early crisp September morning—Aunt Ruth’s cool welcome—the hours at a strange school—the organisation of the “Prep” classes—home to supper—surely it must all have taken more than a day.
Aunt Ruth’s house was at the end of a residential side street—almost out in the country. Emily thought it a very ugly house, covered as it was with gingerbread-work of various kinds. But a house with white wooden lace on its roof and its bay windows was the last word of elegance in Shrewsbury. There was no garden—nothing but a bare, prim, little lawn; but one thing rejoiced Emily’s eyes. Behind the house was a big plantation of tall, slender fir trees—the tallest, straightest, slenderest firs she had ever seen, stretching back into long, green, gossamered vistas.
Aunt Elizabeth had spent the day in Shrewsbury and went home after supper. She shook hands with Emily on the doorstep and told her to be a good girl and do exactly as Aunt Ruth bade her. She did not kiss Emily, but her tone was very gentle for Aunt Elizabeth. Emily choked up and stood tearfully on the doorstep to watch Aunt Elizabeth out of sight—Aunt Elizabeth going back to dear New Moon.
“Come in,” said Aunt Ruth, “and please don’t slam the door.”
Now, Emily never slammed doors.
“We will wash the supper dishes,” said Aunt Ruth. “You will always do that after this. I will show you where everything is put. I suppose Elizabeth told you I would expect you to do a few chores for your board.”
“Yes,” said Emily briefly.
She did not mind doing chores, any number of them—but it was Aunt Ruth’s tone.
“Of course your being here will mean a great deal of extra expense for me,” continued Aunt Ruth. “But it is only fair that we should all contribute something to your bringing up. I think, and I have always thought,
