"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."