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Updated: June 24, 2025
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
"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.
"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.
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