t again."

Mr. Bartlett was greatly amused. "You ask such a little thing, Suzanna."

"Yes, isn't it, seeing it'll help out so much?" Suzanna returned
innocently.

Graham rose and went close to his father. "Father," he said, "who's
going to build the new homes for the poor people?"

His father answered: "I don't know, I'm sure; but I should think it old
John Massey's duty to do so."

"Father," asked Graham, after a pause given over to thought and drawing
on his memory for what vague facts he knew of his father's business, "if
you take less money for your interests in the mill and if you speak to
him, do you suppose Mr. Massey would begin at once to build those
homes?" His young face was quite white with earnestness and other new
emotions struggling up to the surface.

Mr. Bartlett looked from one small face to the other. He smiled grimly.
They could see nothing but the humanness of a situation, the need
existing. Going against all precedent meant nothing to them; they simply
followed ridiculous altruistic impulses. Only in their minds was the
knowledge that other people were suffering; and the immediate necessity
for relief.

He let his hand fall upon his son's shoulder. "How about the trip
abroad, Graham?" There was an under meaning in his question which Graham
got at once. His face lit.

"I'd rather help out here, father, and give up the trip. I really
would."

Mr. Bartlett remained quiet for a long time again. In some mysterious
manner he was now for almost the first time looking upon his son as an
individual, one with opinions and the power of criticism. And there
grew in his heart the very fervent desire to stand well in that son's
estimation. He looked at Suzanna and envied her father. How proudly, how
simply she had said, "He is a great man!"

But when he spoke, he reverted to a name used a moment before by
Suzanna, a name he knew well.

"Who's your very philosophic friend, Suzanna--Drusilla, you called her."

Suzanna's eyes shone. "Drusilla? She's my special friend. She lives in a
little house on the forked road. She's pretty and sweet and she has
fancies, like children. She plays sometimes she's a queen. But she's
lonely. She gave Miss Massey to Robert in the little church. And she has
no one in all the world left to call her by her first name. So I call
her Drusilla and she loves it."

Graham did not stir. Neither did he look at his father till Suzanna,
suddenly remembering, cried out:

"Why,