Page:Emily of New Moon by L. M. Montgomery.pdf/361

 Trash—trash—and yet there’s a picture in it—

Ah, but you’ll have to wake if you want to accomplish anything. Girl, you’ve used purple twice in the same poem.

‘a golden frenzy’—girl, I the wind shaking the buttercups.

You’re too fond of purple, Emily.”

“It’s such a lovely word,” said Emily.

but never, Emily—

So you’ve heard it, too? It a lure and for most of us only an echo. And that’s the last of the lot.”

Mr. Carpenter swept the little sheets aside, folded his arms on the desk, and looked over his glasses at Emily.

Emily looked back at him mutely, nervelessly. All the life seemed to have been drained out of her body and concentrated in her eyes.

“Ten good lines out of four hundred, Emily—comparatively good, that is—and all the rest balderdash—balderdash, Emily.”

“I—suppose so,” said Emily faintly.