"It didn't do any good--" began Maizie.

Mrs. Procter plunged in to prevent further discussion about the unfortunate dog. "Do you think you can walk quite a distance, Mabel?"

she asked.

Mabel put her finger in her mouth.

"Don't talk to her right away, mother," begged Suzanna. "She's a little bit shy."

So they went on, little Mabel contributing no word to the talk. They pa.s.sed fields full of yellow daisies and they walked by one group of gentle, cud-chewing cows. "But I hope there'll be no cows in your woods, Suzanna," said Mrs. Procter.

And her wish was granted. Indeed all, sky, flowers, breeze, absence of dust and curious animals, helped to make this a day of days. When they reached Suzanna's little patch of woods with many spreading oak trees that invited rest beneath their sheltering branches Mrs. Procter exclaimed in delight.

"Isn't it lovely, mother?" cried Suzanna. "See, there's a tiny brook, too. I've been here often when I wanted to think of poetry."

"And I've never had time," her mother murmured.

"Now you just sit right down here with your back against this tree,"

Suzanna went on with a delicious air of protection, "and I'll take care of the baby. Close your eyes, dear mother-love, and forget that G.o.d sent you a big family and that you've got to do your best by us all like you told Mrs. Reynolds last week."

Mrs. Procter's eyes were suddenly overflowing. Children! How rare and fine a gift they were. How many truths they could teach! She sank down upon the gra.s.s and Suzanna put the baby down beside her, first spreading out a thick shawl.

Mrs. Procter caught the small loving hand within her own: "I don't know, Suzanna; sometimes I wonder if I'll be able to do all I'd like to do for you all," she said in a low voice.

"Why, mother, _you love us_!" Suzanna exclaimed. "Don't you remember last Sunday when I put on my leghorn hat with the bunch of daisies over my left eye--"

"I remember," said Mrs. Procter, somewhat at a loss as to the connection between thought and thought.

"Well, when I said, 'good-bye, mother, I'm going to Sunday School,' you looked at me and _smiled_ from your soul! And I forgot that there was Maizie and Peter and the baby, and I didn't even remember father, and I said to myself: '_That's my very own mother!_' Just as though we just belonged to one another with n.o.body else in the whole world."

"Kiss me, Suzanna darling," said Mrs. Procter, after a long moment.

Suzanna stooped and kissed her mother very tenderly.

"Now run away and play," said Mrs. Procter, leaning against the supporting tree and closing her eyes, blissfully conscious that she could rest undisturbed for at least twenty minutes.

An hour later she opened her eyes and sat up straight. She had fallen asleep, though her position was not a particularly comfortable one, and slept sweetly, soundly. The baby still lay peacefully quiet, his little blanket covering him. And small bees had been working about her. Spread before her, reposing on a red table cloth lay a tempting meal. In the middle of the table cloth, to give an air of festivity, was a bunch of daisies. But most appealing of all to the mother was the sight of the four children, her own three and little Mabel, seated quietly near the table; they had evidently been there some time, waiting patiently till she should open her eyes.

"Oh," cried Maizie, great relief filling her at sight of her mother stirring, "Suzanna made us stay so quiet till you woke up, mother, and we're all awful hungry."

"Yes, I want that fat sandwich," said Peter.

And then they fell to eating with much laughter and gaiety.

"Out in the woods you don't have to pretend you hate to eat, do you, mother?" said Suzanna.

"Nor anywhere else that I know of," said Mrs. Procter, smiling.

"But I don't like to see anyone eat as though he liked to eat," said Suzanna. "May I have two or three grapes, mother?"

She received her grapes. And quiet fell, while each did his best to clear the table. At length when the meal was concluded, and the basket repacked, and the pewter knives and forks carefully wrapped in a napkin, the children begged Suzanna for stories.

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 washing 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 shiny shoes and your very high collar. I know mother would like you, too."

The Eagle Man looked down at his shiny 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."