"How did you come by all this money, Susan?" said he.
"How, I can't make out, except by the baking," said her proud mother. "Hey, Susan, is this your first baking?"
"Oh, no, no," said her father, "I have the money for her first baking snug here, besides, in my pocket. I kept it for a surprise, to do your mother's heart good, Susan. Here's twenty-nine shillings, and the Abbey bill, which is not paid yet, comes to ten more. What think you of this, wife? Have we not a right to be proud of our Susan? Why," he went on, turning to the harper, "I ask your pardon for speaking before strangers in praise of my own child; but the truth is the fittest thing to be spoken, I think, at all times. Here's your good health, Susan. Why, by and by she'll be worth her weight in gold—in silver at least. But tell us, child, how came you by all this wealth, and how comes it that I don't go to-morrow? The happy news makes me so gay, I'm afraid I shall hardly understand it rightly. Speak on, child—but first bring us a bottle of the good mead you made last year from your own honey."
Susan did not like to tell the story of her guinea-hen, of the gown, and of her poor lamb. Part of this would seem as if she were speaking of her own good deeds, and part of it she did not like to remember. But her mother begged to know the whole, and she told it as simply as she could. When she came to the story of her lamb, her voice faltered, and everybody present was touched. The old harper sighed once, and cleared his throat several times. He then asked for his harp, and after tuning it for long, he played the air he had promised to the boys.
VIII
BARBARA VISITS THE ABBEY
The old blind man had come from the mountains of Wales to try to gain a prize of ten guineas. This prize was to be awarded to the harper who should play the best at a large town about five miles from the village where Susan lived. In the evening, after the prize-giving was over, there was to be a ball in the town, so the events of the day were looked forward to by many around. Barbara was one of those who grew more and more excited as the time for the prize-giving and ball drew near. She longed to be asked to go there by some of the rich neighbors who could drive her in their carriage. So how pleased she was when, on the evening that her father and the butcher were talking about Susan's lamb, a servant in livery from the Abbey left a note for Mr. and Miss Barbara Case! It was to invite them to dinner and tea at the Abbey next day.
"Now they will find out," cried Bab, "that I am indeed a genteel person, and they will wish to take me to the ball. At any rate, I shall do my best to be asked."
"To be sure," said Betty, "a lady who would visit Susan Price might well be glad to take you in her carriage."