Suzanna Stirs the Fire Part 36

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 pa.s.sed 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 cus.h.i.+on 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 Ma.s.sey 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 companions.h.i.+p 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."