Page:Emily of New Moon by L. M. Montgomery.pdf/327

 saw all her schoolmates envying her or admiring, according to type—she saw herself with one foot at least firmly planted on the ladder of fame—one hill at least of the Alpine Path crested, with a new and glorious prospect opening therefrom.

Morning came. Emily went to school, so absent-minded because of her secret that she did badly in everything and was raged at by Mr. Carpenter. But it all slipped off her like the proverbial water off a duck’s back. Her body was in Blair Water school but her spirit was in kingdoms empyreal.

As soon as school was out she betook herself to the garret with half a sheet of blue-lined notepaper. Very painstakingly she copied down the poem, being especially careful to dot every i and cross every t. She wrote it on both sides of the paper, being in blissful ignorance of any taboo thereon. Then she read it aloud delightedly, not omitting the title. There was one line in it she tasted two or three times:

“I think that line is good,” said Emily. “I wonder now how I happened to think of it.”

She mailed her poem the next day and lived in a delicious mystic rapture until the following Saturday. When the came she opened it with tremulous eagerness and ice-cold fingers, and turned to the Poet’s Corner. Now for her great moment!

There was not a sign of an Evening Dream about it!

Emily threw down the and fled to the garret dormer where, face downward on the old haircloth sofa, she wept out her bitterness of disappointment. She drained the draught of failure to the very dregs. It was horribly real and tragic to her. She felt exactly as if she had been slapped in the face. She was crushed in the very dust of humiliation and was sure she could never rise again.