Philip Vane! The words flashed into Susan’s mind as soon as she opened her eyes the next morning, Philip Vane—the new little boy next door! And Susan jumped out of bed and, running to the window, peered eagerly over at the old Tallman house.
Yes, some one was already up and stirring, for smoke was pouring out of the kitchen chimney, but there was no sign to be seen of any little boy.
Breakfast over, Susan hurried through her daily tasks about the house, and then ran out to the chicken-yard, with her bowl of chicken-feed under her arm. She waited until the fowls, with their usual squawkings and cluckings, had gathered about her feet, and addressed them solemnly.
“I’ve a piece of news for you,” said Susan, “and you are not going to have one bite of breakfast until I’ve told you. There is a little boy coming to live next door, and his name is Philip Vane. We are going to play together and be friends. Aren’t you glad?”
Old Frizzly, so named because her feathers grew the wrong way, could no longer restrain her impatience at this delay of her meal. She uttered an extra loud squawk and flapped her wings wrathfully. But Susan accepted it as an answer to her question.
“Old Frizzly is the only one of you with any manners at all,” said she reprovingly. “You are greedy, and you are rude, and you don’t care a bit whether I have any one to play with or not.”
And, hastily emptying her bowl, Susan departed to station herself upon the low stone wall that separated the Tallman house from her own. She saw heads pass and repass the open windows, sounds of hammering floated out upon the sweet spring air, rugs were vigorously shaken on the little back porch. The butcher’s cart rumbled noisily past on the main road, and a slim lady, with fair hair and a long blue apron, stepped out on the porch and, shading her eyes with her hand, gazed down the driveway as if she were expecting some one.
But, in spite of these interesting sights and sounds, Susan felt disappointed, for not a single peep did she have of the new little boy.
“Did Miss Liza say there was a little boy, Grandmother?” asked Susan, coming into the house at dinner-time so low in her mind that she dragged patient Flippy along by one arm, her limp feet trailing on the ground behind her.
“Why, yes,” answered Grandmother, gazing into the oven at a pan of nicely browned biscuit. “I told you yesterday what she said, Susan. ‘A little boy about the age of your Susan,’ said she. Now run to the door for me and see whether Grandfather is coming. I want him to carry over this plate of biscuit to Mrs. Vane to show ourselves neighborly, and you shall go along with him if you like.”