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 shimmering, 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 twilight of the old trees; the tips of the loftiest spruces came out in purple silhouette against the northwestern sky of rose and amber; down behind it the Blair Water dreamed in silver; the Wind Woman had folded her misty bat-wings in a valley of sunset and stillness lay over the world like a blessing. Emily felt sure everything would be all right. Father Cassidy would manage it in some way.
And he had told her to “keep on.”
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
