e Man. Mrs. Procter sank back
against the tree.

"You sit down, too, Eagle Man," said Suzanna cordially. "We've got
another shawl. Here it is." She spread it down on the ground and the
Eagle Man quite gladly accepted the invitation, though his face whitened
in the downward process of reaching the shawl.

"Well, madam," he began again, "most people can't afford big families
these days."

Mrs. Procter smiled, but did not answer. Suzanna, sensing a criticism,
spoke quickly.

"Mother can't afford them either, but she's not asked anything about it.
The doctor who has charge of giving out babies stops at our gate often
and looks into mother's eyes. Then he knows she'd be awful sweet to a
little baby and so next time he gets around he brings one to us. Maybe
one that no one else will have."

"I see," said the Eagle Man. He turned to Mrs. Procter. "Your daughter
is very apt with explanations."

Mrs. Procter smiled.

"Her explanations," he continued, "are a trifle more honest than the
ones I often hear."

Another little silence. The Eagle Man appeared to be thinking deeply.
First he cast a glance out into the road to where his capacious vehicle
stood, then he looked over at Mrs. Procter.

"I wonder, madam," he said, "if you and your family would do me the
honor to drive with me."

Suzanna's eyes grew like stars, Maizie wrung her hands in a very
eloquence of prayer as she awaited her mother's answer; Peter just
stared, speech stricken from him; Mabel turned in her toes in her agony.
The baby only was unconcerned. Finally Mrs. Procter answered:

"We'll be very glad to, I'm sure, Mr. Massey." And in less time than it
takes to tell, Mrs. Procter, the baby on her knees, sat beside Mr.
Massey in the carriage, while the three little girls sat on a seat
facing Mrs. Procter, a seat that could at will be let down or pushed
back. Peter, to his everlasting delight, sat beside the coachman.

"Out into the country, Robert," said Mr. Massey to his coachman, and so
away they started at a leisurely pace, since the complacent horses
refused any other. Sometimes vagrant chickens wandered into the road,
exhibiting a daring that enthralled Peter. His opinion of chickens rose
when, the fat horses almost upon their tail feathers, they disdainfully
moved off.

"We couldn't run one down, I suppose," he asked Robert, hopefully. "Just
take a feather off, you know, to learn 'em a lesson."

"I scared a pair of 'em good and proper, once,"