now, little girl, it will
hurt her."

"Well, that's true, Drusilla," Suzanna conceded. "Will you put your head
down and I'll take the crown off very carefully and we'll put it away
for another day."

The queen obediently lowered her silver head to Suzanna. Suzanna very
carefully removed the wreath and hung it on its old nail.

"I _am_ tired," said the old lady, now in a voice that trembled a
little. "But you'll come again soon, won't you?" she asked, appealing to
Suzanna.

"Yes, just as soon as I can," said Suzanna. "Come, Maizie. Good-bye,
Drusilla, and thank you very much for helping me."

Drusilla brightened. "That's nice, to know that I can still help
someone," she said.

CHAPTER XIII

MRS. GRAHAM WOODS BARTLETT

The great house stood on a hilltop quite two miles from the station, and
cut into the immense iron door standing guard to the grounds was the
name "Bartlett Villa."

Here for a small part of the year the Graham Woods Bartletts lived. The
family consisted of mother, father, and son, named for his father. In
the city another house as large and more palatial received the family
when they tired of the country home.

Mr. Graham Woods Bartlett held large interests in the Massey Steel
Mills. That he might be on the ground part of the time he had built
Bartlett Villa. In his heart he loved the small town. It was like a
retreat to him to come back to its quiet after feverish hours spent in
the crowded city. Here he seemed to recall in part a few of his vanished
dreams--those dreams so bright, so well-nigh impossible of fulfillment,
which as a young man fresh from college he had cherished. While young,
he met and loved the girl he married. That she had visions he perfectly
believed. That her visions were unworthy no power then could have made
him believe. She came from an impecunious family whose lineage was older
and greater than his. How she could have thought the high-browed,
sensitive-faced young man the one who could fulfill her grasping desires
is not to be fathomed. She had believed so, and he did bring to pass all
her aspirations. That in doing so he killed his finest ideals mattered
not.

Young Graham, too, was always glad when the time came for a stay at
Bartlett Villa in Anchorville. He loved the big upstanding elms; loved
the many gardens, and the flaunting flowers. He loved the two people who
belonged properly in the environs of Bartlett Villa--old Nancy, who had
been his mother's