Part 40 (1/2)

”When you're as old as Suzanna, I guess, Maizie,” Mrs. Procter answered.

”What did Mrs. Reynolds say?”

Peter answered before Maizie could speak, thereby gaining a reproving look from her. ”She's coming over to see you, mother. She says she wants to ask you something, anyway.” Peter went to the door, gave a sharp whistle, a sharper direction and returned. ”Jerry's out there. Graham Bartlett's opened up his house, and David's brought my dog back.”

Still Peter's dog, you see. ”Oh, I want to see Jerry, may he come in, mother?” Suzanna asked.

Mrs. Procter nodded. She was now engaged in giving the four-year-old his ten o'clock luncheon of bread and milk. ”But don't let him get into anything, Peter,” she admonished.

Peter promised, with a sigh in his heart for the tenacious prejudices of woman. Jerry at a word entered the kitchen door. He came in slowly, paused and regarded Mrs. Procter searchingly. He was a handsome animal now. His coat was well brushed, his hair long and glossy.

”Well,” said Mrs. Procter, ”you've been taught good manners, Jerry.”

He wagged his tail vigorously; then further to show himself off, he sat down and held out a beguiling paw to Mrs. Procter. Maizie cried out in delight.

”Oh, can't we keep him now, mother? Isn't he cunning?”

Peter turned quickly upon his sister. ”Would that be fair?” he sternly asked. His voice deepened suddenly. ”You wouldn't, any one of you, even look at him when he was poor and dirty and _afraid_. And now after David has loved him and washed him and taught him how to behave, you want to keep him. Come along, Jerry.”

Having thus delivered himself, Peter, with dignity, stalked from out the kitchen. He left an eloquent silence behind him. ”Should we have kept the dog when he was dirty and lonely, mother?” asked Maizie, interestedly.

”Why, I don't think so, Maizie,” Mrs. Procter answered slowly. ”Really, you remember I'd had so much trouble that summer with stray dogs of Peter's that my patience was at an end.”

Maizie was forming another question when she was interrupted by a hearty knock at the door.

”Come in,” Suzanna cried. She was testing the oven as her mother had taught her and she turned a very important, if badly flushed, face to the visitor.

”I'm baking a chocolate cake, Mrs. Reynolds,” she announced.

”Fine, Suzanna,” cried Mrs. Reynolds heartily. She advanced to the middle of the kitchen. Two beautiful children both with large dark eyes and dark curls, exquisitely clean, followed her.

Mrs. Reynolds was a little plumper, and with a softness in her eyes which seemed of recent growth. She lifted the smaller child, the girl, upon a kitchen chair, watched the boy in his pilgrimage after the darting cat, and began:

”I'm glad to help with the christening robe for the Ma.s.sey grandson, Mrs. Procter,” she said; ”and I think 'tis a fine idea--sort of community dress made by those who liked Miss Ma.s.sey.”

”I thought you'd like the idea, Mrs. Reynolds,” said Mrs. Procter.

”Here, take this chair.”

Mrs. Reynolds sat down. ”The fine boy you have there,” she said, indicating the ”baby,” ”he's a bit like Suzanna.”

”We all think he's very much like his eldest sister,” said Mrs. Procter.

She raised the small boy and held him close for a moment. When she put him down, he wandered off toward the popular cat.

”I wanted to ask you, Mrs. Procter,” said Mrs. Reynolds, ”what material you think will make up best for a Sunday dress for Margaret here.” She paused, smiled, and flas.h.i.+ng a mischievous glance at Suzanna, finished, ”It'll have to have lace, says Margaret, and I suppose she'll want the goods cut away from underneath.”

Suzanna, perched near the oven door watching the precious cake, turned to look at Mrs. Reynolds. A flame lit within her eyes; she had never forgotten the anguish engendered by her mother's refusal to cut away the goods from under the pink dress; then the expression softened. Was it not on that occasion, too, she had learned the dearness of that same mother?

”There, now,” said Mrs. Reynolds, ”I shouldn't have teased you, Suzanna.” Her eyes grew tender. ”I'd never have thought seriously of adopting my little children here, dear lamb, if you hadn't first adopted yourself out to me.”

Suzanna's face grew luminous. ”Oh, do you mean that, Mrs. Reynolds?” she cried.