dark hair was wound round and round the small head. She loved the rare
smile, the soft blue eyes fringed in black lashes. She liked to meet
those eyes when they were filled with understanding, when they seemed to
speak as plainly as the tender lips made just for lullabies--and
encouragements when the inventor-father stumbled, lost his belief in
himself and in his Machine.

Maizie, younger than Suzanna by only a year, looked like her
mother--sweet, very practical, always in a wide-eyed condition of
surprise at Suzanna's wonderful imagination; a dependable little body
who rarely fell from grace by reason of naughtiness.

Peter, a strange composite of his dreamy father and practical mother,
sat near the baby. Peter had had a twin, a little girl, who died when
she was three years old. Sometimes, even now, Peter cried himself to
sleep for Helen.

The baby, now crowing in his armchair beside his mother, was a bright
little chap of not quite a year. Too plump to even try his sturdy legs,
he was oftentimes very much of a burden to his devoted sisters.

Mrs. Procter's eyes had taken in at once Suzanna's finery, but Mrs.
Procter knew Suzanna; besides she did not always ask a direct question.
Suzanna's mind worked clearly, but it worked by its own laws. So now the
mother waited and toward the end of the meal she was rewarded for her
patience. Suzanna put down her fork and began:

"Mother, this is my first tucked-in day to do as I please in. I know
Monday's supposed to be wash day, but you said it wasn't a big wash and
I did all the sorting Saturday night. I am all fixed up for a princess,