Part 37 (1/2)

She felt strongly and joyously his need of her. ”I will come,” she said.

They were on the way upstairs, treading carefully that the lightest sleeper, Suzanna, might not be awakened, when the hurried peal came at the front door. They stopped. ”Go on to the attic,” said Mrs. Procter; ”it's perhaps Mrs. Reynolds come to borrow something,” so Mr. Procter went on. Mrs. Procter ran lightly down.

She opened the front door to David. Near him stood Graham and behind, his tail wagging furiously, Peter's dog, Jerry. David began at once.

”Mr. Bartlett's mother was taken ill suddenly. Mr. Bartlett is with her.

She is begging to see the little Suzanna.”

”Come in,” said Mrs. Procter, flinging the door wide. And as they entered and stood all three in the hall, the dog feeling himself now in his new character as welcome as his human companions, she finished: ”Suzanna's asleep.”

”My father wished greatly you would allow Suzanna to go to my grandmother, though it is late,” put in Graham.

”Could she be awakened?” asked David. And by the expression in his eyes Mrs. Procter understood that this wish of Drusilla's should not be denied.

The dog, feeling entreaty in the air, sat down and raised his voice. It was a penetrative voice, too, filling the house with its echoes, echoes that scarcely died away before a soft call came:

”Mother--mother--”

Mrs. Procter smiled at David. ”There, Suzanna is awake. Jerry accomplished what he wished. I'll go upstairs and dress her quickly.”

So it was that the little girl flushed, starry-eyed, appeared with her mother a little later. Her dramatic senses were alert. ”Isn't it lovely and important,” she began at once to David, ”that Drusilla wants to see me when it's away into the night?”

”Very important,” said David, but he did not smile. ”Are you quite ready now?”

”Yes,” said Suzanna and slipped her hand within Graham's. ”Are you going too, Graham?”

”Yes. David's driving the light cart.”

The night was cool, but there were big rugs in the cart. David bundled Suzanna up till only her vivid face looked out. As they went swiftly she gazed up at the stars and the soft dark sky. She loved the night fragrances, and the rustle of the dead leaves as lazy little winds stirred them.

They came very soon to Drusilla's home. David alighted, unwound Suzanna, lifted her down to the ground very carefully, Graham following slowly.

David tied his horse, gave the animal a comradely pat, bade the dog remain in the cart, and then the three went on to the house. The door opened immediately for them, a light streaming out from within. The sweet-faced maid, Letty, who had been crying, ushered them in.

”I'll wait downstairs,” said David.

Letty nodded, and with the children went upstairs.

They stopped when they reached the open doorway of Drusilla's bedroom.

And seated in a big velvet chair, as usual drawn near the window, though the shade was pulled straight down, pillows heaped all about her, sat Drusilla. Her face seemed small, oh, pitiably small, with bright eyes quite too large for their place. But someway Suzanna, looking in, knew that Drusilla was happy.

Perhaps because, kneeling beside her, his head buried in her lap, was her son.

Her thin fingers strayed through his hair, and her tremulous voice murmured to him just as it had when as a very small, very penitent boy he had knelt in the same way, sure of her understanding, very, very sure of her love.

The picture remained for the moment, then the man kneeling, stirred and rose to his feet. He stood looking down at his mother, till impelled by a sound in the doorway he turned and saw the children.

They came forward then into the softly lighted room.

”Drusilla!” Suzanna cried, going straight to the frail figure seated in the velvet chair. ”You wanted to see me, didn't you?”