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“What are you crying for?” asked Aunt Elizabeth.

To tell the truth Aunt Elizabeth felt quite as uncomfortable and disjointed as Emily did. She was not used to a bedfellow; she didn’t want to sleep with Emily any more than Emily wanted to sleep with her. But she considered it quite impossible that the child should be put off by herself in one of the big, lonely New Moon rooms; and Laura was a poor sleeper, easily disturbed; children always kicked, Elizabeth Murray had heard. So there was nothing to do but take Emily in with her; and when she had sacrificed comfort and inclination to do her unwelcome duty this ungrateful and unsatisfactory child was not contented.

“I asked you what you were crying for, Emily?” she repeated.

“I’m—homesick, I guess,” sobbed Emily.

Aunt Elizabeth was annoyed.

“A nice home you had to be homesick for,” she said sharply.

“It—it wasn’t as elegant—as New Moon,” sobbed Emily, “but—Father was there. I guess I’m Father-sick, Aunt Elizabeth. Didn’t you feel awfully lonely when your father died?”