Emily of New Moon
Spirit of Mist, and the Spirit of Moonshine.
“So you think I am not beautiful when I say my prayers?” said Mr.
Carpenter.
Emily gasped--realized what had happened--made a frantic grab at her
Jimmy-book--missed it. Mr. Carpenter held it up beyond her reach and
mocked at her.
She had given him the wrong Jimmy-book! And this one, oh, horrors,
what was in it? Or rather, what wasn’t in it? Sketches of everyone in
Blair Water--and a full--a very full--description of Mr. Carpenter
himself. Intent on describing him exactly, she had been as mercilessly
lucid as she always was, especially in regard to the odd faces he
made on mornings when he opened the school day with a prayer. Thanks
to her dramatic knack of word painting, Mr. Carpenter _lived_ in that
sketch. Emily did not know it, but _he_ did--he saw himself as in a
glass and the artistry of it pleased him so that he cared for nothing
else. Besides, she had drawn his good points quite as clearly as his
bad ones. And there were some sentences in it--“He looks as if he knew
a great deal that can never be any use to him”--“I think he wears the
black coat Mondays because it makes him feel that he hasn’t been drunk
at all.” Who or what had taught the little jade these things? Oh, her
goddess would not pass Emily by!
“I’m--sorry,” said Emily, crimson with shame all over her dainty
paleness.
“Why, I wouldn’t have missed this for all the poetry you’ve written or
ever will write! By gad, it’s literature--_literature_--and you’re only
thirteen. But you don’t know what’s ahead of you--the stony hills--the
steep ascents--the buffets--the discouragements. Stay in the valley if
you’re wise. Emily, _why_ do you want to write? Give me your reason.”
“I want to be famous and rich,” said Emily coolly.
“Everybody does. Is that all?”
“No. I just _love_ to write.”
“A better reason--but not enough--not enough. Tell me this--if you knew
you would be poor as a church mouse all your life--if you knew you’d
never have a line published--would you still go on writing--_would_
you?”
“Of course I would,” said Emily disdainfully. “Why, I _have_ to
write--I can’t help it by times--I’ve just _got_ to.”
“Oh--then I’d waste my breath giving advice at all. If it’s _in_ you
to climb you must--there are those who _must_ lift their eyes to the
hills--they can’t breathe properly in the valleys. God help them if
there’s some weakness in them that prevents their climbing. You don’t
understand a word I’m saying--yet. But go on--climb! There, take
your book and go home. Thirty years from now I will have a claim to
distinction in the fact that Emily Byrd Starr was once a pupil of mine.
Go--go--before I remember what a disrespectful baggage you are to write
such stuff about me and be properly enraged.”
Emily went, still a bit scared but oddly exultant behind her fright.
She was so happy that her happiness seemed to irradiate the world with
its own splendour. All the sweet sounds of nature around her seemed
like the broken words of her own delight. Mr. Carpenter watched her out
of sight from the old worn threshold.
“Wind--and flame--and sea!” he muttered. “Nature is always taking us
by surprise. This child has--what I have never had and would have made
any sacrifice to have. But ‘the gods don’t allow us to be in their
debt’--she will pay for it--she will pay.”
At sunset Emily sat in the lookout room. It was flooded with soft
splendour. Outside, in sky and trees, were delicate tintings and
aerial sounds. Down in the garden Daffy was chasing dead leaves along
the red walks. The sight of his sleek, striped sides, the grace of
his movements, gave her pleasure--as did the beautiful, even, glossy
furrows of the ploughed fields beyond the lane, and the first faint
white star in the crystal-green sky.
The wind of the autumn night was blowing trumpets of fairyland on the
hills; and over in Lofty John’s bush was laughter--like the laughter of
fauns. Ilse and Perry and Teddy were waiting there for her--they had
made a tryst for a twilight romp. She would go to them--presently--not
yet. She was so full of rapture that she must write it out before she
went back from her world of dreams to the world of reality. Once she
would have poured it into a letter to her father. She could no longer
do that. But on the table before her lay a brand-new Jimmy-book. She
pulled it towards her, took up her pen, and on its first virgin page
she wrote.
NEW MOON,
BLAIR WATER,
P. E. ISLAND.
October 8th.
I am going to write a diary, that it may be published when I die.
THE END
Transcriber’s Note:
Attempts have been made to standardise punctuation according to the
style used in the original book. Contractions without apostrophes
have been retained as published. Spelling and hyphenation also have
been retained as printed in the original publication except as follows:
Page 58
going to open the window, Aunt Elizaeth _changed to_
going to open the window, Aunt Elizabeth
Page 68
is one of the places were dreams grow _changed to_
is one of the places where dreams grow
Page 94
with this unseenly display of _changed to_
with this unseemly display of
Page 117
ike a huge grey cat basking _changed to_
like a huge grey cat basking
Page 145
as Cousin Jimmie said _changed to_
as Cousin Jimmy said
Page 147
She helped Cousin Jimmie fill it _changed to_
She helped Cousin Jimmy fill it
Page 154
Cousin Jimmie added that Tom _changed to_
Cousin Jimmy added that Tom
Page 249
have run away with him myseif _changed to_
have run away with him myself
bad-tempered at the Priests _changed to_
bad-tempered as the Priests
Page 270
to the contrary nothwithstanding _changed to_
to the contrary notwithstanding