CHAPTER XIII
SUSY CASTLE
The Forsyth Mills had built Wassumsic—in truth, Wassumsic was the Forsyth's Mills. It had had its beginning in that first small mill where the first Forsyth worked in his shirt-sleeves; a cluster of houses had sprung up close to the river, a store, more houses, more stores, a tavern, a church, a school. And as the Mills grew, so grew the village. For themselves the Forsyth family had built the stone house on the hill, that looked, indeed, like a grand old woman holding off her skirts from contamination. And that lofty apartness had always been the attitude of the Forsyth family to the workaday life in the village.
The growth of the village had been toward the railroad so that the first Mill houses had been left by themselves "up the river" and were commonly known as the "old village." They were so old that they were not worth keeping in repair and so close to the river that they were damp the year round and for these very good reasons were offered to the mill workers at a low rental. Many of the mill workers—such as Dale—looked upon them as a disgrace to the Mills and felt a hot anger in their hearts when they thought of them—but unfortunates like the Castles were glad to move into the worst of them.
The short walk from the Mills to the old village skirted the river and was overhung with a double row of willows which, on this wintry day, cast long purple shadows. Robin, walking along it with Mrs. Lynch, thought it lovely and solemn—like a cathedral aisle. But when they stopped before a low cottage, one window nailed across with boards where the panes were missing, the front door propped in place by a rotting rail tie, tin cans and frozen refuse littering the strip of yard, and Mrs. Lynch said "This is the house," she wanted to cry out in protest at the ugliness. They had to pick their way around to a back door upon which Mrs. Lynch knocked. Several moments elapsed before the door swung back a little way, a round black eye peered at them cautiously, and a shrill voice piped "whachy'want?"
"I s'pose that's Susy," thought Robin, her heart skipping a beat with a terror of shyness.
Mrs. Lynch's pleasant: "We want to see Granny," admitted them. Robin, blinded for the first moment of coming into the darkness of the room from the bright sunshine outside, stumbled over a chair and in her confusion mumbled some incoherent answer to the shrill cackle of welcome that came from the shrunken bit of humanity bending over a small stove.
"Poor Granny doesn't understand who you are," explained Mrs. Lynch, in an apologetic whisper, touching her head significantly. "Come here, Susy," and she motioned the staring child to her. Susy approached with the hang-back step of a child or a dog not always certain of what he may get but Mrs. Lynch magically produced a round cookie, fat with currants, and Susy sprang at her with a quick leap.