Susy's deportment and was balefully conscious that she was holding her
plated fork in her chubby fist by its middle, and, from his previous
knowledge of her, was likely at any moment to plunge it into the dish
before her, said softly,--

"Hush!"

"Yes, you shall, dear," said Mrs. Peyton, with tenderly beaming
assurance to Susy and a half-reproachful glance at the boy. "Eat what
you like, darling."

"It's a fork," whispered the still uneasy Clarence, as Susy now seemed
inclined to stir her bowl of milk with it.

"'Tain't, now, Kla'uns, it's only a split spoon," said Susy.

But Mrs. Peyton, in her rapt admiration, took small note of these
irregularities, plying the child with food, forgetting her own meal, and
only stopping at times to lift back the forward straying curls on Susy's
shoulders. Mr. Peyton looked on gravely and contentedly. Suddenly the
eyes of husband and wife met.

"She'd have been nearly as old as this, John," said Mrs. Peyton, in a
faint voice.

John Peyton nodded without speaking, and turned his eyes away into the
gathering darkness. The man "Harry" also looked abstractedly at his
plate, as if he was saying grace. Clarence wondered who "she" was, and
why two little tears dropped from Mrs. Peyton's lashes into Susy's milk,
and whether Susy might not violently object to it. He did not know until