s, the employer of hundreds of men, he had failed to
gain the esteem of one human being. Fear, for many depended upon him for
their livelihood, was the emotion he most inspired.

Fairfax Massey, his daughter, inspired a deep sympathy, perhaps because
her leading characteristic was a pitiable holding to her ideals. She
painted her father as a good and loving man hiding his real tenderness
beneath gruff mannerisms. When he denied her friendship with the man she
secretly loved, she put upon that denial a high value. He could not bear
to run the chance of losing her, his one close possession. To that
chivalrous thought of her father, she sacrificed her friend and went her
way, undramatically, uncomplainingly.

She spoke in a low sweet voice. "The children will have a happy time,
I'm sure, Mrs. Procter," she said, as she left, Suzanna and Maizie
clinging to her.

Other little girls were waiting in the phaeton. They greeted Suzanna and
Maizie and moved to make room for them. Miss Massey took her place near
the driver, from which vantage spot she could watch her little guests,
and with a great flourish off they started.

"Are you quite comfortable, Suzanna?" Miss Massey asked once.

Suzanna looked up quickly, a puzzled line between her eyes. After brief
hesitation she answered, merely in good manners, "Yes, thank you."

The phaeton stopped several times till eight little girls filled the
vehicle to overflowing. Then with no more pauses, they were off to the
big house on the hill.

The day was wonderful. A soft little breeze caressed the children and
the sky overhead was like an angel's breast, thought Suzanna. But she
did not say this, even to excited Maizie; she was gathering impressions
and burnishing them with her vivid imagination. Once her gaze fell on
Miss Massey's long, slender, tired-looking hands. Her mother's hands,
Suzanna recalled, were tired-looking, too, but in a different way. Her
mother's, she decided after a time, were just plain tired-looking, while
Miss Massey's were a sorry tired, as though they missed something. They
were never quiet, always doing futile little things. And yet, Miss
Massey lived in a wonderful house and wore pretty dresses and hats with
gorgeous, real-looking flowers. Suzanna pondered unanswerable questions.

The driver, with the air of a brave knight, swept round the last corner.
He commanded his horses to stand still, when even the smallest girl knew
he would have to urge and coa