"That's what Drusilla told me; we all belong. And you can't do something mean without breaking the chain that binds you to somebody else." "Ah, my dear," said the Eagle Man, letting his hand fall upon her bright hair, "you belong to a family of impossible visionaries." He looked over at Suzanna's father, and his face suddenly grew crimson. "Were you in earnest, Procter," he cried, "when you told me in Doane's hardware store that your machine meant a big opportunity to me--were you jesting?" "Jesting! Why, I've pointed out your opportunity, plainly." "Shown me how I can throw a fortune away!" After a moment Mr. Procter replied: "We speak in different languages. By opportunity you can see only a chance to make more money." "Any other sane person makes the same guess," Mr. Massey replied. The inventor's face grew sad. He had dreamed of John Massey's response, a dream built on sand, as perhaps he should have known. But hope eternal sprang in his heart, and the belief that every man wished the best for his brother. The silence continued. To break it Mr. Massey turned to David. "Your friend seems to think he has but to put before me the need for charity and I shall thank him effusively." David spoke slowly: "My friend should have known better. He forgot, I suppose, your slums where you house your mill hands." "What do you mean by that?" Mr. Massey began, when an exclamation from Suzanna, who was standing at the window, turned his attention there. "See, there's a big fire over behind the big field," she cried excitedly. "Oh, look at the flames! The poor, poor people!" David sprang to the window. "It's over in the huddled district," he cried. A fierce light sprang to his eyes. "Where most of your men live with their families, John Massey. I wonder how many will escape." CHAPTER XIX SUZANNA PUTS A REQUEST In that devastating fire which swept out of existence the entire tenement district of Anchorville two were lost, never to be heard of again, parents of a twain of children, a boy of four and a girl of three. Mrs. Procter, finding the mites wandering away from the smoking ruins, had at once taken them home with her, fed them, found clothes for them, and rocked the tired little girl to sleep. "Are we going to keep them forever, mother?" Maizie asked one afternoon about two weeks after the fire. No one had put in a claim for the children; they were homeless, friendless. What was to be done with them? Mrs. Procter had turned with loathing from the thought of the orphanage. She stood at Maizie's question in deep perplexity. She could not turn the children away or put them in an institution--and yet, how could she care for them? There was the very definite problem of extra clothes and food to be found out of an income already stretched to its utmost. "They haven't a home any more, have they, mother?" Suzanna asked, the while her earnest eyes searched her mother's face. "So we should do unto others as we'd be done by, shouldn't we?"