Ruth’s dining-room was much more splendid and “up-to-date” than the “sitting-room” at New Moon where they had “company” meals. Hardwood floor—Wilton rug—Early English oak furniture. But it was not half as “friendly” as the old New Moon room, Emily thought. She was more homesick than ever. She did not believe she was going to like anything in Shrewsbury—living with Aunt Ruth, or going to school. The teachers all seemed flat and insipid after pungent Mr. Carpenter and there was a girl in the Junior class she had hated at sight. And she had thought it would be all so delightful—living in pretty Shrewsbury and going to High School. Well, nothing ever is exactly like what you expect it to be, Emily told herself in temporary pessimism as she went back to her room. Hadn’t Dean told her once that he had dreamed all his life of rowing in a gondola through the canals of Venice on a moonlit night? And when he did he was almost eaten alive by mosquitoes.
Emily set her teeth as she crept into bed.
“I shall just have to fix my thoughts on the moonlight and romance and ignore the mosquitoes,” she thought. “Only—Aunt Ruth does sting so.”
“I have been neglecting my diary of late. One does not have a great deal of spare time at Aunt Ruth’s. But it is Friday night and I couldn’t go home for the week-end so I come to my diary for comforting. I can spend only alternate week-ends at New Moon. Aunt Ruth wants me every other Saturday to help ‘houseclean.’ We go over this house from top to bottom whether it needs it or not, as the tramp said when he washed his
