"Why, Lord a-mercy, child, your chin don't come up to the table."

On the chair she placed a wooden box, perching the doll on top and
taking a seat herself just opposite. She emptied the blackberries into a
mutilated plate, brought from the cupboard a handful of toasted acorns,
on which she poured boiling water, then set the concoction aside to
steep.

"Now, Miss Susan Jemima," said Virgie, addressing her vis-à-vis with the
hospitable courtesy due to so great a lady, "we are goin' to have some
breakfas'." She paused, in a shade of doubt, then smiled a faint
apology: "It isn't very _much_ of a breakfas', darlin', but we'll make
believe it's waffles an' chicken an'--an' hot rolls an' batter-bread
an'--an' everything." She rose to her little bare feet, holding her wisp
of a skirt aside, and made a sweeping bow. "Allow me, Miss Jemima, to
make you a mos' delicious cup of coffee."

And, while the little hostess prepared the meal, a man looked out from
the partly open door behind her, with big dark eyes, which were like her
own, yet blurred by a mist of pity and of love.

"Susan," said the hostess presently, "it's ready now, and we'll say
grace; so don't you talk an' annoy your mother."

The tiny brown head was bowed. The tiny brown hands, with their
berry-stained fingers, were placed on the table's edge; but Miss Susan
Jemima sat bolt upright, though listening, it seemed, to the words of
reverence falling from a mother-baby's lips: