We're going to the End
of the World, and they've already started."
For a moment Aunt Emily looked as rigid as the post beside a five-
barred gate. The old unbending attitude took possession of her once
again. Her eyes took on the tint of soapy water. Her elastic nose
looked round the corner. She frowned. Her black dress crackled. The
mention of a tramp and the End of the World woke all her savage
educational instincts visibly.
"He's a singing tramp and shines like a Christmas Tree," explained
Judy, "and he looks like everybody in the world. He's extror'iny." She
turned to her brother. "Doesn't he, Tim?"
Tim ran up and caught his Aunt by the umbrella hand. He saw her
stiffening. He meant to prevent it if he could.
"Everybody rolled into one," he agreed eagerly; "Daddy and Mother and
the Clergyman and you."
"And me?" she asked tremulously.
"Rather!" the boy said vehemently; "as you are now, all rabbity and
nice."
Aunt Emily slowly removed one big golosh, then waited.
"Cleaned up and young," cried Judy, "and smells delicious--like
flowers and hay--"
"And soft and warm--"
"And sings and dances--"
"And is positive that if we go on looking we shall find--exactly what
we're looking for.
Pages:
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394