the Smiths, but her eyes roved hungrily over the painting. It was a soft delicate scene of a lake surrounded by trees. She had to admit the picture was pretty. She liked the feeling of sunlight on the green leaves. But the arrangement of lake and trees seemed too perfect to Emily. She remembered Mrs. Smithâs high voice saying how the landscape in England andFrance arranged itself into a composition so much better than the unruly wild scenery of British Columbia. The Smiths seemed to imply that only well-behaved landscapes could be painted, and that British Columbia was much too wild and disordered to interest any real artist. Emily bristled as she moved to the next painting.
Mrs. Belleville noticed her.
âThat one was painted right here in British Columbia,â Mrs. Belleville said with pride.
The painting Emily was now looking at showed faraway mountains partly hidden behind thin wispy mist. In the foreground, a small house had been given a curved roof like an Eastern temple. It didnât look like any of the houses Emily had ever seen, and the mountains and mist didnât look familiar either. Nothing about the picture looked like it had been painted in Canada.
âThe Smiths are such fine artists,â Mrs. Belleville was saying. âVictoria is lucky to have them compliment us with a visit.â
Emily turned away to hide her disgust. The Smithsâ visit a compliment to Victoria?Ha! The woman had obviously not heard the Smiths talk, and she hadnât noticed that they hadnât tried to paint what they saw here either. All they had painted were romantic imaginary landscapes.
An angry remark rose in Emilyâs throat, but she swallowed it. She might not like the Smiths or their impressions of Canada, but they did seem to know how to paint, and Emily didnât want to be sent out to sit in the buggy before she finished looking at all the paintings.
13
The Praying Chair
âThere!â Dede said once she and Emily had returned home. âNow that you have seen real art perhaps you will keep your mouth shut about matters you know nothing about.â
Emily didnât say a word. Her mind was full of confusing thoughts. She seethed at the Smithsâ snobbery, and their paintings had been disappointing, but Dede was right. The Smiths were real artists, and Emily wasnât. She would never be able to paint like they could. She didnât want to, she told herself. She wasnât interested in their phony, well-behaved landscapes. Despite all of this, seeing real paintings stirred something inside Emily â something that madeher want to race up the stairs to her easel, pick up her pencils and brushes and create something of her own.
She made herself climb slowly up the stairs to her room and not look at the easel that stood by the window. How simple and joyful it had been to do the sketch of Carlow, and how happy she had been to have art lessons. She wished she hadnât heard of the Smiths and their snobby painting ideas. Now she didnât know what to think. She imagined Carlow out in his kennel â his warm fur and comforting licks. At least there was nothing to be confused about where dogs were concerned. Sometimes it seemed they were the only things in her life Emily was sure about. No matter what, she still wanted a dog.
Emily had always wanted a dog of her own â a soft chubby puppy that would wag its tail and come to her whenever she called. It was almost December now. Her birthday was coming, and it had been a long time since Emily had last asked Father if she could have a puppy.
Emily put art out of her mind, and thought more and more about her birthday. On the first day of December she climbed out of bed into the chilly air and pulled out the basin of water that was kept under the bed. She dipped her hands in the icy water and splashed some onto her face. Father believed that children should wash with cold water every morning. If Emily skipped a
Mrs. Belleville noticed her.
âThat one was painted right here in British Columbia,â Mrs. Belleville said with pride.
The painting Emily was now looking at showed faraway mountains partly hidden behind thin wispy mist. In the foreground, a small house had been given a curved roof like an Eastern temple. It didnât look like any of the houses Emily had ever seen, and the mountains and mist didnât look familiar either. Nothing about the picture looked like it had been painted in Canada.
âThe Smiths are such fine artists,â Mrs. Belleville was saying. âVictoria is lucky to have them compliment us with a visit.â
Emily turned away to hide her disgust. The Smithsâ visit a compliment to Victoria?Ha! The woman had obviously not heard the Smiths talk, and she hadnât noticed that they hadnât tried to paint what they saw here either. All they had painted were romantic imaginary landscapes.
An angry remark rose in Emilyâs throat, but she swallowed it. She might not like the Smiths or their impressions of Canada, but they did seem to know how to paint, and Emily didnât want to be sent out to sit in the buggy before she finished looking at all the paintings.
13
The Praying Chair
âThere!â Dede said once she and Emily had returned home. âNow that you have seen real art perhaps you will keep your mouth shut about matters you know nothing about.â
Emily didnât say a word. Her mind was full of confusing thoughts. She seethed at the Smithsâ snobbery, and their paintings had been disappointing, but Dede was right. The Smiths were real artists, and Emily wasnât. She would never be able to paint like they could. She didnât want to, she told herself. She wasnât interested in their phony, well-behaved landscapes. Despite all of this, seeing real paintings stirred something inside Emily â something that madeher want to race up the stairs to her easel, pick up her pencils and brushes and create something of her own.
She made herself climb slowly up the stairs to her room and not look at the easel that stood by the window. How simple and joyful it had been to do the sketch of Carlow, and how happy she had been to have art lessons. She wished she hadnât heard of the Smiths and their snobby painting ideas. Now she didnât know what to think. She imagined Carlow out in his kennel â his warm fur and comforting licks. At least there was nothing to be confused about where dogs were concerned. Sometimes it seemed they were the only things in her life Emily was sure about. No matter what, she still wanted a dog.
Emily had always wanted a dog of her own â a soft chubby puppy that would wag its tail and come to her whenever she called. It was almost December now. Her birthday was coming, and it had been a long time since Emily had last asked Father if she could have a puppy.
Emily put art out of her mind, and thought more and more about her birthday. On the first day of December she climbed out of bed into the chilly air and pulled out the basin of water that was kept under the bed. She dipped her hands in the icy water and splashed some onto her face. Father believed that children should wash with cold water every morning. If Emily skipped a
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