er demonstratively. "And this is my father, Suzanna," he
said. "I've told him a lot about you."

"Yes, I know a great deal about you, Suzanna," said Mr. Bartlett; "and
David has told me of your father's invention and what he expects to do
some day with it."

Suzanna's face kindled. "Yes, my father's a great man," she said,
simply.

Then she turned to Graham: "I came to talk to you about something very
important. I was going to ask you afterwards to speak to your father
about my plan."

"I may hear, then?" said Mr. Bartlett. "Shall we go on into the house?
There's a little chill in the air."

So they walked toward the great house, leaving Jerry rather
disconsolate. Suzanna, looking up at Mr. Bartlett, said: "I've been here
twice and I've never seen you."

"My business takes me often to different cities," he replied.

They entered the house and went into a small room at the left of the
wide hall. It was lovely, Suzanna decided, done all in soft gray, except
the curtains at the window, which were of amber silk, hanging in heavy
folds. Yes, very charming, Suzanna emphasized to herself. She liked
particularly the one picture on the wall, showing a group of horses,
heads high in the air, full of fire. Suzanna could see them move, she
believed.

"Sit down there, Suzanna, in that high-backed chair and tell us what you
have to say that's so important," suggested Mr. Bartlett.

"I'm crazy to hear all about it, Suzanna," supplemented Graham. He
settled himself in anticipation, for Suzanna was always intensely
interesting.

Suzanna seated herself. A quaint little figure she was, her fine head
thrown in relief against the gray satin of the chair. "You know," she
began, "there's been a fire."

"A bully big one," said Graham.

Suzanna turned her dark eyes upon the boy. "It was a big one, and maybe
fun to watch," she said, "but it burned all the people's homes. We've
got two little children, at our house. We could never find their father
and mother."

Mr. Bartlett, occupying the corner of a lounge, shifted uneasily.
Evidently to put forth truths so baldly was inartistic.

"My mother says it was--I can't think of the word--but she meant it was
lucky those cottages were burned down; they were so dirty." Suzanna went
on: "And babies played in the yards in ashes and old papers. I always
hurried past when I went that way because something stopped inside of
me, I felt so sorry for those babies." Suzanna paused. "I just tho