Summer once again, with the flowers abloom and all the richness of the season scattered lavishly about. The Procter house seemed more colorful too, perhaps because it had acquired within some late months a new coat of paint.

Once inside if you were familiar enough to go upstairs, you could not find the steps which had been wont to creak. And peeping into the parlor you could see that some pretty new furniture had taken the place of the shaky old lounge and chairs; one good marine picture hung between the windows and a new rug lay upon the hardwood floor.

Two years had gone since the fire, two years bringing some changes. Suzanna had shot up. She was a tall, slim girl now, though with the same dark, questioning eyes. She stood one Saturday morning in the kitchen making a cake, yes, actually stirring the mixture all by herself in the brown earthen vessel.

Her mother, hovering near, was offering comment and a few directions. Between times she attended to the "baby," a baby no longer since he was nearly four years old. Maizie, coming in from the yard with Peter behind her, stopped short at sight of Suzanna's work.

"When can I make a cake, mother?" she asked. Her small face was as plump, as childlike as ever. The same sweetness of expression was hers, the same admiration in her eyes for her "big" sister.

"When you're as old as Suzanna, I guess, Maizie," Mrs. Procter answered. "What did Mrs. Reynolds say?"

Peter answered before Maizie could speak, thereby gaining a reproving look from her. "She's coming over to see you, mother. She says she wants to ask you something, anyway." Peter went to the door, gave a sharp whistle, a sharper direction and returned. "Jerry's out there. Graham Bartlett's opened up his house, and David's brought my dog back."

Still Peter's dog, you see. "Oh, I want to see Jerry, may he come in, mother?" Suzanna asked.

Mrs. Procter nodded. She was now engaged in giving the four-year-old his ten o'clock luncheon of bread and milk. "But don't let him get into anything, Peter," she admonished.

Peter promised, with a sigh in his heart for the tenacious prejudices of woman. Jerry at a word entered the kitchen door. He came in slowly, paused and regarded Mrs. Procter searchingly. He was a handsome animal now. His coat was well brushed, his hair long and glossy.

"Well," said Mrs. Procter, "you've been taught good manners, Jerry."

He wagged his tail vigorously; then further to show himself off, he sat down and held out a beguiling paw to Mrs. Procter. Maizie cried out in delight.

"Oh, can't we keep him now, mother? Isn't he cunning?"

Peter turned quickly upon his sister. "Would that be fair?" he sternly asked. His voice deepened suddenly. "You wouldn't, any one of you, even look at him when he was poor and dirty and afraid. And now after David has loved him and washed him and taught him how to behave, you want to keep him. Come along, Jerry."

Having thus delivered himself, Peter, with dignity, stalked from out the kitchen. He left an eloquent silence behind him. "Should we have kept the dog when he was dirty and lonely, mother?" asked Maizie, interestedly.

"Why, I don't think so, Maizie," Mrs. Procter answered slowly. "Really, you remember I'd had so much trouble that summer with stray dogs of Peter's that my patience was at an end."

Maizie was forming another question when she was interrupted by a hearty knock at the door.

"Come in," Suzanna cried. She was testing the oven as her mother had taught her and she turned a very important, if badly flushed, face to the visitor.

"I'm baking a chocolate cake, Mrs. Reynolds," she announced.

"Fine, Suzanna," cried Mrs. Reynolds heartily. She advanced to the middle of the kitchen. Two beautiful children both with large dark eyes and dark curls, exquisitely clean, followed her.

Mrs. Reynolds was a little plumper, and with a softness in her eyes which seemed of recent growth. She lifted the smaller child, the girl, upon a kitchen chair, watched the boy in his pilgrimage after the darting cat, and began:

"I'm glad to help with the christening robe for the Massey grandson, Mrs. Procter," she said; "and I think 'tis a fine idea—sort of community dress made by those who liked Miss Massey."

"I thought you'd like the idea, Mrs. Reynolds," said Mrs. Procter. "Here, take this chair."

Mrs. Reynolds sat down. "The fine boy you have there," she said, indicating the "baby," "he's a bit like Suzanna."

"We all think he's very much like his eldest sister," said Mrs. Procter. She raised the small boy and held him close for a moment. When she put him down, he wandered off toward the popular cat.

"I wanted to ask you, Mrs. Procter," said Mrs. Reynolds, "what material you think will make up best for a Sunday dress for Margaret here." She paused, smiled, and flashing a mischievous glance at Suzanna, finished, "It'll have to have lace, says Margaret, and I suppose she'll want the goods cut away from underneath."

Suzanna, perched near the oven door watching the precious cake, turned to look at Mrs. Reynolds. A flame lit within her eyes; she had never forgotten the anguish engendered by her mother's refusal to cut away the goods from under the pink dress; then the expression softened. Was it not on that occasion, too, she had learned the dearness of that same mother?

"There, now," said Mrs. Reynolds, "I shouldn't have teased you, Suzanna." Her eyes grew tender. "I'd never have thought seriously of adopting my little children here, dear lamb, if you hadn't first adopted yourself out to me."

Suzanna's face grew luminous. "Oh, do you mean that, Mrs. Reynolds?" she cried.

"I do just that, every word, Dear Heart. Why, the night I put you to bed and you called me 'mother' I shall never forget, never. And then the truths you spoke to Reynolds!"

"He's happy now, isn't he?" asked Mrs. Procter.

Mrs. Reynolds paused impressively before answering: "Do you know," she said at length, "he forgets often to remember that the children are not his very own. The little Margaret there creeps into his lap nights, calls him daddy, and melts the heart of him. And the boy with his quaintness, follows him about the house on Saturdays, and Reynolds says often enough: 'He'll be a great man, this chap, Peggy. He says some of the things I thought when I was his age.' He's taken to calling me Peggy since the children came to make a distinction, the little girl bearing my name, you see."

Mrs. Procter nodded. Margaret stirred uneasily on her chair. "Mother," she asked, "I want to hold the Pussy, too. I'll keep my apron clean."

"And that you shall, my Sweet," said Mrs. Reynolds, her face flushing at the title as though it would never grow old to her; "come then, go to the cat, my pretty lass."

Suzanna removed her cake from the oven. It was a beautiful object, and Suzanna regarded it with pride. She took off her apron, looked around the kitchen and then turning to her mother, put her request.

"Mother," she said, "I'd like to go to the big house and see the Eagle Man and Miss Massey."

"Saturday morning?" asked Mrs. Procter, dubiously. "Well, I suppose that it won't really matter."

"I'm going to see Daphne," Maizie announced.

"Remember to be at home by noon," said Mrs. Procter. "Father may be here for luncheon."

"I'll remember, mother," said Suzanna. She kissed her mother, said good-bye to Mrs. Reynolds and started happily away. She reached the house at the top of the hill in a short time. The same uniformed man as of old gave her immediate admittance.

"Mr. Massey is in the library," he said, evincing no surprise at Suzanna's unconventional appearance.

In the doorway of the library Suzanna hesitated a moment, for the sound of voices came to her. Then she went forward, and there, standing near the white marble mantelpiece was the Eagle Man, near him Suzanna's father.

"Daddy," Suzanna cried, and ran to him.

Mr. Procter turned. His face, slightly older than when he was an employee of Job Doane of the hardware shop, was still that of the idealist, the lover of men. Yet there was a something added. Perhaps his well-fitting clothes gave him the new air of efficiency, of directness.

"I didn't know you'd be here with the Eagle Man, daddy," Suzanna cried.

Her father smiled at her. The Eagle Man spoke. "Your father is my right-hand man, remember, little girl," he answered. He brought out the sentence clearly with no strain of embarrassment.

"Right-hand man," Suzanna repeated thoughtfully. "I don't quite know what that means."

"Well, it means that your father looks after my interests in a very capable way," old John Massey returned. "Don't you remember how the new homes went up under his direction for my employees?"

"Yes, I remember," said Suzanna, "those beautiful new, brick houses, and the clean yards for the babies to play in."

"And now your father is in my mill as my superintendent, looking after the men." He paused. "How would you describe your way with them, Mr. Procter?"

"Looking after them humanly, perhaps," put in Mr. Procter simply.

"All right, we'll let it go just that way. In any event if you're making them happier by shifting them about a bit, trying to fit them by natural adaptability to their jobs and so increasing efficiency, I am satisfied with any way you put it."

Mr. Procter stood a little ill at ease. It was so very rare for old John Massey to so graciously express himself, almost unheard of.

"You see," said the Eagle Man, softly, "I'm using Suzanna as a mask; I'm telling her what I couldn't say to your face, Richard Procter." He stretched out his hand and Richard Procter let his own fall into it. The two men stood thus bound in a spirit of perfect friendship.

Suzanna went on upstairs. She found "Miss Massey" in a large room with pink curtains at the windows, pink rugs on the floor and even pink chairs and sofas. Like a sea shell, Suzanna thought. The baby lay in a beautiful rose-tinted crib drawn near the window, and above the crib the new mother bent.

She turned when Suzanna knocked softly.

"Oh, Suzanna," she cried at once, a glad note in her voice. She ran across the room and enfolded the little visitor close within her arms.

"And you've come back with a baby," Suzanna cried, after a time.

"Yes, come and see him. He's named after my father."

Suzanna went to the cradle and looked down. "He's a nice fat baby," she admitted. She really didn't think that he was pretty, but that she did not say.

"And don't you love Saturday nights when it rains and you're safe indoors with Robert and the baby?" asked Suzanna, interestedly.

"Oh, dear girl, I do, I do. What a picture you painted, and how I've tried to make it true."

"And have you a cross man with buttons to jump at your bidding?" Suzanna pursued.

"No, dear; we have a little home with a garden, where in the summer all the old-fashioned flowers bloom. I do most of my own work, and care altogether for my baby. And I'm happier than ever before in my life. And my father is no longer angry with me. He wrote asking me to pay him a visit after he knew he had a grandson named for him."

She bent above her baby for a moment, then turned her shining face to Suzanna. "And now, tell me about yourself, Suzanna, and your loved ones."

Suzanna paused to think. "Well, you know father doesn't weigh out nails any more; he's the Eagle Man's right-hand man." She remembered the phrase and brought it out roundly. "And father helped build all those nice new homes for the people who work in the Massey Steel Mills.

"My father's a great man," finished Suzanna, simply as always when stating this incontrovertible fact. "And his Machine's nearly ready now for the world to know about it."

"Oh, oh, Suzanna! And then?"

"And then many, many people are going to be happy ever after because my father thought of that machine and worked on it for years and years."

After a moment Suzanna continued: "And my dear, dear Drusilla set off on a far journey and didn't come back. And Graham cried, and went away for a long time, and Bartlett Villa was closed. But they've come back now and it's open again. And David and Daphne are quite well, thank you. And Mrs. Reynolds has two little children of her own."

"I'm so glad," said Robert's wife. "You're a very happy little girl, then, aren't you, dear?"

"Oh, very happy," said Suzanna. "I love so many people, you see. And I have a sister, Maizie, who was once smiled upon by a very great Man." Her listener was puzzled, but she asked no questions. It didn't seem to her the right moment to ask an explanation. Some day she would. But Suzanna told the story of Maizie's rare selection, dwelling upon it with a degree of wondrous awe, for she believed the story now. It stood so clear to her, so real, that it had a fine influence upon her inner life. Often when swift anger surged through her, anger directed against the little sister, she brought to bear a strong control, as she remembered Maizie's great awakening.

She returned to her surroundings in a moment. "I must be going, Miss Massey. I wish you'd come to see us. We've got a lovely new rug in the front room and mother has two new dresses for herself. She is awfully pretty in them."

"I certainly shall come to visit you," Miss Massey promised, kissing the little girl.

Suzanna ran downstairs. She did not stop at the library, fearing she would reach home late for luncheon.

But she was just in time to set the table. Her father had not yet arrived. Mother, of course, was there and with an eager face full of news, delightful news, Suzanna guessed.

"Suzanna, dear, what do you think? Mrs. Graham Woods Bartlett was here during your absence."

"To visit us, mother? Oh, tell me all about it," Suzanna cried.

"She wants to take you and Maizie and Peter to the seashore for a whole month. There, Suzanna! What do you think of that?"

Suzanna stood absolutely still. Then exclaimed: "To the seashore, mother! Why—I don't think I can stand the joy of it. Oh, mother, I'm too happy!"