Dear Father:
I am determined to write a happy lette r this time, one that you can show Mother. I have been at Ingleside for two days and already Trudy, Bertha and I have vowed to be eternal friends. Doesn't that sound romantic, Father? Only it's really just me and Trudy, since Bertha lives in Avonlea and we don't see her that often. But we will think of her religiously. Before bed every night, Trudy and I kneel in the direction of Avonlea and send beautiful thoughts in her direction. I've been spending a lot of nights at Auntie Rilla's. She's a duck, Father--and she lets us eat our bedtime snack in bed.
Trudy and I are also going to be best friends with Cathy Douglas down at the harbor. Cathy is a jolly girl, and has the most marvelous secrests, but her mother is a little queer. She does not want to call us Mrs. Douglas, but Mary Vance. She says 'Mrs. Douglas' makes her feel too old.I can't get in the habit of calling her Mary Vance, but I can write it without any problem. She is Mary Vance--she doesn't seem to have grown up at all. Mary Vance fights all the time. With her neighbors, her husband, and Nellie, who is Cathy's sister. But everyone seems to love her all the same. When I told her about Mother, Mary Vance sat down and cried and then blew her nose in her apron. She says Mother is the first person who was kind to her, ever.
Grandfather Blythe took me for a walk along the shore and we talked--Uncle Jem showed me how to take a splinter out of my foot without it hurting. It is so nice to have doctors in the family, isn't it, Dad? And Uncle Ken let the big boys, Gil and Walter, row me around in the pond but I didn't like that. They rocked the boat and thought it was funny when I was scared. But then they felt bad because I was so frightened, and bought me ice cream on the way back. I liked that.
Jake and Owen and Teddy, when he is here, are fun to play with. At first they treated me like a girl, but then I climbed all the way to the top of one of the Tree Lovers in Rainbow Valley and they stopped that. But Aunt Nan saw me and says I almost gave her a heart attack. Why, Dad? She doesn't bat an eyelash when the boys do it!
On one of my climbs, I found the bells at the top of the Tree Lovers. They are rusted so that they don't ring any more. But no one will take them down because Uncle Walter put them there. I think Uncle Walter would like that they are still there. But Joyce says they are an eyesore and wants to take them down. I don't think we should take them down, because they are a family tradition. And anyway, Grandmother won't let anyone move them.
Hannah and Nancy like it when I read to them, so I do every night after dinner. We are halfway through The Moral of the Rose. I think Mother would like that book, and when we are done I will send her my copy. Joy is cross because before I came she was the one who read to the little girls. Joy is not--very nice, Father. I thought she would be nicer since her own Father is a minister. But Blythe, her brother, is nice enough so that he makes up for it. Anyway, Joy cannot be so bad because she and Merry are best friends. And I like Merry, so I guess I like Joyce by proxy.
I must go now, Dad, but I'll write again tomorrow. Auntie Faith is taking me to the cinema tonight--there's a funny picture playing. She said I can pick one cousin to go along with us, but I don't know who to pick. I want to take Blythe but the others might get mad if I do. I told Aunt Faith that I had a dilemma, and she said to be creative. So we are going to cast lots for it. You don't think that's too wicked, do you, Dad?
Love, your girl,
CECILIA
***
Cecilia had just finished saying her goodnights to Bertie in the direction of Avonlea and was already thinking of how nice it would be to slip beneath the covers, when there was a tap at her bedroom window. She ran to it, and threw up the sash--it was so much more poetic to say threw up the sash than opened the window--leaned out, and peered down into the dimness below.
"Let's go on a moon-spree, Cecilia!" Blythe called up to her.
Cecilia was a very tired girl indeed--she had had a full day--but suddenly she thrilled at the thought of a late night moon-spree with Blythe. She had never heard that term before but knew right away what it meant--the very phrase conjured up a delicious picture in her mind of whitely moonlit walks and ghostly phosphorescence on the sea.
"I'll be down," she said, and dressed and was down in a flash. She and Blythe smiled at each other--once again a flash of understanding passed between them. They clasped hands and as of one mind and spirit set off toward the shining dunes that bordered the Harbor Mouth--the best place for moon watching.
"What a night!" Blythe exulted and Cecilia gloated as they passed rows of sleeping houses. Not a light was on in one--and Cecilia felt immensely sorry for the people inside who were missing out on this starry, shadowy beauty. The two collapsed on the dunes and stared up at the starry, starry night. Why, the sky was more stars that it was dark! They looked like icy diamonds scattered on black velvet. There were no stars like this in the city. And what an enchanting, pearly path the moon made, shining on the still sea.
Blythe noticed it, too, and quoted:
Winken, Blinken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe --
Sailed off on a river of crystal light,
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in the beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!"
Said Winken,
Blinken,
And Nod.
Cecilia thrilled at the loveliness of it all. Her eyes smiled at Blythe to go on, so he did, and repeated the rest of the poem. The cousins lay on the sand that was still sun-warmed and Blythe ran through the rest of the poems he had learned. Cecilia was lulled into a half-sleep by the sound of the waves, and the wind in the sea grasses as Blythe went on. She heard him talk of Ozymandius, king of kings, and 'hosts of golden daffodils,' and 'crosses row on row' in Flanders Fields, and her mind conjured fantastic fanciful pictures in her head.
"Oh, I love to hear you talk!" Cecilia cried when he had exhausted his repertoire, sorry he was finished. "You know so many poems, Blythe!"
"I'm going to be a poet one day," Blythe said seriously. "So I have to read as much as I can--and I like learning things by heart. That way I can carry them with me and pull them out whenever I want."
"I wish I could do that, too," Cecilia mourned. She knew only one poem by heart--the one Uncle Walter had written, before he died. There was a clipping of it from a newspaper on her mirror at home. "But even if I did, I could never say them like you, Bly. When you were reciting I saw the things you talked about--I really did! I wish," the little maiden sighed, "That I had an especial talent."
"I think you do," Blythe said companionably and candidly. "You are the best listener I've met--somehow, I like talking more when I'm talking to you. Does that make sense? And you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen. If I was a painter I'd paint you as you look now--you look like a naiad, come out of the sea to bask in the light of the moon. I'll paint you with words, I think--I'm going to write a poem about you."
* * *
The poem was written, and produced a few days later at the party thrown by the aunts to formally welcome Cecilia to the Glen. It also happened to be Cecilia's birthday. Never before had she had such a fuss made about her birthday! But here, at Ingleside, birthdays were holy days. Grandmother woke her with a special breakfast on the verandah at dawn and Grandfather had given her a kitten--her very own kitten--which he'd gotten from one of his patients.
The older boys had given her a kite they'd made themselves--a fanciful, slithering, dragon-shaped kite--and they'd taught her how to fly it. Cecilia could make it go higher than the lighthouse, almost! Bertie gave her a bottle of perfume--Trudy gave her a diary with a little lock and key--Merry sewed her a beautiful gingham dress, and Teddy, Owen and Jake took her fishing in Rainbow Valley--where they culminated the festivities with a midday feast in Cecilia's honor.
Joy even thawed a trifle, enough to drop a chilly kiss on her cousin's cheek and press a package of hair ribbons into her hand. Cecilia gazed at them sadly--in the world of youth, hair ribbons were what you got someone when they were not an especial friend--they were what you got someone when you didn't know what else to get them. But Cecilia was determined to make an effort, since Joyce was. She tied one of the pink ribbons around her hair--even though it did not match her blue dress--and said, very cordially, "Thank you, Joy. I saw these ribbons in Carter Flag's store. My, they're pretty!"
"Well, I had to get you something," Joy sniffed. "And I suppose they aren't as nice as the ones you'd get in Montreal, but perhaps they'll do."
Cecilia's spirits sank the tiniest bit after that but were soon buoyed up by the exuberance of everyone at the party. The girls and boys of Glen St. Mary were a fun, spirited bunch, weren't they? And the aunts hadn't been sure what kind of cake she liked best so they made three kinds--chocolate, vanilla, and lemon! Who could ask for more wonderful aunts?
There was a fireworks show put on by the uncles after they all had cake, and as the last of the blazing sparks died away, Blythe stood up to deliver Cecilia his present to her.
"A poem," he said in his grave, stately way, and read,
O naiad fair with shining hair
As black as blackest night
Your skin is white and eyes are blue--
You are a lovely sight!
It was a very valiant attempt for such a young boy, but the grownups had to grin and bite their lips to keep from laughing. The younger fry, however, were amazed and rapt. Trudy squeezed Cecilia's hand and Bertie sighed, "Oh, how I wish someone would write so about me!"
"He--hasn't--said it's about me," said Cecilia, who was blushing with embarrasment and glowing with pride simultaneously.
"Of course it is," Cathy Douglas hissed. "Shh!--there's another stanza."
Blythe continued.
O dryad fair I want to share
This poem for your praise
I know you will be just as fair
Until the end of days.
The party guests--especially the girls--squealed and clapped. Cecilia was kissed by all those around her and basked in the glow of Blythe's smile. Why, did he really think her fair? She flushed prettily--at that moment she was the prettiest girl in the room. Her beauty was like a slender white lily or a blithe, dancing iris. Joy saw this and scowled--and Cecilia saw the scowl. In the early moonlight Joy's eyes flashed like white lightning--and some of the bloom went off the party for Cecilia.
"Oh why," she thought, with a pang of irritation, "doesn't Joyce like me?"