where she should begin her upheaval.

Suddenly a loud, heart-rending outcry was heard, and Peter, who a moment
before had been playing peacefully in the yard, came rushing into the
house. Out of the medley of his piteous cries, Suzanna at last made
sense. Not so her mother who asked anxiously:

"What in the world is he crying so for, Suzanna? Is he hurt? Will he let
you look him over?"

"No, he's not hurt," returned Suzanna. "He is crying because _never in
all his life will he be able to see his ears_."

Mrs. Procter stared dumbfounded. But she soon recovered. She was
accustomed to originalities of this sort in her family.

"So! Well, what am I to do about it?" she asked the small boy.

Peter looked at her stolidly. "I want to see my ears," he repeated. "And
I can't only in the mirror."

"Have you lived for five years," asked Mrs. Procter, "without
discovering that your ears are attached to your head, and that I can't
take them off in order that you may see them?"

"And you can't see the back of your neck either, Peter," cried Suzanna
at this juncture. At which disastrous piece of information Peter cried
louder.

"Now, Suzanna," exclaimed Mrs. Procter in some exasperation. "What did