Part 11 (1/2)

Mrs. Reynolds put her head inside the door. She wore a crisp blue and white dress, her black hair was drawn smoothly back from her brow. Her eyes dwelt lovingly on the little girl.

”Quite awake, Suzanna?” she asked.

Suzanna nodded. She couldn't trust herself to speak.

”Well, then,” said Mrs. Reynolds, ”I'm going to give thee a treat.” She went away quite unconscious that she had fallen into her original quaint method of speech.

Presently she returned, carrying a tray covered with a white and red napkin.

Suzanna sat up, received the tray in her lap and waited unexcitedly while Mrs. Reynolds removed the enshrouding napkin.

There lay an orange cut up and sugared; a poached egg on a slice of perfectly browned toast, and a gla.s.s of rich milk.

”For my little girl,” said Mrs. Reynolds in her contralto voice. ”Now eat thee, my dearie, and take your time. I'll leave now.”

Alone once more, Suzanna surveyed the tray. She lifted a spoon with the tiniest piece of orange on its tip, and found strangely that when she attempted to swallow the fruit her throat quite closed up.

Suddenly there came a memory of Drusilla. Drusilla had told of the little silver chain, binding all to one another. Surely the chain binding Suzanna to her mother was doubly thick, yet she had broken it!

She put the tray to one side and sprang from the bed. Her desire, recently so keen, so all absorbing, seemed little indeed beside the yearning now to be back across the way once again her Mother's Child.

Mrs. Reynolds, returning, found her little guest at the window, bare feet on the cold floor; the white gown held tightly at the neck by a small, trembling hand. A glance at the tray on the bed revealed a breakfast practically untasted.

”Why, my lamb,” began Mrs. Reynolds, ”not a bite gone down!”

Suzanna turned, a desperate little face she showed, eyes wide and appealing.

”I just couldn't eat, Mrs. Reynolds.” No thought now of bestowing the beloved t.i.tle.

”And the food brought fine to bed to you.”

”Not even then.”

”Well, come then, dear heart; you must be dressed. I put your clothes away neat and tidy.”

Mrs. Reynolds opened a closet door and brought forth an armful of garments. Suzanna surveyed them as though they had no relation to her.

Mrs. Reynolds went suddenly and picked up the little figure, carried her to a rocking chair and with no word held her close.

”What is it, my little girl?” asked Mrs. Reynolds after a time, softly.

Her little girl! Suzanna winced. But she _was_ Mrs. Reynolds' little girl now. Hadn't she broken all ties with the loved ones across the way?

She tried to find comfort in Mrs. Reynolds' joy. ”I am your little girl, aren't I?” she asked softly, calling valiantly on her sense of justice.

Mrs. Reynolds looked searchingly into Suzanna's face. With no child of her own, she was still a mother-at-heart. She was full of understanding.

”As much, my own la.s.sie,” she answered, ”as any other woman's child can be. You see,” she went on after a pause, ”there's a bond 'tween mother and child that can't ever be broke.”

”But I adopted myself out to you,” said Suzanna, though her heart was beating with hope.

”Yes, you did,” admitted Mrs. Reynolds; ”but you didn't at that break the tie that binds you to your own mother. You could never do that, Suzanna, la.s.sie.”