guidance.

"We'll see what can be done," Mrs. Procter answered finally. And then
she continued very carefully: "You see, it isn't only a question of
giving these little ones a home, but they must be clothed and fed and
educated, and we haven't a great deal of money."

"So many of those poor people haven't any homes any more, have they?"
asked Suzanna. Her eyes suddenly filled with tears of pity. She looked
out of the window. The sun was shining brightly. And to be in keeping
with the suffering about them, Suzanna wished it would hide behind a
cloud. It seemed the day itself, to be in sympathy, should be dark,
depressed, altogether gloomy.

Her mother answered: "It's providential in a manner that those unsightly
cottages were swept away; but they meant homes for many poor souls; and
all that they possessed was contained in those homes."

Suzanna's ingenious mind settled itself to work on the problem of the
bereft ones. She was no longer thinking of the two little orphans, but
of the many troubled people. If only her home were large enough to
accommodate them all! Her thoughts in natural sequence ran to the Eagle
Man and his beautiful place, but she immediately rejected the idea. She
feared he might not listen kindly to the plan of lending his home even
as a temporary abode for the stricken. Had he not been a little unkind
about her father's wonderful Machine?

Suddenly she remembered Bartlett Villa, and with the memory came a
thousand thoughts. Impulsively she donned hat and coat, spoke a word to
her mother and was off.

In a very short time, for she ran nearly all the way, she reached
Bartlett Villa. She pushed open the big iron gate leading into the
grounds, and stopped short, for there to the left, near a closed
fountain, stood Graham. He was talking to a tall man whose back was
toward Suzanna. About the two, in seeming happiness, played Jerry.

Graham cried out when he saw Suzanna. She went quickly to him. Then the
man looked down at her and smiled. Suzanna decided that she liked him,
but she wished his smile was more of a real one, one that should light
his face. She did not know the word, but he looked, despite his smile,
cynical, rather weary. Yes, she knew she should like him, for in some
indefinite way he reminded her of her father. Was it the brown, rather
nearsighted eyes? Surely they were keen, yet behind their keenness dwelt
a softness; perhaps he, too, once had cherished a vision.

Graham greeted h