"And a King that's gone to the Far Country," said Suzanna; "and she longs for him. Oh, she's a lonely old lady."
"She must be that and all," said Mrs. Reynolds, wholly sympathetic.
They sat rocking then in silence. Suzanna was the first to speak.
"Mrs. Reynolds," she began in a low voice. "I think I'll dress now, and after I've helped with the breakfast dishes I'll go and see my mother."
The heartbreak in the small voice touched Mrs. Reynolds deeply. "Why, small lass," she cried: "You mustn't think I'll hold you to your giving yourself away to me. No, not even for a bit of time. Sweet, you gave me joy last night. I pretended that you were my own. I undressed you and put you to bed, and heard your prayers. You did something for me, and I be vastly grateful to you."
Suzanna's eyes brightened. "Oh, thank you for saying all that, Mrs. Reynolds."
"Yes, you came to me in the night with your shiny bag, and you told in your little way some truths to Reynolds. You made him see clear and farther than he has for many a day, the fine man though he is, and I'll always hold you in my heart as my dream child."
"Your dream child—and I'll dream for you—that you should have your heart's desire like the fairies say," finished Suzanna.
"Ah, lack-a-me," cried Mrs. Reynolds. "Who e'er gets his deepest heart desire in this drear world?"