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edwindvinas
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Dataset card Data Studio Files
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But then she liked everything about him—his tawny hair—his whimsical
smiles—the little glints of fun in his eyes—his loyal affection for
that unspeakable Lady Jane—his habit of sitting with his hands in his
pockets, his chin sunk on his breast, looking up from under his
mismated eyebrows. She liked his nice voice which sounded as if it
might become caressing or wooing with very little provocation. She was
at times almost afraid to let herself think these thoughts. They were
so vivid that she felt as if the others _must_ know what she was
thinking.
“I’ve been watching a woodpecker all day,” he said one evening on the
shaky old back verandah. His account of the woodpecker’s doings was
satisfying. He had often some gay or cunning little anecdote of the
wood folk to tell them. And sometimes he and Roaring Abel smoked
fiercely the whole evening and never said a word, while Cissy lay in
the hammock swung between the verandah posts and Valancy sat idly on
the steps, her hands clasped over her knees, and wondered dreamily if
she were really Valancy Stirling and if it were only three weeks since
she had left the ugly old house on Elm Street.
The barrens lay before her in a white moon splendour, where dozens of
little rabbits frisked. Barney, when he liked, could sit down on the
edge of the barrens and lure those rabbits right to him by some
mysterious sorcery he possessed. Valancy had once seen a squirrel leap
from a scrub pine to his shoulder and sit there chattering to him. It
reminded her of John Foster.
It was one of the delights of Valancy’s new life that she could read
John Foster’s books as often and as long as she liked. She could read
them in bed if she wanted to. She read them all to Cissy, who loved
them. She also tried to read them to Abel and Barney, who did not love
them. Abel was bored and Barney politely refused to listen at all.
“Piffle,” said Barney.
CHAPTER XIX
Of course, the Stirlings had not left the poor maniac alone all this
time or refrained from heroic efforts to rescue her perishing soul and
reputation. Uncle James, whose lawyer had helped him as little as his
doctor, came one day and, finding Valancy alone in the kitchen, as he
supposed, gave her a terrible talking-to—told her she was breaking her
mother’s heart and disgracing her family.
“But _why_?” said Valancy, not ceasing to scour her porridge pot
decently. “I’m doing honest work for honest pay. What is there in that
that is disgraceful?”
“Don’t quibble, Valancy,” said Uncle James solemnly. “This is no fit
place for you to be, and you know it. Why, I’m told that jail-bird,
Snaith, is hanging around here every evening.”
“Not _every_ evening,” said Valancy reflectively. “No, not quite every
evening.”
“It’s—it’s insufferable!” said Uncle James violently. “Valancy, you
_must_ come home. We won’t judge you harshly. I assure you we won’t.
We will overlook all this.”
“Thank you,” said Valancy.
“Have you no sense of shame?” demanded Uncle James.
“Oh, yes. But the things _I_ am ashamed of are not the things _you_ are
ashamed of.” Valancy proceeded to rinse her dishcloth meticulously.
Still was Uncle James patient. He gripped the sides of his chair and
ground his teeth.
“We know your mind isn’t just right. We’ll make allowances. But you
_must_ come home. You shall not stay here with that drunken,
blasphemous old scoundrel——”
“Were you by any chance referring to _me_, _Mister_ Stirling?” demanded
Roaring Abel, suddenly appearing in the doorway of the back verandah
where he had been smoking a peaceful pipe and listening to “old Jim
Stirling’s” tirade with huge enjoyment! His red beard fairly bristled
with indignation and his huge eyebrows quivered. But cowardice was not
among James Stirling’s shortcomings.
“I was. And, furthermore, I want to tell you that you have acted an
iniquitous part in luring this weak and unfortunate girl away from her
home and friends, and I will have you punished yet for it——”
James Stirling got no further. Roaring Abel crossed the kitchen at a
bound, caught him by his collar and his trousers, and hurled him
through the doorway and over the garden paling with as little apparent
effort as he might have employed in whisking a troublesome kitten out
of the way.
“The next time you come back here,” he bellowed, “I’ll throw you
through the window—and all the better if the window is shut! Coming
here, thinking yourself God to put the world to rights!”
Valancy candidly and unashamedly owned to herself that she had seen few
more satisfying sights than Uncle James’ coat-tails flying out into the