Suzanna?"

Suzanna turned to him then. She spoke quietly, but decisively so he
might perfectly understand. "No, that's not it, Reynolds. I love my
little home; but first I don't want Mrs. Reynolds to throw her apron
over her head at your slams. And second it's for myself I come, because
you can afford to do something for me my own mother thinks she can't on
account of little money."

But Mr. Reynolds caught only the first reason. "What do you mean, young
lady, about slammin'; that's what I want to know." His tone was
belligerent. Mrs. Reynolds threw him a withering look. "Here, Suzanna,"
she said; "give me the bag, and you sit down. Take your hat off, my
brave little lass. 'Twas but you and you alone could think of this sweet
thought."

"I'd rather have things settled before I take my hat off," said Suzanna.
She relinquished the bag, however, and seated herself in the chair Mrs.
Reynolds pulled forward. Then she went on: "You know, Reynolds, you do
slam doors and make Mrs. Reynolds cry. And you know, anyway, you
oughtn't to blame Mrs. Reynolds because you get no visits. It may be
just as much your fault because the mother angel don't like your ways."

She paused a moment before continuing. "And, anyway, my father never
blames mother for anything, only when she's tired and cries he remembers
to love her even if he's on the way upstairs to the attic to his
wonderful Machine, and he puts his arm about her waist, though mother
says it's much larger now than it was years ago. That's what my father
that used to be, does."