Part 22 (2/2)

”Yes,” went on Drusilla, ”we put our dough to rise at home, made it into little loaves, p.r.i.c.ked our initial--or some other distinguis.h.i.+ng mark--on top when it lay in its pans, and then a big red-faced man with a wagon drawn by a donkey called for our bread. Once my grandmother let me ride with him, and I stayed all afternoon in his ovenry, though the fire from the big ovens made it uncomfortably hot. I watched him and his helpers put the pans of bread on big shovels and heave them into yawning caves of flames. When they were finished, another red-faced man delivered them baked brown, and smoking, to the customers. We paid a penny a loaf for having our bread baked.”

”Oh, and that saved you buying so much coal, didn't it?” asked Maizie.

”I wish we had an ovenry in Anchorville.”

”Yes,” said Drusilla, ”I think, myself, some of these old-fas.h.i.+oned ideas were economical.”

”There isn't a p.a.w.n shop anywhere near, is there?” asked Suzanna. She was thinking about the shoes and what a blessing it would be to dispose of them.

”I don't believe so,” Drusilla answered. ”Anyway, there couldn't be another like that wonderful shop of my youth.”

There ensued a silence. Suddenly leaning forward, Suzanna began very earnestly:

”Drusilla, I have a very important question to ask you. Which would you rather do, be honest or suffer?”

”Be honest or suffer?” repeated Drusilla. ”I don't quite understand.”

”Well, you see, it's this way,” said Suzanna. ”Now, Maizie, I see you're listening with your eyes wide open, and I want to tell you now that you mustn't say anything to father of what I'm going to tell Drusilla.”

Having delivered this ultimatum, she went on and told of the Indian Drill and of the costumes, and then of her father's recent purchase of the shoes. ”I can't tell daddy that the shoes would be different from everybody's else,” she said, ”because it will hurt his feelings. But, oh, Drusilla! My heart jumps into my throat when I think of wearing those shoes so different from everyone else's.”

”The shoes cost forty-eight cents,” elaborated Maizie, ”and so you can see Suzanna has to wear them whether she likes them or not.”

”Yes,” said Suzanna, ”forty-eight cents is very near to half a dollar and we can't afford to lose that. I thought, Drusilla, that you could give me some advice. That's all I want, just that you tell me which is best, to be honest or to suffer. You told me once about the little silver chain and that has helped me a lot.”

Drusilla looked puzzled. ”The silver chain?” she asked.

”Yes, don't you remember that day you were queen and told me about the chain?” asked Suzanna.

In a second a remarkable change came over the old lady. She rose to her feet. Then she turned to Suzanna, her shoulders straight and her head held high.

”My crown,” she demanded. ”Is that to be lifted from me in these the full years of my queenhood?”

”I've never seen you with a crown on,” said Suzanna.

”Enough, serf!” cried the queen haughtily. ”Procure me my crown.”

Suzanna looked about her. An old dried-up Christmas wreath hanging on a rafter attracted her attention. Quickly she procured it and held it out to Drusilla. ”Here is your crown, Queen,” she said. And then, her voice changing, she said: ”You'd better let me put it on, Drusilla, it's liable to crumble if you're not careful. Lower your head, please.”

The old lady did so and Suzanna placed the crown upon the silver hair.

”Now,” said the old lady, ”if you have sought me to gain advice, repeat your question, that I may answer in a manner worthy my exalted station.”

”Well,” said Suzanna for the third time, ”I want to know whether it's best to be honest or to suffer?”

”What shall be your course if you are honest?” asked the queen.

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