Suzanna thought a great deal about the Eagle Man. She was extremely puzzled as to the exact place he filled in the world. While she admired him, indeed was strongly drawn to him, still she considered him in some ways quite inferior to her father. And so she wondered why he could live in a big house, could have servants who sprang at a word to do his bidding, and could eat all the fruit he wanted as evidenced by the great bunch of purple grapes, one of many bunches, while her father lived in a very small house, had no servants, and had little fruit to eat. She knew instinctively that the Eagle Man had no need to worry about rent day, and the many other similar things she felt harassed her father, and over and over again she pondered on this seemingly unjust state of affairs. It would have been so much better, she thought, if the Eagle Man occupied with his one daughter just a little cottage while the large Procter family had the bigger house. Though she dearly loved the little home, there had been times when it seemed very small for the growing Procter family.

But she concluded at last that for the present there were many perplexities which must remain perplexities till that wonderful time when she would be a woman, and everything made clear to her. Experiences, too, had shown her that a troublesome question of Monday often had resolved itself by Wednesday. So she went contentedly on her way.

On a morning following Suzanna's talk with the Eagle Man, Mrs. Procter and all the children except the baby who was taking his early morning nap upstairs, were in the kitchen busy at their tasks, Suzanna polishing the stove, and Maizie peeling the potatoes for supper, a task Mrs. Procter insisted upon being performed early in the day. Peter, exempted, because of his sex, from household duties—and very unfair this exemption Suzanna thought privately—was trying his awkward best to mend a baseball. Maizie broke a rather long silence.

"Mother!" she cried, and then waited.

Mrs. Procter looked up from her kneading.

"What is it, Maizie?" she asked.

"Didn't Jesus ever laugh?" asked Maizie.

No one spoke. Maizie, engaged in peeling a large potato, went on quite unconscious of the variant expressions pictured in the faces of her audience: "He's always so sad in our Sunday School lessons, mother. Even when He said, 'Suffer little children to come unto me,' He didn't smile—or they never say so when they read the chapter," she finished.

Mrs. Procter looked helplessly at Suzanna. And Suzanna rose to the occasion. "Maizie," she said, "you know Jesus was born in a manger so His mother didn't have much money and it was hard to make both ends meet. And, besides, there wasn't anything to smile about in those days when the world was so fresh."

"I guess that's right," Mrs. Procter agreed. "What with going round and trying to persuade people to be good and understand what He was trying to tell them, there couldn't have been much excuse for smiling."

Maizie, however, was tenacious. "Mother, you know at times even when things have all gone wrong you've laughed at something the baby did," she said looking up from her work.

"Yes, I know," put in Suzanna, as though Maizie had spoken to her. "But mother doesn't have to go round turning water into wine and doing lots of other wonderful things."

"Well, I wish He had smiled," Maizie persisted.

Suzanna looked searchingly at her sister. "Why do you wish that, Maizie?" she asked.

"Oh, I'd think then He was more like a big brother," said Maizie. "Now, sometimes I kind of feel afraid of Him."

"If you didn't feel afraid of Him, Maizie," Suzanna asked, turning back to the cold stove and vigorously polishing away, "do you think you'd be a better girl?"

Maizie flushed resentfully. "I'm good enough now," she answered.

"But you get mad for nothing, Maizie," said Suzanna; "you always get mad when you don't see things."

"Anybody would get mad," Maizie exclaimed. "Why just yesterday when we were playing in the yard you said, 'Behold, the lion marcheth down the yard. Maizie, quick, quick, out of the way,' and when I said, 'I don't see any lion, Suzanna,' you said, 'Well, he's there, right beside you. Don't you hear him roaring?' and there wasn't any lion there at all."

"Well, Maizie, you can't see anything unless it's there," deplored Suzanna.

"You mean, Suzanna," put in Mrs. Procter as she covered the dough with a snowy cloth, "that you have more imagination than Maizie."

"Well, anyway, Maizie," said Suzanna after a time, "I'm going to try and make you a better girl."

"Make her stop saying that, mother," said Maizie, "I'm good enough as it is."

Suzanna said nothing more then. She finished her stove, and then, when Maizie had peeled all the potatoes, Suzanna went into the parlor and dusted all the furniture very carefully. Maizie followed and stood watching her sister.

"How could you make me better, Suzanna?" she asked, after a time, curiosity elbowing pride aside.

"I meant to tell you a story," said Suzanna; "about something you've never heard before." She went on dusting.

"Would the story make me a better girl?"

"Yes, and happier, too."

"Is it a nice story, Suzanna?"

"Awfully sweet."

"When could you tell me, Suzanna?"

"We'll go out into the yard after I've finished dusting and then I'll tell you the story, Maizie."

"All right."

So when the dusting was accomplished, the children sought the back yard. Suzanna procured a soap box, placed it beneath the one tree, while Maizie drew another very close to her sister that she might lose no word, and settled with keen anticipation to listen to Suzanna's story.

The day was hot, with scarcely a breeze stirring. Still, with the quiet there was a freshness in the air that made the children draw in deep breaths.

Suzanna began very softly: "Maizie, do you see that big rose nodding near the fence over there at Mrs. Reynolds'?"

Yes, Maizie saw the rose.

"Well, yesterday when you were wheeling the baby and I was sitting on this very box putting buttons on Peter's waist, that rose all at once walked across the road to me! It stood by my side for a long time, and then it said softly, 'Suzanna,' and it looked at me and it was all pink and very sweet, and it said to me, 'Suzanna, how old are you?' and I said, 'I'm nearly eight, Lady Rose, and Maizie is nearly seven. Mother had hardly got over my coming to her when Maizie came along.'

"And the rose said, 'Maizie? Is that the little girl that is going to ask tomorrow whether Jesus ever smiled?' And I said, 'Yes, Maizie will be peeling a big potato, and I'll be polishing the stove, and mother will be kneading bread when Maizie will ask that question.'

"'Well,' said the rose, 'you must tell her that once upon a time Jesus did smile, but they didn't put it in the Bible because it didn't seem 'portant to grown folks, and they didn't think that all the little children in the world would sometimes wish He had smiled.' And then the rose went on to tell me the story of the dear smile."

Maizie gazed wide-eyed at her sister. "Did you really see the rose with your eyes, Suzanna?"

"Yes," Suzanna answered; "truly with my eyes." She suddenly sat up very straight and pointed a small finger, "and there it's coming again. It's nodding its head at me. Look, Maizie!"

Maizie jumped.

"There, see, Maizie, it's walking right through Mrs. Reynolds' gate. Isn't it graceful?"

"How can it walk on one stem?" asked Maizie, the literalist.

"Well, it does, doesn't it? You can see it. Now, it's coming into our yard." Suzanna waited, then: "Good morning, Lady Rose," she greeted in a high treble voice. "Come and stand near Maizie." Maizie moved quickly to make room. "You see it now, don't you, Maizie?" Maizie hesitated. She stared hard at the spot near her, then up with wistful eyes into Suzanna's face.

"I can't see it, Suzanna," she said at length. "Do you think mother'd better take me to the doctor and have my eyes examined like Mrs. Reynolds had hers?"

Suzanna felt flowing over her a sudden wave of pity. "No, Maizie, dear," she said, putting her arms about Maizie and drawing her close. "Maybe I see the rose with something inside of me. But never mind, lamb girl—isn't that pretty, Mrs. Reynolds calls me that—the rose has gone home again. Listen close and I'll tell you the story that was left out of the Bible, just as the rose told it to me."

Maizie settled herself again, expectantly.

"This will be told, Maizie, in the way the Bible is written. Funny words that we don't know the meaning of, but can guess; terrible threats."

"Oh, don't," cried Maizie, "don't, I don't want 'terrible threats.' It sounds awful."

"Well, then," conceded Suzanna, "I'll leave out the terrible threats, Maizie. Now I'm beginning:

"There came to the city of Jerusalem one day a Little Boy with a halo on His head. It was on a Monday that he came. The mothers were all washing and those that were not washing, behold, they were hanging clothes out in the yard, and as He walked He carried a message, and His message was this: 'Beware of green tea, handsome to the eye, but destructive to the human system.'"

Maizie's memory was pricked wide awake. "Why, that's written on mother's tea canister, and you read it aloud a thousand times one day," she cried.

"That saying has come down the ages," responded Suzanna quickly. "And any more breaking-in and I'll not tell the story."

Maizie subsided, and Suzanna continued.

"Now when all the mothers heard this wonderful saying, there came sorrow and fear into their hearts. 'Yea,' said one, 'have I not used green tea?' And the Little Boy with the halo said, 'Thou art never to do so again,' and all the mothers bowed their heads.

"And the Little Boy grew and grew till He came to be a man. A man that looked very much like our father. He played the harp, the one he afterwards took to Heaven with Him. And He wore a long, white, flowing gown, that His mother washed out every morning and ironed carefully after it was dry. 'Behold,' she said, 'Yea, nay, no other hands but mine must touch this gown.' There were no laundries in those days.

"The Man with the halo walked by the sea at day, and walked under the stars at night. Then He came on back to His mother. She said to Him: 'Is it that Thou art tired that Thou dost not smile?' And He said, drawing Himself up to a big height, 'There is nothing to smile at.' And His mother said, 'Behold I have made for Thee something nice to eat, with an orange in front of Thy plate!' But even then He did not smile. And next day, He went off into the fields and took care of His lambs. And the day after that, yea, He went into His father's shop and He said to His father, 'I must away,' and then the earth trembled and rocked beneath their feet.

"Then the Man with the halo left, and for a long time His mother didn't see Him any more. And out in the world, in Galilee, I think it was, He didn't even there find a chance to smile. Everything was too sad and people too bad, and then one day, behold, the Man with the halo was busy making ten fish out of one little tiny minney for Peter who was hungry, and had a 'normous appetite like our Peter's, when a woman came running down the road. Everybody looked at her, but she went on. And when she came near the Man with the halo, she fell on her knees and He stopped his work. He had just half a fish in His hand when this woman spoke. She said: 'Pardon me, Master, but I have heard of lots of wonderful things Thou hast done, and now I must ask a favor of Thee.'

"The Man with the halo put down the fish that wasn't finished and turned His big eyes upon her, and He said, 'Speak, woman.' And she said: 'Wilt Thou come with me?' He waited a little, but felt pity in His heart for her and so He went with her, His halo shining like the sun and making a wide light path for everyone to walk in, and lots of people walked behind Him, but no one in front.

"And they came to a little house, like ours set back from the road, where lots of children lived. And there in the middle of the room, lying in a white box, fast asleep was the littlest baby that had ever gone to Heaven. And though the woman had lots of other babies, and maybe lots more would come to her like they come to us all the time, she wanted that one tiny little baby to open its eyes and look at her.

"And so she fell on her knees, and she said to the Man with the halo: 'Will you wake that lovely baby of mine for me? Oh, please, Master, waken it—even though it should cry all night. Perhaps it's happy in Heaven, but I am lonely. Dost Thou think I can have it back?'

"And just then Peter came into the room. He had followed the Man with the halo. 'But it's only a little thing,' Peter said. 'And it made so much noise when it was awake. Its big sister had to warm milk for it, and take it out in the buggy and to wash its clothes, sometimes when its mother was busy or had been up the night before. Is it not better for all that it is in Heaven?'

"And then she said, 'I'm not speaking to you, Peter,' and she looked again at the Man with the halo. And at last He spoke and His voice was like music, thrilly and gentle. And He said, 'All mothers want their babies and we've got plenty in Heaven, and I'll give this one back to you.'

"And He went to the white box and He looked at the baby, and pretty soon the baby got pink like my coral beads, and then its eyes opened and it looked up into His face and it raised its arms up to Him.

"Then He smiled!—and He lifted the baby up and held it close, so He warmed it all through. And then He put it into its mother's arms and said, 'Well, I must be going.'

"And this is what I'm going to tell you, Maizie, that you were that little baby, and Jesus smiled at you to wake you up."

Maizie did not speak. Her eyes were shining, her lips trembling. Her small soul was touched to its depths. After a long time in a whisper she spoke: "Oh, was I really the baby that made Jesus smile? I'm happy, Suzanna, but—it hurts me, too—"

Suzanna put her arms about her sister. The emotions she had aroused in that little sister warmed her, thrilled her through and through. They sat on in silence. Soon a question began to puzzle Maizie. She gave it voice. "I didn't know I'd been a baby more than once, Suzanna."

"You're a baby every hundred years," said Suzanna promptly.

"Oh, I see." Then: "I do love Him now, Suzanna. I'll always love Him 'cause once He woke me up. Suzanna, do you think the rose will come to you and tell you another story?"

Suzanna believed the rose might.