Friends Again

Emily of New Moon by L. M. Montgomery, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here. Friends Again

CHAPTER XIX. Friends Again

EMILY listened very anxiously on Monday morning, but “no sound of axe, no ponderous hammer rang” in Lofty John’s bush. That evening on her way home from school, Lofty John himself overtook her in his buggy and for the first time since the night of the apple stopped and accosted her.

“Will ye take a lift, Miss Emily av New Moon?” he said affably.

Emily climbed in, feeling a little bit foolish. But Lofty John looked quite friendly as he clucked to his horse.

“So you’ve clean wiled the heart out av Father Cassidy’s body,” he said. “‘The sweetest scrap av a girl I’ve iver seen,’ says he to me. Sure an’ ye might lave the poor prastes alone.”

Emily looked at Lofty John out of the corner of her eye. He did not seem angry.

“Ye’ve put me in a nice tight fix av it,” he went on. “I’m as proud as any New Moon Murray av ye all and your Aunt Elizabeth said a number av things that got under my skin. I’ve many an old score to settle with her. So I thought I’d get square by cutting av the bush down. And you had to go and quare me wid me praste bekase av it and now I make no doubt I’ll not be after daring to cut a stick av kindling to warm me shivering carcase without asking lave av the Pope.”

“Oh, Mr. Sullivan, are you going to leave the bush alone?” said Emily breathlessly.

“It all rests with yourself, Miss Emily av New Moon. Ye can’t be after expecting a Lofty John to be too humble. I didn’t come by the name bekase av me makeness.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“First, then, I’m wanting you to let bygones be bygones in that matter av the apple. And be token av the same come over and talk to me now and then as ye did last summer. Sure now, and I’ve missed ye—ye and that spit-fire av an Ilse who’s never come aither bekase she thinks I mistrated you.”

“I’ll come of course,” said Emily doubtfully, “if only Aunt Elizabeth will let me.”

“Tell her if she don’t the bush’ll be cut down—ivery last stick av it. That’ll fetch her. And there’s wan more thing. Ye must ask me rale make and polite to do ye the favour av not cutting down the bush. If ye do it pretty enough sure niver a tree will I touch. But if ye don’t down they go, praste or no praste,” concluded Lofty John.

Emily summoned all her wiles to her aid. She clasped her hands, she looked up through her lashes at Lofty John, she smiled as slowly and seductively as she knew how—and Emily had considerable native knowledge of that sort. “Please, Mr. Lofty John,” she coaxed, “won’t you leave me the dear bush I love?”

Lofty John swept off his crumpled old felt hat. “To be sure an’ I will. A proper Irishman always does what a lady asks him. Sure an’ it’s been the ruin av us. We’re at the mercy av the petticoats. If ye’d come and said that to me afore ye’d have had no need av your walk to White Cross. But mind ye keep the rest av the bargin. The reds are ripe and the scabs soon will be—and all the rats have gone to glory.”

Emily flew into the New Moon kitchen like a slim whirlwind.

“Aunt Elizabeth, Lofty John isn’t going to cut down the bush—he told me he wouldn’t—but I have to go and see him sometimes—if you don’t object.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t make much difference to you if I did,” said Aunt Elizabeth. But her voice was not so sharp as usual. She would not confess how much Emily’s announcement relieved her; but it mellowed her attitude considerably. “There’s a letter here for you. I want to know what it means.”

Emily took the letter. It was the first time she had ever received a real letter through the mail and she tingled with the delight of it. It was addressed in a heavy black hand to “Miss Emily Starr, New Moon, Blair Water.” But—

“You opened it!” she cried indignantly.

“Of course I did. You are not going to receive letters I am not to see, Miss. What I want to know is—how comes Father Cassidy to be writing to you—and writing such nonsense?”

“I went to see him Saturday,” confessed Emily, realizing that the cat was out of the bag. “And I asked him if he couldn’t prevent Lofty John from cutting down the bush.”

“Emily—Byrd—Starr!”

“I told him I was a Protestant,” cried Emily. “He understands all about it. And he was just like anybody else. I like him better than Mr. Dare.”

Aunt Elizabeth did not say much more. There did not seem to be much she could say. Besides the bush wasn’t going to be cut down. The bringer of good news is forgiven much. She contented herself with glaring at Emily—who was too happy and excited to mind glares. She carried her letter off to the garret dormer and gloated over the stamp and the superscription a bit before she took out the enclosure.

“Dear Pearl of Emilys,” wrote Father Cassidy. “I’ve seen our lofty friend and I feel sure your green outpost of fairyland will be saved for your moonlit revels. I know you do dance there by light o’ moon when mortals are snoring. I think you’ll have to go through the form of asking Mr. Sullivan to spare those trees, but you’ll find him quite reasonable. It’s all in the knowing how and the time of the moon. How goes the epic and the language? I hope you’ll have no trouble in freeing the Child of The Sea from her vows. Continue to be the friend of all good elves, and of

“Your admiring friend,

“James Cassidy.

“P. S. The B’y sends respects. What word have you for ‘cat’ in your language? Sure and you can’t get anything cattier than ‘cat’ can you, now?”

Lofty John spread the story of Emily’s appeal to Father Cassidy far and wide, enjoying it as a good joke on himself. Rhoda Stuart said she always knew Emily Starr was a bold thing and Miss Brownell said she would be surprised at nothing Emily Starr would do, and Dr. Burnley called her a Little Devil more admiringly than ever, and Perry said she had pluck and Teddy took credit for suggesting it, and Aunt Elizabeth endured, and Aunt Laura thought it might have been worse. But Cousin Jimmy made Emily feel very happy.

“It would have spoiled the garden and broken my heart, Emily,” he told her. “You’re a little darling girl to have prevented it.”

One day a month later, when Aunt Elizabeth had taken Emily to Shrewsbury to fit her out with a winter coat, they met Father Cassidy in a store. Aunt Elizabeth bowed with great stateliness, but Emily put out a slender paw.

“What about the dispensation from Rome?” whispered Father Cassidy.

One Emily was quite horrified lest Aunt Elizabeth should overhear and think she was having sly dealings with the Pope, such as no good Presbyterian half-Murray of New Moon should have. The other Emily thrilled to her toes with the dramatic delight of a secret understanding of mystery and intrigue. She nodded gravely, her eyes eloquent with satisfaction.

“I got it without any trouble,” she whispered back.

“Fine,” said Father Cassidy. “I wish you good luck, and I wish it hard. Good-bye.”

“Farewell,” said Emily, thinking it a word more in keeping with dark secrets than good-bye. She tasted the flavour of that half-stolen interview all the way home, and felt quite as if she were living in an epic herself. She did not see Father Cassidy again for years—he was soon afterwards removed to another parish; but she always thought of him as a very agreeable and understanding person.

About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books.

This book is part of the public domain. L. M. Montgomery (2020). Emily of New Moon. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/61236/pg61236-images.html

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org, located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.