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“But I promised Father I’d be brave,” she whispered, clenching her little fists, “and I will. And I won’t let the Murrays see I’m afraid of them—I won’t be afraid of them!”

When the far-off whistle of the afternoon train blew beyond the hills, Emily’s heart began to beat. She clasped her hands and lifted her face.

“Please help me, Father’s God—not Ellen’s God,” she said. “Help me to be brave and not cry before the Murrays.”

Soon after there was the sound of wheels below—and voices—loud, decided voices. Then Ellen came puffing up the stairs with the black dress—a sleazy thing of cheap merino.

“Mrs. Hubbard just got it done in time, thanks be. I wouldn’t ’a’ had the Murrays see you not in black for the world. They can’t say I haven’t done my duty. They’re all here—the New Moon people and Oliver and his wife, your Aunt Addie, and Wallace and his wife, your Aunt Eva, and Aunt Ruth—Mrs. Dutton, her name is. There, you’re ready now. Come along.”

“Can’t I put my Venetian beads on?” asked Emily.