Valancy was in the midst of realities after a lifetime of unrealities. And busy — very busy. The house had to be cleaned. Not for nothing had Valancy been brought up in the Stirling habits of neatness and cleanliness. If she found satisfaction in cleaning dirty rooms she got her fill of it there. Roaring Abel thought she was foolish to bother doing so much more than she was asked to do, but he did not interfere with her. He was very well satisfied with his bargain. Valancy was a good cook. Abel said she got a flavour into things. The only fault he found with her was that she did not sing at her work.

“Folk should always sing at their work,” he insisted. “Sounds cheerful-like.”

“Not always,” retorted Valancy. “Fancy a butcher singing at his work. Or an undertaker.”