Chapter 4 A FAMILY CONCLAVE

Emily wakened at daylight the next morning. Through her low, Uncurtained window the splendour of the sunrise was coming in, and

One faint, white star was still lingering in the crystal-green sky

Over the Rooster Pine. A fresh sweet wind of lawn was blowing

Around the eaves. Ellen Greene was sleeping in the big bed and

Snoring soundly. Except for that the little house was very still.

It was the chance for which Emily had waited.

Very carefully she slipped from her bed, tiptoed across the room

And opened the door. Mike uncoiled himself from the mat on the

Middle of the floor and followed her, rubbing his warm sides

Against her chilly little ankles. Almost guiltily she crept down

The bare, dark staircase. How the steps creaked--surely it would

Waken everybody! But nobody appeared and Emily got down and

Slipped into the parlour, drawing a long breath of relief as she

Closed the door. She almost ran across the room to the other door.

Aunt Ruth's floral pillow still covered the glass of the casket.

Emily, with a tightening of the lips that gave her face an odd

Resemblance to Aunt Elizabeth, lifted up the pillow and set it on

The floor.

"Oh, Father--Father!" she whispered, putting her hand to her throat

To keep something down. She stood there, a little shivering, White-clad figure, and looked at her father. This was to be her

Good-bye; she must say it when they were alone together--she would

Not say it before the Murrays.

Father looked so beautiful. All the lines of pain had vanished--

His face looked almost like a boy's except for the silver hair

Above it. And he was smiling--such a nice, whimsical, wise little

Smile, as if he had suddenly discovered something lovely and

Unexpected and surprising. She had seen many nice smiles on his

Face in life but never one just like this.

"Father, I didn't cry before them, " she whispered. "I'm sure I

Didn't disgrace the Starrs. Not shaking hands with Aunt Ruth

Wasn't disgracing the Starrs, was it? Because she didn't really

Want me to--oh, Father, I don't think any of them like me, unless

Perhaps Aunt Laura does a little. And I'm going to cry a little

Bit now, Father, because I can't keep it back ALL the time."

She laid her face on the cold glass and sobbed bitterly but

Briefly. She must say good-bye before any one found her. Raising

Her head she looked long and earnestly at the beloved face.

"Good-bye, dearest darling, " she whispered chokingly.

Dashing away her blinding tears she replaced Aunt Ruth's pillow, Hiding her father's face from her for ever. Then she slipped out, Intent on speedily regaining her room. At the door she almost fell

Over Cousin Jimmy, who was sitting on a chair before it, swathed in

A huge, checked dressing-gown, and nursing Mike.

"S-s-h!" he whispered, patting her on the shoulder. "_I_ heard you

Coming down and followed you. _I_ knew what you wanted. I've been

Sitting here to keep them out if any of them came after you. Here, Take this and hurry back to your bed, small pussy."

"This" was a roll of peppermint lozenges. Emily clutched it and

Fled, overcome with shame at being seen by Cousin Jimmy in her

Nightgown. She hated peppermints and never ate them, but the fact

Of Cousin Jimmy Murray's kindness in giving them to her sent a

Thrill of delight to her heart. And he called her "small pussy, "

Too--she liked that. She had thought nobody would ever call her

Nice pet names again. Father had had so many of them for her--

"sweetheart" and "darling" and "Emily-child" and "dear wee kidlet"

And "honey" and "elfkin." He had a pet name for every mood and she

Had loved them all. As for Cousin Jimmy, he was nice. Whatever

Part of him was missing it wasn't his heart. She felt so grateful

To him that after she was safely in her bed again she forced

Herself to eat one of the lozenges, though it took all her grit to

Worry it down.

The funeral was held that forenoon. For once the lonesome little

House in the hollow was filled. The coffin was taken into the

Parlour and the Murrays as mourners sat stiffly and decorously all

Round it, Emily among them, pale and prim in her black dress. She

Sat between Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Wallace and dared not move a

Muscle. No other Starr was present. Her father had no near living

Relatives. The Maywood people came and looked at his dead face

With a freedom and insolent curiosity they would never have

Presumed on in life. Emily hated to have them looking at her

Father like that. They had no right--they hadn't been friendly to

Him while he was alive--they had said harsh things of him--Ellen

Greene had sometimes repeated them. Every glance that fell on him

Hurt Emily; but she sat still and gave no outward sign. Aunt Ruth

Said afterwards that she had never seen a child so absolutely

Devoid of all natural feeling.

When the service was over the Murrays rose and marched around the

Coffin for a dutiful look of farewell. Aunt Elizabeth took Emily's

Hand and tried to draw her along with them, but Emily pulled it

Back and shook her head. She had said her good-bye already. Aunt

Elizabeth seemed for a moment to be on the point of insisting; then

She grimly swept onward, alone, looking every inch a Murray. No

Scene must be made at a funeral.

Douglas Starr was to be taken to Charlottetown for burial beside

His wife. The Murrays were all going but Emily was not to go. She

Watched the funeral procession as it wound up the long, grassy

Hill, through the light grey rain that was beginning to fall.

Emily was glad it was raining; many a time she had heard Ellen

Greene say that happy was the corpse the rain fell on; and it was

Easier to see Father go away in that soft, kind, grey mist than

Through sparkling, laughing sunshine.

"Well, I must say the funeral went off fine, " said Ellen Greene at

Her shoulder. "Everything's been done regardless. If your father

Was looking down from heaven at it, Emily, I'm sure he'd be

Pleased."

"He isn't in heaven, " said Emily.

"Good gracious! Of all the children!" Ellen could say no more.

"He isn't there YET. He's only on the way. He said he'd wait

Around and go slow until I died, too, so that I could catch up with

Him. I hope I'll die soon."

"That's a wicked, wicked thing to wish, " rebuked Ellen.

When the last buggy had disappeared Emily went back to the sitting-

Room, got a book out of the bookcase, and buried herself in the

Wing-chair. The women who were tidying up were glad she was quiet

And out of the way.

"It's well she can read, " said Mrs Hubbard gloomily. "Some little

Girls couldn't be so composed--Jennie Hood just screamed and

Shrieked after they carried her mother out--the Hoods are all such

A FEELING people."

Emily was not reading. She was thinking. She knew the Murrays

Would be back in the afternoon; and she knew her fate would

Probably be settled then. "We'll talk the matter over when we come

Back, " she had heard Uncle Wallace saying that morning after

Breakfast. Some instinct told her just what "the matter" was; and

She would have given one of her pointed ears to hear the discussion

With the other. But she knew very well she would be sent out of

The way. So she was not surprised when Ellen came to her in the

Twilight and said:

"You'd better go upstairs, Emily. Your aunts and uncles are coming

In here to talk over the business."

"Can't I help to get supper?" asked Emily, who thought that if she

Were going and coming around the kitchen she might catch a word or

Two.

"No. You'd be more bother than help. March, now."

Ellen waddled out to the kitchen, without waiting to see if Emily

Marched. Emily got up reluctantly. How could she sleep to-night

If she did not know what was going to happen to her? And she felt

Quite sure she would not be told till morning, if then.

Her eyes fell on the oblong table in the centre of the room. Its

Cloth was of generous proportions, falling in heavy folds to the

Floor. There was a flash of black stockings across the rug, a

Sudden disturbance of drapery, and then--silence. Emily, on the

Floor under the table, arranged her legs comfortably and sat

Triumphant. She would hear what was decided and nobody would be

Any the wiser.

She had never been told that it was not considered strictly

Honourable to eavesdrop, no occasion for such instruction ever

Having arisen in her life with her father; and she considered that

It was a bit of pure luck that she had thought of hiding under the

Table. She could even see dimly through the cloth. Her heart beat

So loudly in her excitement that she was afraid they would hear it;

There was no other sound save the soft, faraway singing of frogs

Through the rain, that sounded through the open window.

In they came; down they sat around the room; Emily held her breath;

For a few minutes nobody spoke, though Aunt Eva sighed long and

Heavily. Then Uncle Wallace cleared his throat and said, "Well, what is to be done with the child?"

Nobody was in a hurry to answer. Emily thought they would NEVER

Speak. Finally Aunt Eva said with a whine, "She's such a difficult child--so odd. _I_ can't understand her at

All."

"I think, " said Aunt Laura timidly, "that she has what one might

Call an artistic temperament."

"She's a spoiled child, " said Aunt Ruth very decidedly. "There's

Work ahead to straighten out HER manners, if you ask me."

(The little listener under the table turned her head and shot a

Scornful glance at Aunt Ruth through the tablecloth. "_I_ think

That your own manners have a slight curve." Emily did not dare

Even to murmur the words under her breath, but she shaped them with

Her mouth; this was a great relief and satisfaction.)

"I agree with you, " said Aunt Eva, "and I for one do not feel equal

To the task."

(Emily understood that this meant Uncle Wallace didn't mean to take

Her and she rejoiced thereat.)

"The truth is, " said Uncle Wallace, "Aunt Nancy ought to take her.

She has more of this world's goods than any of us."

"Aunt Nancy would never dream of taking her and you know it well

Enough!" said Uncle Oliver. "Besides, she's entirely too old to

Have the bringing up of a child--her and that old witch Caroline.

Upon my soul, I don't believe either of them is human. I would

Like to take Emily--but I feel that I can hardly do it. I've a

Large family to provide for."

"She'll not likely live long to bother anyone, " said Aunt Elizabeth

Crisply. "She'll probably die of consumption same as her father

Did."

("I won't--I won't!" exclaimed Emily--at least she THOUGHT it with

Such vim that it almost seemed that she exclaimed it. She forgot

That she had wanted to die soon, so that she could overtake Father.

She wanted to live now, just to put the Murrays in the wrong. "I

Haven't ANY intention of dying. I'm going to live--for ages--and

Be a famous AUTHORESS--you'll just see if I don't, Aunt Elizabeth

Murray!")

"She IS a weedy-looking child, " acknowledged Uncle Wallace.

(Emily relieved her outraged feelings by making a face at Uncle

Wallace through the tablecloth. "If I ever possess a pig I am

Going to name it after YOU, " she thought--and then felt quite

Satisfied with her revenge.)

"Somebody has to look after her as long as she's alive though, you

Know, " said Uncle Oliver.

("It would serve you all right if I did DIE and you suffered

Terrible remorse for it all the rest of your lives, " Emily thought.

Then in the pause that happened to follow, she dramatically

Pictured out her funeral, selected her pall-bearers, and tried to

Choose the hymn verse that she wanted engraved on her tombstone.

But before she could settle this Uncle Wallace began again.)

"Well, we are not getting anywhere. We have to look after the

Child--"

("I WISH you wouldn't call me 'THE CHILD, '" thought Emily

Bitterly.)

"--and some of us must give her a home. Juliet's daughter must not

Be left to the mercy of strangers. Personally, I feel that Eva's

Health is not equal to the care and training of a child--"

"Of SUCH a child, " said Aunt Eva.

(Emily stuck out her tongue at Aunt Eva.)

"Poor little soul, " said Aunt Laura gently.

(Something frozen in Emily's heart melted at that moment. She was

Pitifully pleased over being called "poor little soul" so

Tenderly.)

"I do not think you need pity her overmuch, Laura, " said Uncle

Wallace decidedly. "It is evident that she has very little

Feeling. I have not seen her shed a tear since we came here."

"Did you notice that she would not even take a last look at her

Father?" said Aunt Elizabeth.

Cousin Jimmy suddenly whistled at the ceiling.

"She feels so much that she has to hide it, " said Aunt Laura.

Uncle Wallace snorted.

"Don't you think WE might take her, Elizabeth?" Laura went on

Timidly.

Aunt Elizabeth stirred restlessly.

"I don't suppose she'd be contented at New Moon, with three old

People like us."

("I would--I would!" thought Emily.)

"Ruth, what about you?" said Uncle Wallace. "You're all alone in

That big house. It would be a good thing for you to have some

Company."

"I don't like her, " said Aunt Ruth sharply. "She is as sly as a

Snake."

("I'm NOT!" thought Emily.)

"With wise and careful training many of her faults may be cured, "

Said Uncle Wallace, pompously.

("I don't WANT them cured!" Emily was getting angrier and angrier

All the time under the table. "I like MY faults better than I do

YOUR--YOUR--" she fumbled mentally for a word--then triumphantly

Recalled a phrase of her father's--"your ABOMINABLE virtues!")

"I doubt it, " said Aunt Ruth, in a biting tone. "What's bred in

The bone comes out in the flesh. As for Douglas Starr, I think

That it was perfectly disgraceful for him to die and leave that

Child without a cent."

"Did he do it on purpose?" asked Cousin Jimmy blandly. It was the

First time he had spoken.

"He was a miserable failure, " snapped Aunt Ruth.

"He wasn't--he wasn't!" screamed Emily, suddenly sticking her head

Out under the tablecloth, between the end legs of the table.

For a moment the Murrays sat silent and motionless as if her

Outburst had turned them to stone. Then Aunt Ruth rose, stalked to

The table, and lifted the cloth, behind which Emily had retired in

Dismay, realizing what she had done.

"Get up and come out of that, Em'ly Starr!" said Aunt Ruth.

"Em'ly Starr" got up and came out. She was not specially

Frightened--she was too angry to be that. Her eyes had gone black

And her cheeks crimson.

"What a little beauty--what a regular little beauty!" said Cousin

Jimmy. But nobody heard him. Aunt Ruth had the floor.

"You shameless little eavesdropper!" she said. "There's the Starr

Blood coming out--a Murray would never have done such a thing. You

Ought to be whipped!"

"Father wasn't a failure!" cried Emily, choking with anger. "You

Had no right to call him a failure. Nobody who was loved as much

As he was could be a failure. I don't believe anybody EVER loved

You. So it's YOU, that's a failure. And I'm NOT going to die of

Consumption."

"Do you realize what a shameful thing you have been guilty of?"

Demanded Aunt Ruth, cold with anger.

"I wanted to hear what was going to become of me, " cried Emily. "I

Didn't know it was such a dreadful thing to do--I didn't know you

Were going to say such horrid things about me."

"Listeners never hear any good of themselves, " said Aunt Elizabeth

Impressively. "Your mother would NEVER have done that, Emily."

The bravado all went out of poor Emily. She felt guilty and

Miserable--oh, so miserable. She hadn't known--but it seemed she

Had committed a terrible sin.

"Go upstairs, " said Aunt Ruth.

Emily went, without a protest. But before going she looked around

The room.

"While I was under the table, " she said, "I made a face at Uncle

Wallace and stuck my tongue out at Aunt Eva."

She said it sorrowfully, desiring to make a clean breast of her

Transgressions; but so easily do we misunderstand each other that

The Murrays actually thought that she was indulging in a piece of

Gratuitous impertinence. When the door had closed behind her they

All--except Aunt Laura and Cousin Jimmy--shook their heads and

Groaned.

Emily went upstairs in a state of bitter humiliation. She felt

That she had done something that gave the Murrays the right to

Despise her, and they thought it was the Starr coming out in her--

And she had not even found out what her fate was to be.

She looked dismally at little Emily-in-the-glass.

"I didn't know--I didn't know, " she whispered. "But I'll know

After this, " she added with sudden vim, "and I'll never, NEVER do

It again."

For a moment she thought she would throw herself on her bed and

Cry. She COULDN'T bear all the pain and shame that was burning in

Her heart. Then her eyes fell on the old yellow account-book on

Her little table. A minute later Emily was curled up on her bed, Turk-fashion, writing eagerly in the old book with her little

Stubby lead-pencil. As her fingers flew over the faded lines her

Cheeks flushed and her eyes shone. She forgot the Murrays although

She was writing about them--she forgot her humiliation--although

She was describing what had happened; for an hour she wrote

Steadily by the wretched light of her smoky little lamp, never

Pausing, save now and then, to gaze out of the window into the dim

Beauty of the misty night, while she hunted through her

Consciousness for a certain word she wanted; when she found it she

Gave a happy sigh and fell to again.

When she heard the Murrays coming upstairs she put her book away.

She had finished; she had written a description of the whole

Occurrence and of that conclave ring of Murrays, and she had wound

Up by a pathetic description of her own deathbed, with the Murrays

Standing around imploring her forgiveness. At first she depicted

Aunt Ruth as doing it on her knees in an agony of remorseful sobs.

Then she suspended her pencil--"Aunt Ruth couldn't EVER feel as bad

As THAT over anything, " she thought--and drew her pencil through

The line.

In the writing, pain and humiliation had passed away. She only

Felt tired and rather happy. It HAD been fun, finding words to fit

Uncle Wallace; and what exquisite satisfaction it had been to

Describe Aunt Ruth as "a dumpy little woman."

"I wonder what my uncles and aunts would say if they knew what I

REALLY think of them, " she murmured as she got into bed.