sent to Queen’s Academy to get a teacher’s license. Teaching is a genteel, lady-like occupation. I will do my share in providing for the expense of it.”
A blind person might have seen that Uncle Wallace thought this very splendid of himself.
“If you do,” thought Emily, “I’ll pay every cent back to you as soon as I’m able to earn it.”
But Aunt Elizabeth was adamant.
“I do not believe in girls going out into the world,” she said. “I don’t mean Emily to go to Queen’s. I told Mr. Carpenter so when he came to see me about her taking up the Entrance work. He was very rude—school-teachers knew their place better in my father’s time. But I made him understand, I think. I’m rather surprised at you, Wallace. You did not send your own daughter out to work.”
“My daughter had parents to provide for her,” retorted Uncle Wallace pompously. “Emily is an orphan. I imagined from what I had heard about her that she would prefer earning her own living to living on charity.”
“So I would,” cried out Emily. “So I would, Uncle Wallace. Oh, Aunt Elizabeth, please let me study for the Entrance. Please! I’ll pay you back every cent you spend on it—I will indeed. I pledge you my word of honour.”
“It does not happen to be a question of money,” said Aunt Elizabeth in her stateliest manner. “I undertook to provide for you, Emily, and I will do it. When you are older I may send you to the High School in Shrewbury for a couple of years. I am not decrying education. But you are not going to be a slave to the public—no Murray girl ever was that.”
Emily realising the uselessness of pleading, went out in the same bitter disappointment she had felt after Mr. Carpenter’s visit. Then Aunt Elizabeth looked at Wallace.
