Suzanna Stirs the Fire Part 16

"Well, then," conceded Suzanna, "I'll leave out the terrible threats, Maizie. Now I'm beginning:

"There came to the city of Jerusalem one day a Little Boy with a halo on His head. It was on a Monday that he came. The mothers were all was.h.i.+ng and those that were not was.h.i.+ng, behold, they were hanging clothes out in the yard, and as He walked He carried a message, and His message was this: 'Beware of green tea, handsome to the eye, but destructive to the human system.'"

Maizie's memory was p.r.i.c.ked wide awake. "Why, that's written on mother's tea canister, and you read it aloud a thousand times one day," she cried.

"That saying has come down the ages," responded Suzanna quickly. "And any more breaking-in and I'll not tell the story."

Maizie subsided, and Suzanna continued.

"Now when all the mothers heard this wonderful saying, there came sorrow and fear into their hearts. 'Yea,' said one, 'have I not used green tea?' And the Little Boy with the halo said, 'Thou art never to do so again,' and all the mothers bowed their heads.

"And the Little Boy grew and grew till He came to be a man. A man that looked very much like our father. He played the harp, the one he afterwards took to Heaven with Him. And He wore a long, white, flowing gown, that His mother washed out every morning and ironed carefully after it was dry. 'Behold,' she said, 'Yea, nay, no other hands but mine must touch this gown.' There were no laundries in those days.

"The Man with the halo walked by the sea at day, and walked under the stars at night. Then He came on back to His mother. She said to Him: 'Is it that Thou art tired that Thou dost not smile?' And He said, drawing Himself up to a big height, 'There is nothing to smile at.' And His mother said, 'Behold I have made for Thee something nice to eat, with an orange in front of Thy plate!' But even then He did not smile. And next day, He went off into the fields and took care of His lambs. And the day after that, yea, He went into His father's shop and He said to His father, 'I must away,' and then the earth trembled and rocked beneath their feet.

"Then the Man with the halo left, and for a long time His mother didn't see Him any more. And out in the world, in Galilee, I think it was, He didn't even there find a chance to smile. Everything was too sad and people too bad, and then one day, behold, the Man with the halo was busy making ten fish out of one little tiny minney for Peter who was hungry, and had a 'normous appet.i.te like our Peter's, when a woman came running down the road. Everybody looked at her, but she went on. And when she came near the Man with the halo, she fell on her knees and He stopped his work. He had just half a fish in His hand when this woman spoke. She said: 'Pardon me, Master, but I have heard of lots of wonderful things Thou hast done, and now I must ask a favor of Thee.'

"The Man with the halo put down the fish that wasn't finished and turned His big eyes upon her, and He said, 'Speak, woman.' And she said: 'Wilt Thou come with me?' He waited a little, but felt pity in His heart for her and so He went with her, His halo s.h.i.+ning like the sun and making a wide light path for everyone to walk in, and lots of people walked behind Him, but no one in front.

"And they came to a little house, like ours set back from the road, where lots of children lived. And there in the middle of the room, lying in a white box, fast asleep was the littlest baby that had ever gone to Heaven. And though the woman had lots of other babies, and maybe lots more would come to her like they come to us all the time, she wanted that one tiny little baby to open its eyes and look at her.

"And so she fell on her knees, and she said to the Man with the halo: 'Will you wake that lovely baby of mine for me? Oh, please, Master, waken it--even though it should cry all night. Perhaps it's happy in Heaven, but I am lonely. Dost Thou think I can have it back?'

"And just then Peter came into the room. He had followed the Man with the halo. 'But it's only a little thing,' Peter said. 'And it made so much noise when it was awake. Its big sister had to warm milk for it, and take it out in the buggy and to wash its clothes, sometimes when its mother was busy or had been up the night before. Is it not better for all that it is in Heaven?'

"And then she said, 'I'm not speaking to you, Peter,' and she looked again at the Man with the halo. And at last He spoke and His voice was like music, thrilly and gentle. And He said, 'All mothers want their babies and we've got plenty in Heaven, and I'll give this one back to you.'

"And He went to the white box and He looked at the baby, and pretty soon the baby got pink like my coral beads, and then its eyes opened and it looked up into His face and it raised its arms up to Him.

"_Then He smiled!_--and He lifted the baby up and held it close, so He warmed it all through. And then He put it into its mother's arms and said, 'Well, I must be going.'

"And this is what I'm going to tell you, Maizie, _that you were that little baby_, and Jesus smiled at _you_ to wake you up."

Maizie did not speak. Her eyes were s.h.i.+ning, her lips trembling. Her small soul was touched to its depths. After a long time in a whisper she spoke: "Oh, was I really the baby that made Jesus smile? I'm happy, Suzanna, but--it hurts me, too--"

Suzanna put her arms about her sister. The emotions she had aroused in that little sister warmed her, thrilled her through and through. They sat on in silence. Soon a question began to puzzle Maizie. She gave it voice. "I didn't know I'd been a baby more than once, Suzanna."

"You're a baby every hundred years," said Suzanna promptly.

"Oh, I see." Then: "I do love Him now, Suzanna. I'll always love Him 'cause once He woke me up. Suzanna, do you think the rose will come to you and tell you another story?"

Suzanna believed the rose might.

CHAPTER X

A PICNIC IN THE WOODS

For days Maizie lived in the sanct.i.ty of the thought that the Master of all had smiled at her. But even so marvelous an occurrence, so sweet a marking out of her above all the children in the world, failed completely on one occasion to help her overcome a mood of sullenness.

She awoke late one morning, and found that Suzanna had arisen and gone down stairs. She heard sounds indicating breakfast, but there was a little dull feeling at her heart. Her customary joyous antic.i.p.ation of living a whole day, ripe with possibilities, was quite absent. She decided to remain in bed, but at her mother's voice calling her name she was prompted to put out one small foot, then the other, and soon, as another call came up peremptorily, she went lazily ahead dressing herself.

Ready then for the day, she went to the window and looked out. The sky was hazy, with little dull clouds floating on its breast. From far away came grumbles of thunder. Over to the east the sky seemed to open in a long thin path of vivid light and then close again, leaving the heavens gray, bleak. Maizie wanted to cry; it was with an effort she controlled her tears.

At last, languidly she moved from the window, went down the stairs, through the tiny hall and into the dining-room, her little face downcast still, with no smile lightening it to greet the other children. Suzanna and Peter sat at the table awaiting the laggard.

"Father had to leave early this morning, Maizie," said Suzanna at once.

"He ate his breakfast all alone."

Maizie did not answer; silently she sank into her chair as her mother appeared with the baby and took her usual place, after placing him in his high chair. Maizie gazed for a moment at the oatmeal in her own blue plate, then with a little petulant gesture, she pushed the plate away.

"I don't like oatmeal with a pool of syrup in the middle," she said slowly, not addressing anyone directly, but keeping her eyes on her plate.

"You've always liked it before this morning," her mother answered. "I think you're just cross, Maizie."

"I don't like syrup in the middle of my oatmeal," repeated Maizie; "I want milk on it like father has."

"Oh, Maizie," said Suzanna, "father _must_ have milk on his oatmeal."

"Why?" asked Maizie.

"Because he is our father and he must have the nice things."

"Well, we're his children," pursued Maizie, apparently unconvinced. "And I don't see why we shouldn't have some nice things to eat, too."

"But there's so many of us," said Suzanna.

"Why did father leave orders for so many of us then?" said Maizie looking up. Belligerence was now in her tone, in her very att.i.tude.

"Now," said Mrs. Procter, firmly. "We must not talk this way. Father doesn't like syrup. It doesn't agree with him. You're a very naughty little girl this morning, Maizie."

Maizie was again on the point of tears. Lest they overflow she rose quickly from the table and left the room.

"Maizie's in a bad humor today," said Mrs. Procter to Suzanna.

"Maybe she feels bad today, mother, because it's Wednesday."

"Well, what in the world has the day to do with it!" Mrs. Procter exclaimed.

"Well, Wednesday you know is the shape of a big black bear. It's not like Thursday, that's the shape of a great snowy white s.h.i.+p on a sparkling sea. I don't like Wednesday myself, mother."

"Well, I'm sorry," returned Mrs. Procter. "But it's not in my power to shape days to please you children," she spoke crisply.

"Are you tired, mother?" asked Suzanna, after a pause.