Days and weeks passed.  The snowflakes, which had fallen from time to time, and kept themselves busy making a patchwork quilt for mother Earth, now melted away, and the white quilt was torn into shreds.  The bare ground was all there was to be seen, except now and then a dot of the white coverlet.  It was Spring, and everything began to wake up.  The sun wasn’t half so sleepy, and didn’t walk off over the western hills in the middle of the afternoon to take a nap.

The sleighing was gone long ago.  The roads were dismal swamps.  “Wings” would have a rest till “settled going.”  Susy’s skates were hung up in a green baize bag, to dream away the summer.

The mocking-bird performed his daily duties of entertaining the family, besides learning a great many new songs.  Susy said she tried not to set her heart on that bird.

“I’ll not give him a name,” she added, “for then he’ll be sure to die!  My first canary was Bertie, and I named the others Berties, as fast as they died off.  The last one was so yellow that I couldn’t help calling him Dandelion; but I wish I hadn’t, for then, perhaps, he’d have lived.”

Susy had caught some whimsical notions about “signs and wonders.”  It is strange how some intelligent children will believe in superstitious stories!  But as soon as Susy’s parents discovered that her young head had been stored with such worse than foolish ideas, they were not slow to teach her better.

She had a great fright, about this time, concerning Freddy Jackson.  He was one of the few children who were allowed to play in “Prudy’s sitting-room.”  He did not distract the tired nerves of “Rosy Frances,” as her cousin Percy and other boys did, by sudden shouts and loud laughing.  Prudy had a vague feeling that he was one of the little ones that God thought best to punish by “snipping his heart.”  She knew what it was to have her heart snipped, and had a sympathy with little Freddy.

Susy loved Freddy, too.  Perhaps Percy was right, when he said that Susy loved everything that was dumb; and I am not sure but her tender heart would have warmed to him all the more if he had been stone-blind, as well as deaf.

Freddy had a drunken father, and a sad home; but, for all that, he was not entirely miserable.  It is only the wicked who are miserable.  The kind Father in heaven has so planned it that there is something pleasant in everybody’s life.

Freddy had no more idea what sound is than we have of the angels in heaven; but he could see, and there is so much to be seen!  Here is a great, round world, full of beauty and wonder.  It stands ready to be looked at.  Freddy’s ears must be forever shut out from pleasant sound; but his bright eyes were wide open, seeing all that was made to be seen.

He loved to go to Mrs. Parlin’s, for there he was sure to be greeted pleasantly; and he understood the language of smiles as well as anybody.

When grandma Read saw him coming she would say, ­

“Now, Susan, thee’d better lay aside thy book, for most likely the poor little fellow will want to talk.”

And Susy did lay aside her book.  She had learned so many lessons this winter in self-denial!

These “silent talks” were quite droll.  Little Dotty almost understood something about them; that is, when they used the signs:  the alphabet was more than she could manage.  When Freddy wanted to talk about Dotty, he made a sign for a dimple in each cheek.  He smoothed his hair when he meant Susy, and made a waving motion over his head for Prudy, whose hair was full of ripples.

Prudy said she had wrinkled hair, and she knew it; but the wrinkles “wouldn’t come out.”

Grandma Read sat one evening by the coal-grate, holding a letter in her hand, and looking into the glowing fire with a thoughtful expression.  Susy came and sat near her, resting one arm on her grandma’s lap, and trying in various ways to attract her attention.

“Why, grandma,” said she, “I’ve spoken to you three times; but I can’t get you to answer or look at me.”

“What does thee want, my dear?  I will try to attend to thee.”

“O, grandma, there are ever so many things I want to say, now mother is out of the room, and father hasn’t got home.  I must tell somebody, or my heart will break; and you know, grandma dear, I can talk to you so easy.”

“Can thee?  Then go on, Susy; what would thee like to say?”

“O, two or three things.  Have you noticed, grandma, that I’ve been just as sober as can be?”

“For how long, Susan?”

“O, all day; I’ve felt as if I couldn’t but just live!”

Grandma Read did not smile at this.  She knew very well that such a child as Susy is capable of intense suffering.

“Well, Susan, is it about thy sister Prudence?”

“O, no, grandma! she’s getting; better; isn’t she?”

“Are thy lessons at school too hard for thee, Susan?”

Mrs. Read saw that Susy was very reluctant about opening her heart, although she had said she could talk to her grandmother “so easy.”

“No, indeed, grandma; my lessons are not too hard.  I’m a real good scholar ­one of the best in school for my age.”

This was a fact.  Some people would have chidden Susy for it; but Mrs. Read reflected that the child was only telling the simple truth, and had no idea of boasting.  She was not a little girl who would intrude such remarks about herself upon strangers.  But when she and her grandma were talking together confidentially, she thought it made all the difference in the world; as indeed it did.

“I have a great deal to trouble me,” said Susy, and the “evening-blue” of her eyes clouded over, till there were signs of a shower.  “I thought my pony would make me happy as long as I lived; but it hasn’t.  One thing that I feel bad about is ­well, it’s turning over a new leaf.  When New Year’s comes, I’m going to do it, and don’t; so I wait till my birthday, and then I don’t.  It seems as if I’d tried about a thousand New Years and birthdays to turn over that leaf.”

Grandma smiled, but did not interrupt Susy.

“I think I should be real good,” continued the child, “if it wasn’t such hard work.  I can’t be orderly, grandma ­not much; and then Dotty upsets everything.  Sometimes I have to hold my breath to keep patient.

“Well, grandma, my birthday comes to-morrow, the 8th of April.  I like it well enough; only there’s one reason why I don’t like it at all, and that is a Bible reason.  It’s so dreadful that I can’t bear to say it to you,” said Susy, shuddering, and lowering her voice to a whisper; “I don’t want to grow up, for I shall have to marry Freddy Jackson.”

Grandma tried to look serious.

“Who put such a foolish idea into thy head, child?”

“Cousin Percy told me last night,” answered Susy, solemnly.  “How can you laugh when it’s all in the Bible, grandma?  I never told anybody before.  Wait; I’ll show you the verse.  I’ve put a mark at the place.”

Susy brought her Bible to her grandmother, and, opening it at the thirty-first chapter of Proverbs, pointed, with a trembling finger, to the eighth verse, which Mrs. Read read aloud, ­

“Open thy mouth for the dumb in the cause of all such as are appointed to destruction.”

“Now Percy says that’s a sure sign!  I told him, O, dear!  Freddy ought to marry a dumb woman; that would be properest; but Percy says no ­anything has got to ‘come to pass’ when it’s foreordinationed!”

“And could thee really believe such foolishness, my sensible little Susan?  Does thee suppose the good Lord ever meant that we should read his Bible as if it were a wicked dream-book?”

“Then you don’t think I shall have to marry Freddy Jackson,” cried Susy, immensely relieved.  “I’m so glad I told you!  I felt so sober all day, only nobody noticed it, and I was ashamed to tell!”

“It is a good thing for thee to tell thy little troubles to thy older friends, Susan:  thee’ll almost always find it so,” said grandma Read, stroking Susy’s hair.

“Now, my child, I have a piece of news for thee, if thee is ready to hear it:  thy cousin, Grace Clifford, has a little sister.”

“A baby sister?  A real sister?  Does mother know it?”

“Yes, thy mother knows it.”

“But how could you keep it to yourself so long?”

“Thee thinks good news is hard to keep, does thee?  Well, thee shall be the first to tell thy father when he comes home.”

Susy heard steps on the door-stone, and rushed out, with the joyful story on her lips.  It proved to be not her father, but callers, who were just ringing the bell; and they heard Susy’s exclamation, ­

“O, have you heard?  Grace has a new sister, a baby sister, as true as you live!” with the most provoking coolness.

But when Mr. Parlin came, he was sufficiently interested in the news to satisfy even Susy.