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Updated: July 28, 2025
"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.
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."
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.
"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.
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."
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.
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.
"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.
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?
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.
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