Emily of New Moon
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.”
“I am very glad I am not your daughter,” I said in my mind. I didn’t
say it out loud of course but Aunt Ruth said, “Please do not look so
sulky when I speak to you, Em’ly.” And Uncle Wallace said, “It is a
pity she has such an unattractive expression.”
“_You_ are conceited and domineering and stingy,” I said, still in my
mind. “I heard Dr. Burnley say you were.”
“I see there is an ink-stain on her finger,” said Aunt Ruth. (I had
been writing a poem before dinner.)
“And then a most surprising thing happened. Relations are always
surprising you. Aunt Elizabeth spoke up and said, “_I do wish, Ruth,
that you and Wallace would leave that child alone._” I could hardly
believe my ears. Aunt Ruth looked annoyed but she _did_ leave me alone
after that and only sniffed when Cousin Jimmy slipped a bit more white
meat on my plate.
“After that the dinner was nice. And when they got as far as the
pudding they all began to talk and it was splendid to listen to. They
told stories and jokes about the Murrays. Even Uncle Wallace laughed
and Aunt Ruth told some things about Great-Aunt Nancy. They were
sarcastic but they were interesting. Aunt Elizabeth opened Grandfather
Murray’s desk and took out an old poem that had been written to Aunt
Nancy _by a lover_ when she was young and Uncle Oliver read it.
Great-Aunt Nancy must have been very beautiful. I wonder if anyone will
ever write a poem to me. If I could have a bang somebody might. I said,
“Was Great Aunt Nancy really as pretty as that?” and Uncle Oliver said,
“They say she was 70 years ago” and Uncle Wallace said, “She hangs on
well--she’ll see the century mark yet,” and Uncle Oliver said, “Oh,
she’s got so in the habit of living she’ll never die.”
“Dr. Burnley told a story I didn’t understand. Uncle Wallace hawhawed
right out and Uncle Oliver put his napkin up to his face. Aunt Addie
and Aunt Eva looked at each other sidewise and then at their plates
and smiled a little bit. Aunt Ruth seemed offended and Aunt Elizabeth
looked _coldly_ at Dr. Burnley and said, “I think you forget that
there are children present.” Dr. Burnley said, “I beg your pardon,
Elizabeth,” _very_ politely. He can speak with a _grand air_ when he
likes. He is very handsome when he is dressed up and shaved. Ilse says
she is proud of him even if he hates her.
“After dinner was over the presents were given. That is a Murray
tradishun. We never have stockings or trees but a big bran pie is
passed all around with the presents buried in it and ribbons hanging
out with names on them. It was fun. My relations all gave me useful
presents except Aunt Laura. She gave me a bottle of perfume. I love
it. I love nice smells. Aunt Elizabeth does not approve of perfumes.
She gave me a new apron but I am thankful to say not a baby one. Aunt
Ruth gave me a New Testament and said “Em’ly, I hope you will read a
portion of that every day until you have read it through,” and I said,
“Why, Aunt Ruth, I’ve read the whole New Testament a dozen times (and
so I have) I _love_ Revelations.” (And I _do_. When I read the verse
“and the twelve gates were twelve pearls” I just _saw_ them and the
flash came.) “The Bible is not to be read as a story book,” Aunt Ruth
said coldly. Uncle Wallace and Aunt Eva gave me a pair of black mits
and Uncle Oliver and Aunt Addie gave me a whole dollar in nice new
silver dimes and Cousin Jimmy gave me a hair ribbon. Perry had left a
silk bookmark for me. He had to go home to spend Christmas day with his
Aunt Tom at Stovepipe Town but I saved a lot of nuts and raisins for
him. I gave him and Teddy handkerchiefs (Teddy’s was a _little_ the
nicest) and I gave Ilse a hair ribbon. I bought them myself out of my
egg money. (I will not have any more egg money for a long time because
my hen has stopped laying.) Everybody was happy and once Uncle Wallace
smiled right at me. I did not think him so ugly when he smiled.
“After dinner Ilse and I played games in the kitchen and Cousin Jimmy
helped us make taffy. We had a big supper but nobody could eat much
because they had had such a dinner. Aunt Eva’s head ached and Aunt Ruth
said she didn’t see why Elizabeth made the sausages so rich. But the
rest were good humored and Aunt Laura kept things pleasant. She is good
at making things pleasant. And after it was all over Uncle Wallace said
(this is another Murray tradishun) “Let us think for a few moments of
those who have gone before.” I liked the way he said it--very solemnly
and kind. It was one of the times when I am glad the blood of the
Murrays flows in my vains. And I thought of _you_, darling Father, and
Mother and poor little Mike and Great-great-Grandmother Murray, and of
my old account book that Aunt Elizabeth burned, because it seemed just
like a person to me. And then we all joined hands and sung “For Auld
Lang Syne” before they went home. I didn’t feel like a stranger among
the Murrays any more. Aunt Laura and I stood out on the porch to watch
them go. Aunt Laura put her arm around me and said, “Your mother and I
used to stand like this long ago, Emily, to watch the Christmas guests
go away.” The snow creaked and the bells rang back through the trees
and the frost on the pighouse roof sparkled in the moonlight. And it
was all so lovely (the bells and the frost and the big shining white
night) that _the flash_ came and that was best of all.”
CHAPTER XXI
“ROMANTIC BUT NOT COMFORTABLE”
A certain thing happened at New Moon because Teddy Kent paid Ilse
Burnley a compliment one day and Emily Starr didn’t altogether like it.
Empires have been overturned for the same reason.
Teddy was skating on Blair Water and taking Ilse and Emily out in
turns for “slides.” Neither Ilse nor Emily had skates. Nobody was
sufficiently interested in Ilse to buy skates for her, and as for
Emily, Aunt Elizabeth did not approve of girls skating. New Moon girls
had never skated. Aunt Laura had a revolutionary idea that skating
would be good exercise for Emily and would, moreover, prevent her
from wearing out the soles of her boots sliding. But neither of these
arguments was sufficient to convince Aunt Elizabeth, in spite of the
thrifty streak that came to her from the Burnleys. The latter, however,
caused her to issue an edict that Emily was not to “slide.” Emily took
this very hardly. She moped about in a woe-begone fashion and she wrote
to her father, “I _hate_ Aunt Elizabeth. She is so unjust. She never
plays fair.” But one day Dr. Burnley stuck his head in at the door of
the New Moon kitchen and said gruffly, “What’s this I hear about you
not letting Emily slide, Elizabeth?”
“She wears out the soles of her boots,” said Elizabeth.
“Boots be--” the doctor remembered that ladies were present just in
time. “Let the creature slide all she wants to. She ought to be in
the open air all the time. She ought”--the doctor stared at Elizabeth
ferociously--“she ought to sleep out of doors.”
Elizabeth trembled lest the doctor should go on to insist on this
unheard-of proceeding. She knew he had absurd ideas about the proper
treatment of consumptives and those who might become such. She was glad
to appease him by letting Emily stay out-of-doors in daytime and do
what seemed good to her, if only he would say no more about staying out
all night too.
“He is much more concerned about Emily than he is about his own child,”
she said bitterly to Laura.
“Ilse is too healthy,” said Aunt Laura with a smile. “If she were a
delicate child Allan might forgive her for--for being her mother’s
daughter.”
“S--s--h,” said Aunt Elizabeth. But she “s--s--s--h’d” too late. Emily,
coming into the kitchen, had heard Aunt Laura and puzzled over what she
had said all day in school. Why had Ilse to be forgiven for being her
mother’s daughter? Everybody was her mother’s daughter, wasn’t she?
Wherein did the crime consist? Emily worried over it so much that she
was inattentive to her lessons and Miss Brownell raked her fore and aft
with sarcasm.
It is time we got back to Blair Water where Teddy was just bringing
Emily in from a glorious spin clear round the great circle of ice.
Ilse was waiting for her turn, on the bank. Her golden cloud of hair
aureoled her face and fell in a shimmering wave over her forehead
under the faded, little red tam she wore. Ilse’s clothes were always
faded. The stinging kiss of the wind had crimsoned her cheeks and her
eyes were glowing like amber pools with fire in their hearts. Teddy’s
artistic perception saw her beauty and rejoiced in it.
“Isn’t Ilse handsome?” he said.
Emily was not jealous. It never hurt her to hear Ilse praised. But
somehow she did not like this. Teddy was looking at Ilse altogether
_too_ admiringly. It was all, Emily believed, due to that shimmering
fringe on Ilse’s white brows.
“If _I_ had a bang Teddy might think me handsome too,” she thought
resentfully. “Of course, black hair isn’t as pretty as gold. But my
forehead is too high--everybody says so. And I _did_ look nice in
Teddy’s picture because he drew some curls over it.”
The matter rankled. Emily thought of it as she went home over the sheen
of the crusted snow-field slanting to the light of the winter sunset,
and she could not eat her supper because she did not have a bang. All
her long hidden yearning for a bang seemed to come to a head at once.
She knew there was no use in coaxing Aunt Elizabeth for one. But when
she was getting ready for bed that night she stood on a chair so that
she could see little Emily-in-the-glass, then lifted the curling ends
of her long braid and laid them over her forehead. The effect, in
Emily’s eyes at least, was very alluring. She suddenly thought--what if
she cut a bang herself? It would take only a minute. And once done what
could Aunt Elizabeth do? She would be very angry and doubtless inflict
some kind of punishment. But the bang would be there--at least until it
grew out long.
Emily, her lips set, went for the scissors. She unbraided her hair and
parted the front tresses. Snip--snip--went the scissors. Glistening
locks fell at her feet. In a minute Emily had her long-desired bang.
Straight across her brows fell the lustrous, softly curving fringe. It
changed the whole character of her face. It made it arch, provocative,
elusive. For one brief moment Emily gazed at her reflection in triumph.
And then--sheer terror seized her. Oh, what had she done? How angry