The two orphans stood downcast, the small boy holding tight to his sister's hand, listening in silence to their arraignment. Mrs. Procter, shocked, interposed: "Why, Maizie, Maizie girl!"
But Maizie went on. "You can't be kind to them; they won't let you. And I had to slap the girl orphan."
The one alluded to thrust her small fist in her eye. Her slight body shook with sobs. Suzanna's heart was moved. She addressed her sister vigorously. "That isn't the way to treat people who are weary and homeless, Maizie Procter," she began. "You ought to be kindest in the whole world to sorry ones!"
Maizie paused. She understood perfectly her sister's reference. "When the Man with the halo picked you out of everybody and smiled on you, you ought to be good to all little children that He loves," pursued Suzanna.
"Not to little children who won't play and who won't be kind," said Maizie. But her voice was low. She turned half reluctantly to the orphans and looked steadily at them, as though trying to produce in herself a warmer glow for them.
They did not stir under the look. "But naughty children have to be made good even if you have to slap them, Suzanna," said Maizie pleadingly.
"But not by you, Maizie," said Suzanna; "you never can slap or be cross. I have a bad temper and sometimes get mad. But because of what you are You always have to be loving and kind."
Awe crept into Maizie's eyes. It was a great moment for her, little child that she was. She was to remember all her days that she was as one set apart to be loving and kind. She gazed solemnly back at Suzanna, as she dwelt upon the miraculous truth of her heritage.
At last Maizie turned. "Mrs. Reynolds," she said, "our Suzanna once adopted herself out to you, didn't she?"
Mrs. Reynolds bestowed a soft look upon Suzanna. "She did that, the lamb, and often enough I've thought of that day."