CHAPTER XVII

WhenValancyhadlivedforaweekatRoaringAbel’sshefeltasifyearshadseparatedherfromheroldlifeandallthepeopleshehadknowninit.Theywerebeginningtoseemremote—dream-like—far-away—andasthedayswentontheyseemedstillmoreso,untiltheyceasedtomatteraltogether. Shewashappy.NobodyeverbotheredherwithconundrumsorinsistedongivingherPurplePills.NobodycalledherDossorworriedheraboutcatchingcold.Therewerenoquiltstopiece,noabominablerubber-planttowater,noice-coldmaternaltantrumstoendure.Shecouldbealonewheneversheliked,gotobedwhensheliked,sneezewhensheliked.Inthelong,wondrous,northerntwilights,whenCissywasasleepandRoaringAbelaway,shecouldsitforhoursontheshakybackverandahsteps,lookingoutoverthebarrenstothehillsbeyond,coveredwiththeirfine,purplebloom,listeningtothefriendlywindsingingwild,sweetmelodiesinthelittlespruces,anddrinkinginthearomaofthesunnedgrasses,untildarknessflowedoverthelandscapelikeacool,welcomewave. Sometimesofanafternoon,whenCissywasstrongenough,thetwogirlswentintothebarrensandlookedatthewood-flowers.Buttheydidnotpickany.ValancyhadreadtoCissythegospelthereofaccordingtoJohnFoste