In a second a remarkable change came over the old lady. She rose to her feet. Then she turned to Suzanna, her shoulders straight and her head held high.
"My crown," she demanded. "Is that to be lifted from me in these the full years of my queenhood?"
"I've never seen you with a crown on," said Suzanna.
"Enough, serf!" cried the queen haughtily. "Procure me my crown." Suzanna looked about her. An old dried-up Christmas wreath hanging on a rafter attracted her attention. Quickly she procured it and held it out to Drusilla. "Here is your crown, Queen," she said. And then, her voice changing, she said: "You'd better let me put it on, Drusilla, it's liable to crumble if you're not careful. Lower your head, please."
The old lady did so and Suzanna placed the crown upon the silver hair.
"Now," said the old lady, "if you have sought me to gain advice, repeat your question, that I may answer in a manner worthy my exalted station."
"Well," said Suzanna for the third time, "I want to know whether it's best to be honest or to suffer?"
"What shall be your course if you are honest?" asked the queen.
Suzanna pondered. "I think I'll tell daddy, perhaps tonight," she said at last, "that to wear the shoes will hurt my feelings dreadfully; that I tremble when I think of being the only girl in the drill without low shoes with two straps. Something like moccasins. If I tell daddy this, then I'll be honest."
"And if you decide to suffer?"