For this was exactly where this house-that-Jack-built
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progression had landed them all. Lofty John had announced publicly in the Blair Water blacksmith shop that he was going to cut down the bush as soon as harvest was over—every last tree and sapling was to be laid low. The news was promptly8 carried to New Moon and upset the inhabitants thereof as they had not been upset for years. In their eyes it was nothing short of a catastrophe9.
Elizabeth and Laura could hardly bring themselves to believe it. The thing was incredible. That big, thick, protecting bush of spruce and hardwood had always been there; it belonged to New Moon morally; even Lofty John Sullivan would not dare to cut it down. But Lofty John had an uncomfortable reputation for doing what he said he would do; that was a part of his loftiness; and if he did—if he did—
“New Moon will be ruined,” wailed10 poor Aunt Laura. “It will look dreadful—all its beauty will go—and we will be left open to the north wind and the sea storms—we have always been so warm and sheltered here. And Jimmy’s garden will be ruined too.”
“This is what comes of bringing Emily here,” said Aunt Elizabeth.
It was a cruel thing to say, even when all allowances were made,—cruel and unjust, since her own sharp tongue and Murray sarcasm12 had had quite as much to do with it as Emily. But she said it and it pierced Emily to the heart with a pang13 that left a scar for years. Poor Emily did not feel as if she needed any additional anguish14. She was already feeling so wretched that she could not eat or sleep. Elizabeth Murray, angry and unhappy as she was, slept soundly at nights; but beside her in the darkness, afraid to move or turn, lay a slender little creature whose tears, stealing silently down her cheeks, could not ease her breaking heart. For Emily thought her heart was breaking; she couldn’t go on living and suffering like this. Nobody could.
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Emily had lived long enough at New Moon for it to get pretty thoroughly15 into her blood. Perhaps it had even been born there. At any rate, when she came to it she fitted into its atmosphere as a hand into a glove. She loved it as well as if she had lived there all her short life—loved every stick and stone and tree and blade of grass about it—every nail in the old kitchen floor, every cushion of green moss16 on the dairy roof, every pink and white columbine that grew in the old orchard17, every “tradition” of its history. To think of its beauty being in a large measure reft from it was agony to her. And to think of Cousin Jimmy’s garden being ruined! Emily loved that garden almost as much as he did; why, it was the pride of Cousin Jimmy’s life that he could grow there plants and shrubs18 that would winter nowhere else in P. E. Island; if the northern shelter were removed they would die. And to think of that beautiful bush itself being cut down—the Today Road and the Yesterday Road and the Tomorrow Road being swept out of existence—the stately Monarch19 of the Forest discrowned—the little playhouse where she and Ilse had such glorious hours destroyed—the whole lovely, ferny, intimate place torn out of her life at one fell swoop20.
Oh, Lofty John had chosen and timed his vengeance21 well!
When would the blow fall? Every morning Emily listened miserably22 as she stood on the sandstone doorstep of the kitchen, for the sound of axe23 blows on the clear September air. Every evening when she returned from school she dreaded24 to see that the work of destruction had begun. She pined and fretted25. There were times when it seemed to her she couldn’t bear her life any longer. Every day Aunt Elizabeth said something imputing26 the whole blame to her and the child grew morbidly27 sensitive about it. Almost she wished Lofty John would begin and be done with it. If Emily had ever heard the classic story of Damocles she would have
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heartily sympathized with him. If she had had any hope that it would do any good she would have swallowed Murray pride and Starr pride and every other kind of pride and gone on her knees to Lofty John to entreat28 him to hold his revengeful hand. But she believed it would not. Lofty John had left no doubt in anybody’s mind as to his bitter determination in the matter. There was much talk about it in Blair Water and some were very well pleased at this blow to New Moon pride and prestige, and some held that it was low and unclean behaviour on Lofty John’s part, and all agreed that this was what they had prophesied29 all along as bound to happen some day when the old Murray-Sullivan feud30 of three generations should have come to its inevitable31 head. The only surprising thing was that Lofty John hadn’t done it long ago. He had always hated Elizabeth Murray since their schooldays, when her tongue had not spared him.
One day by the banks of Blair Water Emily sat down and wept. She had been sent to trim the dead blossoms off the rosebushes on Grandmother Murray’s grave; having finished her task she had not the heart to go back to the house where Aunt Elizabeth was making everybody miserable32 because she was herself so unhappy. Perry had reported that Lofty John had stated the day before at the blacksmith’s that he was going to begin cutting down the big bush on Monday morning.
“I can’t bear it,” sobbed33 Emily to the rosebushes.
A few late roses nodded at her; the Wind Woman combed and waved and stirred the long green grasses on the graves where proud Murrays, men and women, slept calmly, unstirred by old feuds34 and passions; the September sunlight shone beyond on old harvest fields mellowly36 bright and serene37, and very softly against its green, shrub-hung bank, purred and lapped the blue Blair Water.
“I don’t see why God doesn’t stop Lofty John,” said Emily passionately38. Surely the New Moon Murrays had a right to expect that much from Providence39.
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Teddy came whistling down the pasture, the notes of his tune40 blowing across the Blair Water like elfin drops of sound, vaulted41 the graveyard42 fence and perched his lean, graceful43 body irreverently on the “Here I stay” of Great-Grandmother Murray’s flat tombstone.
“What’s the matter?” he said.
“Everything’s the matter,” said Emily, a little crossly. Teddy had no business to be looking so cheerful. She was used to more sympathy from Teddy and it aggravated44 her not to find it. “Don’t you know Lofty John is going to begin cutting down the bush Monday?”
Teddy nodded.
“Yep. Ilse told me. But look here, Emily, I’ve thought of something. Lofty John wouldn’t dare cut down that bush if the priest told him not to, would he?”
“Why?”
“Because the Catholics have to do just what their priests tell them to, haven’t they?”
“I don’t know—I don’t know anything about them. We are Presbyterians.”
Emily gave her head a little toss. Mrs. Kent was known to be an “English Church” woman and though Teddy went to the Presbyterian Sunday School, that fact gave him scanty45 standing46 among bred-in-the-bone Presbyterian circles.
“If your Aunt Elizabeth went to Father Cassidy at White Cross and asked him to stop Lofty John, maybe he’d do it,” persisted Teddy.
“Aunt Elizabeth would never do that,” said Emily positively47. “I’m sure of it. She’s too proud.”
“Not even to save the bush?”
“Not even for that.”
“Then I guess nothing can be done,” said Teddy rather crest-fallen. “Look here—see what I’ve made. This is a picture of Lofty John in purgatory48, with three little devils sticking red-hot pitch forks into him. I copied some of it out of one of mother’s books—Dante’s Infernal,
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I think it was—but I put Lofty John in place of the man in the book. You can have it.”
“I don’t want it.” Emily uncoiled her legs and got up. She was past the stage when inflicting49 imaginary torments50 on Lofty John could comfort her. She had already slain51 him in several agonizing52 ways during her night vigils. But an idea had come to her—a daring, breathless idea. “I must go home now, Teddy—it’s supper time.”
Teddy pocketed his despised sketch53—which was really a wonderful bit of work if either of them had had the sense to know it; the expression of anguish in Lofty John’s face as a merry little devil touched him up with a pitchfork would have been the despair of many a trained artist. He went home wishing he could help Emily; it was all wrong that a creature like Emily—with soft purple-gray eyes and a smile that made you think of all sorts of wonderful things you couldn’t put into words—should be unhappy. Teddy felt so worried about it that he added a few more devils to his sketch of Lofty John in purgatory and lengthened54 the prongs of their pitchforks quite considerably55.
Emily went home with a determined56 twist to her mouth. She ate as much supper as she could—which wasn’t much, for Aunt Elizabeth’s face would have destroyed her appetite if she had had any—and then sneaked57 out of the house by the front door. Cousin Jimmy was working in his garden but he did not call her. Cousin Jimmy was always very sorrowful now. Emily stood a moment on the Grecian porch and looked at Lofty John’s bush—green-bosomed, waving, all lovely. Would it be a desecrated58 waste of stumps59 by Monday night? Goaded60 by the thought Emily cast fear and hesitation61 to the winds and started briskly off down the lane. When she reached the gate she turned to the left on the long red road of mystery that ran up the Delectable62 Mountain. She had never been on that road before; it ran
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straight to White Cross; Emily was going to the parish house there to interview Father Cassidy. It was two miles to White Cross and Emily walked it all too soon—not because it was a beautiful road of wind and wild fern, haunted by little rabbits—but because she dreaded what awaited her at the end. She had been trying to think what she should say—how she should say it; but her invention failed her. She had no acquaintance with Catholic priests, and couldn’t imagine how you should talk to them at all. They were even more mysterious and unknowable than ministers. Suppose Father Cassidy should be dreadfully angry at her daring to come there and ask a favour. Perhaps it was a dreadful thing to do from every point of view. And very likely it would do no good. Very likely Father Cassidy would refuse to interfere63 with Lofty John, who was a good Catholic, while she was, in his opinion, a heretic. But for any chance, even the faintest, of averting64 the calamity65 impending66 over New Moon, Emily would have faced the entire Sacred College. Horribly frightened, miserably nervous as she was, the idea of turning back never occurred to her. She was only sorry that she hadn’t put on her Venetian beads67. They might have impressed Father Cassidy.
Although Emily had never been to White Cross she knew the parish house when she saw it—a fine, tree-embowered residence near the big white chapel68 with the flashing gilt69 cross on its spire70 and the four gilt angels, one on each of the little spires71 at the corners. Emily thought them very beautiful as they gleamed in the light of the lowering sun, and wished they could have some on the plain white church at Blair Water. She couldn’t understand why Catholics should have all the angels. But there was not time to puzzle over this, for the door was opening and the trim little maid was looking a question.
“Is—Father Cassidy—at—home?” asked Emily, rather jerkily.
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“Yes.”
“Can—I—see—him?”
“Come in,” said the little maid. Evidently there was no difficulty about seeing Father Cassidy—no mysterious ceremonies such as Emily had half expected, even if she were allowed to see him at all. She was shown into a book-lined room and left there, while the maid went to call Father Cassidy, who, she said, was working in the garden. That sounded quite natural and encouraging. If Father Cassidy worked in a garden, he could not be so very terrible.
Emily looked about her curiously72. She was in a very pretty room—with cosy73 chairs, and pictures and flowers. Nothing alarming or uncanny about it—except a huge black cat who was sitting on the top of one of the bookcases. It was really an enormous creature. Emily adored cats and had always felt at home with any of them. But she had never seen such a cat as this. What with its size and its insolent74, gold-hued eyes, set like living jewels in its black velvet76 face, it did not seem to belong to the same species as nice, cuddly77, respectable kittens at all. Mr. Dare would never have had such a beast about his manse. All Emily’s dread11 of Father Cassidy returned.
And then in came Father Cassidy, with the friendliest smile in the world. Emily took him in with her level glance as was her habit—or gift—and never again in the world was she the least bit afraid of Father Cassidy. He was big and broad-shouldered, with brown eyes and brown hair; and his very face was so deeply tanned from his inveterate78 habit of going about bareheaded in merciless sunshine, that it was brown, too. Emily thought he looked just like a big nut—a big, brown, wholesome79 nut.
Father Cassidy looked at her as he shook hands; Emily had one of her visitations of beauty just then. Excitement had brought a wildrose hue75 to her face, the sunlight
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brought out the watered-silk gloss80 of her black hair; her eyes were softly dark and limpid81; but it was at her ears Father Cassidy suddenly bent82 to look. Emily had a moment of agonized83 wonder if they were clean.
“She’s got pointed84 ears,” said Father Cassidy, in a thrilling whisper. “Pointed ears! I knew she came straight from fairyland the minute I saw her. Sit down, Elf—if elves do sit—sit down and give me the latest news av Titania’s court.”
Emily’s foot was now on her native heath. Father Cassidy talked her language, and he talked it in such a mellow35, throaty voice, slurring85 his “ofs” ever so softly as became a proper Irishman. But she shook her head a little sadly. With the burden of her errand on her soul she could not play the part of ambassadress from Elfland.
“I’m only Emily Starr of New Moon,” she said; and then gasped86 hurriedly, because there must be no deception—no sailing under false colours, “and I’m a Protestant.”
“And a very nice little Protestant you are,” said Father Cassidy. “But for sure I’m a bit disappointed. I’m used to Protestants—the woods hereabouts being full av them—but it’s a hundred years since the last elf called on me.”
Emily stared. Surely Father Cassidy wasn’t a hundred years old. He didn’t look more than fifty. Perhaps, though, Catholic priests did live longer than other people. She didn’t know exactly what to say so she said, a bit lamely87,
“I see you have a cat.”
“Wrong.” Father Cassidy shook his head and groaned88 dismally89. “A cat has me.”
Emily gave up trying to understand Father Cassidy. He was nice but ununderstandable. She let it go at that. And she must get on with her errand.
“You are a kind of minister, aren’t you?” she asked
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timidly. She didn’t know whether Father Cassidy would like being called a minister.
“Kind av,” he agreed amiably90. “And you see ministers and priests can’t do their own swearing. They have to keep cats to do it for them. I never knew any cat that could sware as genteelly and effectively as the B’y.”
“Is that what you call him?” asked Emily, looking at the black cat in some awe91. It seemed hardly safe to discuss him right before his face.
“That’s what he calls himself. My mother doesn’t like him because he steals the cream. Now, I don’t mind his doing that; no, it’s his way av licking his jaws92 after it that I can’t stand. Oh, B’y, we’ve a fairy calling on us. Be excited for once, I implore93 you—there’s a duck av a cat.”
The B’y refused to be excited. He winked94 an insolent eye at Emily.
“Have you any idea what goes on in the head av a cat, elf?”
What queer questions Father Cassidy asked. Yet Emily thought she would like his questions if she were not so worried. Suddenly Father Cassidy leaned across the table and said,
“Now, just what’s bothering you?”
“I’m so unhappy,” said Emily piteously.
“So are lots av other people. Everybody is unhappy by spells. But creatures who have pointed ears shouldn’t be unhappy. It’s only mortals who should be that.”
“Oh, please—please—” Emily wondered what she should call him. Would it offend him if a Protestant called him “Father”? But she had to risk it—“please, Father Cassidy, I’m in such trouble and I’ve come to ask a great favour of you.”
Emily told him the whole tale from beginning to end—the old Murray-Sullivan feud, her erstwhile friendship
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with Lofty John, the Big Sweet apple, the unhappy consequence, and Lofty John’s threatened revenge. The B’y and Father Cassidy listened with equal gravity until she had finished. Then the B’y winked at her, but Father Cassidy put his long brown fingers together.
“Humph,” he said.
(“That’s the first time,” reflected Emily, “that I’ve ever heard anyone outside of a book say ‘Humph.’”)
“Humph,” said Father Cassidy again. “And you want me to put a stop to this nefarious95 deed?”
“If you can,” said Emily. “Oh, it would be so splendid if you could. Will you—will you?”
Father Cassidy fitted his fingers still more carefully together.
“I’m afraid I can hardly invoke96 the power av the keys to prevent Lofty John from disposing as he wishes av his own lawful97 property, you know, elf.”
Emily didn’t understand the allusion98 to the keys but she did understand that Father Cassidy was declining to bring the lever of the Church to bear on Lofty John. There was no hope, then. She could not keep the tears of disappointment out of her eyes.
“Oh, come now, darling, don’t cry,” implored99 Father Cassidy. “Elves never cry—they can’t. It would break my heart to discover you weren’t av the Green Folk. You may call yourself av New Moon and av any religion you like, but the fact remains100 that you belong to the Golden Age and the old gods. That’s why I must save your precious bit av greenwood for you.”
Emily stared.
“I think it can be done,” Father Cassidy went on. “I think if I go to Lofty John and have a heart-to-heart talk with him I can make him see reason. Lofty John and I are very good friends. He’s a reasonable creature, if you know how to take him—which means to flatter his vanity judiciously101. I’ll put it to him, not as priest to
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parishoner, but as man to man, that no decent Irishman carries on a feud with women and that no sensible person is going to destroy for nothing but a grudge102 those fine old trees that have taken half a century to grow and can never be replaced. Why, the man who cuts down such a tree except when it is really necessary should be hanged as high as Haman on a gallows103 made from the wood av it.”
(Emily thought she would write that last sentence of Father Cassidy’s down in Cousin Jimmy’s blank book when she got home.)
“But I won’t say that to Lofty John,” concluded Father Cassidy. “Yes, Emily av New Moon, I think we can consider it a settled thing that your bush will not be cut down.”
Suddenly Emily felt very happy. Somehow she had entire confidence in Father Cassidy. She was sure he would twist Lofty John around his little finger.
“Oh, I can never thank you enough!” she said earnestly.
“That’s true, so don’t waste breath trying. And now tell me things. Are there any more av you? And how long have you been yourself?”
“I’m twelve years old—I haven’t any brothers or sisters. And I think I’d better be going home.”
“Not till you’ve had a bite av lunch.”
“Oh, thank you, I’ve had my supper.”
“Two hours ago and a two-mile walk since. Don’t tell me. I’m sorry I haven’t any nectar and ambrosia104 on hand—such food as elves eat—and not even a saucer av moonshine—but my mother makes the best plum cake av any woman in P. E. Island. And we keep a cream cow. Wait here a bit. Don’t be afraid av the B’y. He eats tender little Protestants sometimes, but he never meddles105 with leprechauns.”
When Father Cassidy came back his mother came with him, carrying a tray. Emily had expected to see her big
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and brown too, but she was the tiniest woman imaginable, with snow-white, silky hair, mild blue eyes, and pink cheeks.
“Isn’t she the sweetest thing in the way av mothers?” asked Father Cassidy. “I keep her to look at. Av course—” Father Cassidy dropped his voice to a pig’s whisper—“there’s something odd about her. I’ve known that woman to stop right in the middle av housecleaning, and go off and spend an afternoon in the woods. Like yourself, I’m thinking she has some truck with fairies.”
Mrs. Cassidy smiled, kissed Emily, said she must go out and finish her preserving, and trotted106 off.
“Now you sit right down here, Elf, and be human for ten minutes and we’ll have a friendly snack.”
Emily was hungry—a nice comfortable feeling she hadn’t experienced for a fortnight. Mrs. Cassidy’s plum cake was all her reverend son claimed, and the cream cow seemed to be no myth.
“What do you think av me now?” asked Father Cassidy suddenly, finding Emily’s eyes fixed107 on him speculatively108.
Emily blushed. She had been wondering if she dared ask another favour of Father Cassidy.
“I think you are awfully109 good,” she said.
“I am awfully good,” agreed Father Cassidy. “I’m so good that I’ll do what you want me to do—for I feel there’s something else you want me to do.”
“I’m in a scrape and I’ve been in it all summer. You see”—Emily was very sober—“I am a poetess.”
“Holy Mike! That is serious. I don’t know if I can do much for you. How long have you been that way?”
“Are you making fun of me?” asked Emily gravely.
Father Cassidy swallowed something besides plum cake.
“The saints forbid! It’s only that I’m rather overcome. To be after entertaining a lady av New Moon—and an elf—and a poetess all in one is a bit too much
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for a humble110 praste like meself. Have another slice av cake and tell me all about it.”
“It’s like this—I’m writing an epic111.”
Father Cassidy suddenly leaned over and gave Emily’s wrist a little pinch.
“I just wanted to see if you were real,” he explained. “Yes—yes, you’re writing an epic—go on. I think I’ve got my second wind now.”
“I began it last spring. I called it The White Lady first but now I’ve changed it to The Child of the Sea. Don’t you think that’s a better title?”
“Much better.”
“I’ve got three cantos done, and I can’t get any further because there’s something I don’t know and can’t find out. I’ve been so worried about it.”
“What is it?”
“My epic,” said Emily, diligently112 devouring113 plum cake, “is about a very beautiful high-born girl who was stolen away from her real parents when she was a baby and brought up in a woodcutter’s hut.”
“One av of the seven original plots in the world,” murmured Father Cassidy.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just a bad habit av thinking aloud. Go on.”
“She had a lover of high degree but his family did not want him to marry her because she was only a woodcutter’s daughter—”
“Another of the seven plots—excuse me.”
“—so they sent him away to the Holy land on a crusade and word came back that he was killed and then Editha—her name was Editha—went into a convent—”
Emily paused for a bite of plum cake and Father Cassidy took up the strain.
“And now her lover comes back very much alive, though covered with Paynim scars, and the secret av her
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birth is discovered through the dying confession114 av the old nurse and the birthmark on her arm.”
“How did you know?” gasped Emily in amazement115.
“Oh, I guessed it—I’m a good guesser. But where’s your bother in all this?”
“I don’t know how to get her out of the convent,” confessed Emily. “I thought perhaps you would know how it could be done.”
Again Father Cassidy fitted his fingers.
“Let us see, now. It’s no light matter you’ve undertaken, young lady. How stands the case? Editha has taken the veil, not because she has a religious vocation116 but because she imagines her heart is broken. The Catholic Church does not release its nuns117 from their vows118 because they happen to think they’ve made a little mistake av that sort. No, no,—we must have a better reason. Is this Editha the sole child av her real parents?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, then the way is clear. If she had had any brothers or sisters you would have had to kill them off, which is a messy thing to do. Well, then, she is the sole daughter and heiress av a noble family who have for years been at deadly feud with another noble family—the family av the lover. Do you know what a feud is?”
“Of course,” said Emily disdainfully. “And I’ve got all that in the poem already.”
“So much the better. This feud has rent the kingdom in twain and can only be healed by an alliance between Capulet and Montague.”
“Those aren’t their names.”
“No matter. This, then, is a national affair, with far-reaching issues, therefore an appeal to the Supreme119 Pontiff is quite in order. What you want,” Father Cassidy nodded solemnly, “is a dispensation from Rome.”
“Dispensation is a hard word to work into a poem,” said Emily.
“Undoubtedly. But young ladies who will write epic
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poems and who will lay the scenes thereof amid times and manners av hundreds av years ago, and will choose heroines av a religion quite unknown to them, must expect to run up against a few snags.”
“Oh, I think I’ll be able to work it in,” said Emily cheerfully. “And I’m so much obliged to you. You don’t know what a relief it is to my mind. I’ll finish the poem right up now in a few weeks. I haven’t done a thing at it all summer. But then of course I’ve been busy. Ilse Burnley and I have been making a new language.”
“Making a—new—excuse me. Did you say language?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the matter with English? Isn’t it good enough for you, you incomprehensible little being?”
“Oh, yes. That isn’t why we’re making a new one. You see in the spring, Cousin Jimmy got a lot of French boys to help plant the potatoes. I had to help too, and Ilse came to keep me company. And it was so annoying to hear those boys talking French when we couldn’t understand a word of it. They did it just to make us mad. Such jabbering120! So Ilse and I just made up our minds we’d invent a new language that they couldn’t understand. We’re getting on fine and when the potato picking time comes we’ll be able to talk to each other and those boys won’t be able to understand a word we’re saying. Oh, it will be great fun!”
“I haven’t a doubt. But two girls who will go to all the trouble av inventing a new language just to get square with some poor little French boys—you’re beyond me,” said Father Cassidy, helplessly. “Goodness knows what you’ll be doing when you grow up. You’ll be Red Revolutionists. I tremble for Canada.”
“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
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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 glibly121. “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 recess122 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 attentively123. 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 lashes124 and waited tremblingly. What if Father Cassidy said it was no good? No, he wouldn’t be so impolite—but if he bantered125 her as he had
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done about her epic—she would know what that meant.
Father Cassidy did not speak all at once. The prolonged suspense126 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
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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 shimmering127, 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 twilight128 of the old trees; the tips of the loftiest spruces came out in purple silhouette129 against the northwestern sky of rose and amber130; down behind it the Blair Water dreamed in silver; the Wind Woman had folded her misty131 bat-wings in a valley of sunset and stillness lay over the world like a blessing132. Emily felt sure everything would be all right. Father Cassidy would manage it in some way.
And he had told her to “keep on.”
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consternation
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3
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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4
cantankerous
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| adj.爱争吵的，脾气不好的 | |
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5
remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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6
mince
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| n.切碎物；v.切碎，矫揉做作地说 | |
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7
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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8
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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9
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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10
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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12
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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13
pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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14
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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15
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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16
moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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17
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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18
shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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19
monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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20
swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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21
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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22
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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23
axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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24
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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25
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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26
imputing
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| v.把（错误等）归咎于( impute的现在分词 ) | |
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27
morbidly
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| adv.病态地 | |
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28
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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29
prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
feud
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| n.长期不和；世仇；v.长期争斗；世代结仇 | |
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31
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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32
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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33
sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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34
feuds
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| n.长期不和，世仇( feud的名词复数 ) | |
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35
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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36
mellowly
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| 柔软且甜地，成熟地 | |
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37
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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38
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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39
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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40
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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41
vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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42
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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43
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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44
aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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45
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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46
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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47
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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48
purgatory
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| n.炼狱；苦难；adj.净化的，清洗的 | |
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49
inflicting
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
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50
torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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51
slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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52
agonizing
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| adj.痛苦难忍的；使人苦恼的v.使极度痛苦；折磨(agonize的ing形式) | |
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53
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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54
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
considerably
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|
| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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56
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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57
sneaked
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| v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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58
desecrated
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| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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59
stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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60
goaded
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| v.刺激( goad的过去式和过去分词 )；激励；（用尖棒）驱赶；驱使（或怂恿、刺激）某人 | |
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61
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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62
delectable
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|
| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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63
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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64
averting
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| 防止，避免( avert的现在分词 )； 转移 | |
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65
calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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66
impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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67
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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68
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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69
gilt
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|
| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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70
spire
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| n.(教堂)尖顶，尖塔，高点 | |
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71
spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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72
curiously
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|
| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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73
cosy
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|
| adj.温暖而舒适的，安逸的 | |
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74
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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75
hue
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|
| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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76
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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77
cuddly
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|
| adj.抱着很舒服的，可爱的 | |
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78
inveterate
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|
| adj.积习已深的，根深蒂固的 | |
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79
wholesome
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|
| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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80
gloss
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|
| n.光泽，光滑；虚饰；注释；vt.加光泽于；掩饰 | |
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81
limpid
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|
| adj.清澈的，透明的 | |
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82
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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83
agonized
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|
| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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84
pointed
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|
| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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85
slurring
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| 含糊地说出( slur的现在分词 )； 含糊地发…的声； 侮辱； 连唱 | |
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86
gasped
|
|
| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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87
lamely
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| 一瘸一拐地，不完全地 | |
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88
groaned
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|
| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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89
dismally
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|
| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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90
amiably
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|
| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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91
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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92
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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93
implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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94
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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95
nefarious
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|
| adj.恶毒的，极坏的 | |
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96
invoke
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| v.求助于(神、法律)；恳求，乞求 | |
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97
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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98
allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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99
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
remains
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|
| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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101
judiciously
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| adv.明断地，明智而审慎地 | |
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102
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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103
gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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104
ambrosia
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| n.神的食物；蜂食 | |
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105
meddles
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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106
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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107
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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108
speculatively
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|
| adv.思考地，思索地；投机地 | |
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109
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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110
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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111
epic
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| n.史诗，叙事诗；adj.史诗般的，壮丽的 | |
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112
diligently
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| ad.industriously;carefully | |
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113
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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114
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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115
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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116
vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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117
nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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118
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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119
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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120
jabbering
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| v.急切而含混不清地说( jabber的现在分词 )；急促兴奋地说话；结结巴巴 | |
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121
glibly
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| adv.流利地，流畅地；满口 | |
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122
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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123
attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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124
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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125
bantered
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| v.开玩笑，说笑，逗乐( banter的过去式和过去分词 )；（善意地）取笑，逗弄 | |
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126
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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127
shimmering
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| v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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128
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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129
silhouette
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| n.黑色半身侧面影，影子，轮廓；v.描绘成侧面影，照出影子来，仅仅显出轮廓 | |
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130
amber
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| n.琥珀；琥珀色；adj.琥珀制的 | |
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131
misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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132
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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