"Well, well," said the Eagle Man. "And how are you, little girl?"
"I'm awfully well," returned Suzanna. "But today was cleaning day at home and we all started out wrong; the baby kept mother awake last night and Maizie hated her oatmeal with the syrup in the middle and Peter cried hard because he couldn't see his ears, and never in all his life can see his ears."
She paused tragically. "Never in all his life—and neither can you, or anybody."
"What a terrible loss, for sure," said the Eagle Man, after a look darted at his coachman's imperturbable back. "And what did you cry about?"
She stared at him in horror. "I never cry," she said. "I mean I never let the tears fall down my face. I cry in my heart sometimes, but never out loud, on top. But I felt funny this morning because I wished we didn't have to wash on Monday, and iron on Tuesday, and clean on Wednesday, and bake on Thursday, and mend on Friday, and clean again on Saturday."
"Well, ask your mother to wash on Saturday," the Eagle Man suggested easily.
"Oh, I don't think mother would," Suzanna cried, in a little horror herself at that idea. "She's awful set about washing on Monday. Still I'll ask her if you say so, Eagle Man, because Saturday is kind of a wet day anyhow. You see Saturday is just the shape of a big, immense, round ocean. Shall I bring my mother over here to look at you?" suddenly recalling the conventions.
"I don't think I'm fit to look at this morning," the Eagle Man muttered.
"Oh, I think you are," said Suzanna, earnestly. "I like your shiny shoes and your very high collar. I know mother would like you, too."
The Eagle Man looked down at his shiny shoes, hesitated and was lost. He opened the carriage door, seized his cane and struggled to the ground. "Now, let's see your wonderful family," he said to Suzanna, as he hobbled forward toward the little group under the trees.