“What would women do if headaches had never
been invented, St. George? But never mind, Saint.
We’ll just wink the other eye for a few weeks.
I admit I don’t feel comfortable myself, George.
I feel as if I had drowned a kitten. But she
promised, Saint—and she was the one to
offer it, George. Bismillah!”
CHAPTER XXIII. THE GOOD-CONDUCT CLUB
A light rain had been falling all day—a
little, delicate, beautiful spring rain, that somehow
seemed to hint and whisper of mayflowers and wakening
violets. The harbour and the gulf and the low-lying
shore fields had been dim with pearl-gray mists.
But now in the evening the rain had ceased and the
mists had blown out to sea. Clouds sprinkled
the sky over the harbour like little fiery roses.
Beyond it the hills were dark against a spendthrift
splendour of daffodil and crimson. A great silvery
evening star was watching over the bar. A brisk,
dancing, new-sprung wind was blowing up from Rainbow
Valley, resinous with the odours of fir and damp mosses.
It crooned in the old spruces around the graveyard
and ruffled Faith’s splendid curls as she sat
on Hezekiah Pollock’s tombstone with her arms
round Mary Vance and Una. Carl and Jerry were
sitting opposite them on another tombstone and all
were rather full of mischief after being cooped up
all day.
“The air just shines to-night, doesn’t
it? It’s been washed so clean, you see,”
said Faith happily.
Mary Vance eyed her gloomily. Knowing what she
knew, or fancied she knew, Mary considered that Faith
was far too light-hearted. Mary had something
on her mind to say and she meant to say it before
she went home. Mrs. Elliott had sent her up to
the manse with some new-laid eggs, and had told her
not to stay longer than half an hour. The half
hour was nearly up, so Mary uncurled her cramped legs
from under her and said abruptly,
“Never mind about the air. Just you listen
to me. You manse young ones have just got to
behave yourselves better than you’ve been doing
this spring—that’s all there is to
it. I just come up to-night a-purpose to tell
you so. The way people are talking about you
is awful.”
“What have we been doing now?” cried Faith
in amazement, pulling her arm away from Mary.
Una’s lips trembled and her sensitive little
soul shrank within her. Mary was always so brutally
frank. Jerry began to whistle out of bravado.
He meant to let Mary see he didn’t care for
her tirades. Their behaviour was no business
of hers anyway. What right had she
to lecture them on their conduct?
“Doing now! You’re doing all
the time,” retorted Mary. “Just as
soon as the talk about one of your didos fades away
you do something else to start it up again.
It seems to me you haven’t any idea of how manse
children ought to behave!”
“Maybe you can tell us,” said Jerry,
killingly sarcastic.
Copyrights
Rainbow Valley from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
