Chapter 7 THE BOOK OF YESTERDAY

That first Saturday and Sunday at New Moon always stood out in

Emily's memory as a very wonderful time, so crowded was it with new

And generally delightful impressions. If it be true that we "count

Time by heart throbs" Emily lived two years in it instead of two

Days. Everything was fascinating from the moment she came down the

Long, polished staircase into the square hall that was filled with

A soft, rosy light coming through the red glass panes of the front

Door. Emily gazed through the panes delightedly. What a strange, Fascinating, red world she beheld, with a weird red sky that

Looked, she thought, as if it belonged to the Day of Judgment.

There was a certain charm about the old house which Emily felt

Keenly and responded to, although she was too young to understand

It. It was a house which aforetime had had vivid brides and

Mothers and wives, and the atmosphere of their loves and lives

Still hung around it, not yet banished by the old-maidishness of

The regime of Elizabeth and Laura.

"Why--I'm going to LOVE New Moon, " thought Emily, quite amazed at

The idea.

Aunt Laura was setting the breakfast table in the kitchen, which

Seemed quite bright and jolly in the glow of morning sunshine.

Even the black hole in the ceiling had ceased to be spookish and

Become only a commonplace entrance to the kitchen loft. And on the

Red-sandstone doorstep Saucy Sal was sitting, preening her fur as

Contentedly as if she had lived at New Moon all her life. Emily

Did not know it, but Sal had already drunk deep the delight of

Battle with her peers that morning and taught the barn cats their

Place once and for all. Cousin Jimmy's big yellow Tom had got a

Fearful drubbing, and was minus several bits of his anatomy, while

A stuck-up, black lady-cat, who fancied herself considerably, had

Made up her mind that if that grey-and-white, narrow-faced

Interloper from goodness knew where was going to stay at New Moon, SHE was not.

Emily gathered Sal up in her arms and kissed her joyously, to the

Horror of Aunt Elizabeth, who was coming across the platform from

The cook-house with a plate of sizzling bacon in her hands.

"Don't ever let me see you kissing a cat again, " she ordered.

"Oh, all right, " agreed Emily cheerfully, "I'll only kiss her when

You don't see me after this."

"I don't want any of your pertness, miss. You are not to kiss cats

At all."

"But Aunt Elizabeth, I didn't kiss her on her mouth, OF COURSE. I

Just kissed her between her ears. It's nice--won't you just try it

For once and see for yourself?"

"That will do, Emily. You have said quite enough." And Aunt

Elizabeth sailed on into the kitchen majestically, leaving Emily

Momentarily wretched. She felt that she had offended Aunt

Elizabeth, and she hadn't the least notion why or how.

But the scene before her was too interesting to worry long about

Aunt Elizabeth. Delicious smells were coming from the cook-house--

A little, slant-roofed building at the corner where the big

Cooking-stove was placed in summer. It was thickly overgrown with

Hop vines, as most of the New Moon buildings were. To the right

Was the "new" orchard, very wonderful now in blossom, but a rather

Commonplace spot after all, since Cousin Jimmy cultivated it in

Most up-to-date fashion and had grain growing in the wide spaces

Between the straight rows of trees that looked all alike. But on

The other side of the barn lane, just behind the well, was the "old

Orchard, " where Cousin Jimmy said the columbines grew and which

Seemed to be a delightful place where trees had come up at their

Own sweet will, and grown into individual shapes and sizes, where

Blue-eyed ivy twined about their roots and wild-briar roses rioted

Over the grey paling fence. Straight ahead, closing the vista

Between the orchards, was a little slope covered with huge white

Birches, among which were the big New Moon barns, and beyond the

New orchard a little, lovable red road looped lightly up and up, Over a hill, until it seemed to touch the vivid blue of the sky.

Cousin Jimmy came down from the barns, carrying brimming pails of

Milk, and Emily ran with him to the dairy behind the cook-house.

Such a delightful spot she had never seen or imagined. It was a

Snow-white little building in a clump of tall balm-of-gileads. Its

Grey roof was dotted over with cushions of moss like fat green-

Velvet mice. You went down six sand-stone steps with ferns

Crowding about them, and opened a white door with a glass panel in

It, and went down three more steps. And then you were in a clean, Earthy-smelling, damp, cool place with an earthen floor and windows

Screened by the delicate emerald of young hop vines, and broad

Wooden shelves all around, whereon stood wide, shallow pans of

Glossy brown ware, full of milk coated over with cream so rich that

It was positively yellow.

Aunt Laura was waiting for them and she strained the milk into

Empty pans and then skimmed some of the full ones. Emily thought

Skimming was a lovely occupation and longed to try her hand at it.

She also longed to sit right down and write a description of that

Dear dairy; but alas, there was no account-book; still, she could

Write it in her head. She squatted down on a little three-legged

Stool in a dim corner and proceeded to do it, sitting so still that

Jimmy and Laura forgot her and went away and later had to hunt for

Her a quarter of an hour. This delayed breakfast and made Aunt

Elizabeth very cross. But Emily had found just the right sentence

To define the clear yet dim green light that filled the dairy and

Was so happy over it that she didn't mind Aunt Elizabeth's black

Looks a bit.

After breakfast Aunt Elizabeth informed Emily that henceforth it

Would be one of her duties to drive the cows to pasture every

Morning.

"Jimmy has no hired man just now and it will save him a few

Minutes."

"And don't be afraid, " added Aunt Laura, "the cows know the way so

Well they'll go of themselves. You have only to follow and shut

The gates."

"I'm not afraid, " said Emily.

But she was. She knew nothing about cows; still, she was

Determined that the Murrays should not suspect a Starr was scared.

So, her heart beating like a trip-hammer, she sallied valiantly

Forth and found that what Aunt Laura had said was true and cows

Were not such ferocious animals after all. They went gravely on

Ahead and she had only to follow, through the old orchard and then

Through the scrub maple growth beyond, along a twisted ferny path

Where the Wind Woman was purring and peeping around the maple

Clumps.

Emily loitered by the pasture gate until her eager eyes had taken

In all the geography of the landscape. The old pasture ran before

Her in a succession of little green bosoms right down to the famous

Blair Water--an almost perfectly round pond, with grassy, sloping, Treeless margins. Beyond it was the Blair Water valley, filled

With homesteads, and further out the great sweep of the white-

Capped gulf. It seemed to Emily's eyes a charming land of green

Shadows, and blue waters. Down in one corner of the pasture, Walled off by an old stone dyke, was the little private graveyard

Where the dead-and-gone Murrays were buried. Emily wanted to go

And explore it, but was afraid to trust herself in the pasture.

"I'll go as soon as I get better acquainted with the cows, " she

Resolved.

Off to the right, on the crest of a steep little hill, covered with

Young birches and firs, was a house that puzzled and intrigued

Emily. It was grey and weather-worn, but it didn't look old. It

Had never been finished; the roof was shingled but the sides were

Not, and the windows were boarded over. Why had it never been

Finished? And it was meant to be such a pretty little house--a

House you could love--a house where there would be nice chairs and

Cosy fires and bookcases and lovely, fat, purry cats and unexpected

Corners; then and there she named it the Disappointed House, and

Many an hour thereafter did she spend finishing that house, Furnishing it as it should be furnished, and inventing the proper

People and animals to live in it.

To the left of the pasture-field was another house of a quite

Different type--a big, old house, tangled over with vines, flat-

Roofed, with mansard windows, and a general air of indifference and

Neglect about it. A large, untidy lawn, overgrown with unpruned

Shrubs and trees, straggled right down to the pond, where enormous

Willows drooped over the water. Emily decided that she would ask

Cousin Jimmy about these houses when she got a good chance.

She felt that, before she went back, she must slip along the

Pasture fence and explore a certain path which she saw entering the

Grove of spruce and maple further down. She did--and found that it

Led straight into Fairyland--along the bank of a wide, lovely

Brook--a wild, dear, little path with lady-ferns beckoning and

Blowing along it, the shyest of elfin June-bells under the firs, And little whims of loveliness at every curve. She breathed in the

Tang of fir-balsam and saw the shimmer of gossamers high up in the

Boughs, and everywhere the frolic of elfin lights and shadows.

Here and there the young maple branches interlaced as if to make a

Screen for dryad faces--Emily knew all about dryads, thanks to her

Father--and the great sheets of moss under the trees were meet for

Titania's couch.

"This is one of the places where dreams grow, " said Emily happily.

She wished the path might go on forever, but presently it veered

Away from the brook, and when she had scrambled over a mossy, old

Board fence she found herself in the "front garden" of New Moon, Where Cousin Jimmy was pruning some spirea bushes.

"Oh, Cousin Jimmy, I've found the dearest little road, " said Emily

Breathlessly.

"Coming up through Lofty John's bush?"

"Isn't it our bush?" asked Emily, rather disappointed.

"No, but it ought to be. Fifty years ago Uncle Archibald sold that

Jog of land to Lofty John's father--old Mike Sullivan. He built a

Little house down near the pond and lived there till he quarrelled

With Uncle Archibald--which wasn't long, of course. Then he moved

His house across the road--and Lofty John lives there now.

Elizabeth has tried to buy the land back from him--she's offered

Him far more than it's worth--but Lofty John won't sell--just for

Spite, seeing that he has a good farm of his own and this piece

Isn't much good to him. He only pastures a few young cattle on it

Through the summer, and what was cleared is all growing up with

Scrub maple. It's a thorn in Elizabeth's side and likely to be as

Long as Lofty John nurses his spite."

"Why is he called Lofty John?"

"Because he's a high and lofty fellow. But never mind him. I want

To show you round my garden, Emily. It's mine. Elizabeth bosses

The farm; but she lets me run the garden--to make up for pushing me

Into the well."

"DID she do that?"

"Yes. She didn't mean to, of course. We were just children--I was

Here on a visit--and the men were putting a new hood on the well

And cleaning it. It was open--and we were playing tag around it.

I made Elizabeth mad--forget what I said--'twasn't hard to make her

Mad you understand--and she made to give me a bang on the head. I

Saw it coming--and stepped back to get out of the way--and down I

Went, head first. Don't remember anything more about it. There

Was nothing but mud at the bottom--but my head struck the stones at

The side. I was took up for dead--my head all cut up. Poor

Elizabeth was--" Cousin Jimmy shook his head, as if to intimate

That it was impossible to describe how or what poor Elizabeth was.

"I got about after a while, though--pretty near as good as new.

Folks say I've never been quite right since--but they only say that

Because I'm a poet, and because nothing ever worries me. Poets are

So scarce in Blair Water folks don't understand them, and most

People worry so much, they think you're not right if you don't

Worry."

"Won't you recite some of your poetry to me, Cousin Jimmy?" asked

Emily eagerly.

"When the spirit moves me I will. It's no use to ask me when the

Spirit don't move me."

"But how am I to know when the spirit moves you, Cousin Jimmy?"

"I'll begin of my own accord to recite my compositions. But I'll

Tell you this--the spirit generally moves me when I'm boiling the

Pigs' potatoes in the fall. Remember that and be around."

"Why don't you write your poetry down?"

"Paper's too scarce at New Moon. Elizabeth has some pet economies

And writing-paper of any kind is one of them.

"But haven't you any money of your own, Cousin Jimmy?"

"Oh, Elizabeth pays me good wages. But she puts all my money in

The bank and just doles out a few dollars to me once in a while.

She says I'm not fit to be trusted with money. When I came here to

Work for her she paid me my wages at the end of the month and I

Started for Shrewsbury to put it in the bank. Met a tramp on the

Road--a poor, forlorn creature without a cent. I gave HIM the

Money. Why not? _I_ had a good home and a steady job and clothes

Enough to do me for years. I s'pose it was the foolishest thing I

Ever did--and the nicest. But Elizabeth never got over it. SHE'S

Managed my money ever since. But come you now, and I'll show you

My garden before I have to go and sow turnips."

The garden was a beautiful place, well worthy Cousin Jimmy's pride.

It seemed like a garden where no frost could wither or rough wind

Blow--a garden remembering a hundred vanished summers. There was a

High hedge of clipped spruce all around it, spaced at intervals by

Tall Lombardies. The north side was closed in by a thick grove of

Spruce against which a long row of peonies grew, their great red

Blossoms splendid against its darkness. One big spruce grew in the

Centre of the garden and underneath it was a stone bench, made of

Flat shore stones worn smooth by long polish of wind and wave. In

The south-east corner was an enormous clump of lilacs, trimmed into

The semblance of one large drooping-boughed tree, gloried over with

Purple. An old summer-house, covered with vines, filled the south-

West corner. And in the north-west corner there was a sundial of

Grey stone, placed just where the broad red walk that was bordered

With striped grass, and picked out with pink conchs, ran off into

Lofty John's bush. Emily had never seen a sundial before and hung

Over it enraptured.

"Your great-great-grandfather, Hugh Murray, had that brought out

From the Old Country, " said Cousin Jimmy. "There isn't as fine a

One in the Maritime Provinces. And Uncle George Murray brought

Those conchs from the Indies. He was a sea-captain."

Emily looked about her with delight. The garden was lovely and the

House quite splendid to her childish eyes. It had a big front

Porch with Grecian columns. These were thought very elegant in

Blair Water, and went far to justify the Murray pride. A

Schoolmaster had said they gave the house a classical air. To be

Sure, the classical effect was just now rather smothered in hop-

Vines that rioted over the whole porch and hung in pale-green

Festoons above the rows of potted scarlet geraniums that flanked

The steps.

Emily's heart swelled with pride.

"It's a noble house, " she said.

"And what about my garden?" demanded Cousin Jimmy jealously.

"It's fit for a queen, " said Emily, gravely and sincerely.

Cousin Jimmy nodded, well pleased, and then a strange sound crept

Into his voice and an odd look into his eyes.

"There is a spell woven round this garden. The blight shall spare

It and the green worm pass it by. Drought dares not invade it and

The rain comes here gently."

Emily took an involuntary step backward--she almost felt like

Running away. But now Cousin Jimmy was himself again.

"Isn't this grass about the sundial like green velvet? I've taken

Some pains with it, I can tell you. You make yourself at home in

This garden." Cousin Jimmy made a splendid gesture. "I confer the

Freedom of it upon you. Good-luck to you, and may you find the

Lost Diamond."

"The Lost Diamond?" said Emily wonderingly. What fascinating thing

Was this?

"Never hear the story? I'll tell it to-morrow--Sunday's lazy day

At New Moon. I must get off to my turnips now or I'll have

Elizabeth out looking at me. She won't say anything--she'll just

LOOK. Ever seen the real Murray look?"

"I guess I saw it when Aunt Ruth pulled me out from under the

Table, " said Emily ruefully.

"No--no. That was the Ruth Dutton look--spite and malice and all

Uncharitableness. I hate Ruth Dutton. She laughs at my poetry--

Not that she ever hears any of it. The spirit never moves when

Ruth is around. Dunno where they got her. Elizabeth is a crank

But she's sound as a nut, and Laura's a saint. But Ruth's worm-

Eaten. As for the Murray look, you'll know it when you see it.

It's as well known as the Murray pride. We're a darn queer lot--

But we're the finest people ever happened. I'll tell you all about

Us to-morrow."

Cousin Jimmy kept his promise while the aunts were away at church.

It had been decided in family conclave that Emily was not to go to

Church that day.

"She has nothing suitable to wear, " said Aunt Elizabeth. "By next

Sunday we will have her white dress ready."

Emily was disappointed that she was not to go to church. She had

Always found church very interesting on the rare occasions when she

Got there. It had been too far at Maywood for her father to walk

But sometimes Ellen Greene's brother had taken her and Ellen.

"Do you think, Aunt Elizabeth, " she said wistfully, "that God would

Be much offended if I wore my black dress to church? Of course

It's cheap--I think Ellen Greene paid for it herself--but it covers

Me all up."

"Little girls who do not understand things should hold their

Tongues, " said Aunt Elizabeth. "I do not choose that Blair Water

People should see my niece in such a dress as that wretched black

Merino. And if Ellen Greene paid for it we must repay her. You

Should have told us that before we came away from Maywood. No, you

Are not going to church to-day. You can wear the black dress to

School to-morrow. We can cover it up with an apron."

Emily resigned herself with a sigh of disappointment to staying

Home; but it was very pleasant after all. Cousin Jimmy took her

For a walk to the pond, showed her the graveyard and opened the

Book of yesterday for her.

"Why are all the Murrays buried here?" asked Emily. "Is it really

Because they are too good to be buried with common people?"

"No--no, pussy. We don't carry our pride as far as THAT. When old

Hugh Murray settled at New Moon there was nothing much but woods

For miles and no graveyards nearer than Charlottetown. That's why

The old Murrays were buried here--and later on we kept it up

Because we wanted to lie with our own, here on the green, green

Banks of the old Blair Water."

"That sounds like a line out of a poem, Cousin Jimmy, " said Emily.

"So it is--out of one of my poems."

"I kind of like the idea of a 'sclusive burying-ground like this, "

Said Emily decidedly, looking around her approvingly at the velvet

Grass sloping down to the fairy-blue pond, the neat walks, the

Well-kept graves.

Cousin Jimmy chuckled.

"And yet they say you ain't a Murray, " he said. "Murray and Byrd

And Starr--and a dash of Shipley to boot, or Cousin Jimmy Murray is

Much mistaken."

"Shipley?"

"Yes--Hugh Murray's wife--your great-great-grandmother--was a

Shipley--an Englishwoman. Ever hear of how the Murrays came to New

Moon?"

"No."

"They were bound for Quebec--hadn't any notion of coming to P. E.

I. They had a long rough voyage and water got scarce, so the

Captain of the New Moon put in here to get some. Mary Murray had

Nearly died of seasickness coming but--never seemed to get her sea-

Legs--so the captain, being sorry for her, told her she could go

Ashore with the men and feel solid ground under her for an hour or

So. Very gladly she went and when she got to shore she said, 'Here

I stay.' And stay she did; nothing could budge her; old Hugh--he

Was young Hugh then, of course, coaxed and stormed and raged and

Argued--and even cried, I've been told--but Mary wouldn't be moved.

In the end he gave in and had his belongings landed and stayed, Too. So that is how the Murrays came to P. E. Island."

"I'm glad it happened like that, " said Emily.

"So was old Hugh in the long run. And yet it rankled, Emily--it

Rankled. He never forgave his wife with a whole heart. Her grave

Is over there in the corner--that one with the flat red stone. Go

You and look at what he had put on it."

Emily ran curiously over. The big flat stone was inscribed with

One of the long, discursive epitaphs of an older day. But beneath

The epitaph was no scriptural verse or pious psalm. Clear and

Distinct, in spite of age and lichen, ran the line, "Here I stay."

"THAT'S how he got even with her, " said Cousin Jimmy. "He was a

Good husband to her--and she was a good wife and bore him a fine

Family--and he never was the same after her death. But that

Rankled in him until it had to come out."

Emily gave a little shiver. Somehow, the idea of that grim old

Ancestor with his undying grudge against his nearest and dearest

Was rather terrifying.

"I'm glad I'm only HALF Murray, " she said to herself. Aloud--

"Father told me it was a Murray tradition not to carry spite past

The grave."

"So 'tis now--but it took its rise from this very thing. His

Family were so horrified at it, you see. It made considerable of a

Scandal. Some folks twisted it round to mean that Old Hugh didn't

Believe in the resurrection, and there was talk of the session

Taking it up, but after a while the talk died away."

Emily skipped over to another lichen-grown stone.

"Elizabeth Burnley--who was she, Cousin Jimmy?"

"Old William Murray's wife. He was Hugh's brother, and came out

Here five years after Hugh did. His wife was a great beauty and

Had been a belle in the Old Country. She didn't like the P. E.

Island woods. She was homesick, Emily--scandalous homesick. For

Weeks after she came here she wouldn't take off her bonnet--just

Walked the floor in it, demanding to be taken back home."

"Didn't she take it off when she went to bed?" asked Emily.

"Dunno if she did go to bed. Anyway, William wouldn't take her

Back home so in time she took off her bonnet and resigned herself.

Her daughter married Hugh's son, so Elizabeth was your great-great-

Grandmother."

Emily looked down at the sunken green grave and wondered if any

Homesick dreams haunted Elizabeth Burnley's slumber of a hundred

Years.

"It's dreadful to be homesick--_I_ know, " she thought

Sympathetically.

"Little Stephen Murray is buried over there, " said Cousin Jimmy.

"His was the first marble stone in the burying-ground. He was your

Grandfather's brother--died when he was twelve. He has, " said

Cousin Jimmy solemnly, "became a Murray tradition."

"Why?"

"He was so beautiful and clever and good. He hadn't a fault--so of

Course he couldn't live. They say there never was such a handsome

Child in the connection. And lovable--everybody loved him. He has

Been dead for ninety years--not a Murray living to-day ever saw

Him--and yet we talk about him at family gatherings--he's more real

Than lots of living people. So you see, Emily, he must have been

An extraordinary child--but it ended in that--" Cousin Jimmy waved

His hand towards the grassy grave and the white, prim headstone.

"I wonder, " thought Emily, "if anyone will remember ME ninety years

After I'm dead."

"This old yard is nearly full, " reflected Cousin Jimmy. "There's

Just room in yonder corner for Elizabeth and Laura--and me. None

For you, Emily."

"I don't want to be buried here, " flashed Emily. "I think it's

Splendid to have a graveyard like this in the family--but _I_ am

Going to be buried in Charlottetown graveyard with Father and

Mother. But there's one thing worries me Cousin Jimmy, do YOU

Think I'm likely to die of consumption?"

Cousin Jimmy looked judicially down into her eyes.

"No, " he said, "no, Miss Puss. You've got enough life in YOU to

Carry you far. You aren't meant for death."

"I feel that, too, " said Emily, nodding. "And now, Cousin Jimmy, WHY is that house over there disappointed?"

"Which one?--oh, Fred Clifford's house. Fred Clifford began to

Build that house thirty years ago. He was to be married and his

Lady picked out the plan. And when the house was just as far along

As you see she jilted him, Emily--right in the face of day she

Jilted him. Never another nail was driven in the house. Fred went

Out to British Columbia. He's living there yet--married and happy.

But he won't sell that lot to anyone--so I reckon he feels the

Sting yet."

"I'm so sorry for that house. I WISH it had been finished. It

WANTS to be--even yet it WANTS to be."

"Well, I reckon it never will. Fred had a bit of Shipley in him, Too, you see. One of old Hugh's girls was his grandmother. And

Doctor Burnley up there in the big grey house has more than a bit."

"Is he a relation of ours, too, Cousin Jimmy?"

"Forty-second cousin. Way back he had a cousin of Mary Shipley's

For a great-something. That was in the Old Country--his forebears

Came out here after we did. He's a good doctor but an odd stick--

Odder by far than I am, Emily, and yet nobody ever says he's not

All there. Can you account for that? HE doesn't believe in God--

And _I_ am not such a fool as that."

"Not in ANY God?"

"Not in any God. He's an infidel, Emily. And he's bringing his

Little girl up the same way, which _I_ think is a shame, Emily, "

Said Cousin Jimmy confidentially.

"Doesn't her mother teach her things?"

"Her mother is--dead, " answered Cousin Jimmy, with a little odd

Hesitation. "Dead these ten years, " he added in a firmer tone.

"Ilse Burnley is a great girl--hair like daffodils and eyes like

Yellow diamonds."

"Oh, Cousin Jimmy, you promised you'd tell me about the Lost

Diamond, " cried Emily eagerly.

"To be sure--to be sure. Well, it's there--somewhere in or about

The old summer-house, Emily. Fifty years ago Edward Murray and his

Wife came here from Kingsport for a visit. A great lady she was, And wearing silks and diamonds like a queen, though no beauty. She

Had a ring on with a stone in it that cost two hundred pounds, Emily. That was a big lot of money to be wearing on one wee woman-

Finger, wasn't it? It sparkled on her white hand as she held her

Dress going up the steps of the summer-house; but when she came

Down the steps it was gone."

"And was it NEVER found?" asked Emily breathlessly.

"Never--and for no lack of searching. Edward Murray wanted to have

The house pulled down--but Uncle Archibald wouldn't hear of it--

Because he had built it for his bride. The two brothers quarrelled

Over it and were never good friends again. Everybody in the

Connection has taken a spell hunting for the diamond. Most folks

Think it fell out of the summer-house among the flowers or shrubs.

But I know better, Emily. I know Miriam Murray's diamond is

Somewhere about that old house yet. On moonlit nights, Emily, I've

Seen it glinting--glinting and beckoning. But never in the same

Place--and when you go to it--it's gone, and you see it laughing at

You from somewhere else."

Again there was that eerie, indefinable something in Cousin Jimmy's

Voice or look that gave Emily a sudden crinkly feeling in her

Spine. But she loved the way he talked to her, as if she were

Grown-up; and she loved the beautiful land around her; and, in

Spite of the ache for her father and the house in the hollow which

Persisted all the time and hurt her so much at night that her

Pillow was wet with secret tears, she was beginning to be a little

Glad again in sunset and bird song and early white stars, in

Moonlit nights and singing winds. She knew life was going to be

Wonderful here--wonderful and interesting, what with out-door cook-

Houses and cream-girdled dairies and pond paths and sundials, and

Lost Diamonds, and Disappointed Houses and men who didn't believe

In ANY God--not even Ellen Greene's God. Emily hoped she would

Soon see Dr Burnley. She was very curious to see what an infidel

Looked like. And she had already quite made up her mind that she

Would find the Lost Diamond.