“Arminius Scobie is a very mean man and always buys his wife’s hats for her, lest she pay too much for them. They know this in the Shrewsbury stores, and laugh at him. One day last week he was in Jones and McCallum’s, buying her a hat, and Mr. Jones told him that if he would wear the hat from the store to the station he would let him have it for nothing. Arminius did. It was a quarter of a mile to the station and all the small boys in Shrewsbury ran after him and hooted him. But Arminus didn’t care. He had saved three dollars and forty-nine cents.
“And, one evening, right here at New Moon, I dropped a soft-boiled egg on Aunt Elizabeth’s second-best cashmere dress. That was a happening. A kingdom might have been upset in Europe, and it wouldn’t have made such a commotion at New Moon.
“So, Mistress Sawyer, you are vastly mistaken. Besides, apart from all happenings, the folks here are interesting in themselves. I don’t like every one but I find every one interesting — Miss Matty Small, who is forty and wears outrageous colours — she wore an old-rose dress and a scarlet hat to church all last summer — old Uncle Reuben Bascom, who is so lazy that he held an umbrella over himself all one rainy night in bed, when the roof began to leak, rather than get out and move the bed — Elder McCloskey, who thought it wouldn’t do to say ‘pants’ in a story he was telling about a missionary, at prayer-meeting, so always said politely ‘the clothes of his lower parts’ — Amasa Derry, who carried off four prizes at the Exhibition last fall, with vegetables he stole from Ronnie Bascom’s field, while Ronnie didn’t get one prize — Jimmy Joe Belle, who came here from Derry Pond yesterday to get some lumber ‘to beeld a henhouse for my leetle dog’ — old Luke Elliott, who is such a systematic fiend that he even draws up a schedule of the year on New Year’s day, and charts down all the days he means to get drunk on — and sticks to it: — they’re all interesting and amusing and delightful.
“There, I’ve proved Mrs. Alex Sawyer to be so completely wrong that I feel quite kindly towards her, even though she did call me a puss.
“Why don’t I like being called a puss, when cats are such nice things? And I like being called pussy.
********
“April 28, 19 —
“Two weeks ago I sent my very best poem, Wind Song, to a magazine in New York, and to-day it came back with just a little printed slip saying, ‘We regret we cannot use this contribution.’
“I feel dreadfully. I suppose I can’t really write anything that is any good.
“I can. That magazine will be glad to print my pieces some day!
“I didn’t tell Mr. Carpenter I sent it. I wouldn’t get any sympathy from him. He says that five years from now will be time enough to begin pestering editors. But I know that some poems I’ve read in that very magazine were not a bit better than Wind Song.
“I feel more like writing poetry in spring than at any other time. Mr. Carpenter tells me to fight against the impulse. He says spring has been responsible for more trash than anything else in the universe of God.
“Mr. Carpenter’s way of talking has a tang to it.
********
“May 1, 19 —
“Dean is home. He came to his sister’s yesterday and this evening he was here and we walked in the garden, up and down the sundial walk, and talked. It was splendid to have him back, with his mysterious green eyes and his nice mouth.
“We had a long conversation. We talked of Algiers and the transmigration of souls and of being cremated and of profiles — Dean says I have a good profile—’pure Greek.’ I always like Dean’s compliments.
“‘Star o’ Morning, how you have grown!’ he said. ‘I left a child last autumn — and I find a woman!’
“(I will be fourteen in three weeks, and I am tall for my age. Dean seems to be glad of this — quite unlike Aunt Laura who always sighs when she lengthens my dresses, and thinks children grow up too fast.)
“‘So goes time by,’ I said, quoting the motto on the sundial, and feeling quite sophisticated.
“‘You are almost as tall as I am,’ he said; and then added bitterly, ‘to be sure Jarback Priest is of no very stately height.’
“I have always shrunk from referring to his shoulder in any way, but now I said,
“‘Dean, please don’t sneer at yourself like that — not with me, at least. I never think of you as Jarback.’
“Dean took my hand and looked right into my eyes as if he were trying to read my very soul.
“‘Are you sure of that, Emily? Don’t you often wish that I wasn’t lame — and crooked?’
“‘For your sake I do,’ I answered, ‘but as far as I am concerned it doesn’t make a bit of difference — and never will.’
“‘And never will!’ Dean repeated the words emphatically. ‘If I were sure of that, Emily — if I were only sure of that.’
“‘You can be sure of it,’ I declared quite warmly. I was vexed because he seemed to doubt it — and yet something in his expression made me feel a little uncomfortable. It suddenly made me think of the time he rescued me from the cliff on Malvern Bay and told me my life belonged to him since he had saved it. I don’t like the thought of my life belonging to any one but myself — not any one, even Dean, much as I like him. And in some ways I like Dean better than any one in the world.
“When it got darker the stars came out and we studied them through Dean’s splendid new field-glasses. It was very fascinating. Dean knows all about the stars — it seems to me he knows all about everything. But when I said so, he said,
“‘There is one secret I do not know — I would give everything else I do know for it — one secret — perhaps I shall never know it. The way to win — the way to win—’
“‘What?’ I asked curiously.
“‘My heart’s desire,’ said Dean dreamily, looking at a shimmering star that seemed to be hung on the very tip of one of the Three Princesses. ‘It seems now as desirable and unobtainable as that gem-like star, Emily. But — who knows?’
“I wonder what it is Dean wants so much.
********
“May 4, 19 —
“Dean brought me a lovely portfolio from Paris, and I have copied my favourite verse from The Fringed Gentian on the inside of the cover. I will read it over every day and remember my vow to ‘climb the Alpine Path.’ I begin to see that I will have to do a good bit of scrambling, though I once expected, I think, to soar right up to ‘that far-off goal’ on shining wings. Mr. Carpenter has banished that fond dream.
“‘Dig in your toes and hang on with your teeth — that’s the only way,’ he says.
“Last night in bed I thought out some lovely titles for the books I’m going to write in the future — A Lady of High Degree, True to Faith and Vow, Oh, Rare Pale Margaret (I got that from Tennyson), The Caste of Vere de Vere (ditto) and A Kingdom by the Sea.
“Now, if I can only get ideas to match the titles!
“I am writing a story called The House Among the Rowans — also a very good title, I think. But the love talk still bothers me. Everything of the kind I write seems so stiff and silly the minute I write it down that it infuriates me. I asked Dean if he could teach me how to write it properly because he promised long ago that he would, but he said I was too young yet — said it in that mysterious way of his which always seems to convey the idea that there is so much more in his words than the mere sound of them expresses. I wish I could speak so significantly, because it makes you very interesting.
“This evening after school Dean and I began to read The Alhambra over again, sitting on the stone bench in the garden. That book always makes me feel as if I had opened a little door and stepped straight into fairyland.
“‘How I would love to see the Alhambra!’ I said.
“‘We will go to see it sometime — together,’ said Dean.
“‘Oh, that would be lovely,’ I cried. ‘Do you think we can ever manage it, Dean?’
“Before Dean could answer I heard Teddy’s whistle in Lofty John’s bush — the dear little wh
istle of two short high notes and one long low one, that is our signal.
“‘Excuse me — I must go — Teddy’s calling me,’ I said.
“‘Must you always go when Teddy calls?’ asked Dean.
“I nodded and explained,
“‘He only calls like that when he wants me especially and I have promised I will always go if I possibly can.’
“‘I want you especially!’ said Dean. ‘I came up this evening on purpose to read The Alhambra with you.’
“Suddenly I felt very unhappy. I wanted to stay with Dean dreadfully, and yet I felt as if I must go to Teddy. Dean looked at me piercingly. Then he shut up The Alhambra.
“‘Go,’ he said.
“I went — but things seemed spoiled, somehow.
********
“May 10, 19 —
“I have been reading three books Dean lent me this week. One was like a rose garden — very pleasant, but just a little too sweet. And one was like a pine wood on a mountain — full of balsam and tang — I loved it, and yet it filled me with a sort of despair. It was written so beautifully — I can never write like that, I feel sure. And one — it was just like a pigsty. Dean gave me that one by mistake. He was very angry with himself when he found it out — angry and distressed.
“‘Star — Star — I would never have given you a book like that — my confounded carelessness — forgive me. That book is a faithful picture of one world — but not your world, thank God — nor any world you will ever be a citizen of. Star, promise me you will forget that book.’
“‘I’ll forget it if I can,’ I said.
“But I don’t know if I can. It was so ugly. I have not been so happy since I read it. I feel as if my hands were soiled somehow and I couldn’t wash them clean. And I have another queer feeling, as if some gate had been shut behind me, shutting me into a new world I don’t quite understand or like, but through which I must travel.
“To-night I tried to write a description of Dean in my Jimmy-book of character sketches. But I didn’t succeed. What I wrote seemed like a photograph — not a portrait. There is something in Dean that is beyond me.
“Dean took a picture of me the other day with his new camera, but he wasn’t pleased with it.
“‘It doesn’t look like you,’ he said, ‘but of course one can never photograph starlight.’
“Then he added, quite sharply, I thought,
“‘Tell that young imp of a Teddy Kent to keep your face out of his pictures. He has no business to put you into every one he draws.’
“‘He doesn’t!’ I cried. ‘Why, Teddy never made but the one picture of me — the one Aunt Nancy stole.’
“I said it quite viciously and unashamed, for I’ve never forgiven Aunt Nancy for keeping that picture.
“‘He’s got something of you in every picture,’ said Dean stubbornly—’your eyes — the curve of your neck — the tilt of your head — your personality. That’s the worst — I don’t mind your eyes and curves so much, but I won’t have that cub putting a bit of your soul into everything he draws. Probably he doesn’t know he’s doing it — which makes it all the worse.’
“‘I don’t understand you,’ I said, quite haughtily. ‘But Teddy is wonderful — Mr. Carpenter says so.’
“‘And Emily of New Moon echoes it! Oh, the kid has talent — he’ll do something some day if his morbid mother doesn’t ruin his life. But let him keep his pencil and brush off my property.’
“Dean laughed as he said it. But I held my head high. I am not anybody’s ‘property,’ not even in fun. And I never will be.
********
“May 12, 19 —
“Aunt Ruth and Uncle Wallace and Uncle Oliver were all here this afternoon. I like Uncle Oliver, but I am not much fonder of Aunt Ruth and Uncle Wallace than I ever was. They held some kind of family conclave in the parlour with Aunt Elizabeth and Aunt Laura. Cousin Jimmy was allowed in but I was excluded, although I feel perfectly certain that it had something to do with me. I think Aunt Ruth didn’t get her own way, either, for she snubbed me continually all through supper, and said I was growing weedy! Aunt Ruth generally snubs me and Uncle Wallace patronizes me. I prefer Aunt Ruth’s snubs because I don’t have to look as if I liked them. I endured them to a certain point, and then the lid flew off. Aunt Ruth said to me,
“‘Em’ly, don’t contradict,’ just as she might have spoken to a mere child. I looked her right in the eyes and said coldly,
“‘Aunt Ruth, I think I am too old to be spoken to in that fashion now.’
“‘You are not too old to be very rude and impertinent,’ said Aunt Ruth, with a sniff, ‘and if I were in Elizabeth’s place I would give you a sound box on the ear, Miss.’
“I hate to be Em’ly’d and Miss’d and sniffed at! It seems to me that Aunt Ruth has all the Murray faults, and none of their virtues.
“Uncle Oliver’s son Andrew came with him and is going to stay for a week. He is four years older than I am.
********
“May 19, 19 —
“This is my birthday. I am fourteen years old today. I wrote a letter ‘From myself at fourteen to myself at twenty-four,’ sealed it up and put it away in my cupboard, to be opened on my twenty-fourth birthday. I made some predictions in it. I wonder if they will have come to pass when I open it.
“Aunt Elizabeth gave me back all Father’s books today. I was so glad. It seems to me that a part of Father is in those books. His name is in each one in his own handwriting, and the notes he made on the margins. They seem like little bits of letters from him. I have been looking over them all the evening, and Father seems so near to me again, and I feel both happy and sad.
“One thing spoiled the day for me. In school, when I went up to the blackboard to work a problem, everybody suddenly began to titter. I could not imagine why. Then I discovered that some one had pinned a sheet of foolscap to my back, on which was printed in big, black letters: ‘Emily Byrd Starr, Authoress of The Four-Legged Duck.’ They laughed more than ever when I snatched it off and threw it in the coal-scuttle. It infuriates me when anyone ridicules my ambitions like that. I came home angry and sore. But when I had sat on the steps of the summer-house and looked at one of Cousin Jimmy’s big purple pansies for five minutes all my anger went away. Nobody can keep on being angry if she looks into the heart of a pansy for a little while.
“Besides, the time will come when they will not laugh at me!
“Andrew went home yesterday. Aunt Elizabeth asked me how I liked him. She never asked me how I liked anyone before — my likings were not important enough. I suppose she is beginning to realize that I am no longer a child.
“I said I thought he was good and kind and stupid and uninteresting.
“Aunt Elizabeth was so annoyed she would not speak to me the whole evening. Why? I had to tell the truth. And Andrew is.
********
“May 21, 19 —
“Old Kelly was here to-day for the first time this spring, with a load of shining new tins. He brought me a bag of candies as usual — and teased me about getting married, also as usual. But he seemed to have something on his mind, and when I went to the dairy to get him the drink of milk he had asked for, he followed me.
“‘Gurrl dear,’ he said mysteriously. ‘I met Jarback Praste in the lane. Does he be coming here much?’
“I cocked my head at the Murray angle.
“‘If you mean Mr. Dean Priest,’ I said, ‘he comes often. He is a particular friend of mine.’
“Old Kelly shook his head.
“‘Gurrl dear — I warned ye — niver be after saying I didn’t warn ye. I towld ye the day I took ye to Praste Pond niver to marry a Praste. Didn’t I now?’
“‘Mr. Kelly, you’re too ridiculous,’ I said — angry and yet feeling it was absurd to be angry with Old Jock Kelly. ‘I’m not going to marry anybody. Mr. Priest is old enough to be my father, and I am just a little girl he helps in her studies.’
“Old Kelly gave his he
ad another shake.
“‘I know the Prastes, gurrl dear — and when they do be after setting their minds on a thing ye might as well try to turn the wind. This Jarback now — they tell me he’s had his eye on ye iver since he fished ye up from the Malvern rocks — he’s just biding his time till ye get old enough for coorting. They tell me he’s an infidel, and it’s well known that whin he was being christened he rached up and clawed the spectacles off av the minister. So what wud ye ixpect? I nadn’t be telling ye he’s lame and crooked — ye can see that for yerself. Take foolish Ould Kelly’s advice and cut loose while there’s time. Now, don’t be looking at me like the Murrays, gurrl dear. Shure, and it’s for your own good I do be spaking.’
“I walked off and left him. One couldn’t argue with him over such a thing. I wish people wouldn’t put such ideas into my mind. They stick there like burrs. I won’t feel as comfortable with Dean for weeks now, though I know perfectly well every word Old Kelly said was nonsense.
“After Old Kelly went away I came up to my room and wrote a full description of him in a Jimmy-book.
“Ilse has got a new hat trimmed with clouds of blue tulle, and red cherries, with big blue tulle bows under the chin. I did not like it and told her so. She was furious and said I was jealous and hasn’t spoken to me for two days. I thought it all over. I knew I was not jealous, but I concluded I had made a mistake. I will never again tell anyone a thing like that. It was true but it was not tactful.
“I hope Ilse will have forgiven me by to-morrow. I miss her horribly when she is offended with me. She’s such a dear thing and so jolly, and splendid, when she isn’t vexed.
“Teddy is a little squiffy with me, too, just now. I think it is because Geoff North walked home with me from prayer-meeting last Wednesday night. I hope that is the reason. I like to feel that I have that much power over Teddy.
“I wonder if I ought to have written that down. But it’s true.
“If Teddy only knew it, I have been very unhappy and ashamed over that affair. At first, when Geoff singled me out from all the girls, I was quite proud of it. It was the very first time I had had an escort home, and Geoff is a town boy, very handsome and polished, and all the older girls in Blair Water are quite foolish about him. So I sailed away from the church door with him, feeling as if I had grown up all at once. But we hadn’t gone far before I was hating him. He was so condescending. He seemed to think I was a simple little country girl who must be quite overwhelmed with the honour of his company.
The Complete Works of L M Montgomery Page 253
