The Little Brown Book of Miss Emily

"The Little Brown Book of Miss Emily" by Lucy Maud Montgomery is a charming collection of stories that revolves around the life of a young girl named Emily Byrd Starr. Set in the fictional community of New Moon, the book follows Emily's adventures as she navigates her creative aspirations, the complexities of friendship, and the challenges of growing up. Through her vivid imagination and love of storytelling, Emily learns valuable life lessons about love, loss, and the importance of self-expression. Montgomery's lyrical prose and rich character development create a nostalgic and heartfelt portrayal of a girl on the cusp of womanhood, making it a delightful read for fans of coming-of-age tales.

• Short story

								
The first summer Mr. Irving and Miss Lavendar--Diana and I could
never call her anything else, even after she was married--were at
Echo Lodge after their marriage, both Diana and I spent a great
deal of time with them.  We became acquainted with many of the
Grafton people whom we had not known before, and among others,
the family of Mr. Mack Leith.  We often went up to the Leiths in
the evening to play croquet.  Millie and Margaret Leith were very
nice girls, and the boys were nice, too.  Indeed, we liked every
one in the family, except poor old Miss Emily Leith.  We tried
hard enough to like her, because she seemed to like Diana and me
very much, and always wanted to sit with us and talk to us, when
we would much rather have been somewhere else.  We often felt a
good deal of impatience at these times, but I am very glad to
think now that we never showed it.

In a way, we felt sorry for Miss Emily.  She was Mr. Leith's
old-maid sister and she was not of much importance in the
household.  But, though we felt sorry for her, we couldn't like
her.  She really was fussy and meddlesome; she liked to poke a
finger into every one's pie, and she was not at all tactful.
Then, too, she had a sarcastic tongue, and seemed to feel bitter
towards all the young folks and their love affairs.  Diana and I
thought this was because she had never had a lover of her own.

Somehow, it seemed impossible to think of lovers in connection
with Miss Emily.  She was short and stout and pudgy, with a face
so round and fat and red that it seemed quite featureless; and
her hair was scanty and gray.  She walked with a waddle, just
like Mrs. Rachel Lynde, and she was always rather short of
breath.  It was hard to believe Miss Emily had ever been young;
yet old Mr. Murray, who lived next door to the Leiths, not only
expected us to believe it, but assured us that she had been very
pretty.

"THAT, at least, is impossible," said Diana to me.

And then, one day, Miss Emily died.  I'm afraid no one was very
sorry.  It seems to me a most dreadful thing to go out of the
world and leave not one person behind to be sorry because you
have gone.  Miss Emily was dead and buried before Diana and I
heard of it at all.  The first I knew of it was when I came home
from Orchard Slope one day and found a queer, shabby little black
horsehair trunk, all studded with brass nails, on the floor of my
room at Green Gables.  Marilla told me that Jack Leith had
brought it over, and said that it had belonged to Miss Emily and
that, when she was dying, she asked them to send it to me.

"But what is in it?  And what am I to do with it?" I asked in
bewilderment.

"There was nothing said about what you were to do with it.  Jack
said they didn't know what was in it, and hadn't looked into it,
seeing that it was your property.  It seems a rather queer
proceeding--but you're always getting mixed up in queer
proceedings, Anne.  As for what is in it, the easiest way to find
out, I reckon, is to open it and see.  The key is tied to it.
Jack said Miss Emily said she wanted you to have it because she
loved you and saw her lost youth in you.  I guess she was a bit
delirious at the last and wandered a good deal.  She said she
wanted you 'to understand her.'"

I ran over to Orchard Slope and asked Diana to come over and
examine the trunk with me.  I hadn't received any instructions
about keeping its contents secret and I knew Miss Emily wouldn't
mind Diana knowing about them, whatever they were.

It was a cool, gray afternoon and we got back to Green Gables
just as the rain was beginning to fall.  When we went up to my
room the wind was rising and whistling through the boughs of the
big old Snow Queen outside of my window.  Diana was excited, and,
I really believe, a little bit frightened.

We opened the old trunk.  It was very small, and there was
nothing in it but a big cardboard box.  The box was tied up and
the knots sealed with wax.  We lifted it out and untied it.  I
touched Diana's fingers as we did it, and both of us exclaimed at
once, "How cold your hand is!"

In the box was a quaint, pretty, old-fashioned gown, not at all
faded, made of blue muslin, with a little darker blue flower in
it.  Under it we found a sash, a yellowed feather fan, and an
envelope full of withered flowers.  At the bottom of the box was
a little brown book.

It was small and thin, like a girl's exercise book, with leaves
that had once been blue and pink, but were now quite faded, and
stained in places.  On the fly leaf was written, in a very
delicate hand, "Emily Margaret Leith," and the same writing
covered the first few pages of the book.  The rest were not
written on at all.  We sat there on the floor, Diana and I, and
read the little book together, while the rain thudded against the
window panes.

                                                   June 19, 18--

    I came to-day to spend a while with Aunt Margaret in
    Charlottetown.  It is so pretty here, where she lives--and
    ever so much nicer than on the farm at home.  I have no cows
    to milk here or pigs to feed.  Aunt Margaret has given me
    such a lovely blue muslin dress, and I am to have it made to
    wear at a garden party out at Brighton next week.  I never
    had a muslin dress before--nothing but ugly prints and dark
    woolens.  I wish we were rich, like Aunt Margaret.  Aunt
    Margaret laughed when I said this, and declared she would
    give all her wealth for my youth and beauty and
    light-heartedness.  I am only eighteen and I know I am very
    merry but I wonder if I am really pretty.  It seems to me
    that I am when I look in Aunt Margaret's beautiful mirrors.
    They make me look very different from the old cracked one in
    my room at home which always twisted my face and turned me
    green.  But Aunt Margaret spoiled her compliment by telling
    me I look exactly as she did at my age.  If I thought I'd
    ever look as Aunt Margaret does now, I don't know what I'd
    do.  She is so fat and red.

                                                        June 29.

    Last week I went to the garden party and I met a young man
    called Paul Osborne.  He is a young artist from Montreal who
    is boarding over at Heppoch.  He is the handsomest man I have
    ever seen--very tall and slender, with dreamy, dark eyes and
    a pale, clever face.  I have not been able to keep from
    thinking about him ever since, and to-day he came over here
    and asked if he could paint me.  I felt very much flattered
    and so pleased when Aunt Margaret gave him permission.  He
    says he wants to paint me as "Spring," standing under the
    poplars where a fine rain of sunshine falls through.  I am to
    wear my blue muslin gown and a wreath of flowers on my hair.
    He says I have such beautiful hair.  He has never seen any of
    such a real pale gold.  Somehow it seems even prettier than
    ever to me since he praised it.

								Rate this book:0.0 / 0 votes