and she was already composing a description of them for the blank book.
“I wonder if anybody will be sorry when you die,” she thought, looking intently at Caroline’s wizened old face.
“Come now, tell me,” said Aunt Nancy. “If you’re not stupid, why did you write me such a stupid letter that first time. Lord, but it was stupid! I read it over to Caroline to punish her whenever she is naughty.”
“I couldn’t write any other kind of a letter because Aunt Elizabeth said she was going to read it.”
“Trust Elizabeth for that. Well, you can write what you like here—and say what you like—and do what you like. Nobody will interfere with you or try to bring you up. I asked you for a visit, not for discipline. Thought likely you’d have enough of that at New Moon. You can have the run of the house and pick a beau to your liking from the Priest boys—not that the young fry are what they were in my time.”
“I don’t want a beau,” retorted Emily. She felt rather disgusted. Old Kelly had ranted about beaux half the way over and here was Aunt Nancy beginning on the same unnecessary subject.
“Don’t you tell me,” said Aunt Nancy, laughing till her gold tassels shook. “There never was a Murray of New Moon that didn’t like a beau. When I was your age I had half a dozen. All the little boys in Blair Water were fighting about me. Caroline here now never had a beau in her life, had you, Caroline?”
“Never wanted one,” snapped Caroline.
“Eighty and twelve say the same thing and both lie,” said Aunt Nancy. “What’s the use of being hypocrites among ourselves? I don’t say it isn’t well enough when men are about. Caroline, do you notice what a pretty hand Emily has? As pretty as mine when I was young. And an elbow like a cat’s. Cousin Susan Murray had an elbow like that. It’s odd—she has more Murray points
