Emily,” said Miss Potter. “I can’t make head or tail of it. They were seen on the big hill last Wednesday evening at sunset, behaving in a most extraordinary fashion. They would walk along with their eyes fixed on the sky—then suddenly stop—grasp each other by the arm and point upward. They did it time and again. Mrs. Price was watching them from the window and she can’t imagine what they were up to. It was too early for stars, and she couldn’t see a solitary thing in the sky. She laid awake all night wondering about it.”
“Well, it all comes to this—Emily Starr needs looking after,” said Mrs. Ann Cyrilla. “I sometimes feel that it would be wiser to stop Muriel and Gladys from going about so much with her.”
(Emily, devoutly: “I wish you would. They are so stupid and silly and they just stick around Ilse and me all the time.”)
“When all is said and done, I pity her,” said Miss Potter. “She’s so foolish and high-minded that she’ll get in wrong with every one, and no decent, sensible man will ever be bothered with her. Geoff North says he went home with her once and that was enough for him.”
(Emily, emphatically: “I believe you! Geoff showed almost human intelligence in that remark.”)
“But then she probably won’t live through her teens. She looks very consumptive. Really, Ann Cyrilla, I do feel sorry for the poor thing.”
This was the proverbial last straw for Emily. She, whole Starr and half Murray, to be pitied by Beulah Potter! Mother Hubbard or no Mother Hubbard, it could not be borne! The closet door suddenly opened wide and Emily stood revealed, Mother Hubbard and all, against a background of boots and jumpers. Her cheeks were crimson, her eyes black. The mouths of Mrs. Ann Cyrilla and Miss Beulah Potter fell open and stayed open; their faces turned dull red; they were dumb.
Emily looked at them steadily for a minute of scornful, eloquent silence. Then, with the air of a queen, she swept
