“Haven't I just walked from Shrewsbury at this hour? I can do it again and it won’t be any harder than bumping over those awful roads behind the grey mare. Of course, I’ll put something on my feet that will be a little more protection than kid slippers. I’ve ruined your Christmas present in my brain-storm. There is a pair of my old boots in the closet there. I'll put them on—and my old ulster. I'll be back in Shrewsbury by daylight. I'll start as soon as we finish the doughnuts. Let’s lick the platter clean, Cousin Jimmy.”
Cousin Jimmy yielded. After all, Emily was young and wiry, the night was fine, and the less Elizabeth knew about some things the better for all concerned. With a sigh of relief that the affair had turned out so well—he had really been afraid at first that Emily’s underlying “stubbornness” had been reached and then, whew!—Cousin Jimmy settled down to doughnuts.
“How’s the writing coming on?” he asked.
“I’ve written a good deal lately—though it’s pretty cold in my room mornings, but I love it so—it’s my dearest dream to do something worth while some day.”
“So you will. You haven’t been pushed down a well,” said Cousin Jimmy.
Emily patted his hand. None realised better than she what Cousin Jimmy might have done if he had not been pushed down a well.
When the doughnuts were finished Emily donned her old boots and ulster. It was a very shabby garment but her young-moon beauty shone over it like a star in the old, dim, candle-lighted room.
Cousin Jimmy looked up at her. He thought that she was a gifted, beautiful, joyous creature and that some things were a shame.
“Tall and stately—tall and stately like all our women,” he murmured dreamily. “Except Aunt Ruth,” he added.
Emily laughed—and “made a face.”
“Aunt Ruth will make the most of her inches in our forthcoming interview. This will last her the rest of the
