CHAPTER XXX

Ortheyjustprowledandexploredthroughwoodsthatalwaysseemedtobeexpectingsomethingwonderfultohappen.Atleast,thatwasthewayValancyfeltaboutthem.Downthenexthollow—overthenexthill—youwouldfindit. “Wedon’tknowwherewe’regoing,butisn’titfuntogo?”Barneyusedtosay. Onceortwicenightovertookthem,toofarfromtheirBlueCastletogetback.ButBarneymadeafragrantbedofbrackenandfirboughsandtheysleptonitdreamlessly,underaceilingofoldspruceswithmosshangingfromthem,whilebeyondthemmoonlightandthemurmurofpinesblendedtogethersothatonecouldhardlytellwhichwaslightandwhichwassound. Therewererainydays,ofcourse,whenMuskokawasawetgreenland.DayswhenshowersdriftedacrossMistawislikepaleghostsofrainandtheyneverthoughtofstayinginbecauseofit.Dayswhenitrainedinrightgoodearnestandtheyhadtostayin.ThenBarneyshuthimselfupinBluebeard’sChamberandValancyread,ordreamedonthewolfskinswithGoodLuckpurringbesideherandBanjowatchingthemsuspiciouslyfromhisownpeculiarchair.OnSundayeveningstheypaddledacrosstoapointoflandandwalkedfromtherethroughthewoodstothelittleFreeMethodistchurch.OnefeltreallytoohappyforSunday.ValancyhadneverreallylikedSundaysbe