Next day in school was a hard one for Faith.
Mary Vance had told the tale of Adam, and all the
scholars, except the Blythes, thought it quite a joke.
The girls told Faith, between giggles, that it was
too bad, and the boys wrote sardonic notes of condolence
to her. Poor Faith went home from school feeling
her very soul raw and smarting within her.
“I’m going over to Ingleside to have a
talk with Mrs. Blythe,” she sobbed. “She
won’t laugh at me, as everybody else does.
I’ve just got to talk to somebody who understands
how bad I feel.”
She ran down through Rainbow Valley. Enchantment
had been at work the night before. A light snow
had fallen and the powdered firs were dreaming of
a spring to come and a joy to be. The long hill
beyond was richly purple with leafless beeches.
The rosy light of sunset lay over the world like
a pink kiss. Of all the airy, fairy places,
full of weird, elfin grace, Rainbow Valley that winter
evening was the most beautiful. But all its
dreamlike loveliness was lost on poor, sore-hearted
little Faith.
By the brook she came suddenly upon Rosemary West,
who was sitting on the old pine tree. She was
on her way home from Ingleside, where she had been
giving the girls their music lesson. She had
been lingering in Rainbow Valley quite a little time,
looking across its white beauty and roaming some by-ways
of dream. Judging from the expression of her
face, her thoughts were pleasant ones. Perhaps
the faint, occasional tinkle from the bells on the
Tree Lovers brought the little lurking smile to her
lips. Or perhaps it was occasioned by the consciousness
that John Meredith seldom failed to spend Monday evening
in the gray house on the white wind-swept hill.
Into Rosemary’s dreams burst Faith Meredith
full of rebellious bitterness. Faith stopped
abruptly when she saw Miss West. She did not
know her very well—just well enough to speak
to when they met. And she did not want to see
any one just then—except Mrs. Blythe.
She knew her eyes and nose were red and swollen and
she hated to have a stranger know she had been crying.
“Good evening, Miss West,” she said uncomfortably.
“What is the matter, Faith?” asked Rosemary
gently.
“Nothing,” said Faith rather shortly.
“Oh!” Rosemary smiled. “You
mean nothing that you can tell to outsiders, don’t
you?”
Faith looked at Miss West with sudden interest.
Here was a person who understood things. And
how pretty she was! How golden her hair was
under her plumy hat! How pink her cheeks were
over her velvet coat! How blue and companionable
her eyes were! Faith felt that Miss West could
be a lovely friend—if only she were a friend
instead of a stranger!
“I—I’m going up to tell Mrs.
Blythe,” said Faith. “She always
understands—she never laughs at us.
I always talk things over with her. It helps.”
