"Of course, Aunty," Judy cried, yet doubtfully. "You ought to know." She twiddled it round in her fingers till the quivering fronds emitted a tiny sound. "And you can use it as a feather too." She lowered her head to listen.
"We've each got a feather," mentioned Tim. "It's a compass. Shows the way, you know. You hear him calling—that way."
"The Tramp explained that," Judy added. "He's Leader. Come on, Aunty. We ought to be off; the others went ages ago. We're going to the End of the World, and they've already started."
For a moment Aunt Emily looked as rigid as the post beside a five-barred gate. The old unbending attitude took possession of her once again. Her eyes took on the tint of soapy water. Her elastic nose looked round the corner. She frowned. Her black dress crackled. The mention of a tramp and the End of the World woke all her savage educational instincts visibly.
"He's a singing tramp and shines like a Christmas Tree," explained Judy, "and he looks like everybody in the world. He's extror'iny." She turned to her brother. "Doesn't he, Tim?"
Tim ran up and caught his Aunt by the umbrella hand. He saw her stiffening. He meant to prevent it if he could.
"Everybody rolled into one," he agreed eagerly; "Daddy and Mother and the Clergyman and you."
"And me?" she asked tremulously.
"Rather!" the boy said vehemently; "as you are now, all rabbity and nice."
Aunt Emily slowly removed one big golosh, then waited.