From the dormer window she looked down on a dreamland scene that would ordinarily have delighted her. There was a red sunset behind the white, distant hills, shining through the dark trees like a great fire; there was a delicate blue tracery of bare branch shadows all over the crusted garden; there was a pale, ethereal alpenglow all over the southeastern sky; and presently there was a little, lovely new moon in the silvery arch over Lofty John’s bush. But Emily found no pleasure in any of them.
Presently she saw Miss Brownell coming up the lane, under the white arms of the birches, with her mannish stride.
“If my father was alive,” said Emily, looking down at her, “you would go away from this place with a flea in your ear.”
The minutes passed, each seeming very long to Emily. At last Aunt Laura came up.
“Your Aunt Elizabeth wants you to come down to the kitchen, Emily.”
Aunt Laura’s voice was kind and sad. Emily fought down a sob. She hated to have Aunt Laura think she had been naughty, but she could not trust herself to explain. Aunt Laura would sympathize and sympathy would break her down. She went silently down the two long flights of stairs before Aunt Laura and out to the kitchen.
The supper table was set and the candles were lighted. The big black-raftered kitchen looked spookish and weird, as it always did by candlelight. Aunt Elizabeth sat rigidly by the table and her face was very hard. Miss Brownell sat in the rocking-chair, her pale eyes glittering with triumphant malice. There seemed something baleful and poisonous in her very glance. Also, her nose was very red—which did not add to her charm.
Cousin Jimmy, in his grey jumper, was perched on the edge of the wood-box, whistling at the ceiling, and looking more gnome-like than ever. Perry was nowhere to be seen. Emily was sorry for this. The presence of Perry, who was on her side, would have been a great moral support.
“I am sorry to say, Emily, that I have been hearing some very bad things about your behaviour in school today,” said Aunt Elizabeth.
“No, I don’t think you are sorry,” said Emily, gravely.
Now that the crisis had come she found herself able to confront it coolly—nay, more, to take a curious interest in it under all her secret fear and shame, as if some part of her had detached itself from the rest and was interestedly absorbing impressions and analyzing motives and describing settings. She felt that when she wrote about this scene later on she must not forget to describe the odd shadows the candle under Aunt Elizabeth’s nose cast upward on her face, producing a rather skeletonic effect. As for Miss Brownell, could she ever have been a baby—a dimpled, fat, laughing baby? The thing was unbelievable.
“Don’t speak impertinently to me,” said Aunt Elizabeth.
“You see,” said Miss Brownell, significantly.
“I don’t mean to be impertinent, but you are not sorry,” persisted Emily. “You are angry because you think I have disgraced New Moon, but you are a little glad that you have got someone to agree with you that I’m bad.”
“What a grateful child,” said Miss Brownell—flashing her eyes up at the ceiling—where they encountered a surprising sight. Perry Miller’s head—and no more of him—was stuck down out of the “black hole” and on Perry Miller’s upside-down face was a most disrespectful and impish grimace. Face and head disappeared in a flash, leaving Miss Brownell staring foolishly at the ceiling.
“You have been behaving disgracefully in school,” said Aunt Elizabeth, who had not seen this byplay. “I am ashamed of you.”
“It was not as bad as that, Aunt Elizabeth,” said Emily steadily. “You see it was this way—”
“I don’t want to hear anything more about it,” said Aunt Elizabeth.
“But you must,” cried Emily. “It isn’t fair to listen only to her side. I was a little bad—but not so bad as she says—”
“Not another word! I have heard the whole story,” said Aunt Elizabeth grimly.
“You heard a pack of lies,” said Perry, suddenly sticking his head down through the black hole again.
Everybody jumped—even Aunt Elizabeth, who at once became angrier than ever because she had jumped.
“Perry Miller, come down out of that loft instantly!” she commanded.
“Can’t,” said Perry laconically.
“At once, I say!”
“Can’t,” repeated Perry, winking audaciously at Miss Brownell.
“Perry Miller, come down! I will be obeyed. I am mistress here yet.”
“Oh, all right,” said Perry cheerfully. “If I must.”
He swung himself down until his toes touched the ladder. Aunt Laura gave a little shriek. Everybody else seemed to be stricken dumb.
“I’ve just got my wet duds off,” Perry was saying cheerfully, waving his legs about to get a foothold on the ladder while he hung to the sides of the black hole with his elbows. “Fell into the brook when I was watering the cows. Was going to put on dry ones—but just as you say—”
“Jimmy,” implored poor Elizabeth Murray, surrendering at discretion. She could not cope with the situation.
“Perry, get back into that loft and get your clothes on this minute!” ordered Cousin Jimmy.
The bare legs shot up and disappeared. There was a chuckle as mirthful and malicious as an owl’s beyond the black hole. Aunt Elizabeth gave a convulsive gasp of relief and turned to Emily. She was determined to regain ascendancy and Emily must be thoroughly humbled.
“Emily, kneel down here before Miss Brownell and ask her pardon for your conduct today,” she said.
Into Emily’s pale cheek came a scarlet protest. She could not do this—she would ask pardon of Miss Brownell but not on her knees. To kneel to this cruel woman who had hurt her so—she could not—would not do it. Her whole nature rose up in protest against such a humiliation.
“Kneel down,” repeated Aunt Elizabeth.
Miss Brownell looked pleased and expectant. It would be very satisfying to see this child who had defied her kneeling before her as a penitent. Never
