At length: "Aren't you going to speak to me, Suzanna?" she said.

Suzanna did not answer immediately. That strange, awful thought that her
very own mother had been unjustly irritable held her tongue-tied. At
length words, short, curt, came:

"You weren't _all right_ to me this morning, Mother," she said, raising
her stormy eyes. "Yesterday you were nice to me when I was a princess.
Today you were cross because Maizie couldn't understand, and she never
understands. You never were cross about that before." She gazed straight
back into her mother's face--"I'm mad at the whole world."

What perfection the child expects of the mother! No human deviations!
Mrs. Procter sighed. How could she live out her child's exalted ideal of
her! She looked helplessly at Suzanna. The eyes lifted to hers lacked
the wonted expression of perfect belief, of passionate admiration. That
this first little daughter, so close to her heart fibers, should in any
degree turn from her, pierced the mother. She put her arms about the
unyielding small figure.

"Suzanna, little daughter," she whispered. "Mother is sometimes tired,
but always, always she loves you."

The response was immediate. With a little cry Suzanna pressed her lips
to her mother's. All her reticence was gone. This mother who enfolded
her stood once more the unwavering star that guided Suzanna's life.

"You see, little girl," Mrs. Procter said after a few moments, "mother
sometimes has a great deal to think about--and baby was cross."