"I'm glad to help with the christening robe for the Massey grandson, Mrs. Procter," she said; "and I think 'tis a fine idea--sort of community dress made by those who liked Miss Massey." "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 flashing 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. "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 Saturdays, 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 Pussy, too. I'll keep my apron clean." "And that you shall, my Sweet," said Mrs. Reynolds, her face flushing at the title as though it would never grow old to her; "come then, go to the cat, my pretty lass." Suzanna removed her cake from the oven. It was a beautiful object, and Suzanna regarded it with pride. She took off her apron, 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 Massey."