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Page 17
I've told you what these three did, but I haven't told you yet what
Elizabeth Ann did. And it is worth telling. As Cousin Ann stepped in,
glancing suspiciously from her sober-faced and abstracted parents to the
lamb-like innocence of old Shep, little Elizabeth Ann burst into a shout
of laughter. It's worth telling about, because, so far as I know, that
was the first time she had ever laughed out heartily in all her life.
For my part, I'm half surprised to know that she knew how.
Of course, when she laughed, Aunt Abigail had to laugh too, setting down
her coffee-cup and showing all the funny wrinkles in her face screwed up
hard with fun; and that made Uncle Henry laugh, and then Cousin Ann
laughed and said, as she sat down, "You are bad children, the whole four
of you!" And old Shep, seeing the state of things, stopped pretending to
be meek, jumped down, and came lumbering over to the table, wagging his
tail and laughing too; you know that good, wide dog-smile! He put his
head on Elizabeth Ann's lap again and she patted it and lifted up one of
his big black ears. She had quite forgotten that she was terribly afraid
of big dogs.
After dinner Cousin Ann looked up at the clock and said: "My goodness!
Betsy'll be late for school if she doesn't start right off." She
explained to the child, aghast at this sudden thunderclap, "I let you
sleep this morning as long as you wanted to, because you were so tired
from your journey. But of course there's no reason for missing the
afternoon session."
As Elizabeth Ann continued sitting perfectly still, frozen with alarm,
Cousin Ann jumped up briskly, got the little coat and cap, helped her
up, and began inserting the child's arms into the sleeves. She pulled
the cap well down over Elizabeth Ann's ears, felt in the pocket and
pulled out the mittens. "There," she said, holding them out, "you'd
better put them on before you go out, for it's a real cold day." As she
led the stupefied little girl along toward the door Aunt Abigail came
after them and put a big sugar-cookie into the child's hand. "Maybe
you'll like to eat that for your recess time," she said. "I always did
when I went to school."
Elizabeth Ann's hand closed automatically about the cookie, but she
scarcely heard what was said. She felt herself to be in a bad dream.
Aunt Frances had never, no NEVER, let her go to school alone, and on the
first day of the year always took her to the new teacher and introduced
her and told the teacher how sensitive she was and how hard to
understand; and then she stayed there for an hour or two till Elizabeth
Ann got used to things! She could not face a whole new school all alone--
oh, she couldn't, she wouldn't! She couldn't! Horrors! Here she was in
the front hall--she was on the porch! Cousin Ann was saying: "Now run
along, child. Straight down the road till the first turn to the left,
and there in the cross-roads, there you are." And now the front door
closed behind her, the path stretched before her to the road, and the
road led down the hill the way Cousin Ann had pointed. Elizabeth Ann's
feet began to move forward and carried her down the path, although she
was still crying out to herself, "I can't! I won't! I can't!"
Are you wondering why Elizabeth Ann didn't turn right around, open the
front door, walk in, and say, "I can't! I won't! I can't!" to Cousin
Ann?
The answer to that question is that she didn't do it because Cousin Ann
was Cousin Ann. And there's more in that than you think! In fact, there
is a mystery in it that nobody has ever solved, not even the greatest
scientists and philosophers, although, like all scientists and
philosophers, they think they have gone a long way toward explaining
something they don't understand by calling it a long name. The long name
is "personality," and what it means nobody knows, but it is perhaps the
very most important thing in the world for all that. And yet we know
only one or two things about it. We know that anybody's personality is
made up of the sum total of all the actions and thoughts and desires of
his life. And we know that though there aren't any words or any figures
in any language to set down that sum total accurately, still it is one
of the first things that everybody knows about anybody else. And that is
really all we know!
So I can't tell you why Elizabeth Ann did not go back and cry and sob
and say she couldn't and she wouldn't and she couldn't, as she would
certainly have done at Aunt Harriet's. You remember that I could not
even tell you why it was that, as the little fatherless and motherless
girl lay in bed looking at Aunt Abigail's old face, she should feel so
comforted and protected that she must needs break out crying. No, all I
can say is that it was because Aunt Abigail was Aunt Abigail. But
perhaps it may occur to you that it's rather a good idea to keep a sharp
eye on your "personality," whatever that is! It might be very handy, you
know, to have a personality like Cousin Ann's which sent Elizabeth Ann's
feet down the path; or perhaps you would prefer one like Aunt Abigail's.
Well, take your choice.
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