"Mother, if we're going on a real picnic we ought to take the lame and the halt with us. And I know a little girl who has cross eyes, and she's a weeny bit pigeon-toed. She's the lame and the halt, isn't she? Because when she looks at me I never think she is looking at me. I tried to teach her one day how to look straight but it wouldn't do. Could I invite her, do you think?" "Where does she live?" "Oh, just the other side of the fork road," Suzanna replied, pointing out the direction. "If you'll go on I'll run and get Mabel and then catch up with you. She's that new little girl. Her folks haven't lived here long." "Very well." In a short-time Suzanna returned, holding tight to little Mabel's hand. "I told her mother we had enough to eat with us and that we'd take good care of her. So here she is," said Suzanna. Little Mabel looked up obliquely at Mrs. Procter. "Her hair doesn't grow thick around her face," said Suzanna a little apologetically; "and I told her mother to rub Gray's ointment into it, like you did for the dog that came off in spots. The one Peter found, you remember." "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 passed 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 God 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 grass 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.