Emily of New Moon
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.”
CHAPTER XIX
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 ye 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 favour 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 to
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 flavour 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.
CHAPTER XX
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