Mrs. Procter saw immediately possibilities in the idea. Years of working and scheming and praying to raise her ever increasing family on the inadequate and varying income of her inventor husband had ultimated in keen sensibilities for opportunities. "Why, I think I can do that," she said. "I'll make a sort of shirred bag into which your toes will fit and so lengthen the slipper and cover the stitching with a bow. I hope I can find a needle strong enough to go through the leather." Her face was bright, her voice clear. She was all at once quite different from the weary, dragged mother of the past few days, determined against all odds to finish the dress so the cleaning might be started the following week. Suzanna gazed delightedly. With the fine intuition of an imaginative child she understood the reason for the metamorphosis. It was the quickening of the senses that rallied themselves to meet and solve a problem that brought a high glow; stimulated, and uplifted. She herself was no stranger to that glow. She put her arms about her mother's shoulder. "Isn't it nice, mother, to have to think out things?" A little puzzled, Mrs. Procter looked at Suzanna. Then her face cleared. "O, I understand. It is--can you understand the word, Suzanna--'exhilarating' sometimes." "I feel what the word means, mother--like catching in your breath when you touch cold water." "Exactly. Now please get the slippers." Suzanna ran upstairs. Returning, slippers in hand, she found the other children had left. "Has Maizie got the baby?" Suzanna asked anxiously. Her mother smiled. "Yes, I carried him out to the yard. He's kicking about, happy on his blanket." Suzanna, relieved, handed the slippers to her mother. "And I brought my old black hair ribbon. That will do for the shirring, won't it, mother?" "Nicely." Together they evolved, worked, tried on, completed. "It's more fun doing this than going to Bryson's and buying a new pair, isn't it, mother?" "Well, I believe it is, daughter." "I feel so warm here--" Suzanna touched her heart--"because we're doing something harder than just going out to the store and buying what we'd like." Mrs. Procter gazed at her handiwork reflectively. "Well, it does make you feel that you've accomplished a great deal when you've created something out of nothing." Mrs. Procter rose then, touched the new dress lovingly, and said: "So, we can put it away now, Suzanna; it's quite finished. The petticoat needs just a button and buttonhole." Suzanna stood quite still. At last she looked up into her mother's face and put her question: "When will you begin to cut the goods out from under the lace, mother?" Mrs. Procter, her thoughts now supperward, spoke abstractedly: "Oh, we'll not do that."