There was one poor girl, amongst her former associates, to whom she had a peculiar dislike,—Susan Price, a sweet tempered, modest, sprightly, industrious lass, who was the pride and delight of the village. Her father rented a small farm, and, unfortunately for him, he lived near Attorney Case.
Barbara used often to sit at her window, watching Susan at work. Sometimes she saw her in the neat garden raking the beds, or weeding the borders; sometimes she was kneeling at her beehive with fresh flowers for her bees; sometimes she was in the poultry yard, scattering corn from her sieve amongst the eager chickens; and in the evening she was often seated in a little honeysuckle arbour, with a clean, light, three-legged deal table before her, upon which she put her plain work.
Susan had been taught to work neatly by her good mother, who was very fond of her, and to whom she was most gratefully attached.
Mrs. Price was an intelligent, active, domestic woman; but her health was not robust. She earned money, however, by taking in plain work; and she was famous for baking excellent bread and breakfast cakes. She was respected in the village, for her conduct as a wife and as a mother, and all were eager to show her attention. At her door the first branch of hawthorn was always placed on May morning, and her Susan was usually Queen of the May.
It was now time to choose the Queen. The setting sun shone full upon the pink blossoms of the hawthorn, when the merry group assembled upon their little green. Barbara was now walking in sullen state in her father’s garden. She heard the busy voices in the lane, and she concealed herself behind the high hedge, that she might listen to their conversation.
“Where’s Susan?” were the first unwelcome words which she overheard. “Ay, where’s Susan?” repeated Philip, stopping short in the middle of a new tune that he was playing on his pipe. “I wish Susan would come! I want her to sing me this same tune over again; I have not it yet.”
“And I wish Susan would come, I’m sure,” cried a little girl, whose lap was full of primroses. “Susan will give me some thread to tie up my nosegays, and she’ll show me where the fresh violets grow; and she has promised to give me a great bunch of her double cowslips to wear to-morrow. I wish she would come.”
“Nothing can be done without Susan! She always shows us where the nicest flowers are to be found in the lanes and meadows,” said they. “She must make up the garlands; and she shall be Queen of the May!” exclaimed a multitude of little voices.
“But she does not come!” said Philip.
Rose, who was her particular friend, now came forward to assure the impatient assembly, “that she would answer for it Susan would come as soon as she possibly could, and that she probably was detained by business at home.”