“Well, do you think me handsome?” he said, sitting down on another stone and smiling at her. His voice was beautiful—musical and caressing.
Emily blushed. She knew staring was not etiquette, and she did not think him at all handsome, so she was very thankful that he did not press his question, but asked another.
“Do you know who your knightly rescuer is?”
“I think you must be Jar—Mr. Dean Priest.” Emily flushed again with vexation. She had come so near to making another terrible hole in her manners.
“Yes, Jarback Priest. You needn’t mind the nickname. I’ve heard it often enough. It’s a Priest idea of humour.” He laughed rather unpleasantly. “The reason for it is obvious enough, isn’t it? I never got anything else at school. How came you to slide over that cliff?”
“I wanted this,” said Emily, waving her farewell-summer.
“And you have it! Do you always get what you go after, even with death slipping a thin wedge between? I think you’re born lucky. I see the signs. If that big aster lured you into danger it saved you as well, for it was through stepping over to investigate it that I saw you. Its size and colour caught my eye. Otherwise I should have gone on and you—what would have become of you? Whom do you belong to that you are let risk your life on these dangerous banks? What is your name—if you have a name! I begin to doubt you—I see you have pointed ears. Have I been tricked into meddling with fairies, and will I discover presently that twenty years have passed and that I am an old man long since lost to the living world with nothing but the skeleton of my dog for company?”
“I am Emily Byrd Starr of New Moon,” said Emily, rather coldly. She was beginning to be sensitive about her ears. Father Cassidy had remarked on them—and
