“I wish I owned it.
“I dandered around all my old haunts tonight—Lofty John’s bush—Emily’s Bower—the old orchard—the pond graveyard—the Today Road—I love that little road. It’s like a personal friend to me.
“I think ‘dandering’ is a lovely word of its kind—not in itself exactly, like some words, but because it is so perfectly expressive of its own meaning. Even if you'd never heard it before you’d know exactly what it meant—dandering could mean only dandering.
“The discovery of beautiful and interesting words always gives me joy. When I find a new, charming word I exult as a jewel-seeker and am unhappy until I’ve set it in a sentence.
| · | · | · | · | · | · | · |
“Tonight Aunt Ruth came home with a portentous face.
“‘Em’ly, what does this story mean that is all over Shrewsbury—that you were seen standing on Queen Street last night with a man’s arms around you, kissing him?’
“I knew in a minute what had happened. I wanted to stamp—I wanted to laugh—I wanted to tear my hair. The whole thing was so absurd and ludicrous. But I had to keep a grave face and explain to Aunt Ruth.
“This is the dark, unholy tale.
“Ilse and I were ‘dandering’ along Queen Street last night at dusk. Just by the old Taylor house we met a man. I do not know the man—not likely I shall ever know him. I do not know if he was tall or short, old or young, handsome or ugly, black or white, Jew or Gentile, bond or free. But I do know he hadn’t shaved that day!
“He was walking at a brisk pace. Then something happened which passed in the wink of an eye, but takes several seconds to describe. I stepped aside to let him pass—he stepped in the same direction—I darted the other
