Lucy Montgomery - Emily of New Moon

Emily stared. Surely Father Cassidy wasn't a hundred years old.

He didn't look more than fifty. Perhaps, though, Catholic priests did live longer than other people. She didn't know exactly what to say so she said, a bit lamely, "I see you have a cat.”

"Wrong." Father Cassidy shook his head and groaned dismally. "A cat has me.”

Emily gave up trying to understand Father Cassidy. He was nice but ununderstandable. She let it go at that. And she must get on with her errand.

"You are a kind of minister, aren't you?" she asked timidly. She didn't know whether Father Cassidy would like being called a minister.

"Kind av," he agreed amiably. "And you see ministers and priests can't do their own swearing. They have to keep cats to do it for them. I never knew any cat that could sware as genteelly and effectively as the B'y.”

"Is that what you call him?" asked Emily, looking at the black cat in some awe. It seemed hardly safe to discuss him right before his face.

"That's what he calls himself. My mother doesn't like him because he steals the cream. Now, I don't mind his doing that; no, it's his way av licking his jaws after it that I can't stand. Oh, B'y, we've a fairy calling on us. Be excited for once, I implore you — there's a duck av a cat.”

The B'y refused to be excited. He winked an insolent eye at Emily.

"Have you any idea what goes on in the head av a cat, elf?”

What queer questions Father Cassidy asked. Yet Emily thought she would like his questions if she were not so worried. Suddenly Father Cassidy leaned across the table and said, "Now, just what's bothering you?”

"I'm so unhappy," said Emily piteously.

"So are lots av other people. Everybody is unhappy by spells, But creatures who have pointed ears shouldn't be unhappy. It's only mortals who should be that.”

"Oh, please — please — " Emily wondered what she should call him.

Would it offend him if a Protestant called him "Father"? But she had to risk it — "please, Father Cassidy, I'm in such trouble and I've come to ask a GREAT FAVOUR of you.”

Emily told him the whole tale from beginning to end — the old Murray-Sullivan feud, her erstwhile friendship with Lofty John, the Big Sweet apple, the unhappy consequence, and Lofty John's threatened revenge. The B'y and Father Cassidy listened with equal gravity until she had finished. Then the B'y winked at her, but Father Cassidy put his long brown fingers together.

"Humph," he said.

("That's the first time," reflected Emily, "that I've ever heard anyone outside of a book say 'Humph.'") "Humph," said Father Cassidy again. "And you want me to put a stop to this nefarious deed?”

"If you can," said Emily. "Oh, it would be so splendid if you could. Will you — will you?”

Father Cassidy fitted his fingers still more carefully together.

"I'm afraid I can hardly invoke the power av the keys to prevent Lofty John from disposing as he wishes av his own lawful property, you know, elf.”

Emily didn't understand the allusion to the keys but she did understand that Father Cassidy was declining to bring the lever of the Church to bear on Lofty John. There was no hope, then. She could not keep the tears of disappointment out of her eyes.

"Oh, come now, darling, don't cry," implored Father Cassidy.

"Elves never cry — they can't. It would break my heart to discover you weren't av the Green Folk. You may call yourself av New Moon and av any religion you like, but the fact remains that you belong to the Golden Age and the old gods. That's why I must save your precious bit av greenwood for you.”

Emily stared.

"I think it can be done," Father Cassidy went on. "I think if I go to Lofty John and have a heart-to-heart talk with him I can make him see reason. Lofty John and I are very good friends. He's a reasonable creature, if you know how to take him — which means to flatter his vanity judiciously. I'll put it to him, not as priest to parishioner, but as man to man, that no decent Irishman carries on a feud with women and that no sensible person is going to destroy for nothing but a grudge those fine old trees that have taken half a century to grow and can never be replaced. Why the man who cuts down such a tree except when it is really necessary should be hanged as high as Haman on a gallows made from the wood av it.”

(Emily thought she would write that last sentence of Father Cassidy's down in Cousin Jimmy's blank book when she got home.) "But I won't say THAT to Lofty John," concluded Father Cassidy.

"Yes, Emily av New Moon, I think we can consider it a settled thing that your bush will not be cut down.”

Suddenly Emily felt very happy. Somehow she had entire confidence in Father Cassidy. She was sure he would twist Lofty John around his little finger.

"Oh, I can never thank you enough!" she said earnestly.

"That's true, so don't waste breath trying. And now tell me things. Are there any more av you? And how long have you been yourself?”

"I'm twelve years old — I haven't any brothers or sisters. And I THINK I'd better be going home.”

"Not till you've had a bite av lunch.”

"Oh, thank you, I've had my supper.”

"Two hours ago and a two-mile walk since. Don't tell me. I'm sorry I haven't any nectar and ambrosia on hand — such food as elves eat — and not even a saucer av moonshine — but my mother makes the best plum cake av any woman in P. E. Island. And we keep a cream cow. Wait here a bit. Don't be afraid av the B'y. He eats tender little Protestants sometimes, but he never meddles with leprechauns.”

When Father Cassidy came back his mother came with him, carrying a tray. Emily had expected to see her big and brown too, but she was the tiniest woman imaginable, with snow-white, silky hair, mild blue eyes, and pink cheeks.

"Isn't she the sweetest thing in the way av mothers?" asked Father Cassidy. "I keep her to look at. Av course — " Father Cassidy dropped his voice to a pig's whisper — "there's something odd about her. I've known that woman to stop right in the middle av housecleaning, and go off and spend an afternoon in the woods. Like yourself, I'm thinking she has some truck with fairies.”

Mrs Cassidy smiled, kissed Emily, said she must go out and finish her preserving, and trotted off.

"Now you sit right down here, Elf, and be human for ten minutes and we'll have a friendly snack.”

Emily WAS hungry — a nice comfortable feeling she hadn't experienced for a fortnight. Mrs Cassidy's plum cake was all her reverend son claimed, and the cream cow seemed to be no myth.

"What do you think av me now?" asked Father Cassidy suddenly, finding Emily's eyes fixed on him speculatively.

Emily blushed. She had been wondering if she dared ask another favour of Father Cassidy.

"I think you are awfully good," she said.

"I AM awfully good," agreed Father Cassidy. "I'm so good that I'll do what you want me to do — for I feel there's something else you want me to do.”

"I'm in a scrape and I've been in it all summer. You see" — Emily was very sober — "I am a poetess.”

"Holy Mike! That IS serious. I don't know if I can do much for you. How long have you been that way?”

"Are you making fun of me?" asked Emily gravely.

Father Cassidy swallowed something besides plum cake.

"The saints forbid! It's only that I'm rather overcome. To be after entertaining a lady av New Moon — and an elf — and a poetess all in one is a bit too much for a humble praste like meself. Have another slice av cake and tell me all about it.”

"It's like this — I'm writing an epic.”

Father Cassidy suddenly leaned over and gave Emily's wrist a little pinch.

"I just wanted to see if you were real," he explained. "Yes — yes, you're writing an epic — go on. I think I've got my second wind now.”