Lucy Montgomery - Emily Climbs

"Clara must be told first," he said. "It is her right."

He disappeared into the inner room. Mrs. Hollinger dropped into a chair, laughing and crying.

"They've found him... they've found little Allan... on the floor of the hall closet... in the Scobie cottage!"

"Is... he... living?" gasped Emily.

"Yes, but no more... he couldn't even speak... but he'll come round with care, the doctor says. They carried him to the nearest house... that's all the doctor had time to tell me."

A wild cry of joy came from the bedroom... and Clara Bradshaw, with dishevelled hair and pallid lips, but with the light of rapture shining in her eyes, rushed through the kitchen... out and over the hill. Mrs. Hollinger caught up a coat and ran after her. Dr. McIntyre sank into a chair.

"I couldn't stop her... -and I'm not fit for another run yet... but joy doesn't kill. It would have been cruel to stop her, even if I could."

"Is little Allan all right?" asked Ilse.

"He will be. The poor kid was at the point of exhaustion, naturally. He wouldn't have lasted for another day. We carried him right up to Dr. Matheson at the Bridge and left him in his charge. He won't be fit to be brought home before to-morrow."

"Have you any idea how he came to be there?"

"Well, he couldn't tell us anything, of course, but I think I know how it happened. We found a cellar window about half an inch open. I fancy that Allan was poking about the house, boy fashion, and found that this window hadn't been fastened. He must have got entrance by it, pushed it almost shut behind him and then explored the house. He had pulled the closet door tight in some way and the spring lock made him a prisoner. The window was too high for him to reach or he might have attracted attention from it. The white plaster of the closet wall is all marked and scarred with his vain attempts to get up to the window. Of course, he must have shouted, but nobody has ever been near enough the house to hear him. You know, it stands in that bare little cove with nothing near it where a child could be hidden, so I suppose the searchers did not pay much attention to it. They didn't search the river banks until yesterday, anyhow, because it was never thought he would have gone away down there alone, and by yesterday he was past calling for help."

"I'm so... happy... since he's found," said Ilse, winking back tears of relief.

Grandfather Bradshaw suddenly poked his head out of the sitting- room doorway.

"I told ye a child COULDN'T be lost in the nineteenth century," he chuckled.

"He WAS lost, though," said Dr. McIntyre, "and he wouldn't have been found... in time... if it were not for this young lady. It's a very extraordinary thing."

"Emily is... psychic," said Ilse, quoting Mr. Carpenter.

"Psychic! Humph! Well, it's curious... very. I don't pretend to understand it. Grandmother would say it was second sight, of course. Naturally, she's a firm believer in that, like all the Highland folk."

"Oh... I'm sure I haven't second sight," protested Emily. "I must just have dreamed it... and got up in my sleep... but, then, I can't draw."

"Something used you as an instrument then," said Dr. McIntyre. "After all, Grandmother's explanation of second sight is just as reasonable as anything else, when one is compelled to believe an unbelievable thing."

"I'd rather not talk of it," said Emily, with a shiver. "I'm so glad Allan has been found... but PLEASE don't tell people about my part in it. Let them think it just occurred to you to search inside the Scobie house. I... I couldn't bear to have this talked of all over the country."

When they left the little white house on the windy hill the sun was breaking through the clouds and the harbour waters were dancing madly in it. The landscape was full of the wild beauty that comes in the wake of a spent storm and the Western Road stretched before them in loop and hill and dip of wet, red allurement; but Emily turned away from it.

"I'm going to leave it for my next trip," she said. "I can't go canvassing to-day, somehow. Friend of my heart, let's go to Malvern Bridge and take the morning train to Shrewsbury."

"It... was... awfully funny... about your dream," said Ilse. "It makes me a little afraid of you, Emily... somehow."

"Oh, don't be afraid of me," implored Emily. "It was only a coincidence. I was thinking of him so much... and the house took possession of me yesterday... "

"Remember how you found out about Mother?" said Ilse, in a low tone. "You HAVE some power the rest of us haven't."

"Perhaps I'll grow out of it," said Emily desperately. "I hope so... I don't WANT to have any such power... you don't know how I feel about it, Ilse. It seems to me a terrible thing... as if I were marked out in some uncanny way... I don't feel HUMAN. When Dr. McIntyre spoke about SOMETHING using me as an instrument, I went cold all over. It seemed to me that while I was asleep some OTHER intelligence must have taken possession of my body and drawn that picture."

"It was YOUR writing," said Ilse.

"Oh, I'm not going to talk of it... or THINK of it. I'm going to forget it. Don't ever speak of it to me again, Ilse."

"Shrewsbury, "October 3, 19...

"I have finished canvassing my allotted portion of our fair province... I have the banner list of all the canvassers... and I have made almost enough out of my commissions to pay for my books for my whole Junior year. When I told Aunt Ruth this she did NOT sniff. I consider that a fact worth recording.

"To-day my story, The Sands of Time, came back from Merton's Magazine. But the rejection slip was typewritten, not printed. Typewriting doesn't seem QUITE as insulting as print, some way.

"We have read your story with interest, and regret to say that we cannot accept it for publication at the present time.

"If they meant that 'with interest,' it is a little encouragement. But were they only trying to soften the blow?

"Ilse and I were notified recently that there were nine vacancies in the Skull and Owl and that we had been put on the list of those who might apply for membership. So we did. It is considered a great thing in school to be a Skull and Owl.

"The Junior year is in full swing now, and I find the work very interesting. Mr. Hardy has several of our classes, and I like him as a teacher better than anyone since Mr. Carpenter. He was very much interested in my essay, The Woman Who Spanked the King. He gave it first place and commented on it specially in his class criticisms. Evelyn Blake is sure, naturally, that I copied it out of something, and feels certain she has read it somewhere before. Evelyn is wearing her hair in the new pompadour style this year and I think it is very unbecoming to her. But then, of course, the only part of Evelyn's anatomy I like is her back.

"I understand that the Martin clan are furious with me. Sally Martin was married last week in the Anglican church here, and the Times editor asked me to report it. Of course, I went... though I HATE reporting weddings. There are so many things I'd LIKE to say sometimes that can't BE said. But Sally's wedding was pretty and so was she, and I sent in quite a nice report of it, I thought, especially mentioning the bride's beautiful bouquet of 'roses and orchids'... the first bridal bouquet of orchids ever seen in Shrewsbury. I wrote as plain as print and there was no excuse whatever for that wretched typesetter on the Times turning 'orchids' into SARDINES. Of course, anybody with any sense would have known that it was only a printer's error. But the Martin clan have taken into their heads the absurd notion that I wrote SARDINES on purpose for a silly joke... because, it seems, it has been reported to them that I said once I was tired of the conventional reports of weddings and would like to write just one along different lines. I DID say it... but my craving for originality would hardly lead me to report the bride as carrying a bouquet of sardines! Nevertheless, the Martins DO think it, and Stella Martin didn't invite me to her thimble party... and Aunt Ruth says she doesn't wonder at it... and Aunt Elizabeth says I shouldn't have been so careless. I ! Heaven grant me patience!