Black-Eyed Susan

A pair of black eyes, a head covered with short brown curls, two red cheeks, and a tip-tilted nose-that was Susan. A warm heart, a pair of eager little hands always ready to help, little feet that tripped willingly about on errands-that was Susan, too.

"The best little girl in Putnam County," said Grandfather, snuggling Susan up so close that his gray beard tickled her nose and made her laugh.

"My little comfort," said Grandmother, with a hand on Susan's bobbing curls that simply couldn't be made to lie flat no matter how much you brushed and brushed.

Susan herself didn't say very much to this, but oh, how she did love Grandfather, from the crown of his big slouch hat to the toes of his high leather boots that he delighted to wear both winter and summer!

As for Grandmother, who could help loving her, with her merry smile, her soft pink cheeks shaded by a row of little white curls, and her jar of cinnamon cookies on the low shelf in the pantry? Yes, her jar of cinnamon cookies on the low shelf in the pantry, for, somehow, in Susan's mind, Grandmother and the cinnamon cookies were pleasantly mingled and together made up the love and comfort and cheer that to Susan meant home.

The house Susan lived in with Grandmother and Grandfather Whiting and Snuff the dog was a broad, low, white house that stood far back from the road at the end of Featherbed Lane.

Susan thought this the funniest name she had ever heard.

As she and Grandfather, hand in hand, would carefully pick their way over the stones that covered the road from house to highway, she never tired of asking, "Grandfather, why do you call it Featherbed Lane? It's not a bit like a feather bed. It's as hard as hard can be."

"Because there are just as many stones in this lane as there are feathers in a feather bed," Grandfather would answer gravely. "Some day you must count them and see."

"But how many feathers are there in a feather bed?" Susan would ask. "You must count them, too," was Grandfather's reply.

At the end of the lane, on the roadside, stood a little house with three windows, a front door, and a pointed roof with a chimney. This was Grandfather's law office, and here he was to be found at work every day, coming up to the house only at meal-time. Inside there was one big room, not only lined all round with books, but with books overflowing their shelves and piled upon the chairs and tumbled upon the floor. Grandfather's big desk was drawn up close to the windows, and as Susan passed in and out of the gate she never failed to smile and wave her hand in greeting.

If Grandfather were not busy, he would invite her in, and then Susan on the floor would build houses of the heavy law books, using Grandfather's shabby old hassock for table or bed as the case might be.

One cool May afternoon Susan climbed upon Grandfather's lap as he sat in front of the coal fire that burned in the office grate every day that gave the least excuse for it.

Grandmother had gone calling in the village, and Susan was staying with Grandfather until her return. Susan cuddled her head down on Grandfather's broad shoulder.

"Say 'William Ti Trimity' for me, please," said she coaxingly.

So Grandfather obediently repeated,

William Ti Trimity, he's a good fisherman;

Catches his hens and puts them in pens.

Some lays eggs and some lays none.

Wire, briar, limber lock,

Three geese in a flock.

One flew east, and one flew west,

And one flew over the cuckoo's nest.

Susan gave Grandfather's cheek a pat by way of thanks.

"Sing to me now, please," was the next command.

Obligingly Grandfather tuned up and sang in his sweet old voice-

It rains and it hails and it's cold stormy weather.

In comes the farmer drinking up the cider.

You be the reaper and I'll be the binder,

I've lost my true love, and right here I find her.

This was an old favorite, and it never failed to delight Susan to have Grandfather in great surprise discover her as the lost true love "right here" in his arms.

"Now, 'Chickamy,'" said Susan, smoothing herself down after the vigorous hug she felt called upon to bestow.

Chickamy, Chickamy, crany crow,

Went to the well to wash his toe.

When he came back the black-eyed chicken was gone-

said Grandfather in a mysterious voice.

"Can't you remember any more of it, Grandfather?" implored Susan. "Don't you know who Chickamy was, or who stole the black-eyed chicken? I do wish I knew."

"No, I can't remember," said Grandfather regretfully. "You know all I know about it, Susan. Only I do think Chickamy was a foolish fellow to wash his toe just at that minute. Why didn't he take the black-eyed chicken with him or leave somebody at home to take care of him?"

"Yes, it is a pity," sighed the little girl. "Or why didn't he wash his toe in the tub at home? Well, anyway, Grandfather, now tell about the time I came to live with you." And Susan re-settled herself comfortably as Grandfather slipped down in his chair and stretched out his feet toward the low fire.

"It was a cold winter night," began Grandfather, with the ease of one who has told his story many times, "and the ground was covered with snow. All the little rabbits were snuggled down in their holes in the ground trying to keep warm. All the little birds were cuddled together in their nests under the eaves. All the little boys and girls were sound asleep tucked in their warm beds-"

"All but one," interrupted Susan.

"Yes, all but one," agreed Grandfather, "and she was riding along in a sleigh, and the sleigh-bells went jingle jangle, jingle jangle, and the horses' feet went crunch, crunch, crunch, through the snow."

"Now, tell was I cold," prompted Susan, as Grandfather paused to spread his silk handkerchief over his head to keep off the draught.

"The little girl wasn't one bit cold," went on Grandfather smoothly, "because she was dressed in fur from head to foot. She wore a white fur coat and a white fur cap that came so far down over her face that all you could see was the tip of her nose."

"And that was red," supplied Susan.

"And she had a pair of white furry mittens on her hands, and her feet were wrapped in a white fur rug.

"Well, by and by the horse turned in a lane that was so packed with snow that you couldn't tell whether it was a Featherbed Lane or not. Crunch, crunch, crunch, went the horses' feet, jingle jangle, jingle jangle, went the bells until they were almost up to the white house at the end of the lane.

"Now in that white house there sat a grandmother and a grandfather before the fire.

"Presently the grandmother laid down her knitting.

"'I think I hear sleigh-bells in the lane,' said she.

"The grandfather put down his book.

"'I think I hear horses' feet,' said he.

"Then the grandmother rose and looked out of the window.

"'I see a lantern,' said she, peering out through the snowflakes, for it had begun to snow again.

"At that the grandfather flung open the door and in came-"

"Me!" exclaimed Susan. "And I didn't cry one bit. Did I?"

"Mercy, no," said Grandfather, opening his eyes wide at the very thought. "You just winked and blinked in the light, and when I held out my arms you came straight to me."

"And what did you say, Grandfather?"

"I said, 'My little black-eyed Susan.'"

"And that has been my name ever since," said Susan with an air of satisfaction. "Now, tell what Grandmother was doing."

"Grandmother had both arms round your father who carried you in, for once upon a time he was her little boy," concluded Grandfather.

"And you were so glad to see me that night because my mother had gone to heaven, weren't you?" mused Susan. "And then my father went away to build a big bridge, and then he went to the war and he never came back."

A silence fell for a moment upon Grandfather Whiting and Susan as they gazed into the fire, and then the little girl stirred and spoke.

"I think I will go and play with Flip awhile, Grandfather," said she.

She slipped down from Grandfather's lap, and, leaving him to fall into a doze, proceeded to set up housekeeping with Flip, her rag doll, behind a pile of books in a corner.

Flip and Snuff, the shaggy brown setter, were Susan's constant playmates, for the house in Featherbed Lane stood a little way out of the village and there were no children living near by.

The other side of the Lane, on a little knoll, perched the old Tallman house, empty since last autumn when Miss Eliza Tallman had gone down to the village to live with her niece.

Across the way and up the road stood the deserted little old schoolhouse, long ago abandoned for the new brick building in the heart of the village.

But, although Susan had no near neighbors and often longed for some one her own age to play with, still she dearly loved the lively Snuff who could outrace her any day, who played a skillful game of hide and seek, and who returned tenfold the strength of her love with all the might of his affectionate pink tongue, his briskly wagging tail, and his faithful little heart.

As for Flip, it is hard to say what Susan would have done without her. She was a long thin wobbly rag doll, with a head flat like a turtle's, and not a single spear of hair on it. But to Susan, her brown eyes were the tenderest and her rosy lips the sweetest to be found anywhere, and it was into Flip's sympathetic ear that Susan poured her griefs and troubles, great or small. She was Susan's bedfellow, too, lying outside the coverlid where her little mother might easily put out her hand and touch her in the night.

Susan had other good friends, too. There was the newel post opposite the front door at home. Susan had never thought anything about the newel post until one day, playing "lady come to see" with a shawl on for a long skirt, she had tripped and bumped her head against the post. Now, this was fully six months ago, and when Susan was only a little girl, as she would have been sure to explain, and so she did what other little girls have done before. Feeling the newel post to blame for her fall, she pounded it with both hands and kicked it with both feet. And suddenly, in the midst of the pounding and kicking, Susan spied a big dent in the side of the post. Had she done that? Oh! what a mean, a cruel girl she was! She hurried upstairs for her new hair-ribbon, which she tied round what she called the newel post's neck, and sitting down she tried to smooth out the dent and soothe the newel post's hurt feelings at the same time. Perhaps Grandmother could have explained that dent as made by a trunk carelessly carried upstairs, but Susan always believed that she had made it. She rarely passed the newel post without giving it a pat, and, sitting on the stairs, she and Flip and the newel post often had many a pleasant chat together.

And there was Snowball, the rubber cat, that had been Susan's favorite toy when she was a baby. Snowball may once have deserved her name. But now she was a dingy gray that not even frequent scrubbings with soap and water could freshen. She had lost her tail, she had lost her squeak, but Susan was loyal to her old pet and still lavished tender care upon her.

Then, too, there was the shawl dolly. Most of the time the dolly was a plain little black-and-white checked shawl spread over Grandmother's shoulders or neatly folded on the hatbox in Grandmother's closet. But whenever Susan was a little ailing, Grandmother folded the shawl into a soft comfortable dolly, who cuddled nicely and who never failed to give to Susan the comfort needed.

Just now Susan was playing school in the corner. She was the teacher, and Flip and the hassock, who this afternoon was a fat little boy named Benny, were the scholars.

"Flippy, who made you?" asked the teacher.

"God," answered Flippy promptly.

Susan made her talk in a squeaky little voice.

"Benny, how much is two and two?" was the next question.

But Benny didn't answer. Perhaps he couldn't.

"Benny, how much is two and two?" repeated the teacher loudly.

Still no answer.

This was dreadful, and Susan felt that she must be severe. Shaking her finger warningly at disobedient Benny, she went to Grandfather's desk to borrow his long black ruler, and, glancing out of the window, she saw a big red wagon toiling slowly up the road.

"It's the circus!" exclaimed Susan. "Grandfather, wake up, the circus is coming."

Grandfather woke himself up with a shake and peered out of the window, over Susan's head.

"No, that is not the circus," said he. "That's a moving-van. Somebody's furniture is packed inside that wagon. Hello, they're turning in at the Tallman place. Liza must have rented it."

And Grandfather and Susan, with great interest, watched the heavy van turn and jolt along the driveway that led to the house next door.

"Here comes another van," called Susan, whose sharp eyes spied the red wagon far down the road.

This van bore what the movers call "a swinging load." On the back of the wagon were tied all the pieces of furniture that couldn't be crammed or squeezed into the van itself.

The horses pulled and strained up the little hill until they were directly opposite Susan's gate, and then, with a crash, something fell off the back of the wagon.

"Look, look!" cried Susan, hopping up and down. "Look, Grandfather, it's a rocking-horse!"

Sure enough, a dapple gray rocking-horse, with a gay red saddle, was rocking away in the middle of the road as if he meant to reach Banbury Cross before nightfall.

"There will be somebody for me to play with!" cried Susan, climbing up on Grandfather's desk in her excitement. "Maybe I will have a ride on that rocking-horse. Won't there be somebody for me to play with, Grandfather?"

And Susan, her eyes shining, put both arms around Grandfather's neck and gave him a great hug.

"It looks that way," said Grandfather, as soon as Susan let him breathe again. "It looks as if that rocking-horse was about your size, too. But here comes your grandmother. Perhaps she has heard something about it in the village."

Like a flash Susan was off down the road, and by the time Grandfather had put on his hat and shut the office door Susan had learned all the news that Grandmother had to tell.

"Grandmother knows all about it," called Susan, flying up the road again. "Miss Liza Tallman has rented her house for a year. And, Grandfather, there is a little boy as old as me and his name is Philip Vane."