“Say it!” insisted Aunt Tom, thumping her stick sharply on a stone in the path.
Emily was so horrified that she might have said something—anything—to escape. But at this moment Perry bounded out of the spruce copse, his face white with rage, and seized his Aunt Tom most disrespectfully by the shoulder.
“You go home!” he said furiously.
“Now, b’y dear,” quavered Aunt Tom deprecatingly. “I was only trying to do you a good turn. I was asking her to marry ye after a bit an—”
“I’ll do my own asking!” Perry was angrier than ever. “You’ve likely spoiled everything. Go home—go home, I say!”
Aunt Tom hobbled off muttering, “Then I’ll know better than to waste me bit o’ money. No Murray, no money, me b’y.”
When she had disappeared down the brook path Perry turned to Emily. From white he had gone very red.
“Don’t mind her—she’s cracked,” he said. “Of course, when I grow up I mean to ask you to marry me but—”
“I couldn’t—Aunt Elizabeth—”