CHAPTER XII

hwasallthesatisfactionshecouldgetoutoflifenow.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.”