"Why, mother, _you love us_!" Suzanna exclaimed. "Don't you remember
last Sunday when I put on my leghorn hat with the bunch of daisies over
my left eye--"

"I remember," said Mrs. Procter, somewhat at a loss as to the connection
between thought and thought.

"Well, when I said, 'good-bye, mother, I'm going to Sunday School,' you
looked at me and _smiled_ from your soul! And I forgot that there was
Maizie and Peter and the baby, and I didn't even remember father, and I
said to myself: '_That's my very own mother!_' Just as though we just
belonged to one another with nobody else in the whole world."

"Kiss me, Suzanna darling," said Mrs. Procter, after a long moment.

Suzanna stooped and kissed her mother very tenderly.

"Now run away and play," said Mrs. Procter, leaning against the
supporting tree and closing her eyes, blissfully conscious that she
could rest undisturbed for at least twenty minutes.

An hour later she opened her eyes and sat up straight. She had fallen
asleep, though her position was not a particularly comfortable one, and
slept sweetly, soundly. The baby still lay peacefully quiet, his little
blanket covering him. And small bees had been working about her. Spread
before her, reposing on a red table cloth lay a tempting meal. In the
middle of the table cloth, to give an air of festivity, was a bunch of
daisies. But most appealing of all to the mother was the sight of the
four children, her own three and little Mabel, seated quietly near the
table; they had evidently been there some time, waiting patiently till