CHAPTER XVI

ValancyhadwalkedouttoRoaringAbel’shouseontheMistawisroadunderaskyofpurpleandamber,withaqueerexhilarationandexpectancyinherheart.Backthere,behindher,hermotherandCousinStickleswerecrying—overthemselves,notoverher.Butherethewindwasinherface,soft,dew-wet,cool,blowingalongthegrassyroads.Oh,shelovedthewind!Therobinswerewhistlingsleepilyinthefirsalongthewayandthemoistairwasfragrantwiththetangofbalsam.Bigcarswentpurringpastinthevioletdusk—thestreamofsummertouriststoMuskokahadalreadybegun—butValancydidnotenvyanyoftheiroccupants.Muskokacottagesmightbecharming,butbeyond,inthesunsetskies,amongthespiresofthefirs,herBlueCastletowered.Shebrushedtheoldyearsandhabitsandinhibitionsawayfromherlikedeadleaves.Shewouldnotbelitteredwiththem. RoaringAbel’srambling,tumble-downoldhousewassituatedaboutthreemilesfromthevillage,ontheveryedgeof“upback,”asthesparselysettled,hilly,woodedcountryaroundMistawiswascalledvernacularly.Itdidnot,itmustbeconfessed,lookmuchlikeaBlueCastle. IthadoncebeenasnugplaceenoughinthedayswhenAbelGayhadbeenyoungandprosperous,andthepunning,archedsignoverthegate—“A.Gay,Carpenter,”hadbeenfineandfreshlypainted.Nowitwasafaded,drearyoldplace,withaleprous,patchedroofandshuttershangingaskew.Abelneverseemedtodoanycarpenterjobsabouthisownhouse.Ithadalistlessair,asiftiredoflife.Therewasadwindlinggroveofragged,crone-likeoldsprucesbehindit.Thegarden,whichCissyusedtokeepneatandpretty,hadrunwild.Ontwosidesofthehousewerefieldsfullofnothingbutmulleins.Behindthehousewasalongstretchofuselessbarrens,fullofscrubpinesandspruces,withhereandthereablossomingbitofwildcherry,runningbacktoabeltoftimberontheshoresofLakeMistawis,twomilesaway.Arough,rocky,boulder-strewnlaneranthroughittothewoods—alanewhitewithpestiferous,beautifuldaisies. RoaringAbelmetValancyatthedoor. “Soyou’vecome,”hesaidincredulously.“Inevers’posedthatruckofSti