Suzanna Stirs the Fire Part 44

Soon they were at the place of Graham and Peter's delight, a shooting gallery, where if one were very skillful he might, with a ma.s.sive looking gun, hit a small moving black ball and hear a bell ring. Mr.

Bartlett hit the ball today three times out of four, Graham once out of five, but Peter, manfully lifting the large gun and scanning its barrel, left a scar on the target four inches to the left of the little swinging ball. This occurred after eight trials.

"Well, there's another day, Peter," said Mr. Bartlett, as they moved away.

"And Mr. Bartlett practiced a long time, you must remember, Peter,"

said Suzanna, seeing the little fellow's downcast expression.

"Do you think before we go back to the city," asked the small boy, "that I'll be able to make the bell ring so I can tell daddy?"

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Bartlett, encouragingly. "We'll come over here and practice every day."

They found the others in the cottage in the big room, resting awhile before preparing for dinner.

"Oh, Suzanna," began Maizie at once, "we're going to have a beach party on the sands tonight. And Mrs. Bartlett says we'll have a fire built so we can toast marshmallows."

Suzanna did not say anything. Then quickly she crossed the room and stood before Mr. and Mrs. Bartlett. "I wish," she said solemnly, "that all the children in the world had such dear friends as we have."

CHAPTER XXV

LAST DAYS

They held many a beach party during that wonderful month. And always they ended the evening by drawing close together and singing happy little songs. Till, when a little coolness crept into the air, they would leave the ocean and go happily homeward, to sleep deep and dreamlessly till another morning awakened them to the thought of fresh delights.

On one morning after a beach party, the children, coming downstairs to join their elders for breakfast at the hotel, found standing on the road in front of the cottage, a little brown donkey attached to a basket cart.

"Could it be, could it possibly be for them?" each child's heart asked.

And Mr. Bartlett answered the unspoken question by: "It's for you all.

Peter is to drive first because he a.s.sured me the other day he knew all about horses; then Graham. And in a few days Suzanna, and Maizie, and even little Daphne, can take their turns."

He went to the small donkey and stroked its nose, and the little fellow whinnied with pleasure. The children crowded about the cart. Couldn't they have a drive now? their eager eyes asked. But Mr. Bartlett thought breakfast the logical beginning of the day, so reluctantly they left their new possession.

When breakfast was finished, Mr. Bartlett said: "I'll go for the first ride or two with you just to see how this little fellow acts, though I've been a.s.sured that he's as gentle as any lamb ever born."

And whoever it was that had given Mr. Bartlett this a.s.surance had not exaggerated the amiable qualities of the donkey. "Little Brownie," as the children had unanimously and immediately named him, was of equable and even nature. True, as the days went by it was discovered that he was somewhat lazy, also self-willed. If he wanted to stop he would not move again until he wished to, in face of all pleading, urging, or inducements. He refused even to be led, and stood very pleasantly viewing the surrounding landscape till with a sudden jerk he would resume his usual trot. The children finally accepted Brownie's one vagary, and when they were driving home among other vehicles, and Brownie suddenly stopped and raised his right ear, a sign which meant, "I shall not move till I wish to," they only laughed, and others about them knowing the ways of little donkeys, laughed good-naturedly too, and drove around the little cart.

It is an unvarying law that the days roll on and bring to an end even periods of thrilling delight; and so there came the last evening to be spent in the cottage at the seash.o.r.e. The night was early in August, but it had elected to borrow from its cooler sister September a rather chill wind which, to the children's delight, necessitated the building of a fire in the grate in the long room.

"And we'll pop corn," said Mr. Bartlett when they were all gathered together watching the roaring flames, the only light in the room.

And Nancy, who could on a moment's notice, produce anything asked of her, brought the popper and a big bag of dried corn.

After a time, when several bowls of corn were popped and b.u.t.tered, salted and eaten, Nancy put on the hearth a dish of fine, rosy apples.

These the children peeled and then cast the skins into the grate. A hardy fragrance came from them, but hardly pungent enough to overpower the salt-water odor that swept in from the ocean.

The flames lit all the faces, young and old. They fell on Mrs. Bartlett, touching her lovely hair to molten gold, touching her thoughtful face till it seemed a smile beyond itself rested upon it. She was thinking--"Tomorrow we start back, and in my hands lie the happiness of many. In my hands lies the keeping of the ideals of two--" She closed her eyes and asked for clear vision, for strength to keep true to life's highest values.

Graham, at her knee, looked up at her. Feeling that his eyes were upon her, she opened hers and gazed at him. She did not speak, nor did he, but she felt his heart's nearness.

And then his gaze wandered to Suzanna, Suzanna gazing into the flames, her dark eyes like glowing jewels, her soft lips parted. And into Mrs.

Bartlett's heart crept a little fear and a little yearning and a little great knowledge--that composite emotion all mothers are born to know.

CHAPTER XXVI

SUZANNA AND HER FATHER

At home again after the glorious month spent at the seash.o.r.e! Habits, dear customs, taken up once more. The splendor of the trip had not faded for the Procter children. But home was home after all, with father and mother and sisters and brothers all sharing the common life; with short wanderings away and joyous returns; with small resentments, quick flashes, and happy reconciliations.

"It was lovely at the seash.o.r.e," said Suzanna to her mother one Sat.u.r.day afternoon, "but I'm awfully glad to be at home again. Were you lonely without us?"

"Very," said Mrs. Procter, "but then I knew you were all having such interesting experiences."

"Is father coming home early, mother?" Maizie asked, looking up from her work. She was sewing b.u.t.tons on Peter's blouse with the strongest linen thread obtainable in Anchorville.

Mrs. Procter's face shadowed. She looked at Suzanna and Maizie as though pondering the wisdom of giving them some piece of news. Evidently she decided against doing so, for she answered:

"I can't tell, Maizie, he may be kept at the mills. Mr. Ma.s.sey is growing more dependent on father every day," she ended, with a little burst of pride.

Father did not come home in the afternoon. The children lost hope after a time, and followed their separate whims.

But at six he arrived. Suzanna had noticed at once upon her return, that he was quieter, less exuberant than he had been since entering old John Ma.s.sey's employ. Some light seemed to have gone from his face. Suzanna wanted always to comfort him, and he, though saying nothing, was quite conscious of his little daughter's yearning over him.

During supper his absorption continued, and immediately afterward he went into the parlor, selected a big book from a shelf, and drawing a chair near the lamp began to read. Mother put the "baby" and Peter to bed. Suzanna and Maizie, after the dishes were finished, followed father, and drawing their chairs close, looked over some pictures together.

"Sat.u.r.day night"--how Suzanna loved it! It seemed the hush time of the week, the hush before waking to the next beautiful day, Sunday, when all the family were together--father in his nice dark suit, mother in her soft wisteria gown, all the children in pretty clothes; church, with its resonant organ, and the minister's deep voice reading from the old book.

Then, weather propitious, the walk with father and mother in the afternoon down the country road, and at night the lamps again lit--all the homely significances of the place where love and peace and courage dwelt.

Mrs. Procter returned from putting the children to bed. "I think I'll go upstairs for a little while," said Mr. Procter looking up at her.

"Oh, do, Richard," she urged.

Suzanna went close to him, her hand sought his. "Could--could you invite us for a little while, daddy," she asked, beseechingly.

"Why, yes, if you wish," he answered. "You and mother and Maizie."

It was rather a heavy consent, but they all accompanied him up to the attic. He lit the shaded lamp standing on the corner table, regulated it till it gave out a subdued glow, and then walked and stood before his machine.

He stood a long time looking at it. Once he put out his hand and touched it softly, as a mother might a sleeping child.

Suzanna and Maizie, awed and troubled, they knew not why, watched their father. Only their mother, with a little tender smile that held in it a great deal of wistfulness, went close to him.