“And what did you say, Grandfather?”
“I said, ‘My little black-eyed Susan.’”
“And that has been my name ever since,” said Susan with an air of satisfaction. “Now, tell what Grandmother was doing.”
“Grandmother had both arms round your father who carried you in, for once upon a time he was her little boy,” concluded Grandfather.
“And you were so glad to see me that night because my mother had gone to heaven, weren’t you?” mused Susan. “And then my father went away to build a big bridge, and then he went to the war and he never came back.”
A silence fell for a moment upon Grandfather Whiting and Susan as they gazed into the fire, and then the little girl stirred and spoke.
“I think I will go and play with Flip awhile, Grandfather,” said she.
She slipped down from Grandfather’s lap, and, leaving him to fall into a doze, proceeded to set up housekeeping with Flip, her rag doll, behind a pile of books in a corner.
Flip and Snuff, the shaggy brown setter, were Susan’s constant playmates, for the house in Featherbed Lane stood a little way out of the village and there were no children living near by.
The other side of the Lane, on a little knoll, perched the old Tallman house, empty since last autumn when Miss Eliza Tallman had gone down to the village to live with her niece.