Suzanna Stirs the Fire | Page 5

"and perhaps I shall allow you to seat
yourself."
"May I sit down?" asked Suzanna.
The queen inclined her head graciously. "You may," she returned. So
once more the little visitor resumed her seat. Then for a long time the
old lady sat with folded hands and looking off into the distance. She
was very, very still. Only the lace on her bosom moved gently to show
that she breathed. Suzanna thought perhaps she had better go. But she
feared to rise lest she again meet with reproof.
At last the queen remembered her guest.
"I wish to traverse my garden and in the absence of my lady-in-waiting
I request your arm, Princess Cecilia," she said.
Suzanna rose quickly and bending her small arm, she offered its
support to the old lady, who though now standing very straight and
slender, still was scarce two heads taller than her visitor. She slipped
her blue-veined hand within Suzanna's arm and they began a friendly
walk up and down the path.
"Once," began the queen, "when I lived beyond the snow-capped
mountains within my own palace, I was not so lonely as I now am.

There was one who afterwards became my king, with whom I walked
by the sea. We saw together the sapphire sparkle of the water, the
golden yellow of the sands; but in reality we beheld only one another's
face."
By this time they had reached the gate and both stopped and stood
looking down the quiet road. But the little old lady still clung to
Suzanna's arm and her eyes had a far-away look.
"And after a time," went on the queen, "we were wedded and lived
together in my palace and we were happy as the birds; happy and less
care free. And always we found our greatest happiness in walking by
the sea or in climbing the mountains; I sometimes clinging to his ready
hand or skipping before him. And once we ran away from all the pomp
and ceremony that was merely surface and we found a little house right
at the edge of town, and there together for some months we lived.
There, too, our little prince came to us, and from there he went away.
"And one day my king, too, left, and my little prince forgot me, and I
am alone. Queen as I am, I am alone!"
Suzanna was silent. Indeed, she was at a loss just how to offer comfort.
When Helen, Peter's twin, went away her heart had ached, and when a
little baby, soft and cuddly had gone away forever, Suzanna had wept
for days and far into the nights. This queen, she found was very sad,
and very longing, and very lonely, three things she thought queenhood
exempt from, sadness, and longing and loneliness.
Once more they turned, and walked down the garden path till they
reached the chairs under the tree. The queen sank again among her
pillows and Suzanna was about to use her camp chair when the queen
spoke in her old commanding manner:
"I am hungry, serf," she cried. "Go, prepare my food! All the dainties
that you can find. I wish cream beaten to a froth and peaches, halved
and stoned. I wish strawberries still wet with dew and reposing in their
green leaves."

"But," began Suzanna, "I can't get strawberries for you."
The old lady rose to her full height. "Wilt begone, serf?" in stern
accents she cried. "Wilt begone and prepare what I demand?"
Now Suzanna had a very firm idea of her own standing as a princess.
Had she not earlier in the day impressed Maizie? And now, was this
stranger, even though she were a queen, to demand menial service of
one of royal blood? Suzanna thought not. So she said firmly, though
gently:
"I am not a serf, if that means a slave! I am a visiting princess, the
Princess Cecilia. I will not go into your kitchen and prepare food." And
then forgetting her rôle, she assumed her ordinary voice. "Why, this
morning I didn't even warm the baby's bottle, because mother said I
needn't seeing that I was a princess and living in my own tucked-in
day."
"'Tucked-in day!'" responded the queen. "What do you mean by that?"
"Why, it's my very own day, a day tucked in between last week and this
week," said Suzanna.
The old lady's eyes wandered away again looking into distant countries,
Suzanna had no doubt, and she hoped the strawberries were forgotten.
But alas, she was wrong, for in a few moments the queen, bringing her
eyes back to Suzanna's face recalled her desire:
"I will have my strawberries," she began peremptorily. And then with a
complete change of voice; one with some satire in its tone she
concluded: "Dost think