Rainbow Valley, Part 5 of 15

Good evening. Imagine how much better the world would be if everyone woke up well-rested every day. That's why I and the team here at Slumber make the Sleepy Bookshelf. You can join us in this mission by supporting the show via our premium feed, which will get you ad-free access to the entire bookshelf and exclusive bonus episodes. If premium isn't for you, that's okay. Recommending your favourite episode to a friend or family member is just as meaningful. Thank you so much for your support, and I hope you sleep well tonight. Hello, it's Elizabeth, and I'm excited to share with you the newest show from Slumber Studios. It's called Sleepy History, and it's exactly what it sounds like. Intriguing stories, people, mysteries and events from history, delivered in a supremely calming atmosphere. Explore the legend of El Dorado. See what life was like for the Roman gladiators. Uncover the myths and mysteries of Stonehenge. You'll find interesting but relaxing episodes like these on Sleepy History. and the same great production quality you've come to know and love from The Sleepy Bookshelf. So check it out. And perhaps you'll have another way to get a good night's rest. Just search Sleepy History in your preferred podcast player. Good evening, and welcome to The Sleepy Bookshelf, where we put down our worries from the day and pick up a good book. I'm your host, Elizabeth. It is so lovely to have you with me tonight. This evening we are returning to Rainbow Valley, but before that, we'll take a moment to relax and get ready for sleep. on how your body feels and where you might be holding any pockets of tension. Take a big stretch and allow those areas to fully relax and sink into your bed. Now let's take some nice deep breaths. Inhale and collect all your thoughts and concerns. And exhale, letting them all go. Once more now. Inhale. And exhale. Susan had sent six-year-old Rilla Blythe, suited and booted in her best dress, up to the manse with a basket of new strawberries, only to be given to Aunt Martha or Reverend Meredith. Mary was swinging on the gate outside, having had a fight with Aunt Martha over peeling the potatoes, and the sight of pretty little Rilla gave her even more cause to be cross. A basket of codfish was lain nearby, ready to be hung to dry. And when Rilla tried to stop Mary from taking the strawberries, Mary grabbed the biggest fish and went to whack Rilla with it. Horrified, Rilla ran back down to the main street in the Glen and tripped into a puddle of mud right outside the shop that Miss Cornelia was exiting She saw Mary turn to high-foot it back to the manse and took sad little Rilla home To find out more about Mary Vance Miss Cornelia went to Overharbour and found out that Mary's foster mother, the mean old Mrs. Wiley, had been found dead the morning after Mary had run away. The folks there had presumed Mary was with Mrs. Wiley's cousin in Charlottetown and so hadn't thought to look for her. Nan Blythe overheard all of this and ran down to Rainbow Valley to share the news At first, Mary panicked that her praying had killed Mrs. Wiley until Una reassured her that the lady had died before Mary had taken up praying Then Una declared she would keep praying for Mary to stay in four winds and not to be sent back to the orphanage Tonight, Miss Cornelia takes her findings to the Reverend So just lie back and relax as I turn to the next pages of Rainbow Valley Chapter 9 Una Intervenes Ms. Cornelia had an interview with Mr. Meredith, which proved something of a shock to that abstracted gentleman. She pointed out to him, non-too-respectfully, his dereliction of duty in allowing a waif like Mary Vance to come into his family and associate with his children without knowing or learning anything about her. I don't say there is much harm done, of course, she concluded. This merry creature isn't what you might call bad. But when all is said and done, I've been questioning your children and the Blights. And from what I can make out, there's nothing much to be said against the child, except that she's slangy and doesn't use very refined language. But think of what might have happened if she'd been like some of those home children we know of. You know yourself what that poor little creature the Jim Flags had taught and told the Flag children. Mr. Meredith did know, and was honestly shocked over his own carelessness in the matter. But what is to be done, Mrs. Elliot? he asked helplessly. We can't turn the poor child out. She must be cared for. Of course. We'd better write to the Hopetown authorities at once. Meanwhile, I suppose she might as well stay here for a few more days till we hear from them. But keep your eyes and ears open, Mr. Meredith. Susan would have died of horror on the spot if she had heard Miss Cornelia so admonishing a minister. But Miss Cornelia departed in a warm glow of satisfaction over duty done. And that night, Mr. Meredith asked Mary to come into his study with him. Mary obeyed, looking literally ghastly with fright. But she got the surprise of her poor, battered little life. This man, of whom she had stood so terribly in awe, was the kindest, gentlest soul she had ever met. Before she knew what happened, Mary found herself pouring all her troubles into his ear and receiving in turn such sympathy and tender understanding as it had never occurred to her to imagine. Mary left the study with her face and eyes so softened that Una hardly knew her. your father's alright when he does wake up she said with a sniff that just escaped being a sob it's a pity he doesn't wake up off now he said I wasn't to blame for Mrs Wiley dying but that I must try and think of her good points and not of her bad ones I don't know what good points she had unless it was keeping her ass clean and making first-class butter. I know I most wore my arms out scrubbing her old kitchen floor with the knots in it, but anything your father says goes with me after this. Mary proved a rather dull companion in the following days, however. She confided to Una that the more she thought of going back to the asylum, the more she hated it. Una racked her small brains for some way of averting it, but it was Nan Blythe who came to the rescue, with a somewhat startling suggestion. Mrs. Elliot might take Mary herself. She has a great big house, and Mr. Elliot is always wanting to have help. It would be just a splendid place for Mary. Only, she'd have to behave herself. Oh, Nan, do you think Mrs. Elliot would take her? It wouldn't do any harm if you asked her, said Nan. At first, Una did not think she could. She was so shy that to ask a favor of anybody was agony to her, and she was very much in awe of the bustling, energetic Mrs. Elliot. She liked her very much and always enjoyed a visit to her house, but to go and ask her to adopt Mary Vance seemed such a height of presumption that Una's timid spirit quailed. When the Hopetown authorities wrote to Mr. Meredith to send Mary to them without delay, Mary cried herself to sleep in the manse attic that night, and Una found a desperate courage. The next evening, she slipped away from the manse to the harbour road. Far down in Rainbow Valley, she heard joyous laughter, but her way lay not there. She was terribly pale and terribly in earnest, so much so that she took no notice of the people she met, and old Mr. Stanley Flagg was quite huffed and said Una Meredith would be as absent-minded as her father when she grew up. Miss Cornelia lived halfway between the Glen and Four Winds Point, in a house whose original glaring green hue had mellowed down to an agreeable greenish gray. Marshall Elliott had planted trees about it and set out a rose garden and a spruce hedge. It was quite a different place from what it had been in years agone. The Mance children and the Ingleside children liked to go there. It was a beautiful walk down the old harbour road, and there was always a well-filled cookie jar at the end. The misty sea was lapping softly far down on the sands. Three big boats were skimming down the harbour like great white seabirds. A schooner was coming up the channel. The world of four winds was steeped in glowing colour and subtle music and strange glamour, and everybody should have been happy in it. But when Una turned in at Miss Cornelia's gate, her very legs had almost refused to carry her. Miss Cornelia was alone on the veranda. Una had hoped Mr. Elliot would be there. He was so big and hearty and twinkly that there would be encouragement in his presence. She sat on the little stool Miss Cornelia brought out and tried to eat the donut Miss Cornelia gave her. It stuck in her throat but she swallowed it desperately lest Miss Cornelia be offended She could not talk She was still pale and her big dark blue eyes looked so piteous that Miss Cornelia concluded the child was in some trouble What's on your mind, dearie? she asked. There's something that's plain to be seen. Una swallowed up the last twig of donut with a desperate gulp. Mrs Elliot, won't you take Mary Vance? She said beseechingly. Miss Cornelia stared blankly. Me? Take Mary Vance? Do you mean to keep her? Yes, keep her, adopt her, said Una eagerly, gaining courage now that the ice was broken. Oh, Mrs. Elliot, please do. She doesn't want to go back to the asylum. She cries every night about it. She's so afraid of being sent to another hard place. And she's so smart. There isn't anything she can't do. I know you wouldn't be sorry if you took her. I never thought of such a thing, said Miss Cornelia rather helplessly. Won't you think of it? implored Una. But, dearie, I don't want help. I'm quite able to do all the work here, and I never thought I'd like to have a homegirl if I did need help. The light went out of Una's eyes. Her lips trembled. She sat down on her stool again, a pathetic little figure of disappointment, and began to cry. Oh, don't, dearie, don't, exclaimed Miss Cornelia in distress. She never could bear to hurt a child. I don't say I won't take her, but the idea is so new it has just kerflunked me. I must think it over. Mary is so smart, said Una again. So I've heard. I've heard she swears too. Is that true? I've never heard her swear, exactly, faltered Una uncomfortably. But I'm afraid she could. I believe you. Does she always tell the truth? I think she does, except when she's afraid of a whipping. And yet you want me to take her? Someone has to take her, sobbed Una. Someone has to look after her, Mrs. Elliot. That's true. Perhaps it is my duty to do it, said Miss Cornelia with a sigh. Well, I'll have to talk it over with Mr. Elliot. so don't say anything about it just yet. Or take another donut, dearie. Una took it and ate it with a better appetite. I'm very fond of donuts, she confessed. Aunt Martha never makes any, but Miss Susan at Ingleside does, and sometimes she lets us have a plate full in Rainbow Valley. Do you know what I do when I'm hungry for doughnuts and can't get any, Mrs. Elliot? No, dearie. What? I get out Mother's old cookbook and read the doughnut recipe, and the other recipes. They sound so nice. I always do that when I'm hungry, especially after we've had ditto for dinner. Then I read the fried chicken and the roast goose recipes. Mother could make all of those nice things. Oh, those manse children will starve to death yet if Mr. Meredith doesn't get married, Miss Cornelia told her husband indignantly after Una had gone. And he won't? And what's to be done? And shall we take this merry creature? Marshall! Yes, take her, said Marshall laconically. Oh, just like a man, said his wife despairingly. Take her, as if that was all. There are a hundred things to be considered, believe me. Take her and we'll consider them afterwards, Cornelia, said her husband. In the end, Miss Cornelia did take her, and went up to announce her decision to the Ingleside people first. Splendid, said Anne delightedly. I've been hoping you would do that very thing, Miss Cornelia. I want that poor child to get a good home. I was a hopeless little orphan just like her once. I don't think this merry creature is or ever will be much like you, retorted Miss Cornelia gloomily. She's a cat of another colour, but she's also a human being with an immortal soul to save. I've got a shorter catechism and a small tooth comb, and I'm going to do my duty by her now that I've set my hand to the plough, believe me. Mary received the news with chastened satisfaction. It's better luck than I expected, she said. You'll have to mind your P's and Q's with Mrs Elliot, said Nan. Well, I can do that, flashed Mary. I know how to behave when I want to just as well as you, Nemblythe. You mustn't use bad words, you know, Mary, said Una anxiously. I suppose she'd die of horror if I did, grinned Mary, her white eyes shining with unholy glee over the idea. But you needn't worry, Una. Butter won't melt in my mouth after this. I'll be all prunes and prisms. Nor tell lies, added Faith. Not even to get off from a whipping, pleaded Mary. Mrs Elliot will never whip you, never, exclaimed Di. Won't she, said Mary, sceptically. If I ever find myself in a place where I ain't licked, I'll think it's heaven, all right. No fearing me telling lies then. I ain't fond of telling him. I'd rather not if it comes to that. The day before Mary's departure from the manse, they had a picnic in her honour in Rainbow Valley. And that evening, all the manse children gave her something from their scanty store of treasured things for a keepsake. Carl gave her his Noah's Ark, and Jerry his second-best mouth-harp. Faith gave her a little hairbrush with a mirror in the back of it, which Mary had always considered very wonderful. Una hesitated between an old beaded purse and a gay picture of Daniel in the lion's den. and finally offered Mary her choice. Mary really hankered after the beaded purse, but she knew Una loved it, so she said, Give me Daniel. I'd rush her avid because I'm partial to lions. Only I wish they'd eat Daniel up. Would have been more exciting. At bedtime, Mary coaxed Una to sleep with her. It's for the last time, she said. And it's raining tonight, and I ain't sleeping up there alone when it's raining on account of that graveyard. I don't mind it on fine nights, but a night like this, I can't see anything but the rain pouring down on them old white stones. And the wind round the window sounds as if them dead people were trying to get in and crying because they couldn't. I like rainy nights said Una when they were cuddled down together in the little attic room and so did the Blythe girls I don't mind them when I'm not handy to graveyards said Mary if I was alone here I'd cry my eyes out I'd be so lonesome I feel awful bad to be leaving you all Mrs Elliot will let you come up and play in Rainbow Valley quite often, I'm sure, said Una. And you will be a good girl, won't you, Mary? Oh, I'll try, sighed Mary. But it won't be as easy for me to be good, inside, I mean, as well as outside as it is for you. You hadn't such scalawags of relations as I had. But your people must have had some good qualities as well as bad ones, argued Una. You must live up to them, and never mind their bad ones. I don't believe they had any good qualities, said Mary gloomily. I never heard of any. My grandfather had money, but they say he was a rascal. No, I'll just have to start out on my own hook and do the best I can. And God will help you, you know Mary, if you ask him. I don't know about that. Oh Mary, you know we asked God to get you a home and he did. I don't see what he had to do with it, retorted Mary. It was you put it into Mrs Elliot's head. but God put it into her heart to take you. All my putting into her head wouldn't have done any good if he hadn't. Well, there might be something in there, admitted Mary. Aren't you? I haven't got anything against God, Una. I'm willing to give him a chance. but honest, I think he's an awful lot like your father, just absent-minded and never taking any notice of a body most of the time, but sometimes waking up all of a sudden and being awful good and kind and sensible. Oh, Barry, no, exclaimed horrified Una. God, it isn't a bit like father. I mean, he's a thousand times better and kinder. If he's as good as your father, he'll do for me, said Mary. When your father was talking to me, I felt as if I could never be bad anymore. I wish you'd talk to father about him, sighed Una. He can explain it all so much better than I can. Why so I will, next time he wakes up, promised Mary. That night he talked to me in the study. He showed me real clear that my praying didn't kill Mrs Wiley. My mind's been easy since, but I'm real cautious about praying. Guess the old rum is the safest. Sayuna. It seems to me if one has to pray to anybody, it'd be better to pray to the devil than to God. God's good anyhow, so you say, so he won't do your only arm. But from all I can make out, the devil needs to be pacified. I think the sensible way would be to say to him, Good devil, please don't tempt me, just leave me alone, please. Now don't you? Oh no, no Mary, I'm sure it couldn't be right to pray to the devil, and it wouldn't do any good because he's bad. It might aggravate him, and he'd be worse than ever. Well, as to this God matter, said Mary stubbornly, since you and I can't settle it, there ain't no you've seen talking more until we've had a chance to find out the rights of it. I'll do the best I can alone till then. If Mother was alive she could tell us everything, said Una with a sigh. I wish she was alive, said Mary. I don't know what's going to become of you youngsters when I'm gone. Anyhow, do try and keep the house a little tidy. The way people talk about it is scandalous. And the first thing you know, your father will be getting married again, and then your noses will be all out of joint. Una was startled. The idea of her father marrying again had never presented itself to her before. She did not like it and she lay silent under the chill of it Stepmothers are awful creatures Mary went on I could make your blood run cold if I was to tell you all I know about him The Wilson kids crossed the road from Wiley had a stepmother. She was just as bad as them as Mrs Wiley was to me. It'll be awful if you get a stepmother. I'm sure we won't, said Una tremulously. Father won't marry anyone else. He'll be handed into it, I expect, said Mary darkly. All the old maids in the settlement are after him. There's no being up to him. And the worst of stepmothers is, they always set your father against her. He'd never care anything about you again. He'd always take her part and her children's part. You see, she'd make him believe you were all bad. I wish you hadn't told me this, Mary, cried Una. It makes me feel so unhappy. I only wanted to warn you, said Mary rather repentantly. Of course your father's so absent-minded he mightn't happen to think of getting married again, but it's better to be prepared. Long after Mary slept serenely, little Una lay awake, her eyes smarting with tears. Oh, how dreadful it would be if her father should marry somebody who would make him hate her, and Jerry, and Faith, and Carl. She couldn't bear it. She couldn't. Mary had not instilled any poison of the kind Miss Cornelia had feared into the man's children's minds, yet she had certainly contrived to do a little mischief with the best of intentions. But she slept, dreamlessly, while Una lay awake, and the rain fell, and the wind wailed around the grey old manse. And the Reverend John Meredith forgot to go to bed at all, because he was absorbed in reading A Life of St. Augustine. It was a grey dawn when he finished it and went upstairs, wrestling with the problems of 2,000 years ago. The door of the girl's room was open and he saw Faith lying asleep, rosy and beautiful. He wondered where Una was. Perhaps she had gone over to stay all night with the Blythe girls. She did this occasionally, deeming it a great treat. John Meredith sighed. He felt that Una's whereabouts ought not to be a mystery to him. Cecilia would have looked after her better than that. If only Cecilia were still with him. How pretty and gay she had been. How the old manse up at Maywater had echoed to her songs. And she had gone away so suddenly, taking her laughter and music and leaving silence. So suddenly that he had never quite got over his feeling of amazement. How could she, the beautiful and vivid, have died? The idea of a second marriage had never presented itself seriously to John Meredith. He had loved his wife so deeply that he believed he could never care for any woman again. He had a vague idea that before very long, Faith would be old enough to take her mother's place. until then he must do the best he could alone. He sighed and went to his room, where the bed was still unmade. Aunt Martha had forgotten it, and Mary had not dared to make it because Aunt Martha had forbidden her to meddle with anything in the minister's room. But Mr. Meredith did not notice that it was unmade. His last thoughts were of St. Augustine. Chapter 5 The Mance Girls Clean the House Ugh, said Faith, sitting up in bed with a shiver. It's raining. I do hate a rainy Sunday. Sunday is dull enough even when it's fine. We oughtn't find Sunday dull, said Una sleepily, trying to pull her drowsy wits together with an uneasy conviction that they had overslept. But we do, you know, said Faith candidly. Mary Vance says most Sundays are so dull she could hang herself. We ought to like Sunday better than Mary Vance, said Una remorsefully. We're the minister's children. I wish we were blacksmith's children, protested Faith angrily, hunting for her stockings. Then people wouldn't expect us to be better than other children. Just look at the holes in my heels. Mary darned them all up before she went away, but they're as bad as ever now. Una, get up. I can't get the breakfast alone. Oh dear, I wish Father and Jerry were home. You wouldn't think we'd missed Father much. We don't see much of him when he is home, and yet everything seems gone. I must run in and see how Aunt Martha is. Is she any better? asked Una when Faith returned. No, she isn't. She's groaning with the misery still. Maybe we ought to tell Dr. Blythe. She says not. She never had a doctor in her life and she isn't going to begin now. She says doctors live by poisoning people. Do you suppose they do? No, of course not, said Una indignantly. I'm sure Dr. Blythe wouldn't poison anybody. Well, we'll have to rub Aunt Martha's back again after breakfast. We'd better not make the flannels as hot as we did yesterday. Faith giggled over the remembrance. They had nearly scalded the skin off poor Aunt Martha's back. Una sighed. Mary Vance would have known just what the precise temperature flannels for a misery back should be Mary knew everything They knew nothing And how could they learn Save by bitter experience for which, in this instance, unfortunate Aunt Martha had paid The preceding Monday, Mr. Meredith had left for Nova Scotia to spend his short vacation taking Jerry with him. On Wednesday, Aunt Martha was suddenly seized with a reoccurring and mysterious ailment which she always called the misery, and which was tolerably certain to attack her at the most inconvenient times. She could not rise from her bed, any movement causing agony. A doctor she flatly refused to have. Faith and Una cooked the meals and waited on her. The less said about the meals, the better. Yet they were not much worse than Aunt Martha's had been. There were many women in the village who would have been glad to come and help, but Aunt Martha refused to let her plight be known. You must worry until I can get around, she groaned. Oh, thank goodness John isn't here. There's a plenty of cold-biled meat and bread and you can try and get your hand at making porridge. The girls had tried their hand, but so far without much success. The first day it had been too thin, the next day so thick that you could cut it in slices, and both days it had been burned. I hate porridge, said Faith viciously. When I have a house of my own, I'm never going to have a single bit of porridge in it. What all your children do then? asked Una. Children have to have porridge or they won't grow. Everybody says so. They'll have to get along without it or stay runts, retorted Faith stubbornly. Here, Una, you stir it while I set the table. If I leave it for a minute, the horrid stuff will burn. It's half past nine. We'll be late for Sunday school. I haven't seen anyone going past yet. said Una. There won't likely be many out. Just see how it's pouring. And when there's no preaching, the folks won't come from a distance to bring the children. Go and call Carl, said Faith. Carl, it appeared, had a sore throat, induced by getting wet in the Rainbow Valley Marsh the previous evening while pursuing dragonflies. He had come home with dripping stockings and boots and had sat out the evening in them. He could not eat any breakfast, and faith made him go back to bed again. She and Una left the table as it was and went to Sunday school. There was no one in the schoolroom when they got there, and no one came. They waited until eleven and then went home. There doesn't seem to be anybody at the Methodist Sunday school either, said Una. I'm glad, said Faith. I'd hate to think the Methodists were better at going to Sunday school on rainy days than the Presbyterians. But there's no preaching in their church today either, so it'll likely be their Sunday school is in the afternoon. Una washed the dishes, doing them quite nicely for so much she had learned from Mary Vance. Faith swept the floor after a fashion and peeled the potatoes for dinner, cutting her finger in the process. Oh, I wish we had something for dinner besides ditto, sighed Una. I'm so tired of it. The Blythe children don't know what ditto is, and we never have any pudding. Nan said Susan would faint if they had no pudding on Sundays. Why aren't we like other people, Faith? I don't want to be like other people, laughed Faith, tying up her bleeding finger. I like being myself. It's more interesting. Jessie Drew is as good a housekeeper as her mother, but would you want to be as stupid as she is? But our house isn't right. Mary Vance said so. People talk about it being so untidy. Faith had an inspiration. We'll clean it all up, she cried. We'll go right to work tomorrow. It's a real good chance when Aunt Martha is laid up and can't interfere with us. We'll have it all lovely and clean when Father comes home, just like it was when Mary went away. Anyone can sweep and dust and wash windows. People won't be able to talk about us anymore. Jen Blythe said it's only old cats that talk. But their talk hurts just as much as anybody's. I hope it will be fine tomorrow, said Una, fired with enthusiasm. Oh, Faith, it will be splendid to be all cleaned up and like other people. I hope Aunt Martha's misery will last over tomorrow, said Faith. If it doesn't, we won't get a single thing done. Faith's amiable wish was fulfilled. The next day found Aunt Martha still unable to rise. Carl, too, was still sick and easily prevailed on to stay in bed. Neither Faith nor Una had any idea how sick the boy really was. A watchful mother would have had a doctor without delay. But there was no mother, and poor little Carl, with his sore throat and aching head and crimson cheeks, rolled himself up in his twisted bedclothes and suffered alone, somewhat comforted by the companionship of a small, green lizard in the pocket of his ragged nightie. The world was full of summer sunshine after the rain. It was a peerless day for a housecleaning, and Faith and Una went gaily to work. We'll clean the dining room and the parlour, said Faith. It wouldn't do to meddle with the study and it doesn't matter much about upstairs. The first thing is to take everything out Accordingly everything was taken out The furniture was piled on the veranda and lawn and the Methodist graveyard fence was gaily draped with rugs An orgy of sweeping followed, with an attempt at dusting on Una's part, while Faith washed the windows of the dining room, breaking one pane and cracking two in the process. Una surveyed the streaked result dubiously. They don't look bright somehow, she said. Mrs. Elliot and Susan's windows just shine and sparkle. Never mind, they let the sunshine through just as well, said Faith cheerfully. They must be clean after all the soap and water I've used, and that's the main thing. Now it's past eleven, so I'll wipe up this mess on the floor and we'll go outside. You dust the furniture and I'll shake the rugs. I'm going to do it in the graveyard. I don't want to send dust flying all over the lawn. Faith enjoyed the rug shaking. To stand on Hezekiah Pollock's tombstone, flapping and shaking the rugs was real fun. To be sure, Elder Abraham Clow and his wife, driving past in their capacious, double-seated buggy, seemed to gaze at her in grim disapproval. Isn't that a terrible sight, said Elder Abraham solemnly. I would never have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, said Mrs. Elder Abraham, more solemnly still. Faith waved a doormat, cheerily at the clow party. It did not worry her that the elder and his wife did not return her greeting. Everybody knew that Elder Abraham had never been known to smile since he had been appointed to superintendent of the Sunday school 14 years previously. but it hurt her that Minnie and Adela Cloud did not wave back. Faith liked Minnie and Adela. Next to the Blythes, they were her best friends in school, and she always helped Adela with her sums. This was gratitude for you. Her friends cut her because she was shaking rugs in an old graveyard where, as Mary Vance said, not a living soul had been buried for years. Faith flounced around to the veranda, where she found Una, grieved in spirit because the Clow Girls had not waved to her either. I suppose they're mad over something, said Faith. Perhaps they're jealous because we play so much in Rainbow Valley with the Blythes. Well, just wait till school opens and Adela wants me to show her how to do sums. We'll get square then. Come on, let's put the things back in. I'm tired to death and don't believe the rooms will look much better than before we started, though I shook out pecks of dust in the graveyard. I hate house cleaning. It was two o'clock before the tired girls finished the two rooms. They got a dreary bite in the kitchen and intended to wash the dishes at once. but Faith happened to pick up a new storybook Di Blythe had lent her and was lost to the world until sunset. Una took up a cup of rank tea to Carl but found him asleep, so she curled herself up on Jerry's bed and went to sleep too. Meanwhile, a weird story flew through Glen St. Mary and folks asked each other what was to be done with those manse youngsters. This is past laughing at, believe me, said Miss Cornelia to her husband with a heavy sigh. Oh, I couldn't believe it at first. Miranda Drew brought the story home from the Methodist Sunday school this afternoon and I simply scoffed at it. But Mrs. Elder Abraham said she and the elder saw it with their own eyes. Saw what? asked Marshall. Faith and Una Meredith stayed home from Sunday school this morning and cleaned house, said Miss Cornelia in accents of despair. When Elder Abraham went home from the church, he had stayed behind to straighten out the library books. He saw them shaking rugs in the Methodist graveyard. I can never look a Methodist in the face again. Just think what a scandal it will make. A scandal it assuredly did make, growing more scandalous as it spread, until the Overharbour people heard that the Mance children had not only cleaned house and put out a washing on Sunday, but had wound up with an afternoon picnic in the graveyard while the Methodist Sunday school was going on. The only household which remained in blissful ignorance of the terrible thing was the manse itself. On what Faith and Una fondly believed to be Tuesday, it rained again. For the next three days it rained. Nobody came near the manse. The Mancefolk went nowhere. They might have waded through the misty Rainbow Valley up to Ingleside, but all the Blythe family, save Susan and the Doctor, were away on a visit to Avonlea. This is the last of our bread, said Faith, and the ditto is done. If Aunt Martha doesn't get better soon, what will we do? We can buy some bread in the village. And there's the codfish Mary dried, said Una. But we don't know how to cook it. Oh, that's easy, laughed Faith. You just boil it. Boil it they did. But as it did not occur to them to soak it beforehand, it was too salty to eat. That night they were hungry, but by the following day their troubles were over. Sunshine returned to the world, Carl was well, and Aunt Martha's misery left her as suddenly as it had come. The butcher called at the manse and chased famine away. To crown all, the blights returned home. and that evening they and the manse children and Mary Vance kept sunset tryst once more in Rainbow Valley, where the daisies were floating upon the grass like spirits of the dew, and the bells on the tree lovers rang like fairy chimes in the scented twilight. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.