Datasets:
edwindvinas
/
testdataset

Dataset card Data Studio Files
xet
 Community
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“When do you think Bernie will be back?”
“I don’t know—not before night probably.”
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know that either. Likely to the woods—up back.”
“So he doesn’t tell you his comings and goings, either? Bernie was
always a secretive young devil. Never understood him. Just like his
poor mother. But I thought a lot of him. It hurt me when he disappeared
as he did. Eleven years ago. I haven’t seen my boy for eleven years.”
“Eleven years.” Valancy was surprised. “It’s only six since he came
here.”
“Oh, he was in the Klondike before that—and all over the world. He used
to drop me a line now and then—never give any clue to where he was but
just a line to say he was all right. I s’pose he’s told you all about
it.”
“No. I know nothing of his past life,” said Valancy with sudden
eagerness. She wanted to know—she must know now. It hadn’t mattered
before. Now she must know all. And she could never hear it from Barney.
She might never even see him again. If she did, it would not be to talk
of his past.
“What happened? Why did he leave his home? Tell me. Tell me.”
“Well, it ain’t much of a story. Just a young fool gone mad because of
a quarrel with his girl. Only Bernie was a stubborn fool. Always
stubborn. You never could make that boy do anything he didn’t want to
do. From the day he was born. Yet he was always a quiet, gentle little
chap, too. Good as gold. His poor mother died when he was only two
years old. I’d just begun to make money with my Hair Vigor. I’d dreamed
the formula for it, you see. Some dream that. The cash rolled in.
Bernie had everything he wanted. I sent him to the best schools—private
schools. I meant to make a gentleman of him. Never had any chance
myself. Meant he should have every chance. He went through McGill. Got
honours and all that. I wanted him to go in for law. He hankered after
journalism and stuff like that. Wanted me to buy a paper for him—or
back him in publishing what he called a ‘real, worthwhile,
honest-to-goodness Canadian Magazine.’ I s’pose I’d have done it—I
always did what he wanted me to do. Wasn’t he all I had to live for? I
wanted him to be happy. And he never was happy. Can you believe it? Not
that he said so. But I’d always a feeling that he wasn’t happy.
Everything he wanted—all the money he could spend—his own bank
account—travel—seeing the world—but he wasn’t happy. Not till he fell
in love with Ethel Traverse. Then he was happy for a little while.”
The cloud had reached the sun and a great, chill, purple shadow came
swiftly over Mistawis. It touched the Blue Castle—rolled over it.
Valancy shivered.
“Yes,” she said, with painful eagerness, though every word was cutting
her to the heart. “What—was—she—like?”
“Prettiest girl in Montreal,” said Dr. Redfern. “Oh, she was a looker,
all right. Eh? Gold hair—shiny as silk—great, big, soft, black
eyes—skin like milk and roses. Don’t wonder Bernie fell for her. And
brains as well. _She_ wasn’t a bit of fluff. B. A. from McGill. A
thoroughbred, too. One of the best families. But a bit lean in the
purse. Eh! Bernie was mad about her. Happiest young fool you ever saw.
Then—the bust-up.”
“What happened?” Valancy had taken off her hat and was absently
thrusting a pin in and out of it. Good Luck was purring beside her.
Banjo was regarding Dr. Redfern with suspicion. Nip and Tuck were
lazily cawing in the pines. Mistawis was beckoning. Everything was the
same. Nothing was the same. It was a hundred years since yesterday.
Yesterday, at this time, she and Barney had been eating a belated
dinner here with laughter. Laughter? Valancy felt that she had done
with laughter forever. And with tears, for that matter. She had no
further use for either of them.
“Blest if I know, my dear. Some fool quarrel, I suppose. Bernie just
lit out—disappeared. He wrote me from the Yukon. Said his engagement
was broken and he wasn’t coming back. And not to try to hunt him up
because he was never coming back. I didn’t. What was the use? I knew
Bernie. I went on piling, up money because there wasn’t anything else
to do. But I was mighty lonely. All I lived for was them little notes
now and then from Bernie—Klondike—England—South
Africa—China—everywhere. I thought maybe he’d come back some day to his
lonesome old dad. Then six years ago even the letters stopped. I didn’t
hear a word of or from him till last Christmas.”
“Did he write?”
“No. But he drew a check for fifteen thousand dollars on his bank
account. The bank manager is a friend of mine—one of my biggest
shareholders. He’d always promised me he’d let me know if Bernie drew
any checks. Bernie had fifty thousand there. And he’d never touched a
cent of it till last Christmas. The check was made out to Aynsley’s,
Toronto——”
“Aynsley’s?” Valancy heard herself saying Aynsley’s! She had a box on
her dressing-table with the Aynsley trademark.
“Yes. The big jewellery house there. After I’d thought it over a while,