“I wouldn’t if I was you, Father. The editor of that paper is an infidel.”
“Very impident of him, to be sure,” said “Father,” and put his money back in his wallet.
“Delicious!” murmured Emily when she was out of ear-shot. “I must jot that down in my Jimmy-book.”
As a rule the women received them more politely than the men, but the men gave them more subscriptions. Indeed, the only woman who subscribed was an elderly dame whose heart Emily won by listening sympathetically to a long account of the beauty and virtues of the said elderly lady’s deceased pet Thomas-cat—though it must be admitted that she whispered aside to Ilse at its conclusion,
“Charlottetown papers please copy.”
Their worst experience was with a man who treated them to a tirade of abuse because his politics differed from the politics of the Times and he seemed to hold them responsible for it. When he halted for breath Emily stood up.
“Kick the dog—then you'll’ feel better,” she said calmly, as she stalked out. Ilse was white with rage.
“Could you have believed people could be so detestable?” she exploded. “To rate us as if we were responsible for the politics of the Times! Well—Human Nature from a Canvasser’s Point of View is to be the subject of my essay. I'll describe that man and picture myself telling him all the things I wanted to and didn’t!”
Emily broke into laughter—and found her temper again.
“You can. I can’t even take that revenge—my promise to Aunt Elizabeth binds me. I shall have to stick to facts. Come, let’s not think of the brute. After all, we've got quite a lot of subscriptions already—and there’s a clump of white birches in which it is reasonably certain a dryad lives—and that cloud over the firs looks like the faint, golden ghost of a cloud.”
