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Updated: June 22, 2025
"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.
"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.
And, honest, I'd done the same if she'd been wall-eyed and toggle-jointed, just for the sake of blockin' off his little game. It wa'n't until a couple of days later, when she shoots over a casual flashlight look as I'm strollin' past, that I takes any partic'lar notice of what a Daisy Maizie she is. There's more or less class to her lines, all right, not to mention a pair of rollin' brown eyes.
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.
"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.
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.
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 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.
The children stood for a moment not knowing just what to do. 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.
"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.
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