Part 8 (1/2)

”O, I understand. It is--can you understand the word, Suzanna--'exhilarating' sometimes.”

”I feel what the word means, mother--like catching in your breath when you touch cold water.”

”Exactly. Now please get the slippers.”

Suzanna ran upstairs. Returning, slippers in hand, she found the other children had left.

”Has Maizie got the baby?” Suzanna asked anxiously.

Her mother smiled. ”Yes, I carried him out to the yard. He's kicking about, happy on his blanket.”

Suzanna, relieved, handed the slippers to her mother.

”And I brought my old black hair ribbon. That will do for the s.h.i.+rring, won't it, mother?”

”Nicely.”

Together they evolved, worked, tried on, completed.

”It's more fun doing this than going to Bryson's and buying a new pair, isn't it, mother?”

”Well, I believe it is, daughter.”

”I feel so warm here--” Suzanna touched her heart--”because we're doing something harder than just going out to the store and buying what we'd like.”

Mrs. Procter gazed at her handiwork reflectively. ”Well, it does make you feel that you've accomplished a great deal when you've created something out of nothing.”

Mrs. Procter rose then, touched the new dress lovingly, and said: ”So, we can put it away now, Suzanna; it's quite finished. The petticoat needs just a b.u.t.ton and b.u.t.tonhole.”

Suzanna stood quite still. At last she looked up into her mother's face and put her question: ”When will you begin to cut the goods out from under the lace, mother?”

Mrs. Procter, her thoughts now supperward, spoke abstractedly: ”Oh, we'll not do that.”

There was a silence, while the room suddenly whirled for Suzanna.

Recovering from the dizziness, with eyes large and black and her face very pale, Suzanna gazed unbelievingly at her mother. For a moment she was quite unable to speak. Then in a tiny voice which she endeavored to keep steady, she asked: ”Not even from under the wide row round the bottom, mother?”

”No, Suzanna,” Mrs. Procter answered, quite unconscious of the storm in the child's breast. She moved towards the door.

”But, mother, listen, please.” Suzanna's hands were locked till they showed white at the knuckles. ”If you don't cut the goods away the green petticoat won't gleam through the lace! You see, it's a rose dress and a rose has s.h.i.+ning green leaves, just showing.”

The plea was ardent, but Mrs. Procter was firm. Indeed she did not glance at Suzanna. The reaction from her days of hard and continuous work was setting in. She merely said: ”Suzanna, we must make that dress last a long time. I made it so that it can be lengthened five inches. We can't weaken it by cutting the goods away from under the lace. Now, dear, go and see that the children aren't in mischief. I must start supper.”

CHAPTER V

SUZANNA COMES TO A DECISION

The children were playing contentedly in the road, Suzanna a.s.sured herself. And finding them so, she wandered disconsolately back to the front porch, where seated in a little rocking chair she stared straight before her. She felt as one thrown suddenly from a great height. One moment she had been thrillingly happy, the next, the bitter fruit of disappointment touched her lips. So events occur lightningly quick in this world. The day itself was as beautiful as it had been an hour before, yet its sun had ceased to s.h.i.+ne for little Suzanna, since the crowning touch of The Dress, the poetic completeness of it, was denied her.