Part 40 (2/2)

”I do just that, every word, Dear Heart. Why, the night I put you to bed and you called me 'mother' I shall never forget, never. And then the truths you spoke to Reynolds!”

”He's happy now, isn't he?” asked Mrs. Procter.

Mrs. Reynolds paused impressively before answering: ”Do you know,” she said at length, ”he forgets often to remember that the children are not his very own. The little Margaret there creeps into his lap nights, calls him daddy, and melts the heart of him. And the boy with his quaintness, follows him about the house on Sat.u.r.days, and Reynolds says often enough: 'He'll be a great man, this chap, Peggy. He says some of the things I thought when I was his age.' He's taken to calling me Peggy since the children came to make a distinction, the little girl bearing my name, you see.”

Mrs. Procter nodded. Margaret stirred uneasily on her chair. ”Mother,”

she asked, ”I want to hold the p.u.s.s.y, too. I'll keep my ap.r.o.n clean.”

”And that you shall, my Sweet,” said Mrs. Reynolds, her face flus.h.i.+ng at the t.i.tle as though it would never grow old to her; ”come then, go to the cat, my pretty la.s.s.”

Suzanna removed her cake from the oven. It was a beautiful object, and Suzanna regarded it with pride. She took off her ap.r.o.n, looked around the kitchen and then turning to her mother, put her request.

”Mother,” she said, ”I'd like to go to the big house and see the Eagle Man and Miss Ma.s.sey.”

”Sat.u.r.day morning?” asked Mrs. Procter, dubiously. ”Well, I suppose that it won't really matter.”

”I'm going to see Daphne,” Maizie announced.

”Remember to be at home by noon,” said Mrs. Procter. ”Father may be here for luncheon.”

”I'll remember, mother,” said Suzanna. She kissed her mother, said good-bye to Mrs. Reynolds and started happily away. She reached the house at the top of the hill in a short time. The same uniformed man as of old gave her immediate admittance.

”Mr. Ma.s.sey is in the library,” he said, evincing no surprise at Suzanna's unconventional appearance.

In the doorway of the library Suzanna hesitated a moment, for the sound of voices came to her. Then she went forward, and there, standing near the white marble mantelpiece was the Eagle Man, near him Suzanna's father.

”Daddy,” Suzanna cried, and ran to him.

Mr. Procter turned. His face, slightly older than when he was an employee of Job Doane of the hardware shop, was still that of the idealist, the lover of men. Yet there was a something added. Perhaps his well-fitting clothes gave him the new air of efficiency, of directness.

”I didn't know you'd be here with the Eagle Man, daddy,” Suzanna cried.

Her father smiled at her. The Eagle Man spoke. ”Your father is my right-hand man, remember, little girl,” he answered. He brought out the sentence clearly with no strain of embarra.s.sment.

”Right-hand man,” Suzanna repeated thoughtfully. ”I don't quite know what that means.”

”Well, it means that your father looks after my interests in a very capable way,” old John Ma.s.sey returned. ”Don't you remember how the new homes went up under his direction for my employees?”

”Yes, I remember,” said Suzanna, ”those beautiful new, brick houses, and the clean yards for the babies to play in.”

”And now your father is in my mill as my superintendent, looking after the men.” He paused. ”How would you describe your way with them, Mr.

Procter?”

”Looking after them humanly, perhaps,” put in Mr. Procter simply.

”All right, we'll let it go just that way. In any event if you're making them happier by s.h.i.+fting them about a bit, trying to fit them by natural adaptability to their jobs and so increasing efficiency, I am satisfied with any way you put it.”

Mr. Procter stood a little ill at ease. It was so very rare for old John Ma.s.sey to so graciously express himself, almost unheard of.

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