recite. So she gave Suzanna a sheet of paper printed in blue ink, with a
title in red. "The Little Martyr of Smyrna," Suzanna spelled out.

"You are to learn the poem by heart, of course, Suzanna," said Miss
Massey, "and if you need any help as to emphasis or gesture, you may
come to me on any afternoon."

Suzanna flushed exalted. "I don't believe I'll need any help, thank you,
Miss Massey," she said. She could scarcely wait then till she reached
home to tell her mother the great news.

"You'll have to study hard," said Mrs. Procter after she had read over
the verses, "but Suzanna, you have nothing suitable to wear."

"The lace curtain dress, mother?" asked Suzanna, hopefully.

"Beyond repair," returned Mrs. Procter.

Father, sitting near, looked around at his small daughter. "I have two
dollars that I couldn't possibly use. Take them for a dress, Suzanna."

"But, dear--" began mother, and went on haltingly about a pair of new
shoes she believed father had been saving for.

But father did not hear, and so behold Suzanna and her mother the next
day at four o'clock in the afternoon in Bryson's drygoods store deciding
upon a pink lawn and a soft valenciennes lace. And later, green cambric
for a petticoat. And then on Wednesday the cutting out of the dress with
suggestions and help from Mrs. Reynolds, the very kind neighbor across
the way. On Thursday, baking day, mother put in every waking moment