"I proceeded to talk sense.
"Aunt Elizabeth,' I said seriously, 'how could I write that obituary poem for her? I couldn't write an untruthful one to please anybody. And you know yourself that nothing good and truthful could be said about old Peter DeGeer!'
"Aunt Elizabeth did know it, and it posed her, but she was all the more displeased with me for that. She vexed me so much that I came up to my room and wrote an 'obituary poem' about Peter, just for my own satisfaction. It is certainly great fun to write a truthful obituary of some one you don't like. Not that I disliked Peter DeGeer; I just despised him as everybody did. But Aunt Elizabeth had annoyed me, and when I am annoyed I can write very sarcastically. And again I felt that Something was writing through me - but a very different Something from the usual one - a malicious, mocking Something that enjoyed making fun of poor, lazy, shiftless, lying, silly, hypocritical, old Peter DeGeer. Ideas - words - rhymes - all seemed to drop into place while that Something chuckled.
"I thought the poem was so clever that I couldn't resist the temptation to take it to school today and show it to Mr. Carpenter. I thought he would enjoy it - and I think he did too, in a way, but after he had read it he laid it down and looked at me.
"'I suppose there is a pleasure in satirizing a failure,' he said. 'Poor old Peter was a failure - and he is dead - and His Maker may be merciful to him, but his fellow creatures will not. When I am dead, Emily, will you write like this about me? You have the power - oh, yes, it's all here - this is very clever. You can paint the weakness and foolishness and wickedness of a character in a way that is positively uncanny, in a girl of your age. But - is it worth while, Emily?'
"'No - no,' I said. I was so ashamed and sorry that I wanted to get away and cry. It was terrible to think Mr. Carpenter imagined I would ever write so about him after all he has done for me.
"'It isn't,' said Mr. Carpenter. 'There is a place for satire - there are gangrenes that can only be burned out - but leave the burning to the great geniuses. It's better to heal than hurt. We failures know that.'
"'Oh, Mr. Carpenter!' I began. I wanted to say he wasn't a failure - I wanted to say a hundred things - but he wouldn't let me.
"'There - there, we won't talk of it, Emily When I am dead say, "He was a failure, and none knew it more truly or felt it more bitterly than himself" Be merciful to the failures, Emily Satirise wickedness if you must - but pity weakness.'
"He stalked off then, and called school in. I've felt wretched ever since and I won't sleep tonight. But here and now I record this vow, most solemnly, in my diary, My pen shall heal, not hurt. And I write it in italics, Early Victorian or not, because I am tremendously in earnest.
"I didn't tear that poem up, though - I couldn't - it really was too good to destroy. I put it away in my literary cupboard to read over once in a while for my own enjoyment, but I will never show it to anybody.
"Oh, how I wish I hadn't hurt Mr. Carpenter!
"April 1, 19-
"Something I heard a visitor in Blair Water say today annoyed me very much. Mr. and Mrs. Alec Sawyer, who live in Charlottetown, were in the Post Office when I was there. Mrs. Sawyer is very handsome and fashionable and condescending. I heard her say to her husband, 'How do the natives of this sleepy place continue to live here year in and year out? I should go mad. Nothing ever happens here.'
"I would dearly have liked to tell her a few things about Blair Water. I could have been sarcastic with a vengeance. But, of course, New Moon people do not make scenes in public. So I contented myself with bowing very coldly when she spoke to me and sweeping past her. I heard Mr. Sawyer say, 'Who is that girl?' and Mrs. Sawyer said, 'She must be that Starr puss - she has the Murray trick of holding her head, all right.'
"The idea of saying 'nothing ever happens here'! Why, things are happening right along - thrilling things. I think life here is extremely wonderful. We have always so much to laugh and cry and talk about.
"Look at all the things that have happened in Blair Water in just the last three weeks - comedy and tragedy all mixed up together. James Baxter has suddenly stopped speaking to his wife and nobody knows why. She doesn't, poor soul, and she is breaking her heart about it. Old Adam Gillian, who hated pretence of any sort, died two weeks ago and his last words were, 'See that there isn't any howling and sniffling at my funeral.' So nobody howled or sniffled. Nobody wanted to, and since he had forbidden it nobody pretended to. There never was such a cheerful funeral in Blair Water. I've seen weddings that were more melancholy - Ella Brice's, for instance. What cast a cloud over hers was that she forgot to put on her white slippers when she dressed, and went down to the parlor in a pair of old, faded, bedroom shoes with holes in the toes. Really, people couldn't have talked more about it if she had gone down without anything on. Poor Ella cried all through the wedding supper about it.
"Old Robert Scobie and his half-sister have quarrelled, after living together for thirty years without a fuss, although she is said to be a very aggravating woman. Nothing she did or said ever provoked Robert into an outburst, but it seems that there was just one doughnut left from supper one evening recently, and Robert is very fond of doughnuts. He put it away in the pantry for a bedtime snack, and when he went to get it he found that Matilda had eaten it. He went into a terrible rage, pulled her nose, called her a she-deviless and ordered her out of his house. She has gone to live with her sister at Derry Pond, and Robert is going to bach it. Neither of them will ever forgive the other, Scobie-like, and neither will ever be happy or contented again.
"George Lake was walking home from Derry Pond one moonlit evening two weeks ago, and all at once he saw another very black shadow going along beside his, on the moonlight snow.
"And there was nothing to cast that shadow.
"He rushed to the nearest house, nearly dead with fright, and they say he will never be the same man again.
"This is the most dramatic thing that has happened. It makes me shiver as I write of it. Of course George must have been mistaken. But he is a truthful man, and he doesn't drink. I don't know what to think of it.
"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 Arminius 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 colors - 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. Alec 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 today it came back with just a little printed slit saying, 'We regret we cannot Ilse 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 whistle 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 pig-sty 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.
"Tonight 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 you
ng 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. Probable 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 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 patronises me. I prefer Aunt Ruth's snubs because I don't have to look as if I like 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.'