eagle Man turned and looked the younger man over, carefully, +critically, before answering. Indeed, he was so long about speaking that +the children, at least, thought he never meant to speak again. + +But at last: "My daughter," he began, "is now thirty-six. She has had +thirty-six years of luxury, of merely raising her finger and receiving +highly trained service. She is not a young girl who might, being more +adaptable and buoyed up by romance, settle down to a new order of life; +she is too used to the luxuries I have been able to give her, servants, +carriages, horses, travel, fine clothes--" he enumerated them all with +distinctness, giving each item a lengthy second before going on to his +conclusion. "It will work real hardship on her to be compelled to give +up all these things to do her own work and to make over her own +dresses." + +"You're mistaken, father," Miss Massey denied, "all that giving up, if +giving up you can call it, will be my joy if I can be with Robert." Her +voice, deep with emotion, died into a silence which reigned for moments. +No one seemed to wish to break it, not even the baby. And yet, though +the meaning of all the spoken words had not been clear to Suzanna, her +eager, sensitive little mind seized on pictures which seemed somehow to +fit in; yet pictures in their simplicity so far removed from her +surroundings of luxury that they would seem but vagrant fancies. + +Had she attempted to translate them, she would have failed, yet as they +grew momentarily more vivid and meaningful, interpretive words, as vivid +as the pictures themselves, rushed to her lips. She turned to the Eagle +Man. + +"Oh, on Saturday night when supper is over and the shades are pulled +down and the lamp is lit in the parlor, and Robert is reading a big book +with pictures in it, and the children, except the two eldest, are all +asleep upstairs and it's raining outside, and you can hear the pitapat, +pitapat of the drops on the window pane, then Miss Massey will be happy. +Before supper Miss Massey'll have felt awful tired and she'll hurry up +things and she'll make her eldest little girl hurry too, but after the +dishes are cleared away, and she's sitting close to Robert, she'll be so +glad she's in out of the rain with her children all in safe too, that +she'll not care a bit about raising her finger for a little man to come +and ask her what she wants. She'll not want to go about in a carriage, +or travel in a big train!" + +No one spoke. Only the scene painted so simply grew in the hearts of at +least two there, so that Robert drew his promised wife a little closer +to him and she glanced up in his face with eyes full of color. + +Suzanna went on. She had forgotten her audience. She was just telling +out the pictures that had been built into her life; supper tables with +many young faces about; little babies who had stayed just awhile; hasty +words and loving making up; the star-dust of the real every-day life. + +"You know," she continued, "that Maizie and I crept downstairs one +Saturday night because I wanted to tell daddy something, and mother was +sitting right close to him, and we heard her say: 'When the children are +safe in bed, and just you and I are here--then I see things clearer--' +And he just looked at her and said, 'Sweetheart!' and his voice was +nicer than even when he says good-night to Maizie and me." + +Miss Massey turned her gaze upon Suzanna. "Little girl, little girl," +she said, "come here--" + +So Suzanna went and stood close to Miss Massey, whilst Maizie went after +the marauding baby. + +The Eagle Man cleared his throat. "That child of yours is going to +sleep," he said speaking to Suzanna. + +"Oh, no," said Suzanna, not meaning to contradict, but just to set him +straight, "he's wide-awake. But I guess it must be time for us to go. I +know you think so too, Mr. Eagle Man." + +She left Miss Massey's tender clasp, went to the baby, raised him, held +him under her arm skilfully, the while his legs stuck out straight +behind her. She spoke to Miss Massey: + +"If the Eagle Man's mad at you and he stays mad all night," she said, +"you can come to our house and sleep in my bed with Maizie. Mother can +fix the dining-room table for me." + +Miss Massey released herself from Robert's clasp and went to Suzanna. +She stooped and kissed her tenderly. "Thank you, dear little girl," she +said. "I'll remember that invitation." + +The Eagle Man pulled a cord hanging from the ceiling. Immediately it +seemed, one of the men with brass buttons appeared. + +"Carry that child to its perambulator," shouted the Eagle Man. Not a +flicker disturbed the serenity of the man addressed, no matter what were +his inner feelings. He put out two arms straight and stiff like rods, +and Suzanna placed the baby upon them. Saying quickly their adieus, +Suzanna and Maizie walked behind the uniformed man, for whom Suzanna at +least felt a stirring of pity. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A SIMPLE WEDDING + + +"And so," concluded Suzanna early one afternoon as she stood on a soap +box in her own yard, "the noble knight set forth on his prancing steed, +having finished his deeds of blood. And all about him lay those he had +slain." + +The children having listened entranced to the story, now stirred; Maizie +was the first to speak. "I think the knight was horrid," she said. + +"I like him," said soft little Daphne who was now a constant, happy +visitor at the Procter home. + +"I think a brave knight is bully," said Graham Bartlett, as constant a +visitor as Daphne. + +"I would slay mine by the hundred," cried Peter boastfully. + +Graham looked off into the distance. "I shall fare forth some day," he +said, "and lead my armies to victory proudly, yet disdainfully. I shall +have no love in my heart, only sternness." + +"Drusilla can tell some wonderful tales of knights," said Suzanna. "Does +she tell you stories when you go to visit her, Graham?" + +Graham colored hotly. "I haven't been to see her lately," he answered; +then, "I'll tell you, let's go today." + +Suzanna bounded away to ask permission of her mother. She returned in a +moment. "Mother says we may go after Peter changes his blouse. Hurry up, +Peter. Don't keep us waiting." + +Peter moved reluctantly houseward, and Suzanna ended: "Isn't it fine +that today was teachers' meeting so we could have a holiday?" + +Graham looked wistfully at her. He had a tutor, and lessons alone he +felt could not be so interesting as when learned with a number of other +boys and girls. + +"Let's go," said Suzanna, "we can walk slowly so Peter can catch up with +us. You mustn't get tired, will you, Daphne?" Daphne was very sure she +would not, and Peter reappearing at the moment, they all started away. +They went out into a sunny day left over from the Indian summer. Still +there was crispness in the air which exhilarated them, moving Peter to +sundry manifestations which Maizie coldly designated as "showing off." +He stood on his head, turned somersaults, cast his voice up to the +heavens, immediately spoiled the crispness of his clean blouse. He was +the fine, free savage, and his sisters finally gave up trying to tame +him. + +"It's Thanksgiving weather, isn't it?" said Suzanna. "Come on, let's all +skip." + +So they all fell into Peter's spirit, and thus it was that skipping and +singing they reached Drusilla's little home. It was very quiet in that +spot, the garden desolate, the flowers gone. The children instinctively +hushed their songs and went slowly up the front steps. + +Graham rang the bell. + +The kindly-faced maid answered the ring. "Oh, come in, children," she +cried. "Mrs. Bartlett certainly needs cheering today." + +The children, thus cordially invited, trooped in. "Is Drusilla sad +today?" asked Suzanna. + +"Well, she's thinking of the past," said the maid. "All day she's been +talking of her early home across the ocean, talking of the familiar +places of her childhood. She insisted even upon my preparing brouse for +her luncheon." + +"_Brouse?_" The children were interested. They wanted to know what +brouse was. The maid smiled. + +"Why brouse is just bread broken up into a bowl with hot water poured +over it and lots of butter and salt and pepper added. One day when Mrs. +Bartlett was a little girl, her mother took her to the home of an old +nurse, and there she had brouse to eat, and afterwards for one joyful +hour she was allowed to wear the clogs belonging to the nurse's little +granddaughter." + +"I know what clogs are," said Graham. "They're wooden shoes that make a +lot of noise and have brass nails in them." He had looked into the +sitting room and was interested in an object there. "What's that?" he +asked. "Can't my grandmother walk?" + +The maid's eyes followed his finger. "That's a wheel chair," she said. +"Your grandmother is not so strong as she was in the summer, so I take +her out in the chair when the day is bright. Well, children, go upstairs +quietly. Suzanna knows the way to Mrs. Bartlett's room." + +So the children on tiptoes mounted the thickly carpeted stairs. At the +top Suzanna waited for the others, then went down the hall, paused and +knocked softly on the panel to the right, and at the soft invitation to +enter, pushed open wide the door. + +Drusilla sat within, her chair drawn close to the window. Her hands were +lying listlessly in her lap. She looked wilted, a flower fading to its +end. She turned to the children and smiled, a very small wistful smile, +but it lit her pale delicate face and made Daphne advance confidentially +to the middle of the room. + +"We came to see you," she said in her winsome way. + +"I'm very glad," said Drusilla. "Won't you all come close to me?" + +The children obeyed. Drusilla looked inquiringly at Graham, and then +said, "Well, my boy, you've grown somewhat." + +"Yes, two inches in six months." He wanted to say something to lift the +sadness from her face, and at last he blurted out: "I think you're a +bully grandmother, and I'm coming often to see you." + +"Ah, then I'll tell you fine tales of your father when he was a lad of +your age," she answered, well pleased. She put out her white hand and +laid it on his head. + +And at the touch there grew in Graham's young soul a wish to defend this +dear old lady, this grandmother. He wanted to fight for her, to do +something great for her. He had visions of himself, a man, wearing her +colors. All his deepest chivalry was aroused. He looked longingly into +her face, and with loving sagacity she read his desire. + +"My dear," she said, "I wish you would do something for me." + +"Oh, grandmother, what would you like me to do?" he cried. + +"The day is so beautiful," she answered. "I've had my windows open and I +know. Would you be my knight and wheel me out?" + +"Grandmother, will you let me do that?" His voice rose. "I'll wheel you +down the wide road out into the country." He straightened his shoulders, +pride filled his heart. His grandmother trusted her frail body to his +care! + +"Well and good, my boy," she answered. And then to Suzanna: "Will you +tell Letty to get my cape and bonnet. My grandson would take me riding." + +Letty, answering Suzanna's call, came at once. She found a very cheerful +mistress and an excited little group of children. She hesitated a moment +when Graham told her he meant to take his grandmother out for a ride. +But noting the earnestness of the boy's manner she made no spoken +objections, but she went to the clothes press and took down Drusilla's +"dolman" and small close fitting bonnet. + +"Be very careful of your grandmother," said the maid, as she dressed +Mrs. Bartlett and then offered her arm to steady the slight figure down +the stairs. + +"I shall be very careful," promised Graham. Never once in his young life +had any real service been asked of him. He was experiencing for the +first time a sense of responsibility and he grew beneath it. + +Downstairs Letty guided the rubber-tired wheel chair out into the hall, +down the front steps. She returned for Drusilla and seating her in the +chair, tucked a soft velvet rug about her. + +Graham took his place at the long handled bar. Gently he pushed the +chair and the small cavalcade was on its way. + +At first each child was quiet. Graham, ever mindful of the charge which +was his, was very serious and his thoughts turned to his mother. + +He wished she had taken this grandmother right into her own home to be +watched over, loved and cared for tenderly. He wondered if his father, +his ever busy father, would have liked that. Oh, why was it considered +better for a grandmother, one who had fancies, to live alone in a small +house, with every comfort it is true, but with no one of her very own +close beside her! + +He looked over at Suzanna. She was walking close to Drusilla, and +talking earnestly as was her way. Suzanna never went out into the world +but some object started a train of thought of keen interest. He could +hear snatches of her talk. It was about the trees, stripped bare now, +and their mood sad probably because of their denudement. Suzanna gazed +with concern at their stark limbs stretching out, no longer able to +shelter people or to sing softly when the wind blew through their +leaves. + +Drusilla contributed her share, too. She thought the trees knew that +people did not need shelter from the hot sun when the snow was about to +fly. And the snow could lie in such beautiful, straight lines on long, +unleaved limbs. + +And so they passed on from subject to subject, while Graham listened. +And then little Daphne grew tired and began to lag. Graham seeing the +child and about to make some suggestion for her comfort, was distracted +by Peter's call. The boy had found a rabbit hole and wished he had Jerry +with him to reach the rabbit, for which cruel wish both Suzanna and +Maizie scolded him roundly. And he gazed at them with the same old +perplexed gaze. Were these not the same sisters who looked complacently +on while a homeless, helpless dog was turned out casually into an +inhuman world? + +Well, again he gave up the puzzle of their contrary attitudes. Perhaps +understanding would come in the big-grown-up years. + +But when they returned from examining the rabbit hole, they found little +Daphne had curled herself up at Drusilla's feet. Drusilla had moved a +little and the child hopping up on the foot-rest had put her small arms +on Drusilla's knee, dropped her head and gone to sleep. Suzanna +carefully covered her with part of the velvet rug. + +So they started away again and came at last to a little lonely church +set back from the road. It was a quaint little edifice, made of +irregular purplish stone. The moss had crept up on one side softly, +protectingly. You thought at once it had been built by loving hands and +that loving souls had worshiped in it. And you knew that under its +assumed and momentary air of expectancy it was sad in having outlived +its usefulness. Its door was swung open hospitably and the children +stopped to look in. Graham wheeled his grandmother close to the door so +she too could gaze within. + +There were pews, empty, with worn cushions. A large stained glass window +with one Figure, noble despite the artist's limitations, had caught +lights and sent them down in long sapphire and amethyst fingers. A man +moved about the altar, changing from place to place a vase of white +roses. + +"Is that the minister?" whispered Maizie. + +Suzanna nodded. "Yes. He's going to offer up prayer, I think." + +The minister turned and smiled at the children. He seemed some way to +fit into the soft atmosphere of the place, seeming to belong there. +Suzanna could not fancy him moving in any merely practical environment. + +And while the children lingered, and Drusilla looked in through the open +church door, a man and a woman came down the road. The woman walked +slowly and the man had his arm about her in a guarding kind of way. + +When they neared the church they stopped. Suzanna, turning, recognized +them and with a joyful cry she ran to meet them. + +"Oh, Miss Massey," she cried, "and Robert. Are you out for a walk, too?" + +The man looked down at her. "Yes, little girl. We are going into that +old church. Did you see the minister?" + +"Yes, he's inside," said Suzanna. She looked at Miss Massey. "You've +been crying," she said. + +Miss Massey tried to speak calmly, but there was a little quiver in her +voice. "Because it's all so different from what I dreamed." + +"Come, dear," said Robert then, "come with me." + +She seemed to take courage from his manliness and the truth of his love +shining forth from his eyes, and so she put her hand into his and walked +up the path with him. + +At the door of the church they paused again. Suzanna who had followed +quickly, said, "This is Drusilla, my very best friend." + +Miss Massey looked into the sweet old face. Perhaps she thought of her +own mother, for the tears came quickly again. "I'm glad to know you," +she said simply. And then asked, "Won't you come in and see me married?" + +And Drusilla answered: "Indeed, I should like to very much, my dear." + +So Robert helped her gently from the wheel chair. He lifted small Daphne +upon the vacated seat and tucked her in carefully. And then they all +entered the church. + +The minister came down from the altar. He had lit two candles and they +sent their wavering light out upon the small audience. The Man above the +altar looked down with infinite tenderness upon the pale little bride. + +The minister spoke: "Robert, take your bride upon your arm!" + +Thus adjured, Robert proffered his arm and Miss Massey put her small +hand upon it. Then slowly they walked behind the minister to the altar. +Suzanna, Maizie, and Peter followed. + +Graham offered his support to his grandmother. He had pledged his fealty +to her and he felt grateful that she leaned upon him as slowly she +mounted the four steps which led to the altar. + +There they grouped themselves about the bridal pair. Graham stood close +to his grandmother, Suzanna near to Miss Massey, Peter and Maizie at +Robert's right hand. + +The minister began: "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together--" +and on through the beautiful old ceremony. + +He came at length to this question: "Who giveth this woman to this man?" +and paused simply in custom. And old John Massey was far distant, +nursing his anger and yet sad, too, because he would not in his temper +attend the marriage of his daughter, though most lovingly and pleadingly +had that daughter begged his presence. And the girl's mother was lying +out on a hillside--where she had lain for many a long year. + +And the waiting bride had tears in her heart, till, suddenly, Drusilla, +with a beautiful light in her eyes, stepped forward. She put her +white-veined old hand softly on the bride's arm, and she said in a low +clear voice: + +"I do--I give this woman to this man." + +And the mother spirit in her spoke so richly that the bride all at once +felt happy and a little awed, too, as though her own mother had for the +moment raised herself and spoken. + +And the minister went on with the ceremony till came the end: "And I +pronounce that they are Man and Wife." + +And Robert folded his wife in his arms and kissed her while each face, +young and old, pictured the deep solemnity of the moment. + +Robert's wife at last turned to Drusilla. She put her arms about the +bravely upstanding figure in its old-fashioned dolman. "Oh, thank you, +thank you," she murmured. "I shall never forget what you've done for me +today." + +The color flowed like a wave up over Drusilla's face. With a quick +little breath, she leaned forward and kissed the new wife. She +experienced a sudden glow. It was as though Life for the moment, +forgetful that she was old and laid aside, had called her forward to +fill a need no other was near to fill. + +They all left the church after Robert had signed his name in a big book, +and his wife had written hers with a proud little flourish. Robert +helped Drusilla into the wheel chair, after lifting Daphne from her +place on the upholstered cushion. This time the little girl awoke. She +was about to cry when Robert raised her in his arms and carried her down +the road, hushing her against him, while Graham again ordered himself +his grandmother's squire. + +And so they went down the road together, all somewhat quiet, even +Peter's exuberant spirits moderated, till they reached Drusilla's home. +The maid, Letty, awaiting her mistress' return, ran down the steps, an +anxious frown between her eyes. + +"Come," said Drusilla. "You must all be my guests." She whispered some +words in Letty's ear. The girl smiled and half shyly glanced at Robert +and his bride. + +Robert still carrying little Daphne, who had refused to be put down, +said at once: "We should like that very much. I was so hoping you would +ask us." + +So they entered the little house. They went into the parlor with its +portrait above the mantel and the lilies of the valley beneath it. +Graham remembered with a little warm feeling that his father had once +left the order at a city florist's for a daily spray of those lovely +bells. + +Letty, carrying the dolman and small bonnet, disappeared but in a +miraculously short time returned to announce that tea was ready in the +dining-room. + +Drusilla flushed and happy led the way. Robert and his wife followed, +and the children came last. The hostess, from her place at the head of +the table, designated each one's chair, and when all were seated she +bowed her head and offered up a little prayer. + +And then Letty brought in hot muffins and marmalade, sweet butter and +fragrant tea. And amidst much laughter and merry words the feast began: + +And at the end Drusilla rose, and asking silence, said: + +"Robert, today in the name of the bride's mother, I gave her into your +keeping. I can see a promise in your eyes that she will never, never +regret going to you. Love her always." + +And Robert, standing, in a deep voice answered: "Drusilla," borrowing +quite unconsciously Suzanna's way of name, "Drusilla, I have taken upon +myself this day the great responsibility of a woman's happiness--" he +paused and bent a look of ineffable tenderness upon his wife--"and +please God I shall keep that responsibility while life lasts." + +And they all pushed back their chairs, the children with a little +scraping noise. And Robert looking at his watch thought it was time to +leave, since the train would not wait for laggards. + +Then all in a moment it seemed he was going down the path again, his +wife upon his arm. And Graham, who had disappeared kitchenward, returned +and flung a handful of rice after them. At which the bride turned and +laughed and waved her hand. + +"It was a real wedding, wasn't it, Drusilla?" said Suzanna, "even to the +rice." + +"A real wedding, my little girl," said Drusilla. + +Graham spoke: "Grandmother, aren't you glad I wheeled you out today?" + +She answered at once. "So very glad, Graham. And I feel happier tonight +than for many a long day." + +"And may I do so again soon?" he asked. "And next summer I'll take you +out every day." + +A little smile touched her lips. "Next summer--next summer--? Ah, +laddie, come often this winter, if you can." + +And then the children started away. And at the last moment Drusilla drew +Suzanna to her. "Little girl," she said lovingly, "I'm so glad you came +once to visit me--that summer day." + +"Oh, so am I, Drusilla," Suzanna cried. She looked wistfully into her +friend's face. "Some day I want to do something wonderful for you." + +Drusilla, bending low, kissed the upturned face with its big seeking +eyes. But she did not speak. For why make definite by clumsy words the +miracles a little child brings to pass. No, thought Drusilla in her +wisdom, Suzanna should go her way beautifully unconscious of her good +works. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE EAGLE MAN VISITS THE ATTIC + + +A few Saturdays after the marriage in the little wayside church, Richard +Procter reached home in a state of great excitement. + +The family was in the dining-room. Mrs. Procter was polishing the +drinking glasses. Though it was long past noon, Suzanna had just +commenced to clear away the luncheon dishes. Maizie was shaking napkins, +while Peter was in a corner pretending to play ball with the baby, very +much to the baby's amusement. + +Mr. Procter told his news triumphantly. + +"At last," he cried. "Jane, John Massey is absolutely coming to see the +machine this afternoon." + +The color flashed up into Mrs. Procter's face. + +"Oh, Richard," she cried; "perhaps--" but she did not finish her +conjecture. + +"He won't take The Machine away, will he, father?" Suzanna asked +anxiously. + +"No, not that particular one, little girl. There'll have to be others +built. That is just the model." + +At two o'clock Mr. Procter was in the attic working at the machine. At +three, so interested had he grown, that he had really forgotten the +expected visit of old John Massey. So it was a real surprise when Mrs. +Procter ushered him in. + +"Well, I'm here at last," said Mr. Massey. He looked over to where the +cabinet stood. "Your machine is rather mysterious looking." + +"Does it seem so? Here, lay your hat and coat on this table, Mr. Massey. +Now I'll explain the purpose of the machine." + +"Yes, that's what I'm most interested in, what it's for; what you expect +to do with it." + +Richard Procter turned an eager face to the capitalist. + +"I'll start at the beginning," he said. "Have you ever stopped to think +what would mean the greatest happiness to humanity?" + +Mr. Massey coughed and moved uneasily. "Can't say I have. Food and drink +sufficient for all, so I've heard your orator across the street +announce." + +Mr. Procter smiled. "That, yes, might bring content, but I'm speaking of +spiritual happiness. Well, this is my idea of what would bring about a +revolution in the sum total of world content. _Each man at the work he +was born to do._ + +"And having once reached that conclusion, I set about formulating plans +for the building of my machine. An instrument so delicate that it could +register a man's leading talent." + +Mr. Massey moved away a little. He stared doubtfully at the inventor +before the clearing thought came. Before him stood a madman, a wild +visionary. + +He looked over at his hat and coat. To stay was a mere waste of time, he +realized that now. Still, there was Suzanna who had made a place for +herself in his gruff old heart. The machine, he knew, could have no +commercial value. Yet he remembered a few of Suzanna's values which were +not based on the possession of money. + +Well, for Suzanna's sake he would listen, go away and forget. So he +seated himself, and waited condescendingly for the inventor to continue. +He himself said nothing, for silence, he had learned, was golden. + +Mr. Procter went on. "My first step in the work was to evolve what might +be termed a system of color interpretation." + +"I don't understand at all," said old John Massey sharply. + +The inventor hesitated. Visionary, he might truly be called, but, too, +he was sensitive and he had felt the capitalist's withdrawal as soon as +the purpose of the machine was explained to him. But the end was a big +one. He must not hesitate, so he went on. + +"May I put it broadly without arousing your derision, that color sight +was bestowed upon me. Just as my little girl Suzanna visualizes each day +as a shape, so I've always seen people in color; that out of that sight +I built my own science of color." + +"_Romance_ of color, you mean," returned John Massey harshly, "for so +far as I can gain, there is no science about it. I deal in facts, Mr. +Procter, not in air castles. Does the machine do anything, but stand +there a silent monument to your dreams?" + +Mr. Procter hesitated but a moment, then, "Come, Mr. Massey," he said, +"take your place. Let us see what the machine says of you. Remember, +please, it will register only your truest meaning, the purpose for which +you were born; the part of you which never dies, which is never really +submerged, regardless of a turning to false gods." + +A little uneasy despite himself, Mr. Massey seated himself before the +machine. + +The inventor touched levers, opened and shut doors, lowered the helmet, +adjusted the lens. + +As the clicking sound commenced Mr. Massey stirred. "Keep very quiet," +said the inventor, "and watch the glass plate." + +Mr. Massey obeyed. Now a satiric smile touched his lips. He was almost +enjoying this child's play. + +But soon the smile faded, for in a moment there grew upon the glass +plate standing between the two tubes a pillar of color, vivid yellow, +tipped with primrose. + +"What--what does that mean?" asked old John Massey. + +The inventor lifted the helmet, and shut off his power before speaking. +"According to my belief, my understanding of color significance, the +reason for your being in this world, with, of course, interesting +variations brought about by environment and education, is identical with +that of Reynolds." + +Mr. Massey started forward angrily, but he thought better of whatever he +had in his heart to say. "Go on," he commanded gruffly. + +"As a young man you had dreams of being a practical humanitarian," said +Mr. Procter softly, "and undoubtedly with your opportunity you might +have been a valuable figure in the world. You were endowed with vision. +You saw the wrongs man labors under; as a youth you smarted because of +those wrongs. And you saw the super-being man might become given equal +chances." + +"Like Reynolds--" repeated Mr. Massey after a time, on impulse--one +immediately regretted. + +"Like Reynolds, our great rough, fine-hearted Reynolds," said Mr. +Procter, "the one whom you've had threatened with arrest because he +harangued too freely on the street corner." He paused to finish +impressively: "I see now that the man who throws away his spiritual +birthright for a mess of pottage hates the one who keeps his in the face +of all--poverty--misunderstanding--ridicule." + +A silence dark as a cavern ensued. Mr. Massey at last got to his feet. +He stood a long moment looking at the machine, then he glanced at the +inventor, but when someone knocked softly at the door he started, +revealing how far away from his immediate surroundings his thoughts had +flown. + +Suzanna entered. "Here's David, daddy," she said. "He wants to talk with +you." + +David entered. "I had some time," he said, "and I wanted to see the +machine again." + +"Glad to see you," said the inventor heartily. "Mr. Massey, this is my +friend, David Ridgewood, Graham Woods Bartlett's gardener." + +"How do you do, Mr. Massey," said David. "I've seen you before, of +course. Heard of you often." + +John Massey did not answer at once, since he was somewhat at a loss. He +had not been in the habit of meeting socially his friends' gardeners. At +last he blurted forth. + +"How d' do. I've had a look at Procter's invention." + +"Ah, yes, I supposed so," said David. Then: "Isn't the thought back of +that machine wonderful?" Which ridiculous question quickened again all +the Eagle Man's combativeness. He spoke with a fine candor. + +"The thought may be wonderful, young man. I'll not pass on that. But +plainly I can't see where the commercial value of the machine comes in." + +David and Suzanna fell back from the cloud which gathered on the +inventor's face. + +"The commercial value!" he cried. "Have I spent my life working merely +that the capitalist may make more money? I tell you, sir, that I have +worked only for the betterment of the race. And to you, John Massey, I +am giving the great opportunity." + +"Well, out with it. Where's the great opportunity?" asked Mr. Massey +testily. "To my mind you haven't an article with a wide enough appeal." + +"Wide enough appeal!" cried the inventor. "My dear sir, it has an appeal +world-wide, and you are to make it of such appeal." He paused to +continue impressively: "John Massey, I offer you the opportunity of +endowing an institution which shall be built to use my machine. To that +institution young men of impecunious parents may come to discover their +leading talent." + +"If there is a leading talent, will it take your machine to discover +it?" asked John Massey. + +"In most cases, yes. How many young men fail to discover until too late +what life work they are best fitted for, unless they possess a talent so +strong that it amounts to genius. How many of necessity are sent out +into the world at an unformed age to slavery in order that they and +their dependents may live. What chance or time have they, grinding away +at any work which brings a dollar, to know for what work they are most +suited. They know only when it is too late that they are bound by +chains, crucifying themselves daily at tasks they hate, and for which +they have no natural adaptation." + +He paused, only to continue with fire: "Or, if they have ambitions, know +what they would best like to do, how helpless they are. No money, no +opportunity." + +"I'll warrant, Mr. Massey," put in David, "that there are many men +employed in your steel mills who by natural inclination are totally +unfitted for their jobs. Now, wouldn't scientific investigation in their +early manhood have helped to find for them the right place and so added +to their happiness?" + +"Well, I'm not interested in that part of the question; their happiness +has nothing to do with me," returned John Massey. "I pay 'em their wages +and that's enough. And I don't believe that every man is born with a +special talent. They all look alike to me mostly." + +"Every man is born with the capacity to do something in a way impossible +to another," said the inventor with conviction. "There are no two +persons alike in the world." + +John Massey smiled. He really now felt that he was being entertained. +Such another rare specimen as this inventor with his ridiculous +contentions would be hard to find. So he said pleasantly: "And after the +machine has recorded its findings, what then?" + +"Then you, and other men like you who have accumulated fortunes--" + +"Stop!" cried the capitalist. "Let me finish for you. After the machine +has done its work, I'm to have the privilege of paying for the +professional education or trade of these same impecunious young men." + +"Exactly, sir. The institution you endow might be called the Temple of +Natural Ability Appraisement. There the poor in money, but the rich in +ambition may come; there the fumblers, the indecisive, may come to be +put to a test. Ah, yours can be a great work." + +"A great opportunity for you, Mr. Massey," emphasized David, the +gardener. "I envy you." + +"You'd help out, wouldn't you, Eagle Man?" Suzanna now cried with +perfect faith in his good will. "You see, you'd have to when you +remembered that there's a little silver chain stretching from your wrist +to everybody else's in the world. It must be rubber-plated, I guess." + +"What do you mean?" asked the Eagle Man, involuntarily casting his +glance down to his wrist, his flow of satire dammed. + +"That's what Drusilla told me; we all belong. And you can't do something +mean without breaking the chain that binds you to somebody else." + +"Ah, my dear," said the Eagle Man, letting his hand fall upon her bright +hair, "you belong to a family of impossible visionaries." He looked +over at Suzanna's father, and his face suddenly grew crimson. "Were you +in earnest, Procter," he cried, "when you told me in Doane's hardware +store that your machine meant a big opportunity to me--were you +jesting?" + +"Jesting! Why, I've pointed out your opportunity, plainly." + +"Shown me how I can throw a fortune away!" + +After a moment Mr. Procter replied: "We speak in different languages. By +opportunity you can see only a chance to make more money." + +"Any other sane person makes the same guess," Mr. Massey replied. + +The inventor's face grew sad. He had dreamed of John Massey's response, +a dream built on sand, as perhaps he should have known. But hope eternal +sprang in his heart, and the belief that every man wished the best for +his brother. + +The silence continued. To break it Mr. Massey turned to David. + +"Your friend seems to think he has but to put before me the need for +charity and I shall thank him effusively." + +David spoke slowly: "My friend should have known better. He forgot, I +suppose, your slums where you house your mill hands." + +"What do you mean by that?" Mr. Massey began, when an exclamation from +Suzanna, who was standing at the window, turned his attention there. + +"See, there's a big fire over behind the big field," she cried +excitedly. "Oh, look at the flames! The poor, poor people!" + +David sprang to the window. "It's over in the huddled district," he +cried. A fierce light sprang to his eyes. "Where most of your men live +with their families, John Massey. I wonder how many will escape." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +SUZANNA PUTS A REQUEST + + +In that devastating fire which swept out of existence the entire +tenement district of Anchorville two were lost, never to be heard of +again, parents of a twain of children, a boy of four and a girl of +three. + +Mrs. Procter, finding the mites wandering away from the smoking ruins, +had at once taken them home with her, fed them, found clothes for them, +and rocked the tired little girl to sleep. + +"Are we going to keep them forever, mother?" Maizie asked one afternoon +about two weeks after the fire. No one had put in a claim for the +children; they were homeless, friendless. What was to be done with them? +Mrs. Procter had turned with loathing from the thought of the orphanage. + +She stood at Maizie's question in deep perplexity. She could not turn +the children away or put them in an institution--and yet, how could she +care for them? There was the very definite problem of extra clothes and +food to be found out of an income already stretched to its utmost. + +"They haven't a home any more, have they, mother?" Suzanna asked, the +while her earnest eyes searched her mother's face. "So we should do unto +others as we'd be done by, shouldn't we?" + +A vague memory returned to Mrs. Procter. What was it Suzanna had once +said? "Mrs. Procter cuddles all children in her heart." And Suzanna and +Maizie stood watching her, asking a literal translation of a principle +laid down for man's guidance. + +"We'll see what can be done," Mrs. Procter answered finally. And then +she continued very carefully: "You see, it isn't only a question of +giving these little ones a home, but they must be clothed and fed and +educated, and we haven't a great deal of money." + +"So many of those poor people haven't any homes any more, have they?" +asked Suzanna. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears of pity. She looked +out of the window. The sun was shining brightly. And to be in keeping +with the suffering about them, Suzanna wished it would hide behind a +cloud. It seemed the day itself, to be in sympathy, should be dark, +depressed, altogether gloomy. + +Her mother answered: "It's providential in a manner that those unsightly +cottages were swept away; but they meant homes for many poor souls; and +all that they possessed was contained in those homes." + +Suzanna's ingenious mind settled itself to work on the problem of the +bereft ones. She was no longer thinking of the two little orphans, but +of the many troubled people. If only her home were large enough to +accommodate them all! Her thoughts in natural sequence ran to the Eagle +Man and his beautiful place, but she immediately rejected the idea. She +feared he might not listen kindly to the plan of lending his home even +as a temporary abode for the stricken. Had he not been a little unkind +about her father's wonderful Machine? + +Suddenly she remembered Bartlett Villa, and with the memory came a +thousand thoughts. Impulsively she donned hat and coat, spoke a word to +her mother and was off. + +In a very short time, for she ran nearly all the way, she reached +Bartlett Villa. She pushed open the big iron gate leading into the +grounds, and stopped short, for there to the left, near a closed +fountain, stood Graham. He was talking to a tall man whose back was +toward Suzanna. About the two, in seeming happiness, played Jerry. + +Graham cried out when he saw Suzanna. She went quickly to him. Then the +man looked down at her and smiled. Suzanna decided that she liked him, +but she wished his smile was more of a real one, one that should light +his face. She did not know the word, but he looked, despite his smile, +cynical, rather weary. Yes, she knew she should like him, for in some +indefinite way he reminded her of her father. Was it the brown, rather +nearsighted eyes? Surely they were keen, yet behind their keenness dwelt +a softness; perhaps he, too, once had cherished a vision. + +Graham greeted her demonstratively. "And this is my father, Suzanna," he +said. "I've told him a lot about you." + +"Yes, I know a great deal about you, Suzanna," said Mr. Bartlett; "and +David has told me of your father's invention and what he expects to do +some day with it." + +Suzanna's face kindled. "Yes, my father's a great man," she said, +simply. + +Then she turned to Graham: "I came to talk to you about something very +important. I was going to ask you afterwards to speak to your father +about my plan." + +"I may hear, then?" said Mr. Bartlett. "Shall we go on into the house? +There's a little chill in the air." + +So they walked toward the great house, leaving Jerry rather +disconsolate. Suzanna, looking up at Mr. Bartlett, said: "I've been here +twice and I've never seen you." + +"My business takes me often to different cities," he replied. + +They entered the house and went into a small room at the left of the +wide hall. It was lovely, Suzanna decided, done all in soft gray, except +the curtains at the window, which were of amber silk, hanging in heavy +folds. Yes, very charming, Suzanna emphasized to herself. She liked +particularly the one picture on the wall, showing a group of horses, +heads high in the air, full of fire. Suzanna could see them move, she +believed. + +"Sit down there, Suzanna, in that high-backed chair and tell us what you +have to say that's so important," suggested Mr. Bartlett. + +"I'm crazy to hear all about it, Suzanna," supplemented Graham. He +settled himself in anticipation, for Suzanna was always intensely +interesting. + +Suzanna seated herself. A quaint little figure she was, her fine head +thrown in relief against the gray satin of the chair. "You know," she +began, "there's been a fire." + +"A bully big one," said Graham. + +Suzanna turned her dark eyes upon the boy. "It was a big one, and maybe +fun to watch," she said, "but it burned all the people's homes. We've +got two little children, at our house. We could never find their father +and mother." + +Mr. Bartlett, occupying the corner of a lounge, shifted uneasily. +Evidently to put forth truths so baldly was inartistic. + +"My mother says it was--I can't think of the word--but she meant it was +lucky those cottages were burned down; they were so dirty." Suzanna went +on: "And babies played in the yards in ashes and old papers. I always +hurried past when I went that way because something stopped inside of +me, I felt so sorry for those babies." Suzanna paused. "I just thought +as we walked up your front path how different everything is here; your +front yard is so clean, and there's so much room!" + +She stopped again. She wished Mr. Bartlett would speak. He must guess +now all that she meant to convey to him; all she would ask of him. + +But still he didn't answer. "The Eagle Man owned those houses," she said +at last. + +"The Eagle Man?" Mr. Bartlett roused himself at last. "Who is the Eagle +Man?" + +"Mr. Massey other people call him. The Eagle Man's my own private name +for him." + +Graham knew his father was heavily interested in the Massey Steel Mills. +But he did not speak. + +"You know, it's an awful fine feeling you get when you're doing +something for strangers," Suzanna pressed on. "Some way you don't feel +so excited when you're doing something for your very own family." + +But she was doomed to disappointment. A continued silence still greeted +her words. "When people work for you isn't it as though you were their +father or their big brother and had to help them when they needed it?" +she asked, at length. + +"Well, it's a new thought that you owe anything to the men who work for +you except their wages," said Mr. Bartlett at last. + +"Why, Drusilla told me that everyone in the world has a little silver +chain running from his wrist to his next friend's wrist; it stretches +when you run--a fellowship link my father named it when I told him. And +the chain runs from my wrist to your wrist and from yours to every other +wrist in the world." She leaned closer, finishing earnestly. "And +Drusilla says if you break your chain you're really a slave." + +"Very interesting," commented Mr. Bartlett. + +"Yes, isn't it?" agreed Suzanna. She returned tenaciously to her +subject. "There are many homeless families who weren't welcome where +they had to go after the fire. Mary Holmes says her mother took in four +people and she says as long as they stay there'll have to be stews, for +in that way a pound of meat goes further, and Mary just hates stews." + +"Well, what is your suggestion of a remedy, Suzanna?" asked Mr. +Bartlett. At which question, though put in words beyond her, Suzanna's +eyes brightened. She caught the sense unerringly and answered promptly. + +"Why, I thought _you_ could do something. You have so much room." And +then the solution came, out of the sky as often answers came when you +didn't expect them. "Why, you could put tents up in your big yards for +the homeless people, till their own homes are built again." + +Mr. Bartlett was greatly amused. "You ask such a little thing, Suzanna." + +"Yes, isn't it, seeing it'll help out so much?" Suzanna returned +innocently. + +Graham rose and went close to his father. "Father," he said, "who's +going to build the new homes for the poor people?" + +His father answered: "I don't know, I'm sure; but I should think it old +John Massey's duty to do so." + +"Father," asked Graham, after a pause given over to thought and drawing +on his memory for what vague facts he knew of his father's business, "if +you take less money for your interests in the mill and if you speak to +him, do you suppose Mr. Massey would begin at once to build those +homes?" His young face was quite white with earnestness and other new +emotions struggling up to the surface. + +Mr. Bartlett looked from one small face to the other. He smiled grimly. +They could see nothing but the humanness of a situation, the need +existing. Going against all precedent meant nothing to them; they simply +followed ridiculous altruistic impulses. Only in their minds was the +knowledge that other people were suffering; and the immediate necessity +for relief. + +He let his hand fall upon his son's shoulder. "How about the trip +abroad, Graham?" There was an under meaning in his question which Graham +got at once. His face lit. + +"I'd rather help out here, father, and give up the trip. I really +would." + +Mr. Bartlett remained quiet for a long time again. In some mysterious +manner he was now for almost the first time looking upon his son as an +individual, one with opinions and the power of criticism. And there +grew in his heart the very fervent desire to stand well in that son's +estimation. He looked at Suzanna and envied her father. How proudly, how +simply she had said, "He is a great man!" + +But when he spoke, he reverted to a name used a moment before by +Suzanna, a name he knew well. + +"Who's your very philosophic friend, Suzanna--Drusilla, you called her." + +Suzanna's eyes shone. "Drusilla? She's my special friend. She lives in a +little house on the forked road. She's pretty and sweet and she has +fancies, like children. She plays sometimes she's a queen. But she's +lonely. She gave Miss Massey to Robert in the little church. And she has +no one in all the world left to call her by her first name. So I call +her Drusilla and she loves it." + +Graham did not stir. Neither did he look at his father till Suzanna, +suddenly remembering, cried out: + +"Why, Drusilla's Graham's grandmother!" + +Mr. Bartlett's face suddenly went very white. He didn't speak for a long +time. Then he rose and went to the window, drew back the silken curtain +and stared out. + +Suzanna wondered if he would ever move again! At the moment he was far +away. He was a boy again at his mother's knee, listening to that +fanciful conception of the little silver chain that stretched so far. +There rushed in on him, too, other memories, blinding ones that hurt. +True, every day at the little house a spray of lilies of the valley were +delivered; but with that impersonal gift which cost him nothing but the +drawing of a check he had dismissed his mother from his busy mind, +letting her stay in loneliness, live in old dreams. + +A soft little swish was heard at the door and Mrs. Bartlett entered the +room. She stopped in some consternation at sight of the silent trio +within. + +"Why, what is the matter?" she asked, impulsively. + +Mr. Bartlett turned from the window. He looked at his wife, steadily +regarded her beautiful face and bronze-colored hair piled high upon her +small and regal head. His gaze sought the soft, white hands, the tapered +fingers with pink and shining nails. + +At last he spoke, very quietly, but each word seemed weighed: "'And in +the morning there shall tents suddenly arise.' A quotation from +somewhere, my dear, but it shall come true here." + +She turned a cold gaze upon him. "Will you explain what you mean?" she +asked. + +"There are a few homeless people in Anchorville; their homes laid waste +by a fire," he said, pleasantly. "This small messenger has suggested +that we make use of our ample grounds for a time by putting up tents, +for a time, I say, till more substantial abiding places may be built." + +She clenched her hands. "You can't do that, Graham," she began, a note +of entreaty in her voice; "you can't possibly be so absurdly quixotic." + +"And why not?" + +"I can't understand!" she repeated. "Such philanthropic ideas have not +occurred to you before." + +He went to her, standing so he could look into her eyes. "It's late in +the day, but I'll try to do some little thing my mother would like me to +do." + +Mrs. Bartlett was about to speak again in burning protest when her +glance fell upon the children, Suzanna and her own boy. And the eloquent +expressions upon those small faces kept her silent. At last she turned +as though to leave the room. Over her shoulder she spoke. + +"At least you will not insist upon my presence here while you fulfill +your preposterous plans?" + +He replied gently: "As always, I ask nothing that you cannot give in +perfect freedom." + +She hesitated, was about to say something, stopped and took another +subject: "As for your mother--" + +He interrupted her, but to repeat "As for my mother--" but he left his +thought unfinished. + +Then he, too, went toward the door, and as he passed Suzanna he let his +fine, nervous hand touch her bright hair. Once he turned. "Suzanna, as I +told you," he said, "David, my fine gardener, has interested me somewhat +in your father's machine; perhaps I'll make a journey to your home some +day to see it." + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +DRUSILLA SETS OUT ON A JOURNEY + + +When Suzanna, returning home on wings, opened the front door, she heard +voices in the kitchen. And there, as she entered, she saw Mrs. Reynolds +engaged in reading aloud the directions on a paper pattern. Suzanna, +full of her story, waited almost impatiently until Mrs. Reynolds had +finished. + +Then she burst forth: "Oh, mother, Graham Bartlett's father's going to +make tent homes in his yard for the poor people." + +Mrs. Procter, leaning over the kitchen table, selected a pin from an +ornate pin cushion and inserted it carefully in the pattern under her +hand before turning an incredulous eye upon her daughter. + +"It's for his mother's sake," continued Suzanna, who had grasped the +spiritual meaning of Mr. Bartlett's offer. + +Mrs. Reynolds was the first to voice her surprise. "Why, that man, to my +knowledge, has never taken any real interest in anything. Reynolds says +he just draws big dividends out of the mill, runs about from one +interest to another, and cares really naught for anyone." + +"Oh, but he's very kind, Mrs. Reynolds," Suzanna objected. "As soon as +he knew his yards were too big to waste and that his mother would love +to have him do good, he told his wife he meant to put up tents till new +homes were built." + +Mrs. Procter cast a knowing look above Suzanna's head. Mrs. Reynolds +caught it and sent back a tender smile. "Out of the mouths of babes," +she began, when Maizie entered. In her tow were the two shy little +orphans. + +Maizie spoke at once to Mrs. Reynolds. "I knew you were still here, Mrs. +Reynolds," she said; "I can always tell your funny laugh." + +Mrs. Reynolds laughed again. "Well, little girl," she said, "did you +want something from me?" + +Maizie nodded vigorously. Her face was very stern. "Yes, please," she +answered. "I want you to take these bad orphans home with you. They're +cross and hateful and I don't want them to stay here any more." + +The two orphans stood downcast, the small boy holding tight to his +sister's hand, listening in silence to their arraignment. Mrs. Procter, +shocked, interposed: "Why, Maizie, Maizie girl!" + +But Maizie went on. "You can't be kind to them; they won't let you. And +I had to slap the girl orphan." + +The one alluded to thrust her small fist in her eye. Her slight body +shook with sobs. Suzanna's heart was moved. She addressed her sister +vigorously. "That isn't the way to treat people who are _weary_ and +_homeless_, Maizie Procter," she began. "_You_ ought to be kindest in +the whole world to sorry ones!" + +Maizie paused. She understood perfectly her sister's reference. "When +the Man with the halo picked you out of everybody and smiled on you, you +ought to be good to all little children that He loves," pursued Suzanna. + +"Not to little children who won't play and who won't be kind," said +Maizie. But her voice was low. She turned half reluctantly to the +orphans and looked steadily at them, as though trying to produce in +herself a warmer glow for them. + +They did not stir under the look. "But naughty children have to be made +good even if you have to slap them, Suzanna," said Maizie pleadingly. + +"But not by you, Maizie," said Suzanna; "you never can slap or be cross. +I have a bad temper and sometimes get mad. But because of what you are +_You_ always have to be loving and kind." + +Awe crept into Maizie's eyes. It was a great moment for her, little +child that she was. She was to remember all her days that she was as one +set apart to be loving and kind. She gazed solemnly back at Suzanna, as +she dwelt upon the miraculous truth of her heritage. + +At last Maizie turned. "Mrs. Reynolds," she said, "our Suzanna once +adopted herself out to you, didn't she?" + +Mrs. Reynolds bestowed a soft look upon Suzanna. "She did that, the +lamb, and often enough I've thought of that day." + +"You liked her for your little girl because you haven't any of your +own?" pursued Maizie. + +Mrs. Reynolds nodded, and Maizie sighed her relief. + +"Well, then, we'll adopt these orphans out to you, Mrs. Reynolds. I'm +sorry for them now, and I know I ought to be kind to them, but it will +be easier for me if you have them. I think you'd be awfully happy with +two real children of your very own." + +No one spoke. The little boy, laggard usually in movement, looked up +quickly at Mrs. Reynolds. He knew that Maizie found it difficult to be +patient with him, and that therefore she was offering him and his +sister to the kind-looking lady. + +"We like them pretty well, but we'd rather you'd have them," Maizie went +on generously but with unswerving purpose. "And till you get used to +children I'll come over every day and wash and dress them." + +Mrs. Reynolds' face was growing pinker and pinker. She continued gazing +at the boy and the girl, and from them back to Suzanna, her favorite. +But whatever emotions surged through her she found for the moment no +words to express them. At last she spoke in a whimsical way. + +"It's not much you're asking, little girl, to take and raise and educate +two growing children on Reynolds' wages." And then she blushed furiously +and glanced half apologetically at Mrs. Procter. For what, indeed, was +Mrs. Procter's work? With superb defiance toward mathematical rules, she +was daily engaged in proving that though those rules contended that two +and two make four, if you have backbone and ingenuity two and two make +five, and could by stretching be compelled to make six. + +"I must be going," said Mrs. Reynolds. She gathered up carefully the +paper pattern, folded its long length into several pieces, opened her +hand bag and thrust the small package within. "Thank you for your help, +Mrs. Procter. I think I can manage nicely now," she said, as she snapped +the bag together. + +Mrs. Procter repeated the conversation to her husband that evening, as, +the children in bed, they sat together in the little parlor. "And it +might be the most wonderful happening in the world, both for the poor +children and for Mrs. Reynolds," said Mrs. Procter. + +Mr. Procter did not answer. His wife, watching him keenly, realized that +he was troubled. She put down her sewing. "Tell me, Richard, what's gone +wrong," she said. + +He hesitated, caught her hand, held it tight. "I might as well tell you, +dear. John Massey has bought out Job Doane's hardware shop." + +"Bought him out?" + +"Yes. No one seems to know why. He paid a good price and he'll probably +sell again. I don't know, I'm sure." + +He pressed his hand wearily to his head. "What's to be done, dear? +What's to be done? There's no other opening for me in Anchorville." + +She rallied to help him as always. "At least we'll not meet trouble till +it's full upon us. There's always some way found." + +And, as always, he brightened beneath her touch, let hope spring again +within his heart. "Shall you work upstairs tonight?" she asked, knowing +that companionship with his beloved machine closed his mind to other +matters. + +"If you will come upstairs with me," he said. "Can you leave your +mending? I want you close by." + +She felt strongly and joyously his need of her. "I will come," she said. + +They were on the way upstairs, treading carefully that the lightest +sleeper, Suzanna, might not be awakened, when the hurried peal came at +the front door. They stopped. "Go on to the attic," said Mrs. Procter; +"it's perhaps Mrs. Reynolds come to borrow something," so Mr. Procter +went on. Mrs. Procter ran lightly down. + +She opened the front door to David. Near him stood Graham and behind, +his tail wagging furiously, Peter's dog, Jerry. David began at once. + +"Mr. Bartlett's mother was taken ill suddenly. Mr. Bartlett is with her. +She is begging to see the little Suzanna." + +"Come in," said Mrs. Procter, flinging the door wide. And as they +entered and stood all three in the hall, the dog feeling himself now in +his new character as welcome as his human companions, she finished: +"Suzanna's asleep." + +"My father wished greatly you would allow Suzanna to go to my +grandmother, though it is late," put in Graham. + +"Could she be awakened?" asked David. And by the expression in his eyes +Mrs. Procter understood that this wish of Drusilla's should not be +denied. + +The dog, feeling entreaty in the air, sat down and raised his voice. It +was a penetrative voice, too, filling the house with its echoes, echoes +that scarcely died away before a soft call came: + +"Mother--mother--" + +Mrs. Procter smiled at David. "There, Suzanna is awake. Jerry +accomplished what he wished. I'll go upstairs and dress her quickly." + +So it was that the little girl flushed, starry-eyed, appeared with her +mother a little later. Her dramatic senses were alert. "Isn't it lovely +and important," she began at once to David, "that Drusilla wants to see +me when it's away into the night?" + +"Very important," said David, but he did not smile. "Are you quite ready +now?" + +"Yes," said Suzanna and slipped her hand within Graham's. "Are you going +too, Graham?" + +"Yes. David's driving the light cart." + +The night was cool, but there were big rugs in the cart. David bundled +Suzanna up till only her vivid face looked out. As they went swiftly she +gazed up at the stars and the soft dark sky. She loved the night +fragrances, and the rustle of the dead leaves as lazy little winds +stirred them. + +They came very soon to Drusilla's home. David alighted, unwound Suzanna, +lifted her down to the ground very carefully, Graham following slowly. +David tied his horse, gave the animal a comradely pat, bade the dog +remain in the cart, and then the three went on to the house. The door +opened immediately for them, a light streaming out from within. The +sweet-faced maid, Letty, who had been crying, ushered them in. + +"I'll wait downstairs," said David. + +Letty nodded, and with the children went upstairs. + +They stopped when they reached the open doorway of Drusilla's bedroom. +And seated in a big velvet chair, as usual drawn near the window, though +the shade was pulled straight down, pillows heaped all about her, sat +Drusilla. Her face seemed small, oh, pitiably small, with bright eyes +quite too large for their place. But someway Suzanna, looking in, knew +that Drusilla was happy. + +Perhaps because, kneeling beside her, his head buried in her lap, was +her son. + +Her thin fingers strayed through his hair, and her tremulous voice +murmured to him just as it had when as a very small, very penitent boy +he had knelt in the same way, sure of her understanding, very, very sure +of her love. + +The picture remained for the moment, then the man kneeling, stirred and +rose to his feet. He stood looking down at his mother, till impelled by +a sound in the doorway he turned and saw the children. + +They came forward then into the softly lighted room. + +"Drusilla!" Suzanna cried, going straight to the frail figure seated in +the velvet chair. "You wanted to see me, didn't you?" + +"I did that, little girl," Drusilla answered. "I wanted to tell you that +the land of sunshine and love is close at hand where I shall meet my +king and be parted no more." + +"And where you'll reign queen?" cried Suzanna, delighted. + +The old head flung itself up; the faded eyes blazed; the frail figure +straightened itself. "Ay, queen!" She turned to Graham, who had +approached and stood regarding her, his boyish face agleam with love and +a little longing, and a little sadness, for he knew better than Suzanna +the great change at hand. "Who stands there?" she asked. + +He answered at once: "A courtier, my Queen." + +She smiled. "Approach closer then," she said with a wave of her hand. +But her eyes were on Suzanna. "My favorite princess," she said softly, +letting her hand fall upon the small head. "She came first one day when +the flowers were all in color. She listened to me, and believed my +stories of the land where I once dwelt--with my king and my young +prince, who afterwards forgot me." + +A sob came from the throat of the man standing near. He buried his face +in his hands. A white-clad nurse came tiptoeing in, looked at her +patient, nodded reassuringly and went out again. + +"I knew you were a queen, Drusilla," said Suzanna, "because you were so +beautiful, and so haughty." She leaned forward till her young face was +very close to the old fading one. "And you told me something that day +about the chain that binds everybody in the world to everyone else. +I've never forgotten that. I've told lots of people about it." + +"Yes, yes, I remember." + +"And I told that story to the Eagle Man, and to Graham's father, and +he's going to have tents put up in his yard for some poor people who +have no homes, for your sake, Drusilla." + +The frail figure suddenly fell back. "_Drusilla!_ Who calls me that?" +The pale lips trembled. "Many, many years have gone since I heard that +name." + +The man cried out: "Mother dear--_Mother dear_!" + +She turned her eyes upon him. The light of recognition slowly returned +to them. "My boy," she said gently. "Come, sit beside me. All three. The +little girl who loves me, and you and your child, my grandson." + +So they settled themselves, all at her knee. "Mother, dear, did you hear +what Suzanna said? Your story of the chain awakened me." + +"Awakened you, my boy? But that story and others I told you many years +ago, and you forgot." + +The tears, hard-wrung, started to his eyes. "But, mother," he said in a +low voice, "is it too late? Those truths I learned many years ago from +you--is it too late to use them now?" He let his head fall suddenly upon +her knee: "Oh, mother, mother, how blind are men; what false gods they +worship!" + +She did not answer. Graham, a great pity sprung in his heart for his +father, spoke: "Father's good, grandmother! He does lots of kind things +for people. And he's going to take care of many families whose homes +were burned." + +"In your name, mother, as Suzanna says," said the man, lifting his head. +"And many, many other righteous things in your name, my mother." + +Her face grew luminous, with a light lent from some far place. "My +boy--my little son--" she whispered. + +The white-clad nurse came in again, looked sharply at her patient. "I +think," she said softly, "you must all leave now." + +So they rose. But Suzanna, after saying farewell, turned again. The +nurse was arranging the bed. Drusilla sat, her eyes looking off into the +distance. Suzanna went swiftly back. + +"Is the land you're going to very beautiful, Drusilla?" she whispered. + +"Fairer than you may dream, little girl," Drusilla returned. And then: +"Kiss me, Suzanna, and call me Drusilla once more." + +Suzanna kissed the soft, wrinkled cheek. "Good-bye, Drusilla," she +breathed. "I love you with all my heart, and I'm coming to see you again +very soon." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +MR. BARTLETT SEES THE MACHINE + + +But Suzanna did not go to see her friend Drusilla again. For within a +few days after the hurried night visit, Drusilla set off on her journey. +There was but one with her when she left, all aquiver to be gone, her +eyes set in the distance on visions hid from earthly eyes. + +Her boy was close beside her, his arms about her, his heart filled with +woe for all the years he had forgotten. And when he kissed her and +begged her forgiveness, she was all love and understanding for him, even +as when a small boy he had sought her forgiveness and her understanding. + +The tents were up now in the big Bartlett grounds. Tents with floors and +movable stoves. Children played about the grounds on the rare sunny day +that Drusilla went away. + +Mr. Bartlett, returning from his mother's bedside, went hurriedly +through his grounds, and on upstairs to his own room. There, waiting for +him, was Graham. The boy knew at once the truth. + +"Father," he cried, and put his arms about the tall figure. + +They stood so, the man finding comfort in the contact of his boy. And so +Mrs. Bartlett, returned temporarily from a journey, found them. + +She started back at sight of them thus together. They seemed in their +new intimacy to have shut her out, quite out of their lives. "I've been +looking for you, Graham," she began, and then caught her breath sharply +at the look the boy gave her; not a premeditated cold look, only one +that he might bestow upon a stranger. + +"Father has just come home," he said; "grandmother--" + +But he did not finish. He saw that his mother understood that Drusilla +had gone away. Mr. Bartlett spoke to his wife. "I heard this morning +that you had returned to stay for a day. I'm afraid the tents and the +children will still disfigure our grounds for some time." + +His bitterness made her wince. But she answered calmly. "Yes, I returned +while you were absent." + +"For a day, as I was told?" + +"My plans must change now of necessity--my trip to Italy--" + +"Why?" he asked. "Nothing that has happened need interfere with any of +your plans, your mode of living. My mother would not wish that." + +She broke forth then, the color surging up into her face. "Why are you +so unjust to me? Did I suggest that you neglect your mother? You could +not expect me to take your place." + +"No--" he spoke sadly. "No, I could not expect that. Believe me, please, +when I say that I put blame on no one but myself. Money--that has been +the main thing in life. Money, and more money. There was always need for +all I could make." His eyes swept her lovely gown; the costly cape +across her arm. Thought, much money, much time had gone into building +her perfect completeness. "No. A man cannot expect another, even a wife, +to fulfill his sacred obligations." + +Perhaps the thought came to her that a wife need not ask so much, ask so +demandingly that a man must yield his finest dreams, his every hour to +fulfill her wishes. The color deepened and deepened in her cheek. +Perhaps she remembered their first months together when in the grayest +days he saw color, because they belonged one to the other. + +They had both forgotten Graham. She looked at the boy now. He stood +regarding her with that strange aloofness in his eyes, that sharp +question. She felt all at once very lonely. + +For Graham, she knew, was estranged from her! And now she knew that she +desired most of all his love in all its purity. Her social strivings, +her desire for leadership balanced against Graham's former worshipful, +chivalrous love for her, dwindled to a pitiful insignificance. + +And with the value of her child's love, she suddenly realized the older +mother's longings--the one who had just gone on. An old mother--in her +full years mourning for the child she had borne, nursed, and succored. +Grieving, that in his manhood he had gone from her; that he had +seemingly forgotten in his feverish striving after wealth the lessons +she had sought to teach him. + +Was the wife to blame for this? But some stern sense of justice derided +her efforts to exculpate herself. She remembered how she had held the +power to influence him in the early days of their marriage; he had +believed so wonderfully in the whiteness of her ideals. He was malleable +material in her fingers. + +But above and beyond his love she had put wealth and fine position. He +had given her both, but now before her stood her husband and son +estranged from her. + +She moved away at last. With new awakening power of perception, she felt +she was stripped of everything of worth. When she was half-way down the +wide hall she heard a step behind her. She paused, waited, and in a +moment Graham was beside her. + +He put his hand in hers. "Mother," he said, quietly. + +Her eyes filled with the near tears. She clung to his hand as though he +would protect her against her own bitter thoughts. + +"Does your head ache?" he asked. There was solicitude in his voice, but +still that strange, dreadful aloofness, more dreadful because he was not +conscious of it. + +"No," she answered. She looked down at him and out of an impulse she +cried: "Do you still love me, Graham?" + +"I love you, mother," he answered gravely. But she knew then that there +would be work on her part before once again she stood to him his ideal. + +She had dwelt in the core of his heart; perhaps in time she could once +more move near to that sanctified place. The intimate human relation, +husband and wife, parent and child--she knew with pain and yearning that +all else--position, great wealth, worldly power--were vain beside the +joy of those relations in their purest. + + * * * * * + +Perhaps a week later Suzanna was washing the supper dishes, and Maizie +wiping them. Their mother was upstairs with Peter and the baby, Mr. +Procter in the attic. As Maizie finished the last dish, the door bell +rang. + +Suzanna ran to the foot of the stairs. + +"Oh, mother, shall I answer?" she cried. + +"I wish you would," Mrs. Procter called down. "Peter has a stone bruise +and I'm using liniment." + +So Suzanna went to the front door. She opened it to Mr. Bartlett. + +"Good evening, Suzanna," he said in a friendly voice. "Is your father at +home?" + +"He's upstairs in the attic. Shall I take you to him?" asked Suzanna +very politely. + +"Perhaps you'd better consult him first as to that, Suzanna. He may not +wish to be disturbed." + +"Well, I will. Won't you sit down in the parlor?" + +Mr. Bartlett, half smiling, followed the small figure into the room +designated. He looked about interestedly after Suzanna had gone. A +kerosene lamp set upon a center table sent an apologetic light over the +shabby furniture. Above the mantel with its velvet cover and statuette +of a crying baby, was a picture of Suzanna, a "crayon," Mr. Bartlett +amusingly surmised. The small face looked out with a distorted +artificial smile quite unknown to the face it sought to represent. Yet +Suzanna's aura was visible, Mr. Bartlett thought. That little girl who +so simply and lovingly had called his mother Drusilla because no one in +the world was left to do so! A fragrance straight from his heart made +the ugly crayon suddenly a thing of beauty, showing forth a child's +soul. + +Suzanna returned, panting a little. She had run upstairs and down again. +"Father wants you to go right up," she said. "And maybe when I've +finished the dishes I'll come back, too." + +So he followed her up the narrow stairs. Suzanna gravely told him that +every other step creaked, except if you put your foot carefully in the +middle. At the attic door she left him. + +Mr. Procter looked up as his visitor entered. "I'm glad to see you, Mr. +Bartlett," he said cordially. "It's not very light in here, but we can +see to talk. Sit down." + +Mr. Bartlett took the proffered chair. He looked about the dim room and +could see in outline the machine. + +"David has told you something of my invention, I remember and its +object," said Mr. Procter. + +"Yes, David has told me," Mr. Bartlett replied. "You're attempting a +tremendously big thing, Mr. Procter. David told me about the colors and +your theory of their meaning." + +"Yes. Did David tell you, too, that my daughter Suzanna produced on the +plate of the machine purple and gold? In my book I had written down . . . +'Purple: high talent for writing.'" + +Mr. Bartlett hesitated a moment before replying. + +"But it hasn't been proven that Suzanna can write. You will have to wait +a few years for evidence." + +"True, still she is talented. I may dare say that even though I happen +to be her father. She possesses an insatiable curiosity concerning life, +the divine birthright of the artist, the creator." + +"Still I'm not convinced that such a machine as David drew for me is +possible," said Mr. Bartlett. "I can understand that if you place a +person in contact with an instrument and proceed to change his +circulation by arousing his emotions that chemical change might be +registered upon a sensitive plate. But how can a mere machine be so +miraculous as to show forth by color or any other method one's +'meaning'? It's too big for my imagination, that's all. There are so +many parts that go to make up a human being, so many points in his favor +for a certain line of work, so many against it." + +Still the inventor did not speak. And so Mr. Bartlett continued: +"There's a man's state of health, his sympathies, his hereditary +tendencies; all to be considered." + +"Well, you see," Mr. Procter answered at last, "the elements you +enumerate are but results of evolution, of environment, of education, +and do not alter the purpose for which the man was born. And that +purpose, even though given no chance to work itself out, is so vital a +part of the man that it remains an undying flame going on into +eternity." + +Mr. Bartlett did not answer. + +"Will you let me make a color test of you, Mr. Bartlett?" the inventor +asked at length. + +"Yes, though I am very skeptical." + +He seated himself before the machine. Mr. Procter let the helmet down +till it was just above the subject's head. "You see no part of the +instrument touches you," he said. "There's no opportunity to say that +chemical changes in the circulation are the cause of the color +produced. Now please watch the glass plate." Mr. Bartlett did as +directed. For some moments the plate remained clear, then rays of color +played upon it. + +"Green, a rare, soft green," said Mr. Procter. He went on slowly but +without hesitation. "The color of poetry. That color belongs in one who +lies on the grass and gazes at the sky--and dreams; dreams to waken +men's souls with the beauty of his music--a poet, a maker of songs, to +uplift, to keep man's eyes from the ground." + +The light faded, the little clicking sound ceased, and yet Mr. Bartlett +did not speak. If in his mind there dwelt the memory of an overstuffed +drawer with reams of paper covered with verses, he said nothing. His +face gave no evidence to the inventor of his thoughts. + +At last he roused himself, shrugged his shoulders. "My dear man," he +said, "did you ever hear of a poet at heart making a fortune as I have +done?" + +"It could be done," returned Mr. Procter sadly, "even by a poet." + +Mr. Bartlett rose. "I did not aver," continued Mr. Procter, "that you +could only be a poet. I said that your real meaning was to give to the +world the rare visions which grew in your heart." + +Mr. Bartlett gazed with some astonishment at the machine. + +"The day when Suzanna was born, as I stood looking down at her, the +thought came winging to me that she had come charged with a purpose +which she alone could fulfill. And so was planted the first seed in my +mind for the making of my machine." + +Mr. Bartlett spoke again after a silence given to some pondering. + +"Still, Procter, have you thought how impractical the machine must prove +to be? The world is after all as it is. Suppose a man, a poor young man, +has a rare gift. He must eat to live; he may have to support others. How +is he going to develop that gift?" + +The inventor's face was suddenly filled with a fine light. He laid his +hand on Mr. Bartlett's arm. "There, sir, as I told John Massey, is where +the capitalist seeking to invest his money in the highest way finds his +great chance. He helps that young man to live in comfort while he is +developing his talent." + +"Well," said Mr. Bartlett, "it's all very interesting, and if you will +let me, I'll do all I can to help you. We can talk of that at some other +time." He paused, and then said: "I hear John Massey has bought out the +hardware store here. I can't understand his object, but you may lose +your position. Have you thought of what you could do in that event?" + +"No, I haven't." + +"I came primarily to see your machine," Mr. Bartlett continued, "but I +had another object too. You know I have had tents put up in my yard for +those who were made homeless by the fire. And now I find it necessary to +go away in order to attend to some large interests. Can I make you my +steward over these people--at a salary, while I am away? + +"There will be enough for you to do," continued Mr. Bartlett. "My wife +is away; my boy Graham will soon be in the city with his tutor. I shall +be back here before the severe weather sets in and see that these people +in some way are comfortably housed and provided for; but in the meantime +I want you." + +"I'll be glad to do all I can," said Mr. Procter at last; then +fervently, "and thank you." + +Someone knocked softly, and Suzanna entered. "This special letter came +for you, daddy," she said. "Mother said I might bring it up to you." + +Mr. Procter took the letter, looked curiously at it before tearing it +open. He glanced through its contents, held it a second while he looked +away then he went through it again. It ran: + + Dear Procter: + + You've known for some time that Job Doane is + running the hardware shop in my interest. I bought + the place for a future purpose, never mind that + purpose, it isn't of interest to you or anyone in + Anchorville. I am confined to my room with an + attack of rheumatism, so I can't see you to talk + over a scheme which I have in mind. I will say + that I have concluded all arrangements to rebuild + homes for the men and their families who were + burned out some time ago, and I want you to act as + my agent. No sentiment in building these + up-to-date houses, let me assure you. Only perhaps + I've given some thought to Suzanna's little wrist + chain. Come to me within a day or two and we'll + talk over salary, and other things of interest to + you. + + Yours, + John Massey. + +Suzanna plunged into the ensuing quiet. "Is there any answer, daddy?" +she asked. + +Mr. Procter looked at his small daughter through a mist, then at Mr. +Bartlett still standing regarding him somewhat curiously. "No, no +answer," he said at last, "but I want to see your mother--right away." + + + + +BOOK III + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +HAPPY DAYS + + +Summer once again, with the flowers abloom and all the richness of the +season scattered lavishly about. The Procter house seemed more colorful +too, perhaps because it had acquired within some late months a new coat +of paint. + +Once inside if you were familiar enough to go upstairs, you could not +find the steps which had been wont to creak. And peeping into the parlor +you could see that some pretty new furniture had taken the place of the +shaky old lounge and chairs; one good marine picture hung between the +windows and a new rug lay upon the hardwood floor. + +Two years had gone since the fire, two years bringing some changes. +Suzanna had shot up. She was a tall, slim girl now, though with the same +dark, questioning eyes. She stood one Saturday morning in the kitchen +making a cake, yes, actually stirring the mixture all by herself in the +brown earthen vessel. + +Her mother, hovering near, was offering comment and a few directions. +Between times she attended to the "baby," a baby no longer since he was +nearly four years old. Maizie, coming in from the yard with Peter behind +her, stopped short at sight of Suzanna's work. + +"When can I make a cake, mother?" she asked. Her small face was as +plump, as childlike as ever. The same sweetness of expression was hers, +the same admiration in her eyes for her "big" sister. + +"When you're as old as Suzanna, I guess, Maizie," Mrs. Procter answered. +"What did Mrs. Reynolds say?" + +Peter answered before Maizie could speak, thereby gaining a reproving +look from her. "She's coming over to see you, mother. She says she wants +to ask you something, anyway." Peter went to the door, gave a sharp +whistle, a sharper direction and returned. "Jerry's out there. Graham +Bartlett's opened up his house, and David's brought my dog back." + +Still Peter's dog, you see. "Oh, I want to see Jerry, may he come in, +mother?" Suzanna asked. + +Mrs. Procter nodded. She was now engaged in giving the four-year-old his +ten o'clock luncheon of bread and milk. "But don't let him get into +anything, Peter," she admonished. + +Peter promised, with a sigh in his heart for the tenacious prejudices +of woman. Jerry at a word entered the kitchen door. He came in slowly, +paused and regarded Mrs. Procter searchingly. He was a handsome animal +now. His coat was well brushed, his hair long and glossy. + +"Well," said Mrs. Procter, "you've been taught good manners, Jerry." + +He wagged his tail vigorously; then further to show himself off, he sat +down and held out a beguiling paw to Mrs. Procter. Maizie cried out in +delight. + +"Oh, can't we keep him now, mother? Isn't he cunning?" + +Peter turned quickly upon his sister. "Would that be fair?" he sternly +asked. His voice deepened suddenly. "You wouldn't, any one of you, even +look at him when he was poor and dirty and _afraid_. And now after David +has loved him and washed him and taught him how to behave, you want to +keep him. Come along, Jerry." + +Having thus delivered himself, Peter, with dignity, stalked from out the +kitchen. He left an eloquent silence behind him. "Should we have kept +the dog when he was dirty and lonely, mother?" asked Maizie, +interestedly. + +"Why, I don't think so, Maizie," Mrs. Procter answered slowly. "Really, +you remember I'd had so much trouble that summer with stray dogs of +Peter's that my patience was at an end." + +Maizie was forming another question when she was interrupted by a hearty +knock at the door. + +"Come in," Suzanna cried. She was testing the oven as her mother had +taught her and she turned a very important, if badly flushed, face to +the visitor. + +"I'm baking a chocolate cake, Mrs. Reynolds," she announced. + +"Fine, Suzanna," cried Mrs. Reynolds heartily. She advanced to the +middle of the kitchen. Two beautiful children both with large dark eyes +and dark curls, exquisitely clean, followed her. + +Mrs. Reynolds was a little plumper, and with a softness in her eyes +which seemed of recent growth. She lifted the smaller child, the girl, +upon a kitchen chair, watched the boy in his pilgrimage after the +darting cat, and began: + +"I'm glad to help with the christening robe for the Massey grandson, +Mrs. Procter," she said; "and I think 'tis a fine idea--sort of +community dress made by those who liked Miss Massey." + +"I thought you'd like the idea, Mrs. Reynolds," said Mrs. Procter. +"Here, take this chair." + +Mrs. Reynolds sat down. "The fine boy you have there," she said, +indicating the "baby," "he's a bit like Suzanna." + +"We all think he's very much like his eldest sister," said Mrs. Procter. +She raised the small boy and held him close for a moment. When she put +him down, he wandered off toward the popular cat. + +"I wanted to ask you, Mrs. Procter," said Mrs. Reynolds, "what material +you think will make up best for a Sunday dress for Margaret here." She +paused, smiled, and flashing a mischievous glance at Suzanna, finished, +"It'll have to have lace, says Margaret, and I suppose she'll want the +goods cut away from underneath." + +Suzanna, perched near the oven door watching the precious cake, turned +to look at Mrs. Reynolds. A flame lit within her eyes; she had never +forgotten the anguish engendered by her mother's refusal to cut away the +goods from under the pink dress; then the expression softened. Was it +not on that occasion, too, she had learned the dearness of that same +mother? + +"There, now," said Mrs. Reynolds, "I shouldn't have teased you, +Suzanna." Her eyes grew tender. "I'd never have thought seriously of +adopting my little children here, dear lamb, if you hadn't first adopted +yourself out to me." + +Suzanna's face grew luminous. "Oh, do you mean that, Mrs. Reynolds?" she +cried. + +"I do just that, every word, Dear Heart. Why, the night I put you to bed +and you called me 'mother' I shall never forget, never. And then the +truths you spoke to Reynolds!" + +"He's happy now, isn't he?" asked Mrs. Procter. + +Mrs. Reynolds paused impressively before answering: "Do you know," she +said at length, "he forgets often to remember that the children are not +his very own. The little Margaret there creeps into his lap nights, +calls him daddy, and melts the heart of him. And the boy with his +quaintness, follows him about the house on Saturdays, and Reynolds says +often enough: 'He'll be a great man, this chap, Peggy. He says some of +the things I thought when I was his age.' He's taken to calling me Peggy +since the children came to make a distinction, the little girl bearing +my name, you see." + +Mrs. Procter nodded. Margaret stirred uneasily on her chair. "Mother," +she asked, "I want to hold the Pussy, too. I'll keep my apron clean." + +"And that you shall, my Sweet," said Mrs. Reynolds, her face flushing at +the title as though it would never grow old to her; "come then, go to +the cat, my pretty lass." + +Suzanna removed her cake from the oven. It was a beautiful object, and +Suzanna regarded it with pride. She took off her apron, looked around +the kitchen and then turning to her mother, put her request. + +"Mother," she said, "I'd like to go to the big house and see the Eagle +Man and Miss Massey." + +"Saturday morning?" asked Mrs. Procter, dubiously. "Well, I suppose that +it won't really matter." + +"I'm going to see Daphne," Maizie announced. + +"Remember to be at home by noon," said Mrs. Procter. "Father may be here +for luncheon." + +"I'll remember, mother," said Suzanna. She kissed her mother, said +good-bye to Mrs. Reynolds and started happily away. She reached the +house at the top of the hill in a short time. The same uniformed man as +of old gave her immediate admittance. + +"Mr. Massey is in the library," he said, evincing no surprise at +Suzanna's unconventional appearance. + +In the doorway of the library Suzanna hesitated a moment, for the sound +of voices came to her. Then she went forward, and there, standing near +the white marble mantelpiece was the Eagle Man, near him Suzanna's +father. + +"Daddy," Suzanna cried, and ran to him. + +Mr. Procter turned. His face, slightly older than when he was an +employee of Job Doane of the hardware shop, was still that of the +idealist, the lover of men. Yet there was a something added. Perhaps his +well-fitting clothes gave him the new air of efficiency, of directness. + +"I didn't know you'd be here with the Eagle Man, daddy," Suzanna cried. + +Her father smiled at her. The Eagle Man spoke. "Your father is my +right-hand man, remember, little girl," he answered. He brought out the +sentence clearly with no strain of embarrassment. + +"Right-hand man," Suzanna repeated thoughtfully. "I don't quite know +what that means." + +"Well, it means that your father looks after my interests in a very +capable way," old John Massey returned. "Don't you remember how the new +homes went up under his direction for my employees?" + +"Yes, I remember," said Suzanna, "those beautiful new, brick houses, and +the clean yards for the babies to play in." + +"And now your father is in my mill as my superintendent, looking after +the men." He paused. "How would you describe your way with them, Mr. +Procter?" + +"Looking after them humanly, perhaps," put in Mr. Procter simply. + +"All right, we'll let it go just that way. In any event if you're making +them happier by shifting them about a bit, trying to fit them by natural +adaptability to their jobs and so increasing efficiency, I am satisfied +with any way you put it." + +Mr. Procter stood a little ill at ease. It was so very rare for old John +Massey to so graciously express himself, almost unheard of. + +"You see," said the Eagle Man, softly, "I'm using Suzanna as a mask; I'm +telling her what I couldn't say to your face, Richard Procter." He +stretched out his hand and Richard Procter let his own fall into it. The +two men stood thus bound in a spirit of perfect friendship. + +Suzanna went on upstairs. She found "Miss Massey" in a large room with +pink curtains at the windows, pink rugs on the floor and even pink +chairs and sofas. Like a sea shell, Suzanna thought. The baby lay in a +beautiful rose-tinted crib drawn near the window, and above the crib the +new mother bent. + +She turned when Suzanna knocked softly. + +"Oh, Suzanna," she cried at once, a glad note in her voice. She ran +across the room and enfolded the little visitor close within her arms. + +"And you've come back with a baby," Suzanna cried, after a time. + +"Yes, come and see him. He's named after my father." + +Suzanna went to the cradle and looked down. "He's a nice fat baby," she +admitted. She really didn't think that he was pretty, but that she did +not say. + +"And don't you love Saturday nights when it rains and you're safe +indoors with Robert and the baby?" asked Suzanna, interestedly. + +"Oh, dear girl, I do, I do. What a picture you painted, and how I've +tried to make it true." + +"And have you a cross man with buttons to jump at your bidding?" Suzanna +pursued. + +"No, dear; we have a little home with a garden, where in the summer all +the old-fashioned flowers bloom. I do most of my own work, and care +altogether for my baby. And I'm happier than ever before in my life. And +my father is no longer angry with me. He wrote asking me to pay him a +visit after he knew he had a grandson named for him." + +She bent above her baby for a moment, then turned her shining face to +Suzanna. "And now, tell me about yourself, Suzanna, and your loved +ones." + +Suzanna paused to think. "Well, you know father doesn't weigh out nails +any more; he's the Eagle Man's right-hand man." She remembered the +phrase and brought it out roundly. "And father helped build all those +nice new homes for the people who work in the Massey Steel Mills. + +"My father's a great man," finished Suzanna, simply as always when +stating this incontrovertible fact. "And his Machine's nearly ready now +for the world to know about it." + +"Oh, oh, Suzanna! And then?" + +"And then many, many people are going to be happy ever after because my +father thought of that machine and worked on it for years and years." + +After a moment Suzanna continued: "And my dear, dear Drusilla set off on +a far journey and didn't come back. And Graham cried, and went away for +a long time, and Bartlett Villa was closed. But they've come back now +and it's open again. And David and Daphne are quite well, thank you. And +Mrs. Reynolds has two little children of her own." + +"I'm so glad," said Robert's wife. "You're a very happy little girl, +then, aren't you, dear?" + +"Oh, very happy," said Suzanna. "I love so many people, you see. And I +have a sister, Maizie, who was once smiled upon by a very great Man." +Her listener was puzzled, but she asked no questions. It didn't seem to +her the right moment to ask an explanation. Some day she would. But +Suzanna told the story of Maizie's rare selection, dwelling upon it with +a degree of wondrous awe, for she believed the story now. It stood so +clear to her, so real, that it had a fine influence upon her inner life. +Often when swift anger surged through her, anger directed against the +little sister, she brought to bear a strong control, as she remembered +Maizie's great awakening. + +She returned to her surroundings in a moment. "I must be going, Miss +Massey. I wish you'd come to see us. We've got a lovely new rug in the +front room and mother has two new dresses for herself. She is awfully +pretty in them." + +"I certainly shall come to visit you," Miss Massey promised, kissing the +little girl. + +Suzanna ran downstairs. She did not stop at the library, fearing she +would reach home late for luncheon. + +But she was just in time to set the table. Her father had not yet +arrived. Mother, of course, was there and with an eager face full of +news, delightful news, Suzanna guessed. + +"Suzanna, dear, what do you think? Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett was here +during your absence." + +"To visit us, mother? Oh, tell me all about it," Suzanna cried. + +"She wants to take you and Maizie and Peter to the seashore for a whole +month. There, Suzanna! What do you think of that?" + +Suzanna stood absolutely still. Then exclaimed: "To the seashore, +mother! Why--I don't think I can stand the joy of it. Oh, mother, I'm +too happy!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +TO THE SEASHORE + + +Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett sat in her own perfectly appointed room one +morning in late June. She sat quietly, hands folded. She could hear +Graham, her son, downstairs beneath her window talking to David and +Daphne. She caught disconnected words. They floated to her broken like +meaningless flakes of snow. + +She had just returned from her call on Mrs. Procter, that impulsive call +made on the wings of an impulsive, quixotic thought. There still +remained sharp in her memory the picture of the little home; the busy +mother, washing out small woolen garments. She had gone unconsciously +prepared to patronize and had returned completely shorn of her feeling +of superiority. In truth, a little envy for that sweet-faced mother was +in her heart. + +From the time when her husband's mother died, she had not been happy. +Pursuits that hitherto had satisfied her altogether lost their power. +New values were slowly born in her. Still possessing a degree of +sensibility not killed by her false life, she had been by the attitude +of her husband and her son, able to see herself clearly. Both had been +dependent upon her in a measure for their happiness, and she had failed +them. Their reaction had hurt her bitterly. + +She had tried in the past two years to make amends, but some hurts heal +slowly. Perhaps it was hard for her husband and son to realize that she +was trying to make amends. In any event, each went his separate way, a +household divided. Early in the morning had come the thought of the +seashore and she had wasted no time in seeking the little home. And now +its atmosphere filled her mind. + +She heard Daphne's young voice, and a sudden rare pity filled her for +the motherless child, her gardener's daughter. She would ask Daphne, +too. + +She went to seek David, and as she came upon him spading a flower bed, +the two children with him, a station carriage stopped before the big +iron gates and her husband alighted. He had been away on one of his long +trips and was now returning home, unheralded, unexpected. + +He came quickly down the path and stopped short at sight of his wife. "I +did not think to find you here," he said. + +She did not answer at once. He looked closer at her. "You look a bit +fagged," he said, uncertainly. Perhaps he felt a softer appeal about her +which took him back to their young days together. + +"I am a little tired," she said. + +"I thought you intended to spend the summer in the East," he went on. + +"Strangely, Bartlett Villa held more fascination for me than any other +place. I returned here a week ago," she hesitated before continuing. "I +obeyed a whim this morning and invited the Procter children to accompany +Graham and me to the seashore to spend a month." + +He looked at her incredulously. "I--I don't understand," he said. + +She returned his gaze, then suddenly she turned from him and hastened +back to the house. Many emotions bit at her, among them anger with her +husband for his difficulty in believing she had done something which +would mean, some trouble to her; which in the days just behind she would +have designated as impossible, or "boring." + +After a moment he followed her and overtook her as she reached the small +side room where Suzanna had once sat telling of the poor people who had +been burned out of their homes. She knew he was near her, but she gave +no heed. Instead she flung herself down in a near chair and buried her +face in her hands. + +He stood, looking down at her in silence. At last he let his hand fall +gently on her shoulder. + +"Ina," he said, softly. + +She looked up at him. + +"Dear," he went on, "have you and I just been playing at life?" + +"Oh, it seems so," she cried. "I know I am unhappy, groping." She stood +up and put out her hands to him. He took them, drew her close to him. +"Ina," he said, "let me go with you and the children to the seashore. +Let's try to know one another better." + +A radiance came upon her, filling her eyes. She did not speak, only she +held very fast to his hand, as though in the clasp she found an anchor. + +There came the glorious summer day marked for the journey to the +seashore. Suzanna, Maizie, and Peter waited for the Bartlett carriage +which was to convey them to the depot. At last they heard it coming. At +last it stood before the gate, and Daphne put her small head out of the +carriage window. Then Graham opened the door and sprang to the ground. +He said a word to David who was driving, and ran up the path. + +Maizie began to dance, Peter to whistle. But Suzanna stood quite still, +the glow of anticipation falling from her face. + +"Are you quite ready, Suzanna?" asked Mrs. Procter. + +At the words Suzanna's control broke. With a little cry she ran into her +mother's arms. "Oh, mother, mother," she sobbed, "I can't go away, so +far away and leave you--a whole month!" + +Mrs. Procter held the small figure close. Her own eyes were wet, but she +spoke calmly: + +"Why, little girl, mother will be here waiting for your return, and +longing to hear all about your good time. Come, dry your eyes and think +how happy you're going to be." + +"But I know you'll be lonesome, mother, and so shall I be for you." + +"But when you grow lonesome," Mrs. Procter whispered, "just think how +lovely it will be to return home; and remember that father's machine +will be given its great test before you come back. Mr. Bartlett and Mr. +Massey have made all arrangements." + +Suzanna's face brightened; the clouds dispelled themselves, so she was +able to greet Graham with much of her old smile. + +"All ready?" he cried as he ran up the steps. "Father and mother and a +maid are following in another carriage. Nancy is with us." + +He was quite plainly excited by some thought deeper than the mere fact +of going to the seashore. Suzanna's companionship was promised for long +days to come; he knew her eye for beauty hidden from others; her quaint +speech. And then, too, a new relationship had come to pass between +himself and his mother. Between them an understanding that made him +glow. + +It seemed but a moment before they were all together in the train. +Suzanna settled herself to look out of the window at the passing +landscape, so exhilaratingly new to her. Maizie sat beside her, Peter +across the aisle with Graham. Little Daphne was cuddled close to Mrs. +Bartlett. Mr. Bartlett was in the dining-car. + +Maizie whispered to her sister: "We've come to the future now, haven't +we, Suzanna?" + +"Why, you can't ever come to the future," returned Suzanna. + +Maizie puzzled a moment. "But don't you remember, mother said we might +travel on a train some time in the future? So now we're doing it, why +haven't we come to the future?" + +"Because you never can come to the future," Suzanna repeated. She leaned +forward and spoke to Mrs. Bartlett. "When you're living a day it's the +present, isn't it, Mrs. Bartlett?" + +Mrs. Bartlett looked long at the two children. "Maizie thinks the future +an occasion, I think," she said, and then, because lucid explanation was +beyond her, she continued: "You know we have a big cottage at the +seashore, and the cottage is close to the water." + +Maizie it was who at last broke the thrilling silence: "Where there's an +ocean? And where you can go wading and swimming?" she cried. + +"And will there be sand?" asked Suzanna, hanging upon the answer +breathlessly. + +"Yes, there's a wide yellow beach running into the ocean where you can +dig and build castles all day," said Mrs. Bartlett. + +"Oh, my cup is full and runneth over," said Suzanna solemnly. + +The train swept on through small towns and the children's delight and +amazement increased. And when at noon the climax came, and they all went +forward into the dining-car, they were one and all silent. No words +great enough were in their vocabulary to express this moment. + +Said Mr. Bartlett when they were all seated: "Now, children, you may +order just exactly what you'd like. You first, Suzanna." + +"Well," she said, without hesitation, "I should like some golden brown +toast that isn't burned, with lots of butter on it, and a cup of cocoa +with a marshmallow floating on top, and at the very last, a dish of +striped ice cream with a cherry right in the middle." + +Mr. Bartlett wrote the order rapidly on a card. Each of the children +spoke out his deepest, perhaps his long-cherished desire. Some of the +dishes were secretly and mercifully modified by Mrs. Bartlett, who sat +in enjoyment of the scene. + +"It's like a dream, Mrs. Bartlett," said Suzanna when, dinner finished, +they were all back once more in the parlor car. "You don't think we'll +wake up, do you?" + +"No, I think not; you'll simply get wider and wider awake." + +But, as the hours crept on and as she watched the flying landscape, the +reaction to all her excitement came and a haze fell over everything, and +she slept, to awaken some time later, full of contrition. + +She spoke anxiously to Mrs. Bartlett: "Oh, I appreciated it all, Mrs. +Bartlett, but my eyes just closed down of themselves," she said. + +Mrs. Bartlett smiled. "It's a long journey," she said, "but we'll soon +see the end of it." + +At nine o'clock the train stopped for the first time since dark had +fallen. "Here we are," cried Mr. Bartlett. And in a few moments they +were all standing on the platform of a little railroad station waiting +while carriages were being secured to take them for the night to a hotel +nestling on the top of a tall hill. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE SEASHORE + + +Morning came--a rather misty morning that promised better as the day +advanced. Suzanna, sleeping with Maizie in a small room on the second +floor of the hotel, woke, gazed about her unfamiliar surroundings, +sprang out of bed, and in her bare feet ran to the window. There before +her was a magnificent group of mountains, wooded with majestic trees +whose tops seemed to touch the sky. Beneath the mountains, just at their +feet, a river ran, the sun dancing on its breast. Suzanna held her +breath in sheer awe; she could not move even to call Maizie. She felt as +though something great out there in the mountains called to her spirit +and though she wished to answer she could not do so. + +The tapestry spread below the mountains of water and green slopes and +velvet meadows sun-kissed too, called to her; the artist in her was +keenly, deeply responsive to the call, still she could not answer, only +stand and gaze and gaze, and drink in the beauty that stretched before +her. + +Then old Nancy came with hurrying words, waking Maizie. "We can stay in +this town but two hours before our train is due," she said. "So you must +dress at once, Suzanna." + +So Suzanna dressed in silence, answering none of Maizie's chatter, as +though she had been in a far, unexplored country and had returned +steeped in the mysteries of that distant land. + +Her silence still lay upon her when after breakfast they all set out for +a walk around the historic old town. There were babies, happy, dirty +babies, playing about doorsteps of one-storied plaster houses, or +toddling about the cobble-stoned roads. + +The streets were narrow and steep, the roads wide with moss edged in +between the wide cracks. Suzanna kept her eyes down; she would not look +up at the mountains, and finally Mr. Bartlett, noticing her silence, +asked: "Do you like it here, Suzanna?" + +"Yes," she said. "But I can't look at the mountains. They take my breath +away and make me stand still inside. Maybe some day I'll be able to look +straight at them, but not now, and some day when I'm a woman I'm going +to come back here and make a poem and set it to a wonderful painting." + +He smiled at the way she put it. + +"And I," said Maizie, "am going to come back and take care of some of +those poor little babies that play alone out on the cobble-stones." + +"We'll see," said Mr. Bartlett. "Time alone can tell what you two little +girls will do." + +Returning to the hotel they found vehicles awaiting them. And shortly +they were again on a train, speeding away. + +Three hours, and they were at their destination. A short ride in an +electric car, a shorter walk down a tree-lined street, and they were at +the "cottage." + +"A cottage," cried Suzanna, "why it's a big house!" + +"Everything is called a cottage down here," said Mrs. Bartlett. + +Mr. Bartlett used the brass knocker and its echo reverberated down the +street. An elderly Scotch woman, Bessie, who had been long with Mrs. +Bartlett's family, met them in the hall, her pleasant face alight with +smiles. She said now: + +"Everything is ready, and the trunks, I suppose, will be here within a +short time." + +"What's that sound?" Suzanna asked. + +"That's the ocean booming," said Mrs. Bartlett. "Now let's go upstairs +and prepare ourselves for luncheon. Nancy will show you children your +different rooms." + +So upstairs they went, Nancy in the lead. She threw open the door of the +bedrooms. Suzanna and Maizie were given one from whose windows the ocean +could be seen. Peter had a room all to himself, a small one with a cot +which was much to his liking. "It's like camping out," he made himself +believe. Graham occupied one next door. Little Daphne was with Mrs. +Bartlett. + +"There's two closets," cried Maizie, as she went on a tour of +investigation. "One for your clothes and one for mine. Sometimes, +Suzanna," she said, "I can hardly believe it all yet." + +"That's the way I feel," said Suzanna. Nancy appeared at the door +bearing snowy towels which she gave to the children. "Here, children," +she said, "the bath room is at the end of the hall, and you must hurry." + +So Suzanna and Maizie hurried and they were the first downstairs. The +house was much more simply furnished, of course, than the big one in +Anchorville, but as the children went about they found many interesting +things. In one long, narrow room, the length of the first floor, was a +fireplace taking up one entire end, and built of irregular stones, +giving a charming effect. There were big easy chairs and sofas; tables +heaped with magazines and books. On the walls were color pictures +suspended by long, dim-worn chains--ocean scenes, a ship at sea, and +over the piano, fifty years old as they discovered later, hung several +faded miniatures of ladies of a long past age. Most interesting of all +to Suzanna was an album she found in an old cabinet, an album that as +you looked through it at ladies with voluminous skirts, at men with wing +collars, and little girls with white pantalettes, a hidden music box +tinkled forth dainty airs from a long-forgotten operetta. + +In another room on the opposite side, which was entered by mounting +three steps, was a large table covered with green felt and with nets +stretched across it, and little balls and paddles in corner pockets, and +Mr. Bartlett, entering at the moment, the children learned that many +happy games were played on this big table. + +Later, out of this room, the children stepped upon a wide porch, and +here there burst upon them a view of the ocean. + +"You see," said Mr. Bartlett, "that those of us who go into the water +may dress in bathing suits here, then put on long cloaks and run down to +the beach. Then when we return, we step under a shower arrangement over +there near that little house. . . ." + +"Please, Mr. Bartlett," begged Suzanna, "don't tell us any more now. I +don't think I can stand any more joy for today." + +"Well, then," Mr. Bartlett smiled, "let's start away for our luncheon. +We simply live in this house and take our meals at the hotel." + +And at this moment the rest of the family appearing, they all started +away. A short walk brought them to the hotel where all was life and +light and excitement. Children played on the wide piazzas, young girls +walked about chatting merrily, and mothers and fathers sat in easy +chairs reading or pleasantly regarding the children. + +In the dining-room a large table had been previously ordered reserved +for the Bartlett family. + +"We'll have," said Mr. Bartlett, when they were all seated, speaking to +the interested waiter, "just exactly what you think we'd like, John." + +John, who knew Mr. Bartlett well, smiled in fatherly fashion and +disappeared. He returned shortly bearing a tray filled with just those +things that children most love. There was cream soup, and salted +crackers, big pitchers of milk, little hot biscuits, fresh honey, and +broiled ham--pink and very delicious as was soon discovered. Then there +was sweet fruit pudding with whipped cream and, of course, ice cream. + +"Will John always know what we like?" asked Suzanna as the meal +progressed. + +"Well, we'll change about," said Mrs. Bartlett, who looked as though she +were enjoying every moment. "Sometimes when we know particularly what +we'd like, we'll give our order, other times when we want to be +surprised we'll let John serve us what he thinks we'd enjoy. Don't you +think that way will be nice?" + +"Oh, that will be very interesting," said Suzanna; then added, "Does the +water make that sound all the time?" + +"Yes, it's always restless." + +"Well, it seems as though it were asking for something," said Suzanna, +"a kind of sad asking." + +"Now," said Mr. Bartlett, leaning across and speaking softly to her, +"suppose, Suzanna, you think for a moment that it's a happy sound and +see how almost at once it becomes a happy sound." + +Suzanna listened intently. Then her face brightened. "Why, it is a happy +murmuring," she cried. "Just as though it had to sing and sing all day +long." + +"Exactly," said Mr. Bartlett. + +"Well, then," said Suzanna, quickly drawing the deduction, "it's really +just in me to make it say happy things or sad things." + +"Exactly," said Mr. Bartlett again, and then they all rose and went back +to the cottage. + +Since the trunks which contained the beach outfits did not arrive till +late that afternoon, the children did not go down to the sands till the +next morning. Then with joyous hearts and eager feet, they set off, +Suzanna, Maizie, Peter, Graham, and Daphne; Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett +following more slowly. + +A bath house reserved for their use stood, door wide open. They entered, +discarded their coats and immediately appeared again clad in their +pretty bathing suits for the water. + +But when they reached the sands, already alive with gay children who +were building houses or running gaily about, and with happy shrieks +wading into the water, the Procter children stood awed, unable to speak, +so many emotions beat within them. + +Maizie was the first to recover her power of speech. "There's a girl +down there with a shovel and pail like mine," she said. + +And that broke the spell. Peter and Graham walked bravely out into the +water, finally reaching their necks as they went farther and farther +into the ocean. But the little girls contented themselves by simply +wetting their feet and with every wave dashing up to them, leaping back +with glad little cries. As the morning advanced, they returned to the +older group and sat on the sand. + +On the sixth day of their stay all the children were trying bravely to +swim, clinging it must be confessed rather desperately to Mr. Bartlett +and the beach man, secured to help them; but when he procured for them +large water wings, they soon struck out for themselves. Peter really +learned to swim before either of his sisters, and one morning he went +out as far as the end of a quarter-mile pier. + +They all grew rosy and strong, out in the fine air nearly every moment +as they were. Some afternoons they went fishing, and, with a strange +reversal of type, Suzanna was the patient one, Maizie the impatient. +Suzanna would sit in the boat next to Mr. Bartlett, holding her line, +and breathlessly wait for hours if need be, statue-like, till she felt +the thrilling nibble. Maizie would grow tired immediately, and to +Peter's disgust, she would wriggle her feet or move restlessly about, +quite spoiling for him the day's outing. Maizie at last begged to be let +off from the fishing expeditions. + +"I'd rather just lie in the sand and paddle in the water, or watch the +big white ships," she said. + +"You're to do exactly as you please," said Mr. Bartlett, and so they +did, each and every one. + +Many hours they all spent on one of the large piers running out a great +distance into the ocean, where always there were gaiety and music, and +here one afternoon Suzanna, Peter, Graham, and Mr. Bartlett, all seated +at the end of the pier saw a huge shark darting about the water. The few +daring swimmers in his vicinity quickly moved away. + +"A real shark," cried Suzanna. "When I go to bed tonight I'll just think +I dreamed it." + +Said Mr. Bartlett: "Suppose, Suzanna, I buy you a book filled with blank +pages, and having a little padlock with a small key, for your very own, +so that every night you may write the happenings of the day and the +impressions made upon you." + +"Oh, I'd like to do that," cried Suzanna, her eyes shining, "and then +surely I won't forget any single little thing to tell daddy and mother." + +"I'll write for the book," Mr. Bartlett promised, "when we return to the +cottage." + +After a time they left the pier and walked down the street, running +along with the sands. The street was lined with little stores of all +kinds; one where fresh fish were sold, another where French fried +potatoes and vinegar were offered to a hungry multitude; a place in +which handmade laces were made and sold. A florist booth kept by a +dark-faced Greek was neighbor to a shop built with turrets like a +castle. Here a happy-faced Italian women exhibited trays of uncut +stones, semi-precious ones, explained Mr. Bartlett, and strings of +beads, coral, pearl, flat turquoise, topaz, and amethysts. There were +bits of old porcelain, crystal cups, and oriental embroideries, and +little carved gods on ebony pedestals. The place reminded Suzanna of +Drusilla's historic old pawn shop and she stood entranced. + +Soon they were at the place of Graham and Peter's delight, a shooting +gallery, where if one were very skillful he might, with a massive +looking gun, hit a small moving black ball and hear a bell ring. Mr. +Bartlett hit the ball today three times out of four, Graham once out of +five, but Peter, manfully lifting the large gun and scanning its barrel, +left a scar on the target four inches to the left of the little swinging +ball. This occurred after eight trials. + +"Well, there's another day, Peter," said Mr. Bartlett, as they moved +away. + +"And Mr. Bartlett practiced a long time, you must remember, Peter," +said Suzanna, seeing the little fellow's downcast expression. + +"Do you think before we go back to the city," asked the small boy, "that +I'll be able to make the bell ring so I can tell daddy?" + +"Oh, yes," said Mr. Bartlett, encouragingly. "We'll come over here and +practice every day." + +They found the others in the cottage in the big room, resting awhile +before preparing for dinner. + +"Oh, Suzanna," began Maizie at once, "we're going to have a beach party +on the sands tonight. And Mrs. Bartlett says we'll have a fire built so +we can toast marshmallows." + +Suzanna did not say anything. Then quickly she crossed the room and +stood before Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett. "I wish," she said solemnly, "that +all the children in the world had such dear friends as we have." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +LAST DAYS + + +They held many a beach party during that wonderful month. And always +they ended the evening by drawing close together and singing happy +little songs. Till, when a little coolness crept into the air, they +would leave the ocean and go happily homeward, to sleep deep and +dreamlessly till another morning awakened them to the thought of fresh +delights. + +On one morning after a beach party, the children, coming downstairs to +join their elders for breakfast at the hotel, found standing on the road +in front of the cottage, a little brown donkey attached to a basket +cart. + +"Could it be, could it possibly be for them?" each child's heart asked. + +And Mr. Bartlett answered the unspoken question by: "It's for you all. +Peter is to drive first because he assured me the other day he knew all +about horses; then Graham. And in a few days Suzanna, and Maizie, and +even little Daphne, can take their turns." + +He went to the small donkey and stroked its nose, and the little fellow +whinnied with pleasure. The children crowded about the cart. Couldn't +they have a drive now? their eager eyes asked. But Mr. Bartlett thought +breakfast the logical beginning of the day, so reluctantly they left +their new possession. + +When breakfast was finished, Mr. Bartlett said: "I'll go for the first +ride or two with you just to see how this little fellow acts, though +I've been assured that he's as gentle as any lamb ever born." + +And whoever it was that had given Mr. Bartlett this assurance had not +exaggerated the amiable qualities of the donkey. "Little Brownie," as +the children had unanimously and immediately named him, was of equable +and even nature. True, as the days went by it was discovered that he was +somewhat lazy, also self-willed. If he wanted to stop he would not move +again until he wished to, in face of all pleading, urging, or +inducements. He refused even to be led, and stood very pleasantly +viewing the surrounding landscape till with a sudden jerk he would +resume his usual trot. The children finally accepted Brownie's one +vagary, and when they were driving home among other vehicles, and +Brownie suddenly stopped and raised his right ear, a sign which meant, +"I shall not move till I wish to," they only laughed, and others about +them knowing the ways of little donkeys, laughed good-naturedly too, and +drove around the little cart. + +It is an unvarying law that the days roll on and bring to an end even +periods of thrilling delight; and so there came the last evening to be +spent in the cottage at the seashore. The night was early in August, but +it had elected to borrow from its cooler sister September a rather chill +wind which, to the children's delight, necessitated the building of a +fire in the grate in the long room. + +"And we'll pop corn," said Mr. Bartlett when they were all gathered +together watching the roaring flames, the only light in the room. + +And Nancy, who could on a moment's notice, produce anything asked of +her, brought the popper and a big bag of dried corn. + +After a time, when several bowls of corn were popped and buttered, +salted and eaten, Nancy put on the hearth a dish of fine, rosy apples. +These the children peeled and then cast the skins into the grate. A +hardy fragrance came from them, but hardly pungent enough to overpower +the salt-water odor that swept in from the ocean. + +The flames lit all the faces, young and old. They fell on Mrs. Bartlett, +touching her lovely hair to molten gold, touching her thoughtful face +till it seemed a smile beyond itself rested upon it. She was +thinking--"Tomorrow we start back, and in my hands lie the happiness of +many. In my hands lies the keeping of the ideals of two--" She closed +her eyes and asked for clear vision, for strength to keep true to life's +highest values. + +Graham, at her knee, looked up at her. Feeling that his eyes were upon +her, she opened hers and gazed at him. She did not speak, nor did he, +but she felt his heart's nearness. + +And then his gaze wandered to Suzanna, Suzanna gazing into the flames, +her dark eyes like glowing jewels, her soft lips parted. And into Mrs. +Bartlett's heart crept a little fear and a little yearning and a little +great knowledge--that composite emotion all mothers are born to know. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +SUZANNA AND HER FATHER + + +At home again after the glorious month spent at the seashore! Habits, +dear customs, taken up once more. The splendor of the trip had not faded +for the Procter children. But home was home after all, with father and +mother and sisters and brothers all sharing the common life; with short +wanderings away and joyous returns; with small resentments, quick +flashes, and happy reconciliations. + +"It was lovely at the seashore," said Suzanna to her mother one Saturday +afternoon, "but I'm awfully glad to be at home again. Were you lonely +without us?" + +"Very," said Mrs. Procter, "but then I knew you were all having such +interesting experiences." + +"Is father coming home early, mother?" Maizie asked, looking up from her +work. She was sewing buttons on Peter's blouse with the strongest linen +thread obtainable in Anchorville. + +Mrs. Procter's face shadowed. She looked at Suzanna and Maizie as though +pondering the wisdom of giving them some piece of news. Evidently she +decided against doing so, for she answered: + +"I can't tell, Maizie, he may be kept at the mills. Mr. Massey is +growing more dependent on father every day," she ended, with a little +burst of pride. + +Father did not come home in the afternoon. The children lost hope after +a time, and followed their separate whims. + +But at six he arrived. Suzanna had noticed at once upon her return, that +he was quieter, less exuberant than he had been since entering old John +Massey's employ. Some light seemed to have gone from his face. Suzanna +wanted always to comfort him, and he, though saying nothing, was quite +conscious of his little daughter's yearning over him. + +During supper his absorption continued, and immediately afterward he +went into the parlor, selected a big book from a shelf, and drawing a +chair near the lamp began to read. Mother put the "baby" and Peter to +bed. Suzanna and Maizie, after the dishes were finished, followed +father, and drawing their chairs close, looked over some pictures +together. + +"Saturday night"--how Suzanna loved it! It seemed the hush time of the +week, the hush before waking to the next beautiful day, Sunday, when all +the family were together--father in his nice dark suit, mother in her +soft wisteria gown, all the children in pretty clothes; church, with its +resonant organ, and the minister's deep voice reading from the old book. +Then, weather propitious, the walk with father and mother in the +afternoon down the country road, and at night the lamps again lit--all +the homely significances of the place where love and peace and courage +dwelt. + +Mrs. Procter returned from putting the children to bed. "I think I'll go +upstairs for a little while," said Mr. Procter looking up at her. + +"Oh, do, Richard," she urged. + +Suzanna went close to him, her hand sought his. "Could--could you invite +us for a little while, daddy," she asked, beseechingly. + +"Why, yes, if you wish," he answered. "You and mother and Maizie." + +It was rather a heavy consent, but they all accompanied him up to the +attic. He lit the shaded lamp standing on the corner table, regulated it +till it gave out a subdued glow, and then walked and stood before his +machine. + +He stood a long time looking at it. Once he put out his hand and +touched it softly, as a mother might a sleeping child. + +Suzanna and Maizie, awed and troubled, they knew not why, watched their +father. Only their mother, with a little tender smile that held in it a +great deal of wistfulness, went close to him. + +"Richard," she said softly. + +He turned from the machine. His face was strangely colorless, strangely +drained of all light. She did not speak, but the loyalty and faith +deepened in her eyes. Perhaps he gained some comfort from their steady +gaze, his tenseness seemed to relax, his arms fell to his sides. + +Suzanna unable to stand the strain longer, flew to him and put her small +arms tight about him. "Oh, are you sick, daddy?" she cried, tears in her +voice. + +He hesitated, looked down at her, and said simply, very quietly: + +"Suzanna, you might as well know the truth now as later. My machine is a +failure--I am a failure!" + +Her heart leaped sickeningly, her arms fell from about him. In all her +life she had never lived through so intense an emotion. Her father, the +Great Man, proclaimed himself a failure in tones which struck through +her. + +The mother's voice rang out clear. "Richard, you cannot say that." She +looked about the attic made sacred by its high use, "Here while you +worked we all, your children and I, have learned great lessons. You're +looking at your machine, an insensate thing, and losing sight of what +during its building, you put into the lives of those near to you, living +stuff, Richard." + +And then Maizie cried out, "Oh, daddy, it's just like being on a +mountain top when we're in the attic with you. We'll never, never have +to stop coming, will we?" + +And Suzanna, still deeply troubled, cried: "Daddy, how could the machine +be a failure when it was born because you loved all men, and wanted to +make them happy? And the very thought of it up here made me happy. Why, +in school on Monday I'd look down all the shapes of the week, and think +of Saturday afternoon and wish it would come quick." Her voice broke and +the sobs came uncontrollable, shaking the slender body. In a moment she +was clasped tight in her father's arms. + +After she had regained some composure she looked up at him. "It hurts +me, daddy, so that I can't breathe when you forget that you're a Great +Man." + +A silence fell, and into it plunged a voice. "Good evening," it said. + +There in the doorway stood the Eagle Man. He laughed at their bewildered +expressions. "I rang and rang," he explained, "and when no one answered, +I looked up at the attic window and thought you must all be upstairs." + +"And was the door unlocked," cried Mrs. Procter. "I thought I attended +to the doors and windows right after supper." + +"The door was unlocked," said the Eagle Man, "and so I took the liberty +of coming right in." + +"I'm glad you did," said Mr. Procter. + +"Well, I need your help, Richard," said old John Massey in an +affectionate tone. + +"It's ready for you, Mr. Massey," the inventor answered warmly. + +Suzanna gazing at her old friend, suddenly cried out: "Oh, your eyes +have changed, Eagle Man, they're all nice and shiny." + +He smiled with great fondness at her. "My dear," he said, "how can a man +fail to indulge in nice shining eyes after contact with a family of rare +visionaries?" + +Suzanna did not understand that. She knew only that the Eagle Man had +greatly changed, that he seemed kinder, more understanding, and all at +once she knew why. He had had of late the ineffable privilege of being +close to her father. Of course, by such proximity he must grow kind and +understanding. + +"Richard," said the capitalist, "there's trouble threatened in the +foreign section of the mills." + +"Trouble?" Richard Procter's head went up. + +"Yes, the men are dissatisfied, surly. It's the one department where +your touch hasn't been felt. I want you to go there on Monday and begin +your work." + +"I'll be ready," said Richard Procter. Strength and purpose seemed to +flow back to him. + +The Eagle Man turned as though to go, but he paused at the door to look +again at Suzanna. + +"And so your father's been telling you that he has failed, that his +machine refused to work in the final test we gave it at the mills." + +"My father hasn't failed," Suzanna said proudly. + +"No, he hasn't failed," the Eagle Man agreed. "He hasn't failed. He's +the most brilliant success I know. He built into a piece of machinery +his ideals, and when the machine was finished he saw in his experiments +with it on those in his home ultimate triumph. But when it was taken to +my mills the machine failed to register color in personalities whose +chief talent by years of wrong work had been nearly strangled." + +Mr. Procter spoke: "It shouldn't have failed even there. It did +register, if you remember your color and Mr. Bartlett's, and both of you +had pulled far away from your purpose." + +"Yes, for some reason, it did register us," agreed the Eagle Man. He +paused, and then his voice rang out. "Let me tell you all something that +the inventor of that machine did, some miracle he brought to pass I +should have thought impossible. He awakened old ideals in a hard old +breast, he made hard old eyes see in men, not automatons born only to +add to his wealth, but human beings to be rendered happy in their work." + +"Was yours the hard old breast, Eagle Man?" Suzanna asked. + +"Yes, Suzanna. A result like that is worth while, eh, Richard?" + +Mr. Procter did not answer, could not, because he feared at the moment +that he could not speak intelligently. + +The Eagle Man turned to the wife, adoringly silent as she listened. + +"Three men Richard Procter brought to me on his first day in my mills. +He said: 'These men have ambitions, they are greatly talented. You must +give them their chance.'" + +"And what did you say?" asked Mrs. Procter softly. + +"Oh, I snarled as usual, but that was really the work I wanted him to +do. I wanted him to do in the circumscribed field of my mills that which +he had built his machine to do. And so I snapped out: 'All right, put +the burden on me! I'll give them their chance just because you say so.' +And where men were dissatisfied he got at them and discovered the +trouble, and down there they all trust him, and his influence will be +like a river flowing on, ever widening. So there's the late history of +the man who stands and calls himself a failure." + +So he finished, said not another word, looked once at the inventor, and +then went away. + + * * * * * + +Suzanna, trying in vain that night to sleep, tossed about restlessly. +Maizie, a sound sleeper, did not stir despite her sister's wakefulness. +Suzanna was thinking of her father, of the Eagle Man, of The Machine. + +Suddenly she lay quite still. She was remembering the day when The +Machine had registered her color, a soft purple, gold tipped. How +stirred her father had been when the wavering color spread itself upon +the glass plate. It had repeated its marvel for Maizie and Peter. Why +then when The Machine was removed and conveyed to the big steel mills, +did it stand brooding, sulky, refusing to make any record of any +personality. She sat up straight in bed, her eyes yearning forward into +the dark. And all at once the answer came to her. Only in the attic, +where, piece by piece, in prayer, hope, and jubilation it had been +assembled; where love and belief had formed the atmosphere could The +Machine be its own highly sensitive self, reacting and responding. + +With that big thought flowing through her, she slipped from the bed. The +night was warm, soft little breezes coming through the open window. She +went to the closet, found her slippers, put them on, and with a backward +glance at the unconscious Maizie, left the room. + +The hall lay quiet, the tiny night lamp flickering in its place on the +small table set near her mother's room--that mother, ready at the first +sound to spring to any need of her children. + +Downstairs Suzanna went swiftly, and there in the dining-room, as she +had thought, she found her father. He was sitting at the long table, +above which hung the new lamp with its pink shade and long brass chain. +His head was bent over a big book, and Suzanna knew that he was +studying. She paused half-way to him. In her white night gown, her hair +flowing over her shoulders, she looked like a small visitor from another +higher plane. At last her father, impelled, turned and saw her. At once +he opened wide his arms, and she went into them. + +She lay, her cheek pressed against his, for a long time. All the +thoughts that had raced through her upstairs in the sleepless hours +returned to her, but she had to struggle to find language in which to +tell them. + +"Daddy," she began, "maybe The Machine can't work except where it was +born." + +"Tell me all that's in your heart, little girl," he said. + +"Well, we've all thought of The Machine, and loved it and believed in it +ever since I was the tiniest girl, and you've talked to us of what it +was to mean." + +"All true, my child, all true." + +"And The Machine stood there and listened, daddy." She released herself +from his clasp and stood very straight. Her dark eyes seeing pictures, +were brilliantly wide. Her breath came quickly from between her parted +lips: "And so it grew and grew, and soon out of its soul it sent colors. +And it loved the man who made it, and it loved his little children, and +made them all want to be good and do something for others. + +"And then one day, they took it away from its home and into a big mill, +and men crowded around it and looked at it, but they didn't love it, and +they didn't believe in it. And it felt shy and hurt and the color stayed +in its soul and wouldn't come forth. + +"And the man who had made it felt sad and he cried, and he took his +machine home. And then one day, years and years after when the man's +little girl, Suzanna, was a woman and she was out in the world trying to +do good, as her father had taught her, trying to make other people +happy, the colors crept out from The Machine again, all gold and purple +and rose and green, this time for everybody." + +She finished, and with a great cry her father folded her to him. The +tears came streaming to his eyes, and quite frankly now he wept. She +felt the hot tears upon her face, they burned her, but she knew she had +helped him and she was satisfied. + +They sat on in a wonderful silence. A distant clock struck one. They +heard the sound of quickly descending feet, and turning, Suzanna saw her +mother standing in the doorway. + +"I heard voices," said Mrs. Procter. + +"Come here," her husband said. She saw his face transfigured, and she +went to him and fell on her knees beside him. + +"Courage--belief?" she questioned. + +"Yes, they have returned," he said. + +Suzanna spoke again: "Daddy," she said, in her eager voice, "I forgot to +tell you of a nice happening. You know when we were at the seashore with +Mr. Bartlett, John, the waiter at the hotel, said something one day +about a son of his who wanted to write beautiful music, and Mr. Bartlett +said right before me: 'John, let me help that boy of yours. This little +girl's father has shown me the beauty of doing good for others.'" + +The inventor did not speak. He sat, his arms about his wife and child, +and in his eyes the radiance of new inspiration, new purpose. + +At last his wife spoke. "Richard, could success as you planned it, have +meant more, and wouldn't it have brushed some of the butterfly dust +away?" + +He took the thought, pondered it, and his wife went on. "There's the +joy of striving, of waking fresh every day to hope. Can attainment, +after all, give any greater joy?" + +"Perhaps not," he murmured. + +"So, dear," she went on, "think of what has been done, not of what you +wished for. Think what you've done for our children. You took them with +you into your land of dreams, letting them share with you as far as you +might, that thrill which comes to the creator." + +"And, daddy," finished Suzanna, "if The Machine had gone away to stay, +we couldn't have any more beautiful Saturday afternoons in the attic +with you." + +They remained then all very still. Peter cried out a little in his +sleep. His mother, alert at once, listened, then relaxed when the cry +did not come again, and then Suzanna asked, "Are you still very, very +sad, daddy?" + +And he answered, "The sadness has gone, Suzanna. Come another Saturday, +I shall take up the work again--and some day--" + +"Some day all the world will say my father is a great man," ended +Suzanna, an unfaltering faith written upon her face. + +And so her love, like an essence, flowed out and healed his spirit. + + + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes: + +Page 11, 'rythmic' changed to "rhythmic" (rhythmic noises) + +Page 120, "base ball" changed to "baseball". (to mend a baseball) + +Page 125, "Reyonlds'" changed to "Reynolds'". (Reynolds' gate.) + +Page 249, hyphen added to "every-day" to match rest of text.(the real +every-day life) + +Page 290, "white clad" changed to "white-clad" to match usage. (The +white-clad nurse) + +Page 347, "cobble stones" changed to "cobble-stones" to fit rest of +text. (out on the cobble-stones) + +Page 363, "wistaria" changed to "wisteria" (wistera gown) + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Suzanna Stirs the Fire, by Emily Calvin Blake + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUZANNA STIRS THE FIRE *** + +***** This file should be named 18499.txt or 18499.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/4/9/18499/ + +Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Brian Janes, Emmy and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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