CHAPTER XX

When Abel Gay paid Valancy her first month’s wages—which he did

promptly, in bills reeking with the odour of tobacco and

whiskey—Valancy went into Deerwood and spent every cent of it. She got

a pretty green crêpe dress with a girdle of crimson beads, at a bargain

sale, a pair of silk stockings, to match, and a little crinkled green

hat with a crimson rose in it. She even bought a foolish little

beribboned and belaced nightgown.

She passed the house on Elm Street twice—Valancy never even thought

about it as “home”—but saw no one. No doubt her mother was sitting in

the room this lovely June evening playing solitaire—and cheating.

Valancy knew that Mrs. Frederick always cheated. She never lost a game.

Most of the people Valancy met looked at her seriously and passed her

with a cool nod. Nobody stopped to speak to her.

Valancy put on her green dress when she got home. Then she took it off

again. She felt so miserably undressed in its low neck and short

sleeves. And that low, crimson girdle around the hips seemed positively

indecent. She hung it up in the closet, feeling flatly that she had

wasted her money. She would never have the courage to wear that dress.

John Foster’s arraignment of fear had no power to stiffen her against

this. In this one thing habit and custom were still all-powerful. Yet

she sighed as she went down to meet Barney Snaith in her old

snuff-brown silk. That green thing had been very becoming—she had seen

so much in her one ashamed glance. Above it her eyes had looked like

odd brown jewels and the girdle had given her flat figure an entirely

different appearance. She wished she could have left it on. But there

were some things John Foster did not know.

Every Sunday evening Valancy went to the little Free Methodist church

in a valley on the edge of “up back”—a spireless little grey building

among the pines, with a few sunken graves and mossy gravestones in the

small, paling-encircled, grass-grown square beside it. She liked the

minister who preached there. He was so simple and sincere. An old man,

who lived in Port Lawrence and came out by the lake in a little

disappearing propeller boat to give a free service to the people of the

small, stony farms back of the hills, who would otherwise never have

heard any gospel message. She liked the simple service and the fervent

singing. She liked to sit by the open window and look out into the pine

woods. The congregation was always small. The Free Methodists were few

in number, poor and generally illiterate. But Valancy loved those

Sunday evenings. For the first time in her life she liked going to

church. The rumour reached Deerwood that she had “turned Free

Methodist” and sent Mrs. Frederick to bed for a day. But Valancy had

not turned anything. She went to the church because she liked it and

because in some inexplicable way it did her good. Old Mr. Towers

believed exactly what he preached and somehow it made a tremendous

difference.

Oddly enough, Roaring Abel disapproved of her going to the hill church

as strongly as Mrs. Frederick herself could have done. He had “no use

for Free Methodists. He was a Presbyterian.” But Valancy went in spite

of him.

“We’ll hear something worse than _that_ about her soon,” Uncle Benjamin

predicted gloomily.

They did.

Valancy could not quite explain, even to herself, just why she wanted

to go to that party. It was a dance “up back” at Chidley Corners; and

dances at Chidley Corners were not, as a rule, the sort of assemblies

where well-brought-up young ladies were found. Valancy knew it was

coming off, for Roaring Abel had been engaged as one of the fiddlers.

But the idea of going had never occurred to her until Roaring Abel

himself broached it at supper.

“You come with me to the dance,” he ordered. “It’ll do you good—put

some colour in your face. You look peaked—you want something to liven

you up.”

Valancy found herself suddenly wanting to go. She knew nothing at all

of what dances at Chidley Corners were apt to be like. Her idea of

dances had been fashioned on the correct affairs that went by that name

in Deerwood and Port Lawrence. Of course she knew the Corners’ dance

wouldn’t be just like them. Much more informal, of course. But so much

the more interesting. Why shouldn’t she go? Cissy was in a week of

apparent health and improvement. She wouldn’t mind staying alone in the

least. She entreated Valancy to go if she wanted to. And Valancy _did_

want to go.

She went to her room to dress. A rage against the snuff-brown silk

seized her. Wear _that_ to a party! Never. She pulled her green crêpe

from its hanger and put it on feverishly. It was nonsense to feel

so—so—naked—just because her neck and arms were bare. That was just her

old maidishness. She would not be ridden by it. On went the dress—the

slippers.

It was the first time she had worn a pretty dress since the organdies

of her early teens. And _they_ had never made her look like this.

If she only had a necklace or something. She wouldn’t feel so bare

then. She ran down to the garden. There were clovers there—great

crimson things growing in the long grass. Valancy gathered handfuls of

them and strung them on a cord. Fastened above her neck they gave her

the comfortable sensation of a collar and were oddly becoming. Another

circlet of them went round her hair, dressed in the low puffs that

became her. Excitement brought those faint pink stains to her face. She

flung on her coat and pulled the little, twisty hat over her hair.

“You look so nice and—and—different, dear,” said Cissy. “Like a green

moonbeam with a gleam of red in it, if there could be such a thing.”

Valancy stooped to kiss her.

“I don’t feel right about leaving you alone, Cissy.”

“Oh, I’ll be all right. I feel better tonight than I have for a long

while. I’ve been feeling badly to see you sticking here so closely on

my account. I hope you’ll have a nice time. I never was at a party at

the Corners, but I used to go sometimes, long ago, to dances up back.

We always had good times. And you needn’t be afraid of Father being

drunk tonight. He never drinks when he engages to play for a party.

But—there may be—liquor. What will you do if it gets rough?”

“Nobody would molest me.”

“Not seriously, I suppose. Father would see to that. But it _might_ be

noisy and—and unpleasant.”

“I won’t mind. I’m only going as a looker-on. I don’t expect to dance.

I just want to _see_ what a party up back is like. I’ve never seen

anything except decorous Deerwood.”

Cissy smiled rather dubiously. She knew much better than Valancy what a

party “up back” might be like if there should be liquor. But again

there mightn’t be.

“I hope you’ll enjoy it, dear,” she repeated.

Valancy enjoyed the drive there. They went early, for it was twelve

miles to Chidley Corners, and they had to go in Abel’s old, ragged

top-buggy. The road was rough and rocky, like most Muskoka roads, but

full of the austere charm of northern woods. It wound through

beautiful, purring pines that were ranks of enchantment in the June

sunset, and over the curious jade-green rivers of Muskoka, fringed by

aspens that were always quivering with some supernal joy.

Roaring Abel was excellent company, too. He knew all the stories and

legends of the wild, beautiful “up back,” and he told them to Valancy

as they drove along. Valancy had several fits of inward laughter over

what Uncle Benjamin and Aunt Wellington, _et al._, would feel and think

and say if they saw her driving with Roaring Abel in that terrible

buggy to a dance at Chidley Corners.

At first the dance was quiet enough, and Valancy was amused and

entertained. She even danced twice herself, with a couple of nice “up

back” boys who danced beautifully and told her she did, too.

Another compliment came her way—not a very subtle one, perhaps, but

Valancy had had too few compliments in her life to be over-nice on that

point. She overheard two of the “up back” young men talking about her

in the dark “lean-to” behind her.

“Know who that girl in green is?”

“Nope. Guess she’s from out front. The Port, maybe. Got a stylish look

to her.”

“No beaut but cute-looking, I’ll say. ’Jever see such eyes?”

The big room was decorated with pine and fir boughs, and lighted by

Chinese lanterns. The floor was waxed, and Roaring Abel’s fiddle,

purring under his skilled touch, worked magic. The “up back” girls were

pretty and prettily dressed. Valancy thought it the nicest party she

had ever attended.

By eleven o’clock she had changed her mind. A new crowd had arrived—a

crowd unmistakably drunk. Whiskey began to circulate freely. Very soon

almost all the men were partly drunk. Those in the porch and outside

around the door began howling “come-all-ye’s” and continued to howl

them. The room grew noisy and reeking. Quarrels started up here and

there. Bad language and obscene songs were heard. The girls, swung

rudely in the dances, became dishevelled and tawdry. Valancy, alone in

her corner, was feeling disgusted and repentant. Why had she ever come

to such a place? Freedom and independence were all very well, but one

should not be a little fool. She might have known what it would be

like—she might have taken warning from Cissy’s guarded sentences. Her

head was aching—she was sick of the whole thing. But what could she do?

She must stay to the end. Abel could not leave till then. And that

would probably be not till three or four in the morning.

The new influx of boys had left the girls far in the minority and

partners were scarce. Valancy was pestered with invitations to dance.

She refused them all shortly, and some of her refusals were not well

taken. There were muttered oaths and sullen looks. Across the room she

saw a group of the strangers talking together and glancing meaningly at

her. What were they plotting?

It was at this moment that she saw Barney Snaith looking in over the

heads of the crowd at the doorway. Valancy had two distinct

convictions—one was that she was quite safe now; the other was that

_this_ was why she had wanted to come to the dance. It had been such an

absurd hope that she had not recognised it before, but now she knew she

had come because of the possibility that Barney might be there, too.

She thought that perhaps she ought to be ashamed for this, but she

wasn’t. After her feeling of relief her next feeling was one of

annoyance with Barney for coming there unshaved. Surely he might have

enough self-respect to groom himself up decently when he went to a

party. There he was, bareheaded, bristly-chinned, in his old trousers

and his blue homespun shirt. Not even a coat. Valancy could have shaken

him in her anger. No wonder people believed everything bad of him.

But she was not afraid any longer. One of the whispering group left his

comrades and came across the room to her, through the whirling couples

that now filled it uncomfortably. He was a tall, broad-shouldered

fellow, not ill-dressed or ill-looking but unmistakably half drunk. He

asked Valancy to dance. Valancy declined civilly. His face turned

livid. He threw his arm about her and pulled her to him. His hot,

whiskied breath burned her face.

“We won’t have fine-lady airs here, my girl. If you ain’t too good to

come here you ain’t too good to dance with us. Me and my pals have been

watching you. You’ve got to give us each a turn and a kiss to boot.”

Valancy tried desperately and vainly to free herself. She was being

dragged out into the maze of shouting, stamping, yelling dancers. The

next moment the man who held her went staggering across the room from a

neatly planted blow on the jaw, knocking down whirling couples as he

went. Valancy felt her arm grasped.

“This way—quick,” said Barney Snaith. He swung her out through the open

window behind them, vaulted lightly over the sill and caught her hand.

“Quick—we must run for it—they’ll be after us.”

Valancy ran as she had never run before, clinging tight to Barney’s

hand, wondering why she did not drop dead in such a mad scamper.

Suppose she did! What a scandal it would make for her poor people. For

the first time Valancy felt a little sorry for them. Also, she felt

glad that she had escaped from that horrible row. Also, glad that she

was holding tight to Barney’s hand. Her feelings were badly mixed and

she had never had so many in such a brief time in her life.

They finally reached a quiet corner in the pine woods. The pursuit had

taken a different direction and the whoops and yells behind them were

growing faint. Valancy, out of breath, with a crazily beating heart,

collapsed on the trunk of a fallen pine.

“Thanks,” she gasped.

“What a goose you were to come to such a place!” said Barney.

“I—didn’t—know—it—would—be like this,” protested Valancy.

“You _should_ have known. Chidley Corners!”

“It—was—just—a name—to me.”

Valancy knew Barney could not realise how ignorant she was of the

regions “up back.” She had lived in Deerwood all her life and of course

he supposed she knew. He didn’t know how she had been brought up. There

was no use trying to explain.

“When I drifted in at Abel’s this evening and Cissy told me you’d come

here I was amazed. And downright scared. Cissy told me she was worried

about you but hadn’t liked to say anything to dissuade you for fear

you’d think she was thinking selfishly about herself. So I came on up

here instead of going to Deerwood.”

Valancy felt a sudden delightful glow irradiating soul and body under

the dark pines. So he had actually come up to look after her.

“As soon as they stop hunting for us we’ll sneak around to the Muskoka

road. I left Lady Jane down there. I’ll take you home. I suppose you’ve

had enough of your party.”

“Quite,” said Valancy meekly. The first half of the way home neither of

them said anything. It would not have been much use. Lady Jane made so

much noise they could not have heard each other. Anyway, Valancy did

not feel conversationally inclined. She was ashamed of the whole

affair—ashamed of her folly in going—ashamed of being found in such a

place by Barney Snaith. By Barney Snaith, reputed jail-breaker,

infidel, forger and defaulter. Valancy’s lips twitched in the darkness

as she thought of it. But she _was_ ashamed.

And yet she was enjoying herself—was full of a strange

exultation—bumping over that rough road beside Barney Snaith. The big

trees shot by them. The tall mulleins stood up along the road in stiff,

orderly ranks like companies of soldiers. The thistles looked like

drunken fairies or tipsy elves as their car-lights passed over them.

This was the first time she had even been in a car. After all, she

liked it. She was not in the least afraid, with Barney at the wheel.

Her spirits rose rapidly as they tore along. She ceased to feel

ashamed. She ceased to feel anything except that she was part of a

comet rushing gloriously through the night of space.

All at once, just where the pine woods frayed out to the scrub barrens,

Lady Jane became quiet—too quiet. Lady Jane slowed down quietly—and

stopped.

Barney uttered an aghast exclamation. Got out. Investigated. Came

apologetically back.

“I’m a doddering idiot. Out of gas. I knew I was short when I left

home, but I meant to fill up in Deerwood. Then I forgot all about it in

my hurry to get to the Corners.”

“What can we do?” asked Valancy coolly.

“I don’t know. There’s no gas nearer than Deerwood, nine miles away.

And I don’t dare leave you here alone. There are always tramps on this

road—and some of those crazy fools back at the Corners may come

straggling along presently. There were boys there from the Port. As far

as I can see, the best thing to do is for us just to sit patiently here

until some car comes along and lends us enough gas to get to Roaring

Abel’s with.”

“Well, what’s the matter with that?” said Valancy.

“We may have to sit here all night,” said Barney.

“I don’t mind,” said Valancy.

Barney gave a short laugh. “If you don’t, I needn’t. I haven’t any

reputation to lose.”

“Nor I,” said Valancy comfortably.