CHAPTER XII

lflaughing.Thatdinnerhadbeenfun.Andithadallbeensosimple.Shehadmerelysaidthethingsshehadalwaysthought.Theirfaces—oh,theirfaces!UncleBenjamin—poor,flabbergastedUncleBenjamin!Valancyfeltquitesurehewouldmakeanewwillthatverynight.OlivewouldgetValancy’sshareofhisfathoard.OlivehadalwaysgotValancy’sshareofeverything.Rememberthedust-pile. Tolaughatherclanasshehadalwayswantedtolaughwasallthesatisfactionshecouldgetoutoflifenow.Butshethoughtitwasratherpitifulthatitshouldbeso.Mightshenotpityherselfalittlewhennobodyelsedid? Valancygotupandwenttoherwindow.Themoist,beautifulwindblowingacrossgrovesofyoung-leafedwildtreestouchedherfacewiththecaressofawise,tender,oldfriend.ThelombardiesinMrs.Tredgold’slawn,offtotheleft—Valancycouldjustseethembetweenthestableandtheoldcarriage-shop—wereindarkpurplesilhouetteagainstaclearskyandtherewasamilk-white,pulsatingstarjustoveroneofthem,likealivingpearlonasilver-greenlake.Farbeyondthestationweretheshadowy,purple-hoodedwoodsaroundLakeMistawis.Awhite,filmymisthungoverthemandjustaboveitwasafaint,youngcrescent.Valancylookedatitoverherthinleftshoulder. “Iwish,”shesaidwhimsically,“thatImayhaveonelittledust-pilebeforeIdie.”