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Updated: June 28, 2025
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.
"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.
"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.
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. "We thought you might like a dog," began Suzanna.
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?
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?"
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.
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.
"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.
"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."
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