It was less humiliating to admit crying because of your feet than
because--because somebody had been amusing himself with you, and your
friends had forgotten you, and other people patronized you.
"I daresay they do," said Mary, not unkindly. "Never mind. I know where
there's a pot of goose-grease in Cornelia's tidy pantry and it beats all
the fancy cold creams in the world. I'll put some on your heels before
you go to bed."
Goose-grease on your heels! So this was what your first party and your
first beau and your first moonlit romance ended in!
Rilla gave over crying in sheer disgust at the futility of tears and
went to sleep in Mary Vance's bed in the calm of despair. Outside, the
dawn came greyly in on wings of storm; Captain Josiah, true to his word,
ran up the Union Jack at the Four Winds Light and it streamed on the
fierce wind against the clouded sky like a gallant unquenchable beacon.
CHAPTER V
"THE SOUND OF A GOING"
Rilla ran down through the sunlit glory of the maple grove behind
Ingleside, to her favourite nook in Rainbow Valley. She sat down on a
green-mossed stone among the fern, propped her chin on her hands and
stared unseeingly at the dazzling blue sky of the August afternoon--so
blue, so peaceful, so unchanged, just as it had arched over the valley
in the mellow days of late summer ever since she could remember.
She wanted to be alone--to think things out--to adjust herself, if it
were possible, to the new world into which she seemed to have been
transplanted with a suddenness and completeness that left her half
bewildered as to her own identity.
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