AUNT EMILY FINDS--HERSELF
VIII
"My dear!" he exclaimed in his tone of big discovery.
Judy made a movement like a swan that inspects the world behind itsback. She tried to look everywhere at once. It seemed she did so.
"Gracious me!" she cried. She instinctively chose prohibited words."_My_ gracious me!"
For the places of the world had marvellously shifted and run into oneanother somehow. A place called "Somewhere Else" was close about her;and standing in the middle of it was--a figure. Both place and figureought to have been somewhere else by rights. Judy's surprise, however,was quite momentary; swift, bird-like understanding followed it. Placewas a sham and humbug really; already, without leaving the schoolroomcarpet, she and Tim had been to the Metropolis and even to the East.This was merely another of these things she didn't know she knew; sheunderstood another thing she didn't understand. She believed.
The rest of the party had disappeared inside the wood; only Timremained--pointing at this figure outlined against the trees. But thesetrees belonged to a place her physical eyes had never seen. Perhapsthey were part of her mental picture of it. The figure, anyhow, barredthe way.
It was a woman, the last person in the world they wished to see justthen. The face, wearing an expression as though it tried to be happywhen it felt it ought not to be, was pointed; chin, ears, and eye-browspointed; nose pointed too--round doors and into corners--an elasticnose; there was a look of struggling sweetness about the thin, tightlips; the entire expression, from the colourless eyes down to the tipof the decided chin, was one of marked reproach and disapproval that atthe same time fought with an effort to be understanding, gentle, wise.The face wanted to be very nice, but was prevented by itself. It waspathetic. Its owner was dressed in black, a small, neat bonnet fastenedcarefully on the head, an umbrella in one hand, and big goloshes onboth feet. There were gold glasses balanced on the nose. She smiled atthem, but with a smile that prophesied rebuke. Before she spoke a word,her entire person said distinctly NO.
"Bother!" Tim muttered beneath his breath, then added, "It's her!"Already he felt guilty--of something he had not done, but might dopresently. The figure's mere presence invited him to break all rules.
"We thought," exclaimed Judy, trying to remember what rules she hadjust disobeyed, and almost saying "hoped,"--"we thought you were atTunbridge Wells." Then with an effort she put in "Aunty."
Yet about the new arrival was a certain flustered and uneasy air, asthough she were caught in something that she wished to hide--at anyrate something she would not willingly confess to. One hand, it wasnoticed, she kept stiffly behind her back.
"Children," she uttered in an emphatic voice, half-surprisedremonstrance, half-automatic rebuke; "I am astonished!" She looked it.She pursed her lips more tightly, and gazed at the pair of culprits asthough she had hoped better things of them and _again_ had beendisappointed. "You know quite well that this is out of bounds." It cameout like an arrow, darting.
"We were looking for some one," began Tim, but in a tone that addedplainly enough "it wasn't you."
"Who's hiding, you see," quoth Judy, "but expecting us--at once." Thedelay annoyed her.
"You are both well aware," Aunt Emily went on, ignoring their excusesas in duty bound, "that your parents would not approve. At this hour ofthe morning too! You ought to be fast asleep in bed. If your fatherknew--!"
Yet, strange to say, the children felt that they loved her suddenly;for the first time in their lives they thought her lovable. A kind ofunderstanding sympathy woke in them; there was something pitiable abouther. For, obviously, she was looking just as they were, but looking insuch a silly way and in such hopelessly stupid places. All her life shehad been looking like this, dressed in crackling black, wearing aprickly bonnet and heavy goloshes, and carrying a useless umbrella thatof course must bother her. It was disappointment that made her talk asshe did. But it was natural she should feel disappointment, for itnever rained when she had her umbrella, and her goloshes were alwayscoming off.
"She's stuck in a hole," thought Tim, "and so she just says things atus. She hurts herself somewhere. She's tired."
"She has to be like that," thought Judy. "It's really all pretending.Poor old thing!"
But Aunt Emily was not aware of what they felt. They were out of bed,and it was her duty to find fault; they were out of bounds, and shemust take note of it. So she prepared to scold a little. Her bonnetwaggled ominously. She gripped her umbrella. She spoke as though it wasvery early in the morning, almost dawn--as though the sun were rising.There was confusion in her as to the time of day, it seemed. But thechildren did not notice this. They were so accustomed to being rebukedby her that the actual words made small impression. She was just"saying things"; they were often very muddled things; the attitude, notthe meaning, counted. And her attitude, they divined, was subtlydifferent.
"You know this is forbidden," she said. "It is damp and chilly. It'ssure to rain presently. You'll get your feet wet. You should keep tothe gravel paths. They're plain enough, are they not?" She looked abouther, sniffing--a sniff that usually summoned disasters in a flock.
"Oh, yes," said Tim; "and they look like brown sugar, _we_ thought."
"It does not matter what you thought, Timothy. The paths are made onpurpose to be walked upon and used--"
"They're beautifully made," interrupted Judy, unable to keep silentlonger. "WEEDEN made them for us."
"And we've used them all," exclaimed Tim, "only we came to an end ofthem. We've done with them--paths!" The way he uttered the substantivesmade it instantly sound ridiculous.
Aunt Emily opened her mouth to say something, then closed it againwithout saying it. She stared at them instead. They watched her. Allfear of her had left their hearts. A new expression rose strugglingupon her pointed features. She fidgeted from one foot to the other.They felt her as "Aunty," a poor old muddled thing, always looking inridiculous places without the smallest notion she was wrong. Tim sawher suddenly "all dressed up on purpose" as for a game. Judy thought"She's bubbling inside--really."
"There's WEEDEN in there," Tim mentioned, pointing to the wood behindher.
Something uncommonly like a smile passed into Aunt Emily's eyes, thenvanished as suddenly as it came. Judy thought it was like a bubble thatburst the instant it reached the sunlight on the surface of a pond.
"And how often," came the rebuke, automatically rather, "has yourMother told you _not_ to be familiar with the Gardener? Play if youwant to, but do not play with your inferiors. Play with your UncleFelix, with Colonel Stumper, or with me--"
Another bubble had risen, caught the sunshine, reflected all thecolours of the prism, then burst and vanished into airy spray.
"But they're looking with us," Tim insisted eagerly. "We're all lookingtogether for something--Uncle Felix, Come-Back Stumper, everybody. It'swonderful. It never ends."
Aunt Emily's hand, still clutching the umbrella, stole up and put herbonnet straight. It was done to gain a little time apparently. Therewas a certain hesitation in her. She seemed puzzled. She betrayedexcitement too.
"Looking, are you?" she exclaimed, and her voice held a touch ofmellowness that was new. "Looking!"
She stopped. She tried to hide the mellowness by swallowing it.
"Yes," said Tim. "There's some one hiding. It's Hide-and-Seek, you see.We're the seekers. It's enormous."
"Will you come with us and look too?" suggested Judy simply. Then whileAunt Emily's lips framed themselves as from long habit into a negativeor a reprimand, the child continued before either reached delivery:"There are heaps of signs about; anything lovely or beautiful is asign--a sign that we're getting warm. We've each got ours. Mine's air.What's yours, Aunty?"
Aunt Emily stared at them; her bewilderment increased apparently; sheswallowed hard again. The children returned her stare, gazinginnocently into her questioning eyes as if she were some strange birdat the Zoo. The new feeling of kinship with her grew stronger in theirheart
s. They knew quite well she was looking just as they were;_really_ she longed to play their game of Hide-and-Seek. She was veryignorant, of course, they saw, but they were ready and willing to teachher how to play, and would make it easy for her into the bargain.
"Signs!" she repeated, in a voice that was gentler than they had everknown it. There was almost a sound of youth in it. Judy suddenlyrealised that Aunt Emily had once been a girl. A softer look shone inthe colourless eyes. The lips relaxed. In a hat she might have beeneven pretty. No one in a bonnet could be jolly. "Signs!" she repeated;"deep and beautiful! Whatever in the world--?"
She stopped abruptly, started by the exquisite trilling of a bird thatwas perched upon a branch quite close behind her. The liquid notespoured out in a stream of music, so rich, so lovely that it seemed asif no bird had ever sung before and that they were the first persons inthe world who had ever heard it.
"My sign!" cried Judy, dancing round her disconcerted and bewilderedrelative. "One of my signs--that!"
"Mine is rabbits and rats and badgers," Tim called out withungrammatical emphasis. "Anything that likes the earth are mine." Helooked about him as if to point one out to her. "They're everywhere,all over the place," he added, seeing none at the moment. "Aunty,what's yours? Do tell us, because then we can go and look together."
"It's _much_ more fun than looking alone," declared Judy.
No answer came. But, caught by the astounding magic of the singingbird, Aunt Emily had turned, and in doing so the hand behind her backbecame visible for the first time since their meeting. The children sawit simultaneously. They nudged each other, but they said no word. Thesame moment, having failed to discover the bird, Aunt Emily turned backagain. She looked caught, they thought. But, also she looked as if shehad found something herself. The secret joy she tried to hide from themby swallowing it, rose to her wrinkled cheeks and shone in both hereyes, then overflowed and rippled down towards her trembling mouth. Thelips were trembling. She smiled, but so softly, sweetly, that ten yearsdropped from her like a dissolving shadow. And the hand she had so longkept hidden behind her back stole forth slowly into view.
"How did you guess that I was looking for anything?" she inquiredplaintively in an excited yet tremulous tone. "I thought no one knewit." She seemed genuinely surprised, yet unbelievably happy too. Agreat sigh of relief escaped her.
"We're all the same," one of them informed her; "so you are too!Everybody's looking." And they crowded round to examine the objects inher hand--a dirty earth-stained trowel and a fern. They knew shecollected ferns on the sly, but never before had they seen her bringhome such a prize. Usually she found only crumpled things like old bitsof wrinkled brown paper which she called "specimens." This one wasmarvellously beautiful. It had a dainty, slender stalk of ebony black,and its hundred tiny leaves quivered like a shower of green water-dropsin the air. There was actual joy in every trembling bit of it.
"That's my sign," announced Aunt Emily with pride: "Maidenhair! It'llgrow again. I've got the roots." And she said it as triumphantly asStumper had said "snail-shell."
"Of course, Aunty," Judy cried, yet doubtfully. "_You_ ought to know."She twiddled it round in her fingers till the quivering fronds emitteda tiny sound. "And you can use it as a feather too." She lowered herhead to listen.
"We've each got a feather," mentioned Tim. "It's a compass. Shows theway, 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 ofthe World, and they've already started."
For a moment Aunt Emily looked as rigid as the post beside afive-barred gate. The old unbending attitude took possession of heronce again. Her eyes took on the tint of soapy water. Her elastic noselooked round the corner. She frowned. Her black dress crackled. Themention of a tramp and the End of the World woke all her savageeducational instincts visibly.
"He's a singing tramp and shines like a Christmas Tree," explainedJudy, "and he looks like everybody in the world. He's extror'iny." Sheturned to her brother. "Doesn't he, Tim?"
Tim ran up and caught his Aunt by the umbrella hand. He saw herstiffening. He meant to prevent it if he could.
"Everybody rolled into one," he agreed eagerly; "Daddy and Mother andthe Clergyman and you."
"And me?" she asked tremulously.
"Rather!" the boy said vehemently; "as you are now, all rabbity andnice."
Aunt Emily slowly removed one big golosh, then waited.
"Cleaned up and young," cried Judy, "and smells delicious--like flowersand hay--"
"And soft and warm--"
"And sings and dances--"
"And is positive that if we go on looking we shall find--exactly whatwe're looking for."
Aunt Emily removed the other golosh--a shade more quickly than thefirst one. She kicked it off. The stiffness melted out of her; shesmiled again.
"Well," she began--when Judy stood on tip-toe and whispered in her earsome magic sentence.
"Dawn!" Aunt Emily whispered back. "At dawn--when the birds begin tosing!"
Something had caught her heart and squeezed it.
Tim and Judy nodded vehemently in agreement. Aunt Emily dropped herumbrella then. And at the same moment a singing voice became audible inthe trees behind them. The song came floating to them through thesunlight with a sound of wind and birds. It had a marvellous quality,very sweet and very moving. There was a lilt in it, a laughing, happylilt, as though the Earth herself were singing of the Spring.
And Aunt Emily made one last vain attempt: she struggled to put herfingers in her ears. But the children held her hands. She crackled andmade various oppressive and objecting sounds, but the song poured intoher in spite of all her efforts. Her feet began to move upon the grass.It was awful, it was shocking, it was forbidden and against all rulesand regulations: yet--Aunt Emily danced!
And a thin, plaintive voice, like the voice of her long-forgottenyouth, slipped out between her faded lips--and positively sang:
"The world is young with laughter; we can fly Among the imprisoned hours as we choose...."
But to Tim and Judy it all seemed merely right and natural.
"Come on," cried the boy, pulling his Aunt towards the wood.
"We can look together now. You've got your sign," exclaimed Judy,tugging at her other hand. "Everything's free and careless, and so arewe."
"Aim for a path," Tim shouted by way of a concession. "Aunty'll goquicker on a path."
But Aunty was nothing if not decided. "I know a short-cut," she sang."Paths are for people who don't know the way. There's no time--to lose.Dear me! I'm warm already!" She dropped her umbrella.
And, actually dancing and singing, she led the way into the wood,holding the fern before her like a wand, and happy as a girl let out ofschool.
But as they went, Judy, knowing suddenly another thing she didn't know,made a discovery of her own, an immense discovery. It was bigger thananything Tim had ever found. She felt so light and swift and winged byit that she seemed almost to melt into the air herself.
"I say, Tim," she said.
"Yes."
She took her eyes from the sky to see what her feet were doing; Timlifted his from the earth to see what was going on above him in the air.
Judy went on: "I know what," she announced.
"What?" He was not particularly interested, it seemed.
Judy paused. She dropped a little behind her dancing Aunt. Tim joinedher. It all happened as quickly as a man might snap his fingers; AuntEmily, her heart full of growing ferns, noticed nothing.
"We've found her out!" whispered Judy, communicating her immensediscovery. "What she really is, I mean!"
He agreed and nodded. It did not strike him as anything wonderful orspecial. "Oh, yes," he answered; "rather!" He did not grasp hermeaning, perhaps.
But his sister was bursting with excitement, radiant, shivering almostwith the wonder of it.
"But don't you see?
It's--a sign!" she exclaimed so loud that AuntEmily almost heard it. "She's found herself! She was hiding--fromherself. That's part of it all--the game. It's the biggest sign of all!"
She was so "warm" that she burned all over.
"Oh, yes," repeated Tim. "I see!" But he was not particularlyimpressed. He merely wanted his Aunt to find an enormous fern whoseroots were growing in the sweet, sticky earth _he_ loved. Her sign wasa fern; his was the ground. It made him understand Aunt Emily at last,and therefore love her; he saw no further than that.
Judy, however, _knew_. She suddenly understood what the Tramp meant by"deep." She also knew now why Stumper, WEEDEN, Uncle Felix too, lookedat him so strangely, with wonder, with respect, with love. Somethingabout the Tramp explained each one to himself. Each one found--himself.And she--without realising it before, had acquired this power too,though only in a small degree as yet. The Tramp believed in everybody;she, without knowing it, believed in her Aunt. It was another thing shedidn't know she knew.
And the real, long-buried, deeply-hidden Aunt Emily had emergedaccordingly. All her life she had been hiding--from herself. She hadfound herself at last. It was the biggest sign of all.
Tim caught her hand and dragged her after him. "Come on," he cried,"we're getting frightfully warm. Look at Aunty! Listen, will you?"
Aunt Emily, a little way in front of them, was digging busily with herdirty trowel. Her bonnet was crooked, her skirts tucked up, her whiteworsted stockings splashed with mud, her elastic-sided boots scratchedand plastered. And she was singing to herself in a thin but happy voicethat was not unlike an old and throaty corncrake: "The birds aresinging....Hark! Come out and play....Life is an endlesssearch...._I've_ just begun...!"
They listened for a little while, and then ran headlong up to join her.