sometime when you can work for hours at your invention."

Again he smiled at her. "Where did you get your tucked-in day, Suzanna,"
he asked.

"Why, it's a great beautiful white space that comes between last week
and this. It's all empty, that big space, and so I have filled it in
with a day of my own. If mother will let me, I'm going to have two
tucked-in days. On the first I'm a princess, and on the second, I shall
be an Only Child."

"Very well, little girl," said Suzanna's father. "And now I hear others
moving about upstairs. Will you stay to breakfast with us, Princess?"

"Oh, yes," said Suzanna, who began to feel the healthy pangs of hunger.
"I suppose perhaps I had better set the table."

A half-hour later the house was in a bustle. The baby was crying, Peter,
the five-year-old, was sliding in his usual exuberant manner down the
banisters, and at the stove in the kitchen, Mrs. Procter, the mother,
was filling pans and opening and closing the oven door with quick,
somewhat noisy movements.

When in time all were gathered about the dining table, they were an
interesting looking family. Mrs. Procter, young, despite her four
children, wore a little worried frown strangely at conflict with her
palpable desire to make the best of things. She darted here and there,
soothing the baby with a practiced hand, pouring her husband's coffee,
helping voracious Peter, her busy mind anticipating all the day's tasks.
Suzanna loved and admired her mother. She loved the way the luxuriant