Читать книгу Emily of New Moon онлайн

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“Of course she wouldn’t be sorry. Of course she’d rather have you than all the Murrays of any kind of a moon.”

Father laughed a little—and there was just a note of triumph in his laugh.

“Yes, she seemed to feel that way about it. And we were so happy—oh, Emilykin, there never were two happier people in the world. You were the child of that happiness. I remember the night you were born in the little house in Charlottetown. It was in May and a west wind was blowing silvery clouds over the moon. There was a star or two here and there. In our tiny garden—everything we had was small except our love and our happiness—it was dark and blossomy. I walked up and down the path between the beds of violets your mother had planted—and prayed. The pale east was just beginning to glow like a rosy pearl when some one came and told me I had a little daughter. I went in—and your mother, white and weak, smiled just that dear, slow, wonderful smile I loved, and said, ‘We’ve—got—the only—baby—of any importance—in—the world, dear. Just—think—of that!’”