Part 18 (2/2)

So she began, and seemed never to fall short of material. Her mother listened, dreamily contented, till another hour pa.s.sed and the baby awoke. He was a smiling, happy baby and crowed with delight when his mother allowed him a cracker and a cup of milk.

”Shall we play games?” asked Suzanna next, when just at the moment the sound of wheels was heard and shortly there came into sight a low carriage drawn by the two prosperous, fat brown horses, and seated in the carriage was Suzanna's Eagle Man.

Suzanna darted out into the road. As the carriage did not stop she called out: ”Mr. Eagle Man! Oh, Mr. Eagle Man!”

The coachman involuntarily pulled in his horses. He didn't know what peremptory signal would be given him to move on, or what inquiry as to his sanity would scorchingly be made, but Suzanna's eager voice impelled him to stop. Mr. Ma.s.sey leaned over the side of the carriage.

”I never dreamed you'd ride by our picnic,” said Suzanna, all excited.

”We've got my mother here and our baby.”

”Well, well,” said the Eagle Man. ”And how are you, little girl?”

”I'm awfully well,” returned Suzanna. ”But today was cleaning day at home and we all started out wrong; the baby kept mother awake last night and Maizie hated her oatmeal with the syrup in the middle and Peter cried hard because he couldn't see his ears, and never in all his life can see his ears.”

She paused tragically. ”Never in all his life--and neither can you, or anybody.”

”What a terrible loss, for sure,” said the Eagle Man, after a look darted at his coachman's imperturbable back. ”And what did _you_ cry about?”

She stared at him in horror. ”I never cry,” she said. ”I mean I never let the tears fall down my face. I cry in my heart sometimes, but never out loud, on top. But I felt funny this morning because I wished we didn't have to wash on Monday, and iron on Tuesday, and clean on Wednesday, and bake on Thursday, and mend on Friday, and clean again on Sat.u.r.day.”

”Well, ask your mother to wash on _Sat.u.r.day_,” the Eagle Man suggested easily.

”Oh, I don't think mother would,” Suzanna cried, in a little horror herself at that idea. ”She's awful set about was.h.i.+ng on Monday. Still I'll ask her if you say so, Eagle Man, because Sat.u.r.day is kind of a wet day anyhow. You see Sat.u.r.day is just the shape of a big, immense, round ocean. Shall I bring my mother over here to look at you?” suddenly recalling the conventions.

”I don't think I'm fit to look at this morning,” the Eagle Man muttered.

”Oh, I think you are,” said Suzanna, earnestly. ”I like your s.h.i.+ny shoes and your very high collar. I know mother would like you, too.”

The Eagle Man looked down at his s.h.i.+ny shoes, hesitated and was lost. He opened the carriage door, seized his cane and struggled to the ground.

”Now, let's see your wonderful family,” he said to Suzanna, as he hobbled forward toward the little group under the trees.

Suzanna looked up at him. ”Oh, you're the lame and the halt, too! We took Mabel along on our picnic because her eyes don't match, you know.

They don't seem to work together. We _are_ obeying the Bible today, aren't we?”

Old John Ma.s.sey did not answer, since he was intent upon covering the ground with as little wear and tear on his nerves as possible, and so in silence they walked till they reached Mrs. Procter, still leaning against the tree, but now holding the baby in her arms.

Maizie, Mabel, and Peter all looked with vivid interest at the newcomer.

”Mother,” began Suzanna, ”this is the gentleman I told you about. He's John Ma.s.sey; you've seen him on Main Street. _He loves to be comfortable._ And he doesn't work during the day, either, but he sits in a chair and shouts at a little man, and the little man hops mighty quick, I can tell you.”

Mrs. Procter's face went crimson. ”How do you do?” she said. She did not meet his keen eyes.

”How do you do, madam,” the Eagle Man responded. ”Out for an airing with your family?”

”Yes,” said Mrs. Procter. ”The children were all in a bad humor this morning and so we thought we'd have a picnic.”

”Oh, no, mother,” said Maizie earnestly, ”we weren't in a bad humor. We just didn't like things at home.”

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