The Story Girl - Part 9

"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 1911 novel by the Canadian author Lucy Maud Montgomery. We are following along with the adventures and stories of a group of young cousins on Prince Edward Island. Perhaps you've already heard the preceding parts. If you haven't and you would like to, You can find them all together in the playlist for The Story Girl. And if not, It really doesn't matter. You can just listen to each part by itself. But for now, Before we go further into the story, Let's just take a moment here to have a nice, Deep exhale. Letting go of the day. Letting go of whichever baggage we might be bringing along with us into this moment. For right now, There's nowhere else that we have to be and nothing else that we have to be doing. So we can just relax, Get ourselves comfortable and enjoy the sweet tale of The Story Girl. Chapter 17. The Proof of the Pudding Felicity was cumbered with many cares the next morning. For one thing, The whole house must be put in apple pie order, And for another, An elaborate supper must be prepared for the expected return of the travellers that night. Felicity devoted her whole attention to this and left the secondary preparation of the regular meals to Cecily and The Story Girl. It was agreed that the latter was to make a cornmeal pudding for dinner. In spite of her disaster with the bread, The Story Girl had been taking cooking lessons from Felicity all the week and getting on tolerably well. Although mindful of her former mistake, She never ventured on anything without Felicity's approval. But Felicity had no time to oversee her this morning. You must attend to the pudding yourself, She said. The recipe's so plain and simple, Even you can't go astray. And if there's anything you don't understand, You can ask me, But don't bother me if you can help it. The Story Girl did not bother her once. The pudding was concocted and baked, As The Story Girl proudly informed us when we came to the dinner table, All on her own hook. She was very proud of it. And certainly, As far as appearance went, It justified her triumph. The slices were smooth and golden, And smothered in the luscious maple sugar sauce which Cecily had compounded, Were very fair to view. Nevertheless, Although none of us, Not even Uncle Roger or Felicity, Said a word at the time, For fear of hurting The Story Girl's feelings, The pudding did not taste exactly as it should. It was tough, Decidedly tough, And lacked the richness of flavour which was customary in Aunt Janet's cornmeal puddings. If it had not been for the abundant supply of sauce, It would have been very dry eating indeed. Eaten it was, However, To the last crumb. If it were not just what a cornmeal pudding might be, The rest of the bill affair had been extra good, And our appetites matched it. I wish I was twins so as I could eat more, Said Dan when he simply had to stop. What good would being twins do you? Asked Peter. People who squint can't eat any more than people who don't squint, Can they? We could not see any connection between Peter's two questions. What has squinting got to do with twins? Asked Dan. Why, Twins are just people that squint, Aren't they? Said Peter. We thought he was trying to be funny until we found out that he was quite in earnest. Then we laughed until Peter got sulky. I don't care, He said, As a fellow to know. Tommy and Adam Cohen over at Markdale are twins, And they're both cross-eyed, So I supposed that was what being twins meant. It's all very fine for you fellows to laugh. I never went to school half as much as you did, And you was brought up in Toronto too. If you'd worked out ever since you were seven and just got to school in the winter, There'd be lots of things you wouldn't know either. Never mind, Peter, Said Cecily. You know lots of things they don't. But Peter was not to be conciliated and took himself off in high dudgeon to be laughed at before Felicity. To be laughed at by Felicity was something he could not endure. Let Cecily and the story girl cackle all they wanted to, And let those stuck-up Toronto boys grin like chessie cats. But when Felicity laughed at him, The iron entered into Peter's soul. If the story girl laughed at Peter, The mills of the gods ground out his revenge for him in mid-afternoon. Felicity, Having used up all the available cooking materials in the house, Had to stop perforce. And she now determined to stuff two new pin cushions she had been making for her room. We heard her rummaging in the pantry as we sat on the cool spruce-shadowed cellar door outside, Where Uncle Roger was showing us how to make elderberry pop guns. Presently, She came out frowning. Cecily, Do you know where Mother put the sawdust she emptied out of that old beaded pin cushion of Grandmother King's? After she had sifted the needles out of it? I thought it was in the tin box. So it is, Said Cecily. It isn't. There isn't a speck of sawdust in that box. The story girl's face wore a quite indescribable expression, Compound of horror and shame. She need not have confessed. If she had but held her tongue, The mystery of the sawdust's disappearance might have forever remained a mystery. She would have held her tongue, As she afterwards confided to me, If it had not been for a horrible fear which flashed into her mind that possibly sawdust puddings were not healthy for people to eat. Especially if there might be needles in them. And that if any mischief had been done in that direction, It was her duty to undo it, If possible, At any cost of ridicule to herself. Oh, Felicity, She said, Her voice expressing a very anguish of humiliation. I thought that stuff in the box was cornmeal and used it to make the pudding. Felicity and Cecily stared blankly at the story girl. We boys began to laugh, But were checked midway by Uncle Roger. He was rocking himself back and forth with his hand pressed against his stomach. He groaned. I've been wondering what these sharp pains I've been feeling ever since dinner meant. I know now, I must have swallowed a needle. Several needles, Perhaps. I'm done for. The poor story girl went very white. Oh, Uncle Roger, Could it be possible? You couldn't have swallowed a needle without knowing it. It would have stuck in your tongue or teeth. I didn't chew the pudding, Groaned Uncle Roger. It was too tough. I just swallowed the chunks whole. He groaned and twisted and doubled himself up. But he overdid it. He was not as good an actor as the story girl. Felicity looked scornfully at him. Uncle Roger, You are not one bit sick, She said deliberately. You are just putting on. Felicity, If I die from the effects of eating sawdust pudding flavoured with needles, You'll be sorry you ever said such a thing to your poor old uncle, Said Uncle Roger reproachfully. Even if there were no needles in it, 60-year-old sawdust can't be good for my tummy. I dare say it wasn't even clean. Well, You know, Everyone has to eat a peck of dirt in his life, Giggled Felicity. Nobody has to eat it all at once, Retorted Uncle Roger with another groan. Sarah Stanley, It's a thankful man I am that your Aunt Olivia is to be home tonight. You'd have me kilt entirely by another day. I believe you did it on purpose to have a story to tell. Uncle Roger hobbled off to the barn, Still holding on to his stomach. Do you think he really feels sick, Asked the story girl anxiously. No, I don't, Said Felicity. You needn't worry over him. There's nothing the matter with him. I don't believe there were any needles in that sawdust. Mother sifted it very carefully. I know a story about a man whose son swallowed a mouse, Said the story girl, Who would probably have known a story and tried to tell it if she were being led to the stake. And he ran and wakened up a very tired doctor, Just as he had got to sleep. Oh, Doctor, My son has swallowed a mouse, He cried. What shall I do? Tell him to swallow a cat, Roared the poor doctor and slammed his door. Now, If Uncle Roger has swallowed any needles, Maybe it would make it all right if he swallowed a pincushion. We all laughed, But Felicity soon grew sober. It seems awful to think of eating a sawdust pudding. How on earth did you make such a mistake? It looked just like cornmeal, Said the story girl, Going from white to red in her shame. Well, I'm going to give up trying to cook and stick to things I can do. And if ever one of you mentions sawdust pudding to me, I'll never tell you another story as long as I live. The threat was effectual. Never did we mention that unholy pudding. But the story girl could not so impose silence on the grown-ups, Especially Uncle Roger. He tormented her for the rest of the summer. Never a breakfast did he sit down to without gravely inquiring if they were sure there was no sawdust in the porridge. Not a tweak of rheumatism did he feel, But he vowed it was due to a needle travelling about his body. And Aunt Olivia was warned to label all the pin cushions in the house contents sawdust not intended for puddings. Chapter 18. How kissing was discovered. An August evening, Calm, Golden, Dewless, Can be very lovely. At sunset, Felicity, Cecily and Sarah Ray, Dan, Felix and I were in the orchard, Sitting on the cool grasses at the base of the pulpit stone. In the west was a field of crocus sky, Over which pale cloud blossoms were scattered. Uncle Roger had gone to the station to meet the travellers, And the dining room table was spread with a feast of fat things. It's been a jolly week, Take it all round, Said Felix, But I'm glad the grown-ups are coming back tonight, Especially Uncle Alec. I wonder if they'll bring us anything, Said Dan. I'm thinking long to hear all about the wedding, Said Felicity, Who was braiding Timothy's storks into a collar for Pat. You girls are always thinking about weddings and getting married, Said Dan contemptuously. We ain't, Said Felicity indignantly. I am never going to get married. I think it is just horrid. So there. I guess you think it would be a good deal horrider not to be, Said Dan. It depends on who you're married to, Said Cecily gravely. Seeing that, Felicity disdained reply. If you got a man like father, It would be all right, But supposing you got one like Andrew Ward, He's so mean and cross to his wife, That she tells him every day she wishes she'd never set eyes on him. Perhaps that's why he's mean and cross, Said Felix. I tell you, It isn't always the man's fault, Said Dan darkly. When I get married, I'll be good to my wife, But I mean to be boss. When I open my mouth, My word will be law. If your word is as big as your mouth, I guess it will be, Said Felicity cruelly. I pity the man who gets you, Felicity King. That's all, Retorted Dan. Now, Don't fight, Implored Cecily. Who's fighting? Demanded Dan. Felicity thinks she can say anything she likes to me, But I'll show her different. Probably in spite of Cecily's efforts, A bitter spat would have resulted between Dan and Felicity. Had not a diversion been effected at that moment by the story girl, Who came slowly down Uncle Stephen's walk. Just look how the story girl has got herself up, Said Felicity. Why? She's no more than decent. The story girl was barefooted and bare-armed, Having rolled the sleeves of her pink gingham up to her shoulders. Around her waist was twisted a girdle of the blood-red roses that bloomed in Aunt Olivia's garden. On her sleek curls she wore a chaplet of them, And her hands were full of them. She paused under the outmost tree in a golden-green gloom, And laughed at us over a big branch. Her wild, Subtle, Nameless charm clothed her as with a garment. We always remembered the picture she made there. And in later days, When we read Tennyson's poems at a college desk, We knew exactly how an Oriad peering through the green leaves on some haunted knoll of many-fountained Ida must look. Felicity, Said the story girl reproachfully, What have you been doing to Peter? He's up there sulking in the granary, And he won't come down, And he says it's your fault. You must have hurt his feelings dreadfully. I don't know about his feelings, Said Felicity, With an angry toss of her shining head, But I guess I made his ears tingle all right. I boxed them both, Good and hard. Oh, Felicity, What for? Well, He tried to kiss me, That's what for, Said Felicity, Turning very red. As if I would let a hired boy kiss me. I guess Master Peter won't try anything like that again in a hurry. The story girl came out of her shadows and sat down beside us on the grass. Well, In that case, She said gravely, I think you did right to slap his ears. Not because he is a hired boy, But because it would be impertinent in any boy. But talking of kissing makes me think of a story I found in Aunt Olivia's scrapbook the other day. Wouldn't you like to hear it? It is called How Kissing Was Discovered. Wasn't kissing always discovered? Asked Dan. Not according to this story. It was just discovered accidentally. Well, Let's hear about it, Said Felix. Although I think kissing's awful silly and it wouldn't have mattered much if it had never been discovered. The story girl scattered her roses around her on the grass and clasped her slim hands over her knees, Gazing dreamily afar at the tinted sky between the apple trees, As if she were looking back to the merry days of the world's gay youth. She began, Her voice giving to the words and fancies of the old tale the delicacy of hoarfrost and the crystal sparkle of dew. It happened long, Long ago in Greece, Where so many other beautiful things happened. Before that, Nobody had ever heard of kissing. And then it was just discovered in the twinkling of an eye. And a man wrote it down and the account has been preserved ever since. There was a young shepherd named Glaucon. A very handsome young shepherd who lived in a little village called Thepes. It became a very great and famous city afterwards, But at this time it was only a little village. Very quiet and simple. Too quiet for Glaucon's liking. He grew tired of it and he thought he would like to go away from home and see something of the world. So he took his knapsack and his shepherd's crook and wandered away until he came to Thessaly. That is the land of the God's hill, You know. The name of the hill was Olympus, But it has nothing to do with this story. This happened on another mountain, Mount Pelion. Glaucon hired himself to a wealthy man who had a great many sheep. And every day Glaucon had to lead the sheep up to pasture on Mount Pelion and watch them while they ate. There was nothing else to do and he would have found the time very long if he had not been able to play on a flute. So he played very often and very beautifully as he sat under the trees and watched the wonderful blue sea afar off and thought about Aglaea. Aglaea was his master's daughter. She was so sweet and beautiful that Glaucon fell in love with her the very moment he first saw her. And when he was not playing his flute on the mountain, He was thinking about Aglaea and dreaming that some day he might have flocks of his own and a dear little cottage down in the valley where he and Aglaea might live. Aglaea had fallen in love with Glaucon just as he had with her, But she never let him suspect it for ever so long. He did not know how often she would steal up the mountain and hide behind the rocks near where the sheep pastured to listen to Glaucon's beautiful music. It was very lovely music because he was always thinking of Aglaea while he played, Though he little dreamed how near him she often was. But after a while Glaucon found out that Aglaea loved him. And everything was well. Nowadays, I suppose, A wealthy man like Aglaea's father wouldn't be willing to let his daughter marry a hired man. But this was in the Golden Age, You know, When nothing like that mattered at all. After that, Almost every day, Aglaea would go up the mountain and sit beside Glaucon as he watched the flocks and played on his flute. But he did not play as much as he used to because he liked better to talk with Aglaea. And in the evening they would lead the sheep home together. One day, Aglaea went up the mountain by a new way and she came to a little brook. Something was sparkling very brightly among its pebbles. Aglaea picked it up and it was the most beautiful little stone that she had ever seen. It was only as large as a pea, But it glittered and flashed in the sunlight with every colour of the rainbow. Aglaea was so delighted with it that she resolved to take it as a present to Glaucon. But all at once, She heard a stamping of hooves behind her. And when she turned, She almost died from fright, For there was the great god Pan. And he was a very terrible object, Looking quite as much like a goat as a man. The gods were not all beautiful, You know. And beautiful or not, Nobody ever wanted to meet them face to face. Give that stone to me, Said Pan, Holding out his hand. But Aglaea, Though she was frightened, Would not give him the stone. I want it for Glaucon, She said. I want it for one of my wood nymphs, Said Pan, And I must have it. He advanced, Threateningly, But Aglaea ran as hard as she could up the mountain. If she could only reach Glaucon, He would protect her. Pan followed her, Clattering and bellowing terribly. But in a few minutes, She rushed into Glaucon's arms. The dreadful sight of Pan, And the still more dreadful noise he made, So frightened the sheep that they fled in all directions. But Glaucon was not afraid at all. Because Pan was the god of shepherds. And was bound to grant any prayer a good shepherd, Who always did his duty, Might make. If Glaucon had not been a good shepherd, Dear knows what would have happened to him and Aglaea, But he was. And when he begged Pan to go away and not frighten Aglaea anymore, Pan had to go. Grumbling a good deal. And Pan's grumblings had a very ugly sound, But still, He went and that was the main thing. Now, Dearest, What is all this trouble about? Asked Glaucon. And Aglaea told him the story. But where is the beautiful stone? He asked when she had finished. Didst thou drop it in thy alarm? No, Indeed. Aglaea had done nothing of the sort. When she began to run, She had popped it into her mouth. And there it was still, Quite safe. Now she poked it out between her red lips where it glittered in the sunlight. Take it, She whispered. The question was, How was he to take it? Both of Aglaea's arms were held fast to her sides by Glaucon's arms, And if he loosened his clasp ever so little, He was afraid she would fall. So weak and trembling was she from her dreadful fright. Then Glaucon had a brilliant idea. He would take the beautiful stone from Aglaea's lips with his own lips. He bent over until his lips touched hers. And then he forgot all about the beautiful pebble. And so did Aglaea. Kissing was discovered. What a yarn, Said Dan, Drawing a long breath. When we had come to ourselves and discovered that we were really sitting in a dewy Prince Edward Island orchard instead of watching two lovers on a mountain in Thessaly in the Golden Age. I don't believe a word of it. Of course we know it wasn't really true, Said Felicity. Well, I don't know, Said the story girl thoughtfully. I think there are two kinds of true things. True things that are, And true things that are not, But might be. I don't believe there's any but the one kind of trueness, Said Felicity. And anyway, This story couldn't be true. You know there was no such thing as a God Pan. How do you know what there might have been in the Golden Age, Asked the story girl. Which was indeed an unanswerable question for Felicity. I wonder what became of the beautiful stone, Said Thessaly. Likely Aglaea swallowed it, Said Felix practically. Did Glaucon and Aglaea ever get married, Asked Sarah Ray. The story doesn't say. It stops just there, Said the story girl. But of course they did. I will tell you what I think. I don't think Aglaea swallowed the stone. I think it just fell to the ground. And after a while they found it. And it turned out to be of such value that Glaucon could buy all the flocks and herds in the valley. And the sweetest cottage. And he and Aglaea were married right away. But. . . You only think that, Said Sarah Ray. I'd like to be really sure that was what happened. Oh bother. None of it happened, Said Dan. I believed it while the story girl was telling it. I don't know. Isn't that wheels? Wheels. It was. Two wagons were driving up the lane. We rushed to the house. And there were Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet and Aunt Olivia. The excitement was quite tremendous. Everybody talked and laughed at once. And it was not until we were all seated around the supper table that conversation grew coherent. What laughter and questioning and telling of tales followed. What smiles and bright eyes and glad voices. And through it all, The blissful purrs of Paddy, Who sat on the windowsill behind the story girl, Resounded through the din like Andrew Macpherson's bass. Just the. . . The heel tame. Well. I'm thankful to be home again, Said Aunt Janet, Beaming on us. We had a real nice time. And Edward's folks were as kind as could be. But give me home for a steady thing. How has everything gone? How did the children behave, Roger? Like. . . Models, Said Uncle Roger. They were. . . As good as gold, Most of the days. There were times when one couldn't help liking Uncle Roger.

Reviews

Amazing… loving this story of stories… I love the artwork for your different stories, so exquisite! Is it yours?
Thank you!❤️🙏🏼