The Story Girl - Part 5

"The Story Girl" is a 1911 novel by Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery (also the author of "Anne of Green Gables" and "The Blue Castle").

"The Story Girl" narrates the delightful adventures of a group of young cousins and their friends in a rural farming community on Prince Edward Island, Canada.

The children's own adventures are interwoven with the fascinating storytelling of the precocious, 14-year-old protagonist, Sara Stanley - known to everyone locally as "The Story Girl"...enjoy!

Transcript

Hello there. Thank you so much for joining me for this continued reading of The Story Girl, Which is a wonderful novel from 1911 by the Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery, Who was best known for her book Anne of Green Gables. So we're following along with the story of a group of cousins in the rural farming community, On Prince Edward Island. Perhaps you've heard the preceding parts already of this story. If not, You can look for the Story Girl playlist and you'll find everything there together. But for now, Let's take a moment here to have a nice deep exhale. Letting go of the day, Letting go of whatever we might be bringing along with us into this moment. For right now, There's nowhere else that we have to go, Nothing else that we have to do. So we can just relax, Get ourselves comfortable, And enjoy the ongoing tale of The Story Girl. Chapter Nine. Magic Seed. When the time came to hand in our collections for the library fund, Peter had the largest three dollars. Felicity was a good second with two and a half. This was simply because the hens had laid so well. If you'd had to pay father for all the extra handfuls of wheat you fed to those hens, Miss Felicity, You wouldn't have so much, Said Dan spitefully. I didn't, Said Felicity indignantly. Look how Aunt Olivia's hens laid too, And she fed them herself, Just the same as usual. Never mind, Said Cecily, We have all got something to give. If you were like poor Sarah Ray and hadn't been able to collect anything, You might feel bad. But Sarah Ray had something to give. She came up the hill after tea, All radiant. When Sarah Ray smiled, And she did not waste her smiles, She was rather pretty in a plaintive, Apologetic way. A dimple or two came into sight, And she had very nice teeth, Small and white, Like the traditional row of pearls. Oh, Just look, She said, Here are three dollars, And I'm going to give it all to the library fund. I had a letter today from Uncle Arthur in Winnipeg, And he sent me three dollars. He said I was to use it any way I liked, So Ma couldn't refuse to let me give it to the fund. She thinks it's an awful waste, But she always goes by what Uncle Arthur says. Arthur says, Oh, I've prayed so hard that some money might come some way, And now it has. See what praying does? I was very much afraid that we did not rejoice quite as unselfishly in Sarah's good fortune as we should have done. We had earned our contributions by the sweat of our brow, Or by the scarcely less disagreeable method of begging, And Sarah's had as good as had as good as descended upon her out of the skies, As much like a miracle as anything you could imagine. She prayed for it, You know, Said Felix after Sarah had gone home. That's too easy a way of earning money, Grumbled Peter resentfully. If the rest of us had just sat down and done nothing, Only prayed, How much do you suppose we'd have? Don't seem fair to me. Oh, Well, It's different with Sarah, Said Dan. We could earn money, And she couldn't, You see. But come on down to the orchard. The story girl had a letter from her father today, And she's going to read it to us. We went promptly. A letter from the story girl's father was always an event, And to hear her read it was almost as good as hearing her tell a story. Before coming to Carlisle, Uncle Blair Stanley had been a mere name to us. Now, He was a personality. His letters to the story girl, The pictures and sketches he sent to her, Her adoring and frequent mention of him, All combined to make him very real to us. We felt then, What we did not understand till later years, That our grown-up relatives did not altogether admire or approve of Uncle Blair. He belonged to a different world from theirs. They had never known him very intimately or understood him. I realise now that Uncle Blair was a bit of a bohemian, A respectable sort of tramp. Had he been a poor man, He might have been a more successful artist, But he had a small fortune of his own, And lacking the spur of necessity or of disquieting ambition, He remained little more than a clever amateur. Once in a while he painted a picture which showed what he could do, But for the rest, He was satisfied to wander over the world light-hearted and content. We knew that the story girl was thought to resemble him strongly in appearance and temperament, But she had far more fire and intensity and strength of will. Her inheritance from king and ward, She would never be satisfied as a dabbler. Whatever her future career should be, Into it she would throw all her powers of mind and heart and soul. But Uncle Blair could do at least one thing surpassingly well. He could write letters. Such letters! By contrast, Felix and I were secretly ashamed of Father's epistles. Father could talk well, But as Felix said, He couldn't write worth a cent. The letters we had received from him since his arrival in Rio de Janeiro were mere scrawls telling us to be good boys and not trouble Aunt Janet, Incidentally adding that he was well and lonesome. Felix and I were always glad to get his letters, But we never read them aloud to an admiring circle in the orchard. Uncle Blair was spending the summer in Switzerland and the letter the story girl read to us among the fair, Frail, White ladies of the walk, Where the west wind came now with a sigh and again with a rush and then brushed our faces as softly as the down of a thistle, Was full of the glamour of mountain-rimmed lakes and purple chalets and snowy summits old in story. We climbed Mont Blanc, Saw the Jungfrau soaring into cloud land and walked among the gloomy pillars of Bonnevard's prison. Finally, The story girl told us the tale of the prisoner of Chillon in words that were Byron's but in a voice that was all her own. It must be splendid to go to Europe, Sighed Cecily longingly. I am going someday, Said the story girl arily. We looked at her with a slightly incredulous awe. To us, In those years, Europe seemed almost as remote and unreachable as the moon. Moon! It was hard to believe that one of us should ever go there. But Aunt Julia had gone and she had been brought up in Carlisle on this very farm, So it was possible that the story girl might go too. What will you do there? Asked Peter practically. I shall learn how to tell stories to all the world, Said the story girl dreamily. It was a lovely, Golden-brown evening. The orchard and the farmlands beyond were full of ruby lights and kissing shadows. Over in the east, Above the awkward man's house, The wedding veil of the proud princess floated across the sky, Presently turning as rosy as if bedewed with her heart's blood. We sat there and talked until the first star lighted a white taper over the beach hill. Then, I remembered that I had forgotten to take my dose of magic seed and I hastened to do it, Although I was beginning to lose faith in it. I had not grown a single bit by the merciless testimony of the hall door. I took the box of seed out of my trunk in the twilight room and swallowed the decreed pinch. As I did so, Dan's voice rang out behind me. Beverly King, What have you got there? I thrust the box hastily into my trunk and confronted Dan. None of your business, I said defiantly. Yes, Tis. Dan was too much in earnest to resent my blunt speech. Look here, Bev, Is that magic seed? And did you get it from Billy Robinson? Dan and I looked at each other, Suspicion dawning in our eyes. What do you know about Billy Robinson and his magic seed, I demanded. Just this, I bought a box from him for something. He said he wasn't going to sell any of it to anybody else. Did he sell any to you? Yes, He did, I said in disgust, For I was beginning to understand that Billy and his magic seed were errant frauds. What for? Your mouth is a decent size, Said Dan. Mouth? It had nothing to do with my mouth. He said it would make me grow tall and it hasn't, Not an inch. I don't see what you wanted it for. You were tall enough. I got it for my mouth, Said Dan with a shame-faced grin. The girls in school laugh at it so. Kate Marr says it's like a gash in a pie. Billy said that seed would shrink it, For sure. Well, There it was. Billy had deceived us both. Nor were we the only victims. We did not find the whole story out at once. Indeed, The summer was almost over before, In one way or another, The full measure of that shameless Billy Robinson's iniquity was revealed to us. But I shall anticipate the successive relations in this chapter. Every pupil of Carlisle School, So it eventually appeared, Had bought magic seed under solemn promise of secrecy. Felix had believed blissfully that it would make him thin. Cecily's hair was to become naturally curly. And Sarah Ray was not to be afraid of Peg Bowen anymore. It was to make Felicity as clever as the story girl. And it was to make the story girl as good a cook as Felicity. What Peter had bought magic seed for remained a secret longer than any of the others. Finally, It was the night before what we expected would be the judgment day, He confessed to me that he had taken it to make Felicity fond of him. Skillfully, Indeed, Had that astute Billy played on our respective weaknesses. The keenest edge to our humiliation was given by the discovery that the magic seed was nothing more or less than caraway, Which grew in abundance at Billy Robinson's uncle's in Markdale. In Markdale, Peg Bowen had had nothing to do with it. Well, We had all been badly hoaxed, But we did not trumpet our wrongs abroad. We did not even call Billy to account. We thought that least said was soonest mended in such a matter. We went very softly, Indeed, Lest the grown-ups, Especially that terrible Uncle Roger, Should hear of it. We should have known better than to trust Billy Robinson, Said Felicity, Summing up the case one evening when all had been made known. After all, What could you expect from a pig but a grunt? But a grunt. We were not surprised to find that Billy Robinson's contribution to the library fund was the largest handed in by any of the scholars. Cecily said she didn't envy him his conscience, But I am afraid she measured his conscience by her own. I doubt very much if Billy's troubled him at all. Chapter 10. A Daughter of Eve. I hate the thought of growing up, Said the story girl, Reflectively, Because I can never go barefooted then, And nobody will ever see what beautiful feet I have. She was sitting the July sunlight on the ledge of the open hayloft window in Uncle Roger's big barn, And the bare feet below her print skirt were beautiful. They were slender and shapely and satin smooth, With arched insteps, The daintiest of toes, And nails like pink shells. We were all in the hayloft. The story girl had been telling us a tale of old, Unhappy, Far-off things and battles long ago. Felicity and Cecily were curled up in a corner, And we boys sprawled idly on the fragrant, Sun-warm heaps. We had stowed the hay in the loft that morning for Uncle Roger, So we felt that we had earned the right to lull on our sweet-smelling couch. Haylofts are delicious places, With just enough of shadow and soft, Uncertain noises to give an agreeable tang of mystery. The swallows flew in and out of their nest above our heads, And whenever a sunbeam fell through a chink, The air swarmed with golden dust. Outside of the loft was a vast, Sunshiny gulf of blue sky and mellow air, Wherein floated argossies of fluffy cloud and airy tops of maple and spruce. Pat was with us, Of course, Prowling about stealthily, Or making frantic, Bootless leaps at the swallows. A cat in a hayloft is a beautiful example of the eternal fitness of things. We had not heard of this fitness then, But we all felt that Paddy was in his own place in a hayloft. I think it is very vain to talk about anything you have yourself being beautiful, Said Felicity. I am not a bit vain, Said the Story Girl, With entire truthfulness. It is not vanity to know your own good points. It would just be stupidity if you didn't. It's only vanity when you get puffed up about them. I am not a bit pretty. My only good points are my hair and eyes and feet. So, I think it's real mean that one of them has to be covered up the most of the time. I'm always glad when it gets warmer. I'm always glad when it gets warm enough to go barefooted. But when I grow up, They'll have to be covered all the time. It is mean. You'll have to put your shoes and stockings on when you go to the magic lantern show tonight, Said Felicity, In a tone of satisfaction. I don't know that. I'm thinking of going barefooted. You wouldn't. Sarah Stanley, You're not in earnest, Exclaimed Felicity, Her blue eyes filling with horror. The Story Girl winked with the side of her face next to Felix and me, But the side next the girls changed not a muscle. She dearly loved to take a rise out of Felicity now and then. Indeed, I would, If I just made up my mind to. Why not? Why not bare feet, If they're clean, As well as bare hands and face? You wouldn't. It would be such a disgrace, Said poor Felicity, In real distress. We went to school barefooted all June, Argued that wicked Story Girl. What is the difference between going to the schoolhouse barefooted in the daytime and going in the evening? Oh, There's every difference. I can't just explain it, But everyone knows there is a difference. You know it yourself. Oh, Please don't do such a thing, Sarah. Well, I won't just to oblige you, Said the Story Girl, Who would have died the death before she would have gone to a public meeting barefooted. We were all rather excited over the magic lantern show which an itinerant lecturer was to give in the schoolhouse that evening. Even Felix and I, Who had seen such shows galore, Were interested, And the rest were quite wild. There had never been such a thing in Carlisle before. We were all going, Peter included. Peter went everywhere with us now. He was a regular attendant at church and Sunday school, Where his behaviour was as irreproachable as if he had been raised in the caste of ver de ver. It was a feather in the Story Girl's cap, For she took all the credit of having started Peter on the right road. Felicity was resigned, Although the fatal patch on Peter's best trousers was still an eyesore to her. She declared she never got any good of the singing because Peter stood up then and everyone could see the patch. Mrs James Clark, Whose pew was behind ours, Never took her eye off it. Also Felicity averred. But Peter's stockings were always darned. Aunt Olivia had seen to that, Ever since she heard of Peter's singular device regarding them on his first Sunday. She had also given Peter a Bible, Of which he was so proud that he hated to use it, Lest he should soil it. I think I'll wrap it up and keep it in my box, He said. I have an old Bible of Aunt Jane's at home that I can use. I suppose it's just the same, Even if it is old, Isn't it? Oh yes, Cecily had assured him, The Bible is always the same. I thought maybe they'd got some new improvements on it since Aunt Jane's day, Said Peter, Relieved. Sarah Ray is coming along the lane and she's crying, Announced Dan, Who was peering out of a knot hole on the opposite side of the loft. Sarah Ray is crying half her time, Said Cecily, Impatiently. I'm sure she cries a quart full of tears a month. There are times when you can't help crying, But I hide then. Sarah just goes and cries in public. The lachrymose Sarah presently joined us and we discovered the cause of her tears to be the doleful fact that her mother had forbidden her to go to the magic lantern show that night. We all showed the sympathy we felt. She said yesterday you could go, Said the story girl indignantly. Why has she changed her mind? Because of the measles. In Markdale, Sobbed Sarah, She says Markdale is full of them and they'll be sure to be some of the Markdale people at the show, So I'm not to go. And I've never seen a magic lantern. I've never seen anything. I don't believe there's any danger of catching measles, Said Felicity. If there was, We wouldn't be allowed to go. I wish I could get the measles, Said Sarah defiantly. Maybe I'd be of some importance to Ma then. Suppose Cecily goes down with you and coaxes your mother, Suggested the story girl. Perhaps she'd let you go then? She likes Cecily. She doesn't like either Felicity or me, So it would only make matters worse for us to try. Ma's gone to town. Pa and her went this afternoon and they're not coming back till tomorrow. There's nobody home but Judy, Pinnow and me. Then, Said the story girl, Why don't you just go to the show? Anyhow, Your mother won't ever know if you coax Judy to hold her tongue. Oh, But that's wrong, Said Felicity. You shouldn't put Sarah up to disobeying her mother. Now, Felicity for once was undoubtedly right. The story girl's suggestion was wrong. And if it had been Cecily who protested, The story girl would probably have listened to her and proceeded no further in the matter. But Felicity was one of those unfortunate people whose protests against wrongdoing serve only to drive the wrongdoer further on her sinful way. The story girl resented Felicity's superior tone and proceeded to tempt Sarah in right good earnest. The rest of us held our tongues. It was, We told ourselves, Sarah's own lookout. I have a good mind to do it, Said Sarah, But I can't get my good clothes. There in the spare room and Marlock the door for fear somebody would get at the fruitcake. I haven't a single thing to wear except my school gingham. Well, That's new and pretty, Said the story girl. We'll lend you some things. You can have my lace collar. That'll make the gingham quite elegant. And Cecily will lend you her second best hat. But I've no shoes or stockings. They're locked up too. You can have a pair of mine, Said Felicity, Who probably thought that since Sarah was certain to yield to temptation, She might as well be garbed decently for her transgression. Sarah did yield. When the story girl's voice entreated, It was not easy to resist its temptation even if you wanted to. That evening, When we started for the schoolhouse, Sarah Ray was among us, Decked out in borrowed plumes. Suppose she does catch the measles, Felicity said aside. I don't believe there'll be anybody there from Markdale. The lecturer is going to Markdale next week. They'll wait for that, Said the story girl, Airily. It was a cool, Dewy evening, And we walked down the long red hill in the highest of spirits. Over a valley filled with beech and spruce was a sunset afterglow, Creamy yellow, And a hue that was not so much red as the dream of red, With a young moon swung low in it. The air was sweet with the breath of mown hayfields, Where swaths of clover had been steeping in the sun. Wild roses grew pinkly along the fences, And the roadsides were stardusted with buttercups. Those of us who had nothing the matter with our consciences enjoyed our walk to the little whitewashed schoolhouse in the valley. Felicity and Cecily were void of offence towards all men. The story girl walked uprightly like an incarnate flame in her crimson silk. Her pretty feet were hidden in the tan-coloured buttoned Paris boots, Which were the secret envy of every schoolgirl in Carlisle. But Sarah Ray was not happy. Her face was so melancholy that the story girl lost patience with her. The story girl herself was not altogether at ease. Probably her own conscience was troubling her, But admit it, She would not. Now, Sarah, She said, You just take my advice and go into this with all your heart, If you go at all, Never mind if it is bad. There's no use being naughty if you spoil your fun by wishing all the time you were good. You can repent afterwards, But there is no use in mixing the two things together. I'm not repenting, Protested Sarah. I'm only scared of Ma finding it out. Oh, The story girl's voice expressed her scorn. For remorse, She had understanding and sympathy, But fear of her fellow creatures was something unknown to her. Didn't Judy Pinot promise you solemnly she wouldn't tell? Yes, But maybe someone who sees me there will mention it to Ma. Well, If you're so scared, You'd better not go. It isn't too late. Here's your own gate, Said Cecily. But Sarah could not give up the delights of the show. So she walked on, A small, Miserable testimony that the way of the transgressor is never easy, Even when said transgressor is only a damsel of eleven. The Magic Lantern Show was a splendid one. The views were good and the lecturer witty. We repeated his jokes to each other all the way home. Sarah, Who had not enjoyed the exhibition at all, Seemed to feel more cheerful when it was over and she was going home. And the story girl on the contrary was gloomy. There were Markdale people there, She confided to me, And the Williamsons live next door to the Coens who have measles. I wish I'd never egged Sarah on to going, But don't tell Felicity I said so. If Sarah Ray had really enjoyed the show, I wouldn't mind, But she didn't. I could see that. So I've done wrong and made her do wrong and there's nothing to show for it. The night was scented and mysterious. The wind was playing an eerie, Fleshless melody in the reeds of the Brook Hollow. The sky was dark and starry, And across it the Milky Way flung its shimmering, Misty ribbons. There's four hundred million stars in the Milky Way. Quoth Peter, Who frequently astonished us by knowing more than any hired boy could be expected to, He had a retentive memory and never forgot anything he heard or read. The few books left to him by his oft-referred-to Aunt Jane had stocked his mind with a miscellaneous information which sometimes made Felix and me doubt if we knew as much as Peter after all. Felicity was so impressed by his knowledge of astronomy that she dropped back from the other girls and walked beside him. She had not done so before because he was barefooted. It was permissible for hired boys to go to public meetings when not held in the church with bare feet, And no particular disgrace attached to it, But Felicity would not walk with a barefooted companion. It was dark now, So nobody would notice his feet. I know a story about the Milky Way, Said the story girl, Brightening up. I read it in a book of Aunt Louisa's in town, And I learned it off by heart. Once, There were two archangels in heaven named Zerah and Zulamith. Have angels names? Same as people? Interrupted Peter. Yes, Of course, They must have. They'd be all mixed up if they hadn't. And when I'm an angel, If I ever get to be one, Will my name still be Peter? No, You'll have a new name up there, Said Cecily gently. It says so in the Bible. It says so in the Bible. Well, I'm glad of that. Peter would be such a funny name for an angel. And what is the difference between angels and archangels? Oh, Archangels are angels that have been angels so long that they've had time to grow better and brighter and more beautiful than newer angels, Said the story girl, Who probably made that explanation up on the spur of the moment, Just to pacify Peter. How long does it take for an angel to grow into an archangel? Pursued Peter. Oh, I don't know. Millions of years, Likely. And even then, I don't suppose all the angels do. A good many of them must just stay plain angels, I expect. I shall be satisfied just to be a plain angel, Said Felicity modestly. Oh, See here, If you're going to interrupt and argue over everything, We'll never get the story told, Said Felix. Dry up, All of you. Let the story go on. We dried up and the story girl went on. Zerah and Zulamith loved each other just as mortals love. And this is forbidden by the laws of the Almighty. And because Zerah and Zulamith had so broken God's law, They were banished from his presence to the uttermost bounds of the universe. If they had been banished together, It would have been no punishment. So Zerah was exiled to a star on one side of the universe, And Zulamith was sent to a star on the other side of the universe. And between them was a was a fathomless abyss, Which thought itself could not cross. Only one thing could cross it, And that was love. Zulamith yearned for Zerah with such fidelity and longing that he began to build up a bridge of light from his star. And Zerah, Not knowing this, But loving and longing for him, Began to build a similar bridge of light from her star. For a thousand, Thousand years, They both built the bridge of light. And at last, They met and sprang into each other's arms. Their toil and loneliness and suffering were all over and forgotten, And the bridge they had built spanned the gulf between their stars of exile. Now, When the other archangels saw what had been done, They flew in fear and anger to God's white throne and cried to him, See what these rebellious ones have done. They have built them a bridge of light across the universe and set thy decree of separation at naught. Do thou then stretch forth thine arm and destroy their impious work? They ceased, And all heaven was hushed. Through the silence sounded the voice of the Almighty. Nay, He said, Whatsoever in my universe true love hath builded, Not even the Almighty can destroy. The bridge must stand forever. And concluded the story girl, Her face upturned to the sky and her big eyes filled with starlight, It stands still. That bridge is the Milky Way. What a lovely story, Sighed Sarah Ray, Who had been wooed to a temporary forgetfulness of her woes by its charm. The rest of us came back to earth feeling that we had been wandering among the hosts of heaven. We were not old enough to appreciate fully the wonderful meaning of the legend, But we felt its beauty and its appeal. To us, Forevermore, The Milky Way would be not Peter's overwhelming garland of suns, But the lucent bridge love created on which the banished archangels crossed from star to star. We had to go up Sarah Ray's lane with her to her very door, For she was afraid Peg Bowen would catch her if she went alone. Then the story girl and I walked up the hill together. Peter and Felicity lagged behind. Cecily and Dan and Felix were walking before us hand in hand, Singing a hymn. Cecily had a very sweet voice and I listened in delight, But the story girl sighed. What if Sarah does take the measles, She asked miserably. Everyone has to have the measles sometime, I said comfortingly, And the younger you are, The better.

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