Part 12 (2/2)

The children were both ready and waiting anxiously at the front window long before the hour. Maizie was the first to make her announcement.

”Miss Ma.s.sey's coming down the path,” she cried.

They all crowded to the window. Miss Ma.s.sey, looking up, waved her hand gaily, and the children delightedly waved back.

”Oh, Miss Ma.s.sey, we're all ready for you,” Maizie exclaimed at once as Miss Ma.s.sey entered.

”Lovely,” Miss Ma.s.sey returned. Glancing casually at her, she appeared young, yet looking closely it might be seen that her first youth was over. She was perhaps in her middle thirties. Her hair beneath the simple blue chip hat, had gray strands. There was a hesitating quality about her, as though she had never done so daring a thing as reach a decision; a wavering, indefinite figure, with a wistfulness, a soft appeal, quite charming. That she had never come in contact with realities showed in the wide innocence of the childlike eyes; the sometime trembling of the lips as when a thought as now engendered by the Procter home and its humbleness, its lack of many real comforts, forced its way into the untouched depths of her mind.

She was the only child of old John Ma.s.sey. He was a large figure in the small town, and one not cordially admired. He was masterful, choleric, some claimed, unjust. Owner of the steel mill which stood just outside of the town limits, the employer of hundreds of men, he had failed to gain the esteem of one human being. Fear, for many depended upon him for their livelihood, was the emotion he most inspired.

Fairfax Ma.s.sey, his daughter, inspired a deep sympathy, perhaps because her leading characteristic was a pitiable holding to her ideals. She painted her father as a good and loving man hiding his real tenderness beneath gruff mannerisms. When he denied her friends.h.i.+p with the man she secretly loved, she put upon that denial a high value. He could not bear to run the chance of losing her, his one close possession. To that chivalrous thought of her father, she sacrificed her friend and went her way, undramatically, uncomplainingly.

She spoke in a low sweet voice. ”The children will have a happy time, I'm sure, Mrs. Procter,” she said, as she left, Suzanna and Maizie clinging to her.

Other little girls were waiting in the phaeton. They greeted Suzanna and Maizie and moved to make room for them. Miss Ma.s.sey took her place near the driver, from which vantage spot she could watch her little guests, and with a great flourish off they started.

”Are you quite comfortable, Suzanna?” Miss Ma.s.sey asked once.

Suzanna looked up quickly, a puzzled line between her eyes. After brief hesitation she answered, merely in good manners, ”Yes, thank you.”

The phaeton stopped several times till eight little girls filled the vehicle to overflowing. Then with no more pauses, they were off to the big house on the hill.

The day was wonderful. A soft little breeze caressed the children and the sky overhead was like an angel's breast, thought Suzanna. But she did not say this, even to excited Maizie; she was gathering impressions and burnis.h.i.+ng them with her vivid imagination. Once her gaze fell on Miss Ma.s.sey's long, slender, tired-looking hands. Her mother's hands, Suzanna recalled, were tired-looking, too, but in a different way. Her mother's, she decided after a time, were just plain tired-looking, while Miss Ma.s.sey's were a sorry tired, as though they missed something. They were never quiet, always doing futile little things. And yet, Miss Ma.s.sey lived in a wonderful house and wore pretty dresses and hats with gorgeous, real-looking flowers. Suzanna pondered unanswerable questions.

The driver, with the air of a brave knight, swept round the last corner.

He commanded his horses to stand still, when even the smallest girl knew he would have to urge and coax for a full minute before the fat, complacent animals would start again. But Suzanna liked his play. It was in keeping with this wondrous event. She even forgave the driver his wrinkled red neck, from which as she sat behind him, she had earlier deliberately turned away her eyes.

The children sprang to the ground and stood looking up at the big pile of stone, this great show house of the town. Miss Ma.s.sey swung back an iron gate and led the way first through an arbor, sun-shaded and fragrant; then out again into a garden glowing with crimson flowers.

”The garden I love best,” she said. This from simple, dear Miss Ma.s.sey into whose whole life no great color had fallen, or if there was once a promise that life should blossom for her into a full, joyous thing, the promise had fallen very short of fulfillment.

And just then the disaster befell Suzanna. There in the wonderful red garden, a dire sound fell upon her ears and her eyes following the direction of the sound were just in time to see one white toe burst through the confines of the black ribbon lengthening her slipper.

She stood a moment, gazing down. Then in an agony lest the others should discover her plight, she tried to draw the toe back within the slipper, but with no success. As Miss Ma.s.sey and the little girls walked on, Suzanna stopped and pulled the ribbon over the protruding toe, tucking in the ravelled edges. Mercifully, the ribbon stayed in place since Suzanna cramped her toe back that it might not force its way through again. Hastily hopping along, she entered the ma.s.sive front doors held wide by a solemn man with bra.s.s b.u.t.tons. He pointed down the wide hall.

”To the right,” he said.

Would the ribbon hold! was Suzanna's only thought as she later found herself in a room called the library, with books and soft-toned pictures; with a great fireplace banked now with greens, from above which looked down the lovely face of a lady, Miss Ma.s.sey's mother whom the daughter scarce remembered.

If only she had worn black stockings instead of her one beloved pair of white, went on in thought, unhappy, humiliated Suzanna. If only--but in conjecture Suzanna was lost. The cramped toe exerting its right, thrust itself through again. One fleeting, horrified glance told the child that two toes now peeped out on a world that would be scandalized should it peep back.

No time now for any furtive maneuver an active little mind might suggest to remedy the situation, for Miss Ma.s.sey at the end of the room turned her head and looked toward Suzanna's place. In a second her eyes might fall on the white toes! Quickly Suzanna sank into a large velvet armchair and drew her foot beneath her. Just in time, for Miss Ma.s.sey said: ”Shall we play the game of 'Answers?' You know the game, Suzanna, don't you?”

Suzanna moistened her lips: ”I know it, Miss Ma.s.sey, but I don't care to play games, thank you.” How could she move, since doing so would necessitate putting confidence in Miss Ma.s.sey? Telling her that once discarded slippers too small even for Maizie had been made to do duty by cutting the toes and lengthening with black ribbon, ribbon which in a miserable moment failed in its work? But how eventually to extricate herself from the miserable predicament? She could not sit forever on her foot!

<script>