Emily of New Moon (21 page)

“Oh, it isn't a trouble—it's fun. And all the girls in school are just wild because they hear us talking in it and can't make it out. We can talk secrets right before them.”

“Human nature being what it is, I can see where the fun comes in all right. Let's hear a sample av your language.”

“Nat millan O ste dolman bote ta Shrewsbury fernas ta poo litanos,” said Emily glibly. “That means, ‘Next summer I am going to Shrewsbury woods to pick strawberries.' I yelled that across the playground to Ilse the other day at recess and oh, how everybody stared.”

“Staring, is it? I should say so. My own poor old eyes are all but dropping out av me head. Let's hear a bit more av it.”

“Mo tral li dead seb ad li mo trene. Mo bertral seb mo bertrene das sten dead e ting setra.
That
means ‘My father is dead and so is my mother. My grandfather and grandmother have been dead a long time.' We haven't invented a word for ‘dead' yet. I think I will soon be able to write my poems in our language and then Aunt Elizabeth will not be able to read them if she finds them.”

“Have you written any other poetry besides your epic?”

“Oh, yes—but just short pieces—dozens of them.”

“H'm. Would you be so kind as to let me hear one av them?”

Emily was greatly flattered. And she did not mind letting Father Cassidy hear her precious stuff.

“I'll recite my last poem,” she said, clearing her throat importantly. “It's called
Evening
Dreams
.”

Father Cassidy listened attentively. After the first verse a change came over his big brown face, and he began patting his fingertips together. When Emily finished she hung down her lashes and waited tremblingly. What if Father Cassidy said it was no good? No, he wouldn't be so impolite—but if he bantered her as he had done about her epic—she would know what
that
meant.

Father Cassidy did not speak all at once. The prolonged suspense was terrible to Emily. She was afraid he could not praise and did not want to hurt her feelings by dispraise. All at once her “Evening Dreams” seemed trash and she wondered how she could ever have been silly enough to repeat it to Father Cassidy.

Of course, it
was
trash. Father Cassidy knew that well enough. All the same, for a child like this—and rhyme and rhythm were flawless—and there was one line—just one line—“the light of faintly golden stars”—for the sake of that line Father Cassidy suddenly said,

“Keep on,—keep on writing poetry.”

“You mean?”—Emily was breathless.

“I mean you'll be able to do something by and by. Something—I don't know how much—but keep on—keep on.”

Emily was so happy she wanted to cry. It was the first word of commendation she had ever received except from her father—and a father might have too high an opinion of one.
This
was different. To the end of her struggle for recognition Emily never forgot Father Cassidy's “Keep on” and the tone in which he said it.

“Aunt Elizabeth scolds me for writing poetry,” she said wistfully. “She says people will think I'm as simple as Cousin Jimmy.”

“The path of genius never did run smooth. But have another piece av cake—do, just to show there's something human about you.”

“Ve, merry ti. O del re dolman cosey aman ri sen ritter.
That
means, ‘No, thank you. I must be going home before it gets dark.'”

“I'll drive you home.”

“Oh, no, no. It's very kind of you”—the English language was quite good enough for Emily now. “But I'd rather
walk
. It's—it's—such good exercise.”

“Meaning,” said Father Cassidy with a twinkle in his eye, “that we must keep it from the old lady. Good-bye, and may you always see a happy face in your looking-glass!”

Emily was too happy to be tired on the way home. There seemed to be a bubble of joy in her heart—a shimmering, prismatic bubble. When she came to the top of the big hill and looked across to New Moon, her eyes were satisfied and loving. How beautiful it was, lying embowered in the twilight of the old trees; the tips of the loftiest spruces came out in purple silhouette against the northwestern sky of rose and amber; down behind it the Blair Water dreamed in silver; the Wind Woman had folded her misty bat-wings in a valley of sunset and stillness lay over the world like a blessing. Emily felt sure everything would be all right. Father Cassidy would manage it in some way.

And he had told her to “keep on.”

Friends Again

Emily listened very anxiously on Monday morning, but “no sound of axe, no ponderous hammer rang” in Lofty John's bush. That evening on her way home from school, Lofty John himself overtook her in his buggy and for the first time since the night of the apple stopped and accosted her.

“Will ya take a lift, Miss Emily av New Moon?” he said affably.

Emily climbed in, feeling a little bit foolish. But Lofty John looked quite friendly as he clucked to his horse.

“So you've clean wiled the heart out av Father Cassidy's body,” he said. “‘The sweetest scrap av a girl I've iver seen,' says he to me. Sure an' ye might lave the poor prastes alone.”

Emily looked at Lofty John out of the corner of her eye. He did not seem angry.

“Ye've put
me
in a nice tight fix av it,” he went on. “I'm as proud as any New Moon Murray av ye all and your Aunt Elizabeth said a number av things that got under my skin. I've many an old score to settle with her. So I thought I'd get square by cutting av the bush down. And you had to go and quare me wid me praste bekase av it and now I make no doubt I'll not be after daring to cut a stick av kindling to warm me shivering carcase without asking lave av the Pope.”

“Oh, Mr. Sullivan, are you going to leave the bush alone?” said Emily breathlessly.

“It all rests with yourself, Miss Emily av New Moon. Ye can't be after expecting a Lofty John to be too humble. I didn't come by the name bekase av me makeness.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“First, then, I'm wanting you to let bygones be bygones in that matter av the apple. And be token av the same come over and talk to me now and then as ye did last summer. Sure now, and I've missed ye—ye and that spit-fire av an Ilse who's never come aither bekase she thinks I mistrated you.”

“I'll come of course,” said Emily doubtfully, “if only Aunt Elizabeth will let me.”

“Tell her if she don't the bush'll be cut down—ivery last stick av it. That'll fetch her. And there's wan more thing. Ye must ask me rale make and polite to do ye the favor av not cutting down the bush. If ye do it pretty enough sure niver a tree will I touch. But if ye don't down they go, praste or no praste,” concluded Lofty John.

Emily summoned all her wiles to her aid. She clasped her hands, she looked up through her lashes at Lofty John, she smiled as slowly and seductively as she knew how—and Emily had considerable native knowledge of that sort. “Please, Mr. Lofty John,” she coaxed, “won't you leave me the dear bush I love?”

Lofty John swept off his crumpled old felt hat. “To be sure an' I will. A proper Irishman always does what a lady asks him. Sure an' it's been the ruin av us. We're at the mercy av the petticoats. If ye'd come and said that to me afore ye'd have had no need av your walk to White Cross. But mind ye keep the rest av the bargin. The reds are ripe and the scabs soon will be—and all the rats have gone to glory.”

Emily flew into the New Moon kitchen like a slim whirlwind.

“Aunt Elizabeth, Lofty John isn't going to cut down the bush—he told me he wouldn't—but I have to go and see him sometimes—if you don't object.”

“I suppose it wouldn't make much difference to you if I did,” said Aunt Elizabeth. But her voice was not so sharp as usual. She would not confess how much Emily's announcement relieved her; but it mellowed her attitude considerably. “There's a letter here for you. I want to know what it means.”

Emily took the letter. It was the first time she had ever received a real letter through the mail and she tingled with the delight of it. It was addressed in a heavy black hand to “Miss Emily Starr, New Moon, Blair Water.” But—

“You opened it!” she cried indignantly.

“Of course I did. You are not going to receive letters I am not to see, Miss. What I want to know is—how comes Father Cassidy to be writing you—and writing such nonsense?”

“I went to see him Saturday,” confessed Emily, realizing that the cat was out of the bag. “And I asked him if he couldn't prevent Lofty John from cutting down the bush.”

“Emily—Byrd—Starr!”

“I
told
him I was a Protestant,” cried Emily. “He understands all about it. And he was just like anybody else. I like him
better
than Mr. Dare.”

Aunt Elizabeth did not say much more. There did not seem to be much she
could
say. Besides the bush wasn't going to be cut down. The bringer of good news is forgiven much. She contented herself with glaring at Emily—who was too happy and excited to mind glares. She carried her letter off to the garret dormer and gloated over the stamp and the superscription a bit before she took out the enclosure.

Dear Pearl of Emilys,

wrote Father Cassidy.

I've seen our lofty friend and I feel sure your green outpost of fairyland will be saved for your moonlit revels. I know you
do
dance there by light o' moon when mortals are snoring. I think you'll have to go through the form of asking Mr. Sullivan to spare those trees, but you'll find him quite reasonable. It's all in the knowing how and the time of the moon. How goes the epic and the language? I hope you'll have no trouble in freeing the
Child
of
The
Sea
from her vows. Continue to be the friend of all good elves, and of

Your admiring friend,

James Cassidy.

P.S. The B'y sends respects. What word have you for “cat” in your language? Sure and you can't get anything cattier than “cat” can you, now?

Lofty John spread the story of Emily's appeal to Father Cassidy far and wide, enjoying it as a good joke on himself. Rhoda Stuart said she always knew Emily Starr was a bold thing and Miss Brownell said she would be surprised at
nothing
Emily Starr would do, and Dr. Burnley called her a Little Devil more admiringly than ever, and Perry said she had pluck and Teddy took credit for suggesting it, and Aunt Elizabeth endured, and Aunt Laura thought it might have been worse. But Cousin Jimmy made Emily feel very happy.

“It would have spoiled the garden and broken my heart, Emily,” he told her. “You're a little darling girl to have prevented it.”

One day a month later, when Aunt Elizabeth had taken Emily to Shrewsbury to fit her out with a winter coat, they met Father Cassidy in a store. Aunt Elizabeth bowed with great stateliness, but Emily put out a slender paw.

“What about the dispensation from Rome?” whispered Father Cassidy.

One Emily was quite horrified lest Aunt Elizabeth should overhear and think she was having sly dealings with the Pope, such as no good Presbyterian half-Murray of New Moon should have. The other Emily thrilled to her toes with the dramatic delight of a secret understanding of mystery and intrigue. She nodded gravely, her eyes eloquent with satisfaction.

“I got it without any trouble,” she whispered back.

“Fine,” said Father Cassidy. “I wish you good luck, and I wish it hard. Good-bye.”

“Farewell,” said Emily, thinking it a word more in keeping with dark secrets than good-bye. She tasted the flavor of that half-stolen interview all the way home, and felt quite as if she were living in an epic herself. She did not see Father Cassidy again for years—he was soon afterwards removed to another parish; but she always thought of him as a very agreeable and understanding person.

By Aerial Post

Dearest Father:

My heart is very sore to night. Mike died this morning. Cousin Jimmy says he must have been poisoned. Oh, Father dear, I felt so bad. He was such a lovely cat. I cried and cried and cried. Aunt Elizabeth was disgusted. She said, “You did not make half so much fuss when your father died.” What a crewel speech. Aunt Laura was nicer but when she said, “Don't cry dear. I will get you another kitten,” I saw she didn't understand either. I don't want another kitten. If I had
millions
of kittens they wouldn't make up for Mike.

Ilse and I buried him in Lofty John's bush. I am so thankful the ground wasn't frozen yet. Aunt Laura gave me a shoe box for a coffin, and some pink tissue paper to wrap his poor little body in. And we put a stone over the grave and I said “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.” When I told Aunt Laura about it she was horrified and said, “Oh, Emily, that was a dreadful thing. You should not have said that over a cat.” And Cousin Jimmy said, “Don't you think, Laura, that an innocent little dum creature has a share in God? Emily loved him and all love is part of God.” And Aunt Laura said, “Maybe you are right, Jimmy. But I am thankful Elizabeth did not hear her.”

Cousin Jimmy may not be all there, but what is there is very nice.

But oh, Father, I am so lonesome for Mike tonight. Last night he was here playing with me, so cunning and pretty and
smee
, and now he is cold and dead in Lofty John's bush.

***

December 18

Dear Father:

I am here in the garret. The Wind Woman is very sorry about something tonight. She is sying so sadly around the window. And yet the first time I heard her tonight the flash came—I felt as if I had just seen something that happened long, long ago—something so lovely that it hurt me.

Cousin Jimmy says there will be a snow storm tonight. I am glad. I like to hear a storm at night. It's so cozy to snuggle down among the blankets and feel it can't get at you. Only when I snuggle Aunt Elizabeth says I skwirm. The idea of anyone not knowing the difference between snuggling and skwirming.

I am glad we will have snow for Christmas. The Murray dinner is to be at New Moon this year. It is our turn. Last year it was at Uncle Oliver's but Cousin Jimmy had grippe and couldn't go so I stayed home with him. I will be right in the thick of it this year and it exites me. I will write you all about it after it is over, dearest.

I want to tell you something, Father. I am ashamed of it, but I think I'll feel better if I tell you all about it. Last Saturday Ella Lee had a birthday party and I was invited. Aunt Elizabeth let me put on my new blue cashmere dress. It is a very pretty dress. Aunt Elizabeth wanted to get a dark brown but Aunt Laura insisted on blue. I looked at myself in my glass and I remembered that Ilse had told me her father told her I would be handsome if I had more color. So I pinched my cheeks to make them red. I looked ever so much nicer but it didn't last. Then I took an old red velvet flower that had once been in Aunt Laura's bonnet and wet it and then rubbed the red on my cheeks. I went to the party and the girls all
looked
at me but nobody said anything, only Rhoda Stuart giggled and giggled. I meant to come home and wash the red off before Aunt Elizabeth saw me. But she took a notion to call for me on her way home from the store. She did not say anything there but when we got home she said, “What have you been doing to your face, Emily?” I told her and I expected an awful scolding, but all she said was, “Don't you know that you have made yourself
cheap
?” I did know it, too. I had felt that all along although I couldn't think of the right word for it before. “I will never do such a thing again, Aunt Elizabeth,” I said. “You'd better not,” she said. “Go and wash your face this instant.” I did and I was not half so pretty but I felt ever so much better. Strange to relate, dear Father, I heard Aunt Elizabeth laughing about it in the pantry to Aunt Laura afterwards. You never can tell what will make Aunt Elizabeth laugh. I am sure it was ever so much funnier when Saucy Sal followed me to prayer meeting last Wednesday night, but Aunt Elizabeth never laughed a bit then. I don't often go to prayer meeting but Aunt Laura couldn't go that night so Aunt Elizabeth took me because she doesn't like to go alone. I didn't know Sal was following us till just as we got to the church I saw her. I shooed her away but after we went in I suppose Sal sneaked in when someone opened the door and got upstairs into the galery. And just as soon as Mr. Dare began to pray Sal began to yowl. It sounded awful up in that big empty galery. I felt so gilty and miserable. I did not need to paint my face. It was just burning red and Aunt Elizabeth's eyes glittered feendishly. Mr. Dare prayed a long time. He is deaf, so he did not hear Sal any more than when he sat on her. But everyone else did and the boys giggled. After the prayer Mr. Morris went up to the galery and chased Sal out. We could hear her skrambling over the seats and Mr. Morris after her. I was wild for fear he'd hurt her. I ment to spank her myself with a shingle next day but I did not want her to be kicked. After a long time he got her out of the galery and she tore down the stairs and into the church, up one isle and down the other two or three times as fast as she could go and Mr. Morris after her with a broom. It is awfully funny to think of it now but I did not think it so funny at the time I was so ashamed and so afraid Sal would be hurt.

Mr. Morris chased her out at last. When he sat down I made a face at him behind my hymn book. Coming home Aunt Elizabeth said, “I hope you have disgraced us enough tonight, Emily Starr. I shall never take you to prayer meeting again.” I am sorry I disgraced the Murrays but I don't see how I was to blame and anyway I don't like prayer meeting because it is dull.

But it wasn't dull that night, dear Father.

Do you notice how my spelling is improved? I have thought of such a good plan. I write my letter first and then I look up all the words I'm not sure of and correct them. Sometimes though I think a word is all right when it isn't.

Ilse and I have given up our language. We fought over the verbs. Ilse didn't want to have any tenses for the verbs. She just wanted to have a different word altogether for every tense. I said if I was going to make a language it was going to be a proper one and Ilse got mad and said she had enough bother with grammer in English and I could go and make my old language by myself. But that is no fun so I let it go too. I was sorry because it was very interesting and it was such fun to puzzle the other girls in school. We weren't able to get square with the French boys after all for Ilse had sore throat all through potato picking time and couldn't come over. It seems to me that life is full of disappointments.

We had examinations in school this week. I did pretty well in all except arithmetic. Miss Brownell explained something about the questions but I was busy composing a story in my mind and did not hear her so I got poor marks. The story is called
Madge
MacPherson's Secret
. I am going to buy four sheets of foolscap with my egg money and sew them into a book and write the story in it. I can do what I like with my egg money. I think maybe I'll write novels when I grow up as well as poetry. But Aunt Elizabeth won't let me read any novels so how can I find out how to write them? Another thing that worries me, if I do grow up and write a wonderful poem, perhaps people won't see how wonderful it is.

Cousin Jimmy says that a man in Priest Pond says the end of the world is coming soon. I hope it won't come till I've seen everything in it.

Poor Elder McKay has the mumps.

I was over sleeping with Ilse the other night because her father was away. Ilse says her prayers now and she said she'd bet me anything she could pray longer than me. I said she couldn't and I prayed ever so long about everything I could think of and when I couldn't think of anything more I thought at first I'd begin over again. Then I thought, “No, that would not be honerable. A Starr must be honerable.” So I got up and said “You win” and Ilse never answered. I went around the bed and there she was asleep on her knees. When I woke her up she said we'd have to call the bet off because she could have gone on praying for ever so long if she hadn't fell asleep.

After we got into bed I told her a lot of things I wished afterwards I hadn't. Secrets.

The other day in history class Miss Brownell read that Sir Walter Raleigh had to lie in the Tower for fourteen years. Perry said “Wouldn't they let him get up sometimes?” Then Miss Brownell punished him for impertinence, but Perry was in earnest. Ilse was mad at Miss Brownell for whipping Perry and mad at Perry for asking such a fool question as if he didn't know anything. But Perry says he is going to write a history book some day that won't have such puzzling things in it.

I am finishing the Disappointed House in my mind. I'm furnishing the rooms like flowers. I'll have a rose room all pink and a lily room all white and silver and a pansy room, blue and gold. I wish the Disappointed House could have a Christmas. It never has any Christmasses.

Oh, Father, I've just thought of something nice. When I grow up and write a great novel and make lots of money, I will buy the Disappointed House and finish it. Then it won't be Disappointed any more.

Ilse's Sunday School teacher, Miss Willeson, gave her a Bible for learning 200 verses. But when she took it home her father laid it on the floor and kicked it out in the yard. Mrs. Simms says a judgment will come on him but nothing has happened yet. The poor man is warped. That is why he did such a wicked thing.

Aunt Laura took me to old Mrs. Mason's funeral last Wednesday. I like funerals. They are so dramatic.

My pig died last week. It was a
great
finanshul
loss
to me. Aunt Elizabeth says Cousin Jimmy fed it too well. I suppose I should not have called it after Lofty John.

We have maps to draw in school now. Rhoda Stuart always gets the most marks. Miss Brownell doesn't know that Rhoda just puts the map up against a window pane and the paper over it and copies it off. I like drawing maps. Norway and Sweden look like a tiger with mountains for stripes and Ireland looks like a little dog with its back turned on England, and its paws held up against its breast, and Africa looks like a big pork ham. Australia is a lovely map to draw.

Ilse is getting on real well in school now. She says she isn't going to have me beating her. She can learn like the dickins, as Perry says, when she tries, and she has won the silver metal for Queen's County. The W.C.T.U. in Charlottetown gave it for the best reciter. They had the contest in Shrewsbury and Aunt Laura took Ilse because Dr. Burnley wouldn't and Ilse won it. Aunt Laura told Dr. Burnley when he was here one day that he ought to give Ilse a good education. He said “I'm not going to waste money educating any she-thing.” And he looked black as a thunder cloud. Oh, I wish Dr. Burnley would love Ilse. I'm so glad
you
loved
me
, Father.

***

Dec. 22

Dear Father: We had our school examination today. It was a great occasion. Almost everybody was there except Dr. Burnley and Aunt Elizabeth. All the girls wore their best dresses but me. I knew Ilse had nothing to wear but her shabby old last winter's plaid that is too short for her, so to keep her from feeling bad, I put on my old brown dress, too. Aunt Elizabeth did not want to let me do it at first because New Moon Murrays should be well dressed but when I explained about Ilse she looked at Aunt Laura and then said I might.

Rhoda Stuart made fun of Ilse and me but I heaped coals of fire on her head. (That is what is called a figure of speech.) She got stuck in her recitation. She had left the book home and nobody else knew the piece but me. At first I looked at her triumphantly. But then a queer feeling came into me and I thought “What would I feel like if I was stuck before a big crowd of people like this? And besides the honor of the school is at stake,” so I whispered it to her because I was quite close. She got through the rest all right. The strange thing is, dear Father, that now I don't feel any more as if I hated her. I feel quite kindly to her and it is much nicer. It is uncomfortable to hate people.

***

Dec. 28

Dear Father:

Christmas is over. It was pretty nice. I never saw so many good things cooked all at once. Uncle Wallace and Aunt Eva and Uncle Oliver and Aunt Addie and Aunt Ruth were here. Uncle Oliver didn't bring any of his children and I was much disappointed. We had Dr. Burnley and Ilse too. Everyone was dressed up. Aunt Elizabeth wore her black satin dress with a pointed lace collar and cap. She looked quite handsome and I was proud of her. You like your relations to look well even if you don't like
them
. Aunt Laura wore her brown silk and Aunt Ruth had on a gray dress. Aunt Eva was
very
elegant. Her dress had a train. But it smelled of moth balls.

I had on my blue cashmere and wore my hair tied with blue ribbons, and Aunt Laura let me wear mother's blue silk sash with the pink daisies on it that she had when she was a little girl at New Moon. Aunt Ruth sniffed when she saw me. She said, “You have grown a good deal, Em'ly. I hope you are a better girl.”

But she
didn't
hope it (really). I saw that quite plain. Then she told me my bootlace was untyed.

“She looks better,” said Uncle Oliver. “I wouldn't wonder if she grew up into a strong, healthy girl after all.”

Aunt Eva sighed and shook her head. Uncle Wallace didn't say anything but shook hands with me. His hand was as cold as a fish. When we went out to the sitting room for dinner I stepped on Aunt Eva's train and I could hear some stitches rip somewhere. Aunt Eva pushed me away and Aunt Ruth said, “What a very awkward child you are, Emily.” I stepped behind Aunt Ruth and stuck out my tongue at her. Uncle Oliver makes a noise eating his soup. We had all the good silver spoons out. Cousin Jimmy carved the turkeys and he gave me two slices of the breast because he knows I like the white meat best. Aunt Ruth said “When I was a little girl the wing was good enough for me,” and Cousin Jimmy put
another
white slice on my plate. Aunt Ruth didn't say anything more then till the carving was done, and then she said, “I saw your school teacher in Shrewsbury last Saturday, Em'ly, and she did not give me a very good account of you. If you were
my
daughter I would expect a different report.”