and poked my pen with his nose as a signal that I’ve written enough for one sitting.
“The only real cat is a grey cat!”
One late August evening Emily heard Teddy’s signal whistle from the Tomorrow Road, and slipped out to join him. He had news—that was evident from his shining eyes.
“Emily,” he cried excitedly, “I’m going to Shrewsbury after all! Mother told me this evening she had made up her mind to let me go!”
Emily was glad—with a queer sorriness underneath, for which she reproached herself. How lonesome it would be at New Moon when her three old pals were gone! She had not realised until that moment how much she had counted on Teddy’s companionship. He had always been there in the background of her thoughts of the coming year. She had always taken Teddy for granted. Now there would be nobody—not even Dean, for Dean was going away for the winter as usual—to Egypt or Japan, as he might decide at the last moment. What would she do? Would all the Jimmy-books in the world take the place of her flesh-and-blood chums?
“If you were only going, too!” said Teddy, as they walked along the Tomorrow Road—which was almost a Today Road now, so fast and so tall had the leafy young maples grown.
“There’s no use wishing it—don’t speak of it—it makes me unhappy,” said Emily jerkily.
“Well, we'll have week-ends anyhow. And it’s you I have to thank for going. It was what you said to Mother that night in the graveyard that made her let me go. I know she’s been thinking of it ever since, by things she
