descended the stairs and entered the parlor. He started at sight of
Suzanna all dressed in her best.

"I'm a princess, father," said Suzanna.

"A princess?" he repeated.

Her father wore his store clothes, shiny and grown tight for him. Above
his winged collar his sensitive face showed pale and thin in the early
morning light. His eyes, brown, soft, were like Suzanna's--they had
vision. He smiled now, half whimsically and wholly lovingly at her.

"An eight-year-old princess," he said. Then the smile faded, and he half
turned to the door. "Well, that's all right, your Majesty," he said.
"Continue with your play. I'm going up into the attic just for ten
minutes."

"You'll be late for the store, won't you, daddy?" she asked, anxiously,
forgetting for the moment her rôle.

He turned upon her quickly. "Late for the store!" he cried, "late to
weigh nails, sell wash boards, and mops. What does that matter, my dear,
when by my invention the world will some day be better." Suddenly the
passion died from his voice. He stood again the tall shabby figure,
somewhat stooped, with long fine hands that moved restlessly. "Ah, well,
Suzanna," he went on, "weighing nails brings us our livelihood."

Suzanna went and stood close to him. She put her small hand out and
touched his arm. "Daddy," she said, earnestly, "this is my tucked-in
day. I'm going to have two of them. Perhaps you can have a tucked-in day