"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 nobody 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 passed 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.