"Word for word. I meant to print them just so, too. Mr. Towers had given me a list of questions for you, but of course I didn't mean to fire them off point-blank like that. I meant to weave them artfully into our conversation as we went along. But here comes Mrs. Royal."
Mrs. Royal came in, smiling. Her face changed as she saw the begonia. But Miss Royal interposed quickly.
"Dearest Aunty, don't weep or faint - at least not before you've told me who around here owns a white, curly, utterly mannerless, devilish dog?"
"Lily Bates," said Mrs. Royal in a tone of despair. "Oh, has she let that creature out again? I had a most terrible time with him before you came. He's really just a big puppy and he can't behave. I told her finally if I caught him over here again I'd poison him. She's kept him shut up since then. But now - oh, my lovely rex."
"Well, this dog came in with Emily. I supposed he was her dog. Courtesy to a guest implies courtesy to her dog - isn't there an old proverb that expresses it more concisely? He embraced me fervently upon his entrance, as my dearest dress testifies. He marked up your davenport - he tore off Emily's violets - he chased your cat - he overturned your begonia - he broke your vase - he ran off with our chicken - ay, groan, Aunt Angela, he did! - and yet I, determinedly composed and courteous, said not a word of protest. I vow my behaviour was worthy of New Moon itself - wasn't it, Emily?"
"You were just too mad to speak," said Mrs. Royal ruefully, fingering her wrecked begonia.
Miss Royal stole a sly glance at Emily.
"You see, I can't put anything over on Aunt Angela. She knows me too well. I admit I was not my usual charming self But, Aunty darling, I'll get you a new vase a new begonia - think of all the fun you'll have coaxing it along. Anticipation is always so much more interesting than realisation."
"I'll settle Lily Bates," said Mrs. Royal, going out of the room to look for a dustpan.
"Now, dear thing, let's gab," said Miss Royal, snuggling down beside Emily.
This was the Miss Royal of the letter. Emily found no difficulty in talking to her. They had a jolly hour and at the end of it Miss Royal made a proposition that took away Emily's breath.
"Emily, I want you to come back to New York with me in July. There's a vacancy on the staff of The Ladies' Own - no great thing in itself. You'll be sort of general handy man, and all odd jobs will be turned over to you - but you'll have a chance to work up. And you'll be in the centre of things. You can write - I realised that the moment I read The Woman Who Spanked the King. I know the editor of Roche's and I found out who you were and where you lived. That's really why I came down this spring - I wanted to get hold of you. You mustn't waste your life here - it would be a crime. Oh, of course, I know New Moon is a dear, quaint, lovely spot - full of poetry and steeped in romance. It was just the place for you to spend your childhood in. But you must have a chance to grow and develop and be yourself You must have the stimulus of association with great minds - the training that only a great city can give. Come with me. If you do, I promise you that in ten years' time Emily Byrd Starr will be a name to conjure with among the magazines of America."
Emily sat in a maze of bewilderment, too confused and dazzled to think clearly. She had never dreamed of this. It was as if Miss Royal had suddenly put into her hand a key to unlock the door into the world of all her dreams, and hopes, and imaginings. Beyond that door was all she had ever hoped for of success and fame. And yet - and yet - what faint, odd, resentment stirred at the back of all her whirling sensations? Was there a sting in Miss Royal's calm assumption that if Emily did not go with her her name would forever remain unknown? Did the old dead-and-gone Murrays turn over in their graves at the whisper that one of their descendants could never succeed without the help and "pull" of a stranger? Or had Miss Royal's manner been a shade too patronising? Whatever it was it kept Emily from figuratively flinging herself at Miss Royal's feet.
"Oh, Miss Royal, that would be wonderful," she faltered. "I'd love to go - but I'm afraid Aunt Elizabeth will never consent. She'll say I'm too young."
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
"I was eighteen when I went. I didn't know a soul in New York - I had just enough money to keep me for three months. I was a crude, callow little thing - yet I won out. You shall live with me. I'll look after you as well as Aunt Elizabeth herself could do. Tell her I'll guard you like the apple of my eye. I have a dear, cozy, little flat where we'll be as happy as queens, with my adored and adorable Chu-Chin. You'll love Chu-Chin, Emily."
"I think I'd like a cat better," said Emily firmly.
"Cats! Oh, we couldn't have a cat in a flat. It wouldn't be amenable enough to discipline. You must sacrifice your pussies on the altar of your art. I'm sure you'll like living with me. I'm very kind and amiable, dearest, when I feel like it - and I generally do feel like it - and I never lose my temper. It freezes up occasionally, but, as I told you, it thaws quickly. I bear other people's misfortunes with equanimity. And I never tell any one she has a cold or that she looks tired. Oh, I'd really make an adorable house-mate."
"I'm sure you would," said Emily, smiling.
"I never saw a young girl before that I wanted to live with," said Miss Royal. "You have a sort of luminous personality, Emily. You'll give off light in dull places and empurple drab spots. Now, do make up your mind to come with me."
"It is Aunt Elizabeth's mind that must be made up," said Emily ruefully. "If she says I can go I'll -"
Emily found herself stopping suddenly.
"Go," finished Miss Royal joyfully. "Aunt Elizabeth will come around. I'll go and have a talk with her. I'll go out to New Moon with you next Friday night. You must have your chance."
"I can't thank you enough, Miss Royal, so I won't try. But I must go now. I'll think this all over - I'm too dazzled just now to think at all. You don't know what this means to me."
"I think I do," said Miss Royal gently. "I was once a young girl in Shrewsbury, eating my heart out because I had no chance."
"But you made your own chance - and won out," said Emily wistfully.
"Yes - but I had to go away to do it. I could never have got anywhere here. And it was a horribly hard climb at first. It took my youth. I want to save you some of the hardships and discouragements. You will go far beyond what I have done - you can create - I can only build with the materials others have made. But we builders have our place - we can make temples for our gods and goddesses if nothing else. Come with me, dear Girl Emily, and I will do all I can to help you in every way."
"Thank you - thank you," was all Emily could say. Tears of gratitude for this offer of ungrudging help and sympathy were in her eyes. She had not received too much of sympathy or encouragement in her life. It touched her deeply. She went away feeling that she must turn the key and open the magic door beyond which now seemed to lie all the beauty and allurement of life - if only Aunt Elizabeth would let her.
"I can't do it if she doesn't approve," decided Emily.
Half-way home she suddenly stopped and laughed. After all, Miss Royal had forgotten to show her Chu-Chin.
"But it doesn't matter," she thought, "because in the first place I can't believe that, after this, I'll ever feel any real interest in chow dogs. And in the second place I'll see him often enough if I go to New York with Miss Royal."
A VALLEY OF VISION
Would she go to New York with Miss Royal? That was the question Emily had now to answer. Or rather, the question Aunt Elizabeth must answer. For on Aunt Elizabeth's answer, as Emily felt, everything depended. And she had no real hope that Aunt Elizabeth would let her go. Emily might look longingly towards those pleasant, far-off, green pastures pictured by Miss Royal, but she was quite sure she could never browse in them. The Murray pride - and prejudice - would be an impassable barrier.
Emily said nothing to Aunt Ruth about Miss Royal's offer. It was Aunt Elizabeth's due to hear it first. She kept her dazzling secret until the next week-end, when Miss Royal came to New Moon, very
gracious and pleasant, and the wee-est bit patronising, to ask Aunt Elizabeth to let Emily go with her.
Aunt Elizabeth listened in silence - a disapproving silence, as Emily felt.
"The Murray women have never had to work out for their living," she said coldly.
"It isn't exactly what you would call 'working out,' dear Miss Murray," said Miss Royal, with the courteous patience one must Ilse to a lady whose viewpoint was that of an outlived generation. "Thousands of women are going into business and professional life, everywhere."
"I suppose it's all right for them if they don't get married," said Aunt Elizabeth.
Miss Royal flushed slightly. She knew that in Blair Water and Shrewsbury she was regarded as an old maid, and therefore a failure, no matter what her income and her standing might be in New York. But she kept her temper and tried another line of attack.
"Emily has an unusual gift for writing," she said. "I think she can do something really worth while if she gets a chance. She ought to have her chance, Miss Murray. You know there isn't any chance for that kind of work here."
"Emily has made ninety dollars this past year with her pen," said Aunt Elizabeth.
"Heaven grant me patience!" thought Miss Royal. Said Miss Royal,
"Yes, and ten years from now she may be making a few hundreds; whereas, if she comes with me, in ten years' time her income would probably be as many thousands."
"I'll have to think it over," said Aunt Elizabeth.
Emily felt surprised that Aunt Elizabeth had even consented to think it over. She had expected absolute refusal.
"She'll come round to it," whispered Miss Royal, when she went away. "I'm going to get you, darling Emily B. I know the Murrays of old. They always had an eye to the main chance. Aunty will let you come."
"I'm afraid not," said Emily ruefully.
When Miss Royal had gone Aunt Elizabeth looked at Emily.
"Would you like to go, Emily?"
"Yes - I think so - if you don't mind," faltered Emily. She was very pale - she did not plead or coax. But she had no hope - none.
Aunt Elizabeth took a week to think it over. She called in Ruth and Wallace and Oliver to help her. Ruth said dubiously,
"I suppose we ought to let her go. It's a splendid chance for her. It's not as if she were going alone - I'd never agree to that. Janet will look after her."
"She's too young - she's too young," said Uncle Oliver.
"It seems a good chance for her - Janet Royal has done well, they say," said Uncle Wallace.
Aunt Elizabeth even wrote to Great-aunt Nancy. The answer came back in Aunt Nancy's quavering hand:
"Suppose you let Emily decide for herself," suggested Aunt Nancy.
Aunt Elizabeth folded up Aunt Nancy's letter and called Emily into the parlour.
"If you wish to go with Miss Royal you may," she said. "I feel it would not be right for me to hinder you. We shall miss you - we would rather have you with us for a few years yet. I know nothing about New York. I am told it is a wicked city. But you have been brought up carefully. I leave the decision in your own hands. Laura, what are you crying about?"
Emily felt as if she wanted to cry herself. To her amazement she felt something that was not delight or pleasure. It was one thing to long after forbidden pastures. It seemed to be quite another thing when the bars were flung down and you were told to enter if you would.
Emily did not immediately rush to her room and write a joyous letter to Miss Royal - who was visiting friends in Charlottetown. Instead she went out into the garden and thought very hard - all that afternoon and all Sunday. During the week in Shrewsbury she was quiet and thoughtful, conscious that Aunt Ruth was watching her closely. For some reason Aunt Ruth did not discuss the matter with her. Perhaps she was thinking of Andrew. Or perhaps it was an understood thing among the Murrays that Emily's decision was to be entirely uninfluenced.
Emily couldn't understand why she didn't write Miss Royal at once. Of course she could go. Wouldn't it be terribly foolish not to? She would never have such a chance again. It was such a splendid chance - everything made easy - the Alpine Path no more than a smooth and gentle slope - success certain and brilliant and quick. Why, then, did she have to keep telling herself all this - why was she driven to seek Mr. Carpenter's advice the next week-end? And Mr. Carpenter would not help her much. He was rheumatic and cranky.
"Don't tell me the cats have been hunting again," he groaned.
"No. I haven't any manuscripts this time," said Emily with a faint smile. "I've come for advice of a different kind."
She told him of her perplexity.
"It's such a splendid chance," she concluded.
"Of course it's a splendid chance - to go and be Yankeefied," grunted Mr. Carpenter.
"I wouldn't get Yankeefied," said Emily resentfully. "Miss Royal has been twenty years in New York and she isn't Yankeefied."
"Isn't she? I don't mean by Yankeefied what you think I do," retorted Mr. Carpenter. "I'm not referring to the silly girls who go up to 'the States' to work and come back in six months with an accent that would raise blisters on your skin. Janet Royal is Yankeefied - her outlook and atmosphere and style are all U.S. And I'm not condemning them - they're all right But - she isn't a Canadian any longer - and that's what I wanted you to be - pure Canadian through and through, doing something as far as in you lay for the literature of your own country, keeping your Canadian tang and flavour. But of course there's not many dollars in that sort of thing yet."
"There's no chance to do anything here," argued Emily.
"No - no more than there was in Haworth Parsonage," growled Mr. Carpenter.
"I'm not a Charlotte Bronte," protested Emily. "She had genius - it can stand alone. I have only talent - it needs help - and - and - guidance."
"In short, pull," said Mr. Carpenter.
"So you think I oughtn't to go," said Emily anxiously.
"Go if you want to. To be quickly famous we must all stoop a little. Oh, go - go - I'm telling you. I'm too old to argue - go in peace. You'd be a fool not to - only - fools do sometimes attain. There's a special Providence for them, no doubt."
Emily went away from the little house in the hollow with her eyes rather black. She met Old Kelly on her way up the hill and he pulled his plump nag and red chariot to a standstill and beckoned to her.
"Gurrl dear, here's some peppermints for you. And now, ain't it high time - eh - now, you know -" Old Kelly winked at her.
"Oh, I'm going to be an old maid, Mr. Kelly," smiled Emily.
Old Kelly shook his head as he gathered up his reins.
"Shure an nothing like that will ever be happening to you. You're one av the folks God really loves - only don't be taking one av the Prastes now - never one av the Prastes, gurrl dear."
"Mr. Kelly," said Emily suddenly. "I've been offered a splendid chance - to go to New York and take a place on the staff of a magazine. I can't make up my mind. What do you think I'd better do?"
As she spoke she thought of the horror of Aunt Elizabeth at the idea of a Murray asking Old Jock Kelly's advice. She herself was a little ashamed of doing it.
Old Kelly shook his head again.
"What do the b'ys around here be thinking av? But what does the ould lady say?"
"Aunt Elizabeth says I can do as I like."
"Then I guess we'll be laying it at that," said Old Kelly - and drove off without another word. Plainly there was no help to be had in Old Kelly.
"Why should I want help?" thought Emily desperately. "What has got into me that I can't make up my own mind? Why can't I say I'll go? It doesn't seem to me now that I want to go - I only feel I ought to want to go."
She wished that Dean were home. But Dean had not got back from his winter in Los Angeles. And somehow she could not talk the matter over with Teddy. Nothing had come of that wonderful moment in the old John house - nothing except a certain constraint that had almost spoiled their old comradeship. Outwardly they were as good friends as ever; b
ut something was gone - and nothing seemed to be taking its place. She would not admit to herself that she was afraid to ask Teddy. Suppose he told her to go? That would hurt unbearably - because it would show that he didn't care whether she went or stayed. But Emily would not glance at this at all.
"Of course I'll go," she said aloud to herself. Perhaps the spoken word would settle things. "What would I do next year if I didn't? Aunt Elizabeth will certainly never let me go anywhere else alone. Ilse will be away - and Perry - Teddy too, likely. He says he's bound to go and do something to earn money for his art study. I must go."
She said it fiercely as if arguing against some invisible opponent. When she reached home in the twilight, no one was there and she went restlessly all over the house. What charm and dignity and fineness the old rooms had, with their candles and their ladder-backed chairs and their braided rugs! How dear and entreating was her own little room with its diamond paper and its guardian angel, its fat black rose-jar and its funny, kinky window pane! Would Miss Royal's flat be half so wonderful?
"Of course I'll go," she said again - feeling that if she could only have left off the "of course" the thing would have been settled.
She went out into the garden, lying in the remote, passionless beauty of early spring moonlight, and walked up and down its paths. From afar came the whistle of the Shrewsbury train - like a call from the alluring world beyond - a world full of interest, charm, drama. She paused by the old lichened sun-dial and traced the motto on its border, "So goes Time by." Time did go by - swiftly, mercilessly, even at New Moon, unspoiled as it was by any haste or rush of modernity. Should she not take the current when it offered? The white June lilies waved in the faint breeze - she could almost see her old friend the Wind Woman bending over them to tilt their waxen chins. Would the Wind Woman come to her in the crowded city streets? Could she be like Kipling's cat there?
"And I wonder if I'll ever have the flash in New York," she thought wistfully.
How beautiful was this old garden which Cousin Jimmy loved! How beautiful was old New Moon farm! Its beauty had a subtly romantic quality all its own. There was enchantment in the curve of the dark-red, dew-wet road beyond - remote, spiritual allurement in the Three Princesses - magic in the orchard - a hint of intriguing devilment in the fir wood. How could she leave this old house that had sheltered and loved her - never tell me houses do not love! - the graves of her kin by the Blair Water pond, the wide fields and haunted woods where her childhood dreams had been dreamed? All at once she knew she could not leave them - she knew she had never really wanted to leave them. That was why she had gone about desperately asking advice of impossible outsiders. She had really been hoping they would tell her not to go. That was why she had wished so wildly that Dean were home - he would certainly have told her not to go.
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