as much
right to have fancies as a little girl has."

"Well, I don't know," said Mrs. Procter, turning a soft look upon
Suzanna.

Maizie, who had been standing near listening intently, now spoke: "A
girl I know had a grandfather who thought he was a cat and every once in
awhile he meowed, and he liked to sit in the sun. He thought he was a
nice, gentle, Maltese cat, and when he wasn't busy meowing he was awful
sweet to the children, and played with them and took care of the little
ones; but the big people thought they'd better send him far away,
because it wasn't right that he should think himself a cat."

Suzanna's eyes flamed in anger. "I think they were cruel," she cried,
"not to let him stay at home. I know the girl whose grandfather he was.
Her name's Mary Holmes, and she cried because they sent her grandfather
away. But she didn't tell me why."

"I'm her special friend on Wednesday recess day," said Maizie bashfully,
"that's why she told me."

"I like old people," Suzanna continued. "I like Drusilla, and I like
Mrs. Reynold's mother that once came to see her, and I like old Joe, the
vegetable man, who made whistles for us last summer. They all seem to
understand you when you talk to them, and they can see things just like
you can."

"Well, I've heard it said," said Mrs. Procter musingly, "that old people
are very much like the young in their fancies. Maybe that's why you
enjoy them, Suzanna."

"Well, mother," Suzanna was very much in earnest now, "can't you always
tell everybody who has an old lady or an old gentleman living with them
that if they're not loving to old ladies and gentlemen, their silver
chain will break?"

"Silver chain?" cried Maizie, puzzled. "I don't know what you mean,
Suzanna."

"Why, every one of us," Suzanna explained carefully, "carries a little
silver chain which binds him to everyone else, but especially, I
suppose, to our very own father and mother and brothers and sisters."

"Where is the chain?" asked Maizie.

"It runs from your wrist to mine. It stretches as you move, and it's
given to everybody as soon as he's born. Sometimes it's broken."

"Well, Suzanna," said Maizie solemnly, "then you've broken the silver
chain that ties you to me and to Peter and the baby and to daddy and
mother. You don't belong to us any more--you're an Only Child."

* * * * *

Maizie's literalness drew a new vivid picture for Suzanna. She had cut
herself from