the little hall. Looking carefully around to ensure privacy, he whispered,
“Your Aunt Laura is a great hand at making an apple turnover, pussy.”
Emily thought apple turnover sounded nice, though she did not know what it was. She whispered back a question which she would never have dared ask Aunt Elizabeth or even Aunt Laura.
“Cousin Jimmy, when they make a cake at New Moon, will they let me scrape out the mixing-bowl and eat the scrapings?”
“Laura will—Elizabeth won’t,” whispered Cousin Jimmy solemnly.
“And put my feet in the oven when they get cold? And have a cooky before I go to bed?”
“Answer same as before,” said Cousin Jimmy. “I’ll recite my poetry to you. It’s very few people I do that for. I’ve composed a thousand poems. They’re not written down—I carry them here.” Cousin Jimmy tapped his forehead.
“Is it very hard to write poetry?” asked Emily, looking with new respect at Cousin Jimmy.
“Easy as rolling off a log if you can find enough rhymes,” said Cousin Jimmy.
They all went away that morning except the New Moon people. Aunt Elizabeth announced that they would stay until the next day to pack up and take Emily with them.
“Most of the furniture belongs to the house,” she said, “so it won’t take us long to get ready. There are only Douglas Starr’s books and his few personal belongings to pack.”
“How shall I carry my cats?” asked Emily anxiously.
Aunt Elizabeth stared.
“Cats! You’ll take no cats, miss.”
“Oh, I must take Mike and Saucy Sal!” cried Emily
