ite dress, her black hair was drawn smoothly back from her brow. Her
eyes dwelt lovingly on the little girl.

"Quite awake, Suzanna?" she asked.

Suzanna nodded. She couldn't trust herself to speak.

"Well, then," said Mrs. Reynolds, "I'm going to give thee a treat." She
went away quite unconscious that she had fallen into her original quaint
method of speech.

Presently she returned, carrying a tray covered with a white and red
napkin.

Suzanna sat up, received the tray in her lap and waited unexcitedly
while Mrs. Reynolds removed the enshrouding napkin.

There lay an orange cut up and sugared; a poached egg on a slice of
perfectly browned toast, and a glass of rich milk.

"For my little girl," said Mrs. Reynolds in her contralto voice. "Now
eat thee, my dearie, and take your time. I'll leave now."

Alone once more, Suzanna surveyed the tray. She lifted a spoon with the
tiniest piece of orange on its tip, and found strangely that when she
attempted to swallow the fruit her throat quite closed up.

Suddenly there came a memory of Drusilla. Drusilla had told of the
little silver chain, binding all to one another. Surely the chain
binding Suzanna to her mother was doubly thick, yet she had broken it!
She put the tray to one side and sprang from the bed. Her desire,
recently so keen, so all absorbing, seemed little indeed beside the
yearning now to be back across the way once again her Mother's Child.

Mrs. Reynolds, returning, found her little guest at the window, bare
feet on the cold floor; the white gown held tightly at the neck by a
small, trembling hand. A glance at the tray on the bed revealed a
breakfast practically untasted.

"Why, my lamb," began Mrs. Reynolds, "not a bite gone down!"

Suzanna turned, a desperate little face she showed, eyes wide and
appealing.

"I just couldn't eat, Mrs. Reynolds." No thought now of bestowing the
beloved title.

"And the food brought fine to bed to you."

"Not even then."

"Well, come then, dear heart; you must be dressed. I put your clothes
away neat and tidy."

Mrs. Reynolds opened a closet door and brought forth an armful of
garments. Suzanna surveyed them as though they had no relation to her.

Mrs. Reynolds went suddenly and picked up the little figure, carried her
to a rocking chair and with no word held her close.

"What is it, my little girl?" asked Mrs. Reynolds after a time, softly.

Her little girl! Suzanna winced. But she _was_ Mrs. Reynolds'