you tell him that for? Isn't it enough for him to learn in one day that
he'll never see his ears without telling him about the back of his neck?
Stop your crying, Peter. It's bad enough to have you cry for things that
can be mended."

Maizie, attracted by the noise, unable to control her curiosity,
appeared at the door. Her face was still sullen, but it also bore a rare
expression of stubbornness. Satisfying her curiosity as to the reason
for the commotion, she then made her announcement.

"Mother," she began, "I'm not going to wash the window sills upstairs
this cleaning morning."

"Now, Maizie," said Suzanna, conciliatingly, "don't you remember Who
smiled at you once?"

"M-hm, I remember," said Maizie, without change of expression, "but I'm
not going to wash the window sills."

A little silence ensued. Then Suzanna offered a suggestion.

"Mother," she said, "none of us feels right, do we? Can't we have a
picnic?"

"A picnic?" exclaimed Mrs. Procter. "A picnic!" She was about vigorously
to refuse the request when she paused. She looked at the three earnest
little faces before her. Suzanna resenting steady days for doing steady
tasks; Maizie hating her porridge, and Peter grieved because he
couldn't see his ears; the baby too, not his usual sunny self. But set
against the strange and varied emotions of her young family, loomed the