edwindvinas/testdataset · Datasets at Hugging Face

text stringlengths 0 72
it was said, was furnished from attic to cellar, in complete readiness
for its mistress.

“I don’t envy Jennie the man,” thought Valancy sincerely—Clayton
Markley was not one of her many ideals—“but I _do_ envy her the house.
It’s such a nice young house. Oh, if I could only have a house of my
own—ever so poor, so tiny—but my own! But then,” she added bitterly,
“there is no use in yowling for the moon when you can’t even get a
tallow candle.”

In dreamland nothing would do Valancy but a castle of pale sapphire. In
real life she would have been fully satisfied with a little house of
her own. She envied Jennie Lloyd more fiercely than ever today. Jennie
was not so much better looking than she was, and not so very much
younger. Yet she was to have this delightful house. And the nicest
little Wedgwood teacups—Valancy had seen them; an open fireplace, and
monogrammed linen; hemstitched tablecloths, and china-closets. Why did
_everything_ come to some girls and _nothing_ to others? It wasn’t
fair.

Valancy was once more seething with rebellion as she walked along, a
prim, dowdy little figure in her shabby raincoat and three-year-old
hat, splashed occasionally by the mud of a passing motor with its
insulting shrieks. Motors were still rather a novelty in Deerwood,
though they were common in Port Lawrence, and most of the summer
residents up at Muskoka had them. In Deerwood only some of the smart
set had them; for even Deerwood was divided into sets. There was the
smart set—the intellectual set—the old-family set—of which the
Stirlings were members—the common run, and a few pariahs. Not one of
the Stirling clan had as yet condescended to a motor, though Olive was
teasing her father to have one. Valancy had never even been in a
motorcar. But she did not hanker after this. In truth, she felt rather
afraid of motorcars, especially at night. They seemed to be too much
like big purring beasts that might turn and crush you—or make some
terrible savage leap somewhere. On the steep mountain trails around her
Blue Castle only gaily caparisoned steeds might proudly pace; in real
life Valancy would have been quite contented to drive in a buggy behind
a nice horse. She got a buggy drive only when some uncle or cousin
remembered to fling her “a chance,” like a bone to a dog.




CHAPTER V


Of course she must buy the tea in Uncle Benjamin’s grocery-store. To
buy it anywhere else was unthinkable. Yet Valancy hated to go to Uncle
Benjamin’s store on her twenty-ninth birthday. There was no hope that
he would not remember it.

“Why,” demanded Uncle Benjamin, leeringly, as he tied up her tea, “are
young ladies like bad grammarians?”

Valancy, with Uncle Benjamin’s will in the background of her mind, said
meekly, “I don’t know. Why?”

“Because,” chuckled Uncle Benjamin, “they can’t decline matrimony.”

The two clerks, Joe Hammond and Claude Bertram, chuckled also, and
Valancy disliked them a little more than ever. On the first day Claude
Bertram had seen her in the store she had heard him whisper to Joe,
“Who is that?” And Joe had said, “Valancy Stirling—one of the Deerwood
old maids.” “Curable or incurable?” Claude had asked with a snicker,
evidently thinking the question very clever. Valancy smarted anew with
the sting of that old recollection.

“Twenty-nine,” Uncle Benjamin was saying. “Dear me, Doss, you’re
dangerously near the second corner and not even thinking of getting
married yet. Twenty-nine. It seems impossible.”

Then Uncle Benjamin said an original thing. Uncle Benjamin said, “How
time does fly!”

“_I_ think it _crawls_,” said Valancy passionately. Passion was so
alien to Uncle Benjamin’s conception of Valancy that he didn’t know
what to make of her. To cover his confusion, he asked another conundrum
as he tied up her beans—Cousin Stickles had remembered at the last
moment that they must have beans. Beans were cheap and filling.

“What two ages are apt to prove illusory?” asked Uncle Benjamin; and,
not waiting for Valancy to “give it up,” he added, “Mir-age and
marriage.”

“M-i-r-a-g-e is pronounced _mirazh_,” said Valancy shortly, picking up
her tea and her beans. For the moment she did not care whether Uncle
Benjamin cut her out of his will or not. She walked out of the store
while Uncle Benjamin stared after her with his mouth open. Then he
shook his head.

“Poor Doss is taking it hard,” he said.

Valancy was sorry by the time she reached the next crossing. Why had
she lost her patience like that? Uncle Benjamin would be annoyed and
would likely tell her mother that Doss had been impertinent—“to
_me_!”—and her mother would lecture her for a week.

“I’ve held my tongue for twenty years,” thought Valancy. “Why couldn’t
I have held it once more?”

it was said, was furnished from attic to cellar, in complete readiness

for its mistress.

“I don’t envy Jennie the man,” thought Valancy sincerely—Clayton

Markley was not one of her many ideals—“but I _do_ envy her the house.

It’s such a nice young house. Oh, if I could only have a house of my

own—ever so poor, so tiny—but my own! But then,” she added bitterly,

“there is no use in yowling for the moon when you can’t even get a

tallow candle.”

In dreamland nothing would do Valancy but a castle of pale sapphire. In

real life she would have been fully satisfied with a little house of

her own. She envied Jennie Lloyd more fiercely than ever today. Jennie

was not so much better looking than she was, and not so very much

younger. Yet she was to have this delightful house. And the nicest

little Wedgwood teacups—Valancy had seen them; an open fireplace, and

monogrammed linen; hemstitched tablecloths, and china-closets. Why did

_everything_ come to some girls and _nothing_ to others? It wasn’t

fair.

Valancy was once more seething with rebellion as she walked along, a

prim, dowdy little figure in her shabby raincoat and three-year-old

hat, splashed occasionally by the mud of a passing motor with its

insulting shrieks. Motors were still rather a novelty in Deerwood,

though they were common in Port Lawrence, and most of the summer

residents up at Muskoka had them. In Deerwood only some of the smart

set had them; for even Deerwood was divided into sets. There was the

smart set—the intellectual set—the old-family set—of which the

Stirlings were members—the common run, and a few pariahs. Not one of

the Stirling clan had as yet condescended to a motor, though Olive was

teasing her father to have one. Valancy had never even been in a

motorcar. But she did not hanker after this. In truth, she felt rather

afraid of motorcars, especially at night. They seemed to be too much

like big purring beasts that might turn and crush you—or make some

terrible savage leap somewhere. On the steep mountain trails around her

Blue Castle only gaily caparisoned steeds might proudly pace; in real

life Valancy would have been quite contented to drive in a buggy behind

a nice horse. She got a buggy drive only when some uncle or cousin

remembered to fling her “a chance,” like a bone to a dog.

CHAPTER V

Of course she must buy the tea in Uncle Benjamin’s grocery-store. To

buy it anywhere else was unthinkable. Yet Valancy hated to go to Uncle

Benjamin’s store on her twenty-ninth birthday. There was no hope that

he would not remember it.

“Why,” demanded Uncle Benjamin, leeringly, as he tied up her tea, “are

young ladies like bad grammarians?”

Valancy, with Uncle Benjamin’s will in the background of her mind, said

meekly, “I don’t know. Why?”

“Because,” chuckled Uncle Benjamin, “they can’t decline matrimony.”

The two clerks, Joe Hammond and Claude Bertram, chuckled also, and

Valancy disliked them a little more than ever. On the first day Claude

Bertram had seen her in the store she had heard him whisper to Joe,

“Who is that?” And Joe had said, “Valancy Stirling—one of the Deerwood

old maids.” “Curable or incurable?” Claude had asked with a snicker,

evidently thinking the question very clever. Valancy smarted anew with

the sting of that old recollection.

“Twenty-nine,” Uncle Benjamin was saying. “Dear me, Doss, you’re

dangerously near the second corner and not even thinking of getting

married yet. Twenty-nine. It seems impossible.”

Then Uncle Benjamin said an original thing. Uncle Benjamin said, “How

time does fly!”

“_I_ think it _crawls_,” said Valancy passionately. Passion was so

alien to Uncle Benjamin’s conception of Valancy that he didn’t know

what to make of her. To cover his confusion, he asked another conundrum

as he tied up her beans—Cousin Stickles had remembered at the last

moment that they must have beans. Beans were cheap and filling.

“What two ages are apt to prove illusory?” asked Uncle Benjamin; and,

not waiting for Valancy to “give it up,” he added, “Mir-age and

marriage.”

“M-i-r-a-g-e is pronounced _mirazh_,” said Valancy shortly, picking up

her tea and her beans. For the moment she did not care whether Uncle

Benjamin cut her out of his will or not. She walked out of the store

while Uncle Benjamin stared after her with his mouth open. Then he

shook his head.

“Poor Doss is taking it hard,” he said.

Valancy was sorry by the time she reached the next crossing. Why had

she lost her patience like that? Uncle Benjamin would be annoyed and

would likely tell her mother that Doss had been impertinent—“to

_me_!”—and her mother would lecture her for a week.

“I’ve held my tongue for twenty years,” thought Valancy. “Why couldn’t

I have held it once more?”