Datasets:
edwindvinas
/
testdataset

Dataset card Data Studio Files
xet
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I’m a little girl again—and you have come here to play with me. I used
to wish that long ago—wish that you could come. I knew you couldn’t, of
course. But how I did wish it! You always seemed so different from the
other girls—so kind and sweet—and as if you had something in yourself
nobody knew about—some dear, pretty secret. _Had_ you, Valancy?”
“I had my Blue Castle,” said Valancy, laughing a little. She was
pleased that Cissy had thought of her like this. She had never
suspected that anybody liked or admired or wondered about her. She told
Cissy all about her Blue Castle. She had never told any one about it
before.
“Every one has a Blue Castle, I think,” said Cissy softly. “Only every
one has a different name for it. _I_ had mine—once.”
She put her two thin little hands over her face. She did not tell
Valancy—then—who had destroyed her Blue Castle. But Valancy knew that,
whoever it was, it was not Barney Snaith.
CHAPTER XVIII
Valancy was acquainted with Barney by now—well acquainted, it seemed,
though she had spoken to him only a few times. But then she had felt
just as well acquainted with him the first time they had met. She had
been in the garden at twilight, hunting for a few stalks of white
narcissus for Cissy’s room when she heard that terrible old Grey
Slosson coming down through the woods from Mistawis—one could hear it
miles away. Valancy did not look up as it drew near, thumping over the
rocks in that crazy lane. She had never looked up, though Barney had
gone racketting past every evening since she had been at Roaring
Abel’s. This time he did not racket past. The old Grey Slosson stopped
with even more terrible noises than it made going. Valancy was
conscious that Barney had sprung from it and was leaning over the
ramshackle gate. She suddenly straightened up and looked into his face.
Their eyes met—Valancy was suddenly conscious of a delicious weakness.
Was one of her heart attacks coming on?—But this was a new symptom.
His eyes, which she had always thought brown, now seen close, were deep
violet—translucent and intense. Neither of his eyebrows looked like the
other. He was thin—too thin—she wished she could feed him up a bit—she
wished she could sew the buttons on his coat—and make him cut his
hair—and shave every day. There was _something_ in his face—one hardly
knew what it was. Tiredness? Sadness? Disillusionment? He had dimples
in his thin cheeks when he smiled. All these thoughts flashed through
Valancy’s mind in that one moment while his eyes looked into hers.
“Good-evening, Miss Stirling.”
Nothing could be more commonplace and conventional. Any one might have
said it. But Barney Snaith had a way of saying things that gave them
poignancy. When he said good-evening you felt that it _was_ a good
evening and that it was partly his doing that it was. Also, you felt
that some of the credit was yours. Valancy felt all this vaguely, but
she couldn’t imagine why she was trembling from head to foot—it _must_
be her heart. If only he didn’t notice it!
“I’m going over to the Port,” Barney was saying. “Can I acquire merit
by getting or doing anything there for you or Cissy?”
“Will you get some salt codfish for us?” said Valancy. It was the only
thing she could think of. Roaring Abel had expressed a desire that day
for a dinner of boiled salt codfish. When her knights came riding to
the Blue Castle, Valancy had sent them on many a quest, but she had
never asked any of them to get her salt codfish.
“Certainly. You’re sure there’s nothing else? Lots of room in Lady Jane
Grey Slosson. And she always gets back _some_ time, does Lady Jane.”
“I don’t think there’s anything more,” said Valancy. She knew he would
bring oranges for Cissy anyhow—he always did.
Barney did not turn away at once. He was silent for a little. Then he
said, slowly and whimsically:
“Miss Stirling, you’re a brick! You’re a whole cartload of bricks. To
come here and look after Cissy—under the circumstances.”
“There’s nothing so bricky about that,” said Valancy. “I’d nothing else
to do. And—I like it here. I don’t feel as if I’d done anything
specially meritorious. Mr. Gay is paying me fair wages. I never earned
any money before—and I like it.” It seemed so easy to talk to Barney
Snaith, someway—this terrible Barney Snaith of the lurid tales and
mysterious past—as easy and natural as if talking to herself.
“All the money in the world couldn’t buy what you’re doing for Cissy
Gay,” said Barney. “It’s splendid and fine of you. And if there’s
anything I can do to help you in any way, you have only to let me know.
If Roaring Abel ever tries to annoy you——”
“He doesn’t. He’s lovely to me. I like Roaring Abel,” said Valancy
frankly.
“So do I. But there’s one stage of his drunkenness—perhaps you haven’t
encountered it yet—when he sings ribald songs——”
“Oh, yes. He came home last night like that. Cissy and I just went to