that I have concluded all arrangements to rebuild
homes for the men and their families who were
burned out some time ago, and I want you to act as
my agent. No sentiment in building these
up-to-date houses, let me assure you. Only perhaps
I've given some thought to Suzanna's little wrist
chain. Come to me within a day or two and we'll
talk over salary, and other things of interest to
you.

Yours,
John Massey.

Suzanna plunged into the ensuing quiet. "Is there any answer, daddy?"
she asked.

Mr. Procter looked at his small daughter through a mist, then at Mr.
Bartlett still standing regarding him somewhat curiously. "No, no
answer," he said at last, "but I want to see your mother--right away."

BOOK III

CHAPTER XXII

HAPPY DAYS

Summer once again, with the flowers abloom and all the richness of the
season scattered lavishly about. The Procter house seemed more colorful
too, perhaps because it had acquired within some late months a new coat
of paint.

Once inside if you were familiar enough to go upstairs, you could not
find the steps which had been wont to creak. And peeping into the parlor
you could see that some pretty new furniture had taken the place of the
shaky old lounge and chairs; one good marine picture hung between the
windows and a new rug lay upon the hardwood floor.

Two years had gone since the fire, two years bringing some changes.
Suzanna had shot up. She was a tall, slim girl now, though with the same
dark, questioning eyes. She stood one Saturday morning in the kitchen
making a cake, yes, actually stirring the mixture all by herself in the
brown earthen vessel.

Her mother, hovering near, was offering comment and a few directions.
Between times she attended to the "baby," a baby no longer since he was
nearly four years old. Maizie, coming in from the yard with Peter behind
her, stopped short at sight of Suzanna's work.

"When can I make a cake, mother?" she asked. Her small face was as
plump, as childlike as ever. The same sweetness of expression was hers,
the same admiration in her eyes for her "big" sister.

"When you're as old as Suzanna, I guess, Maizie," Mrs. Procter answered.
"What did Mrs. Reynolds say?"

Peter answered before Maizie could speak, thereby gaining a reproving
look from her. "She's comi