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 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE
 
 For God's sake give me suthin' to eat.
 
 THE GIRL FROM 
 1 TIM'S PLACE 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES CLARK MUNN 
 
 AUTHOR OF "POCKET ISLAND," "UNCLE TERRY," "THE 
 HERMIT," "ROCKHAVEN." 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK T. MERRILL 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 Published, March, 1906. 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY 
 LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CCX 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE.
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 WHEN we leave the world's busy haunts and 
 penetrate the primal solitude of a vast wilderness, 
 a new realm peopled by mystic genii opens to us. 
 Each sombre gorge, where twisted roots clasp the 
 moss-coated walls, discloses fabled gnomes and 
 dryads. Nymphs and naiads outline their shad- 
 owy forms in the mist of every cascade. Elfin 
 sprites dance in the ripples of a laughing brook, 
 and brownies scamper away over the leaf-swept 
 hilltops. 
 
 A wondrous Presence, multiform, omnipresent, 
 and ever fascinating, meets us on every hand, and 
 there in those magic aisles and sombre glades, 
 where man seems far away and God very near, 
 Nature sits enthroned. 
 
 It is with the hope that a few of my readers 
 may feel this forest-born mood, and in its poetic 
 spirit forget worldly cares, that I have written the 
 story of "The Girl from Tim's Place." 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 2137300
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 " For God's sake give me suthin' to eat " {Frontispiece) 23 
 
 All the goblin forms and hideous shapes of Old Tomah's 
 
 fancy were rushing and leaping about .... 21 
 
 Nearer and nearer that unconscious girl it crept ! . . .123 
 
 He grasped and struck at this enemy in a blind instinct 
 
 of self-preservation 195 
 
 " Won't you please give me a lift an' a chance to earn my 
 
 vittles for a day or two? " 260 
 
 " Thank God, little gal, I've found what belongs to ye " . 272 
 
 " Quit takin' on so, girlie," he said 325 
 
 " I did mean to hate you, but I I can't " . . . 416
 
 PART I 
 CHIP MCGUIRE
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 CHIP was very tired. All that long June day, 
 since Tim's harsh, "Come, out wid ye," had roused 
 her to daily toil, until now, wearied and disconso- 
 late, she had crept, barefoot, up the back stairs to 
 her room, not one moment's rest or one kindly 
 word had been hers. 
 
 Below, in the one living room of Tim's Place, 
 the men were grouped playing cards, and the med- 
 ley of their oaths, their laughter, the thump of 
 knuckles on the bare table, and the pungent odor 
 of pipes, reached her through the floor cracks. 
 Outside the fireflies twinkled above the slow-run- 
 ning river and along the stump-dotted hillside. 
 Close by, a few pigs dozed contentedly in their 
 rudely constructed sty. 
 
 A servant to those scarce fit for servants, a menial 
 at the beck and call of all Tim's Place, and labor- 
 ing with the men in the fields, Chip, a girl of almost 
 sixteen, felt her soul revolt at the filth, the brutality, 
 the coarse existence of those whose slave she was. 
 
 And what a group they were ! 
 9
 
 10 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 First, Tim Connor, the owner and master of this 
 oasis in the wilderness, sixty miles from the nearest 
 settlement ; his brother Mike, as coarse ; their 
 wives and a half a dozen children who played with 
 the pigs, squealed as often for food, and were left 
 to grow up the same way ; and Pierre Lubec, the 
 hired man, completed the score. 
 
 There was another transient resident here, an 
 old Indian named Tomah, who came with the snow, 
 and deserted his hut below on the river bank when 
 spring unlocked that stream. 
 
 Two occasional visitors also came here, both 
 even more objectionable to Chip than Tim and his 
 family. One was her father, known to her to be 
 an outlaw and escaped murderer in hiding ; the 
 other a half-breed named Bolduc, but known as One- 
 eyed Pete, a trapper and hunter whose abode was a 
 log cabin on the Fox Hole, ten miles away. His 
 face was horribly scarred by a wildcat's claws; 
 one eye-socket was empty; his lips, chin, and pro- 
 truding teeth were always tobacco-stained. For 
 three months now, he had made weekly calls at 
 Tim's Place, in pursuit of Chip. His wooing, as 
 might be expected, had been a persistent leering at 
 her with his one sinister eye, oft-repeated innuendoes 
 and insinuations of lascivious nature, scarce under-
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE II 
 
 stood by her, with now and then attempted famil- 
 iarity. These advances had met with much the 
 same reception once accorded him by the wildcat. 
 
 Both these visitors were now with the group 
 below. That fact was of no interest to Chip, ex- 
 cept in connection with a more pertinent one a 
 long conference she had observed between them 
 that day. What it was about, she could not guess, 
 and yet some queer intuition told her that it con- 
 cerned her. Ordinarily, she would have sought 
 sleep in her box-on- legs bed; now she crouched on 
 the floor, listening. 
 
 For an hour the game and its medley of sounds 
 continued; then cessation, the tramp of heavily 
 shod feet, the light extinguished, and finally 
 silence. A few minutes of this, and then the sound 
 of whispered converse, low yet distinct, reached 
 Chip from outside. Cautiously she crept to her 
 window. 
 
 "I gif you one hunerd dollars now, for ze gal," 
 Pete was saying, "an' one hunerd more when you 
 fotch her." 
 
 "It's three hundred down, I've told ye, or we 
 don't do business," was her father's answer, in 
 almost a hiss. 
 
 A pain like a knife piercing her heart came to Chip.
 
 12 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "But s'pose she run away?" came in Pete's voice. 
 
 "What, sixty miles to a settlement? You must 
 be a damn fool!" 
 
 "An' if she no mind me?" 
 
 "Wai, thrash her then; she's yours." 
 
 "But I no gif so much," parleyed Pete; "I gif you 
 one-feefty now, an' one hunerd when she come." 
 
 "You'll give what I say, and be quick about it, 
 or I'll take her out to-morrow, and you'll never see 
 her again; so fork over." 
 
 "And you fetch her to-morrow?" 
 
 "Yes, I told you." And so the bargain was con- 
 cluded. 
 
 Only a moment more, while Chip sat numb and 
 dazed, then came the sound of footsteps, as the two 
 men separated, and then silence over Tim's Place. 
 
 And yet, what a horror for Chip ! Sold like a 
 horse or a pig to this worse than disgusting half- 
 breed, and on the morrow to be taken no, dragged 
 to the half-breed's hut by her hated father. 
 
 Hardly conscious of the real intent and object 
 of this purchase, she yet understood it dimly. Life 
 here was bad enough it was coarse, unloved, even 
 filthy, and yet, hard as it was, it was a thousand 
 times better than slavery with such an owner. 
 
 And now, still weak and trembling from the shock,
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 13 
 
 she raised her head cautiously and peeped out of the 
 window. A faint spectral light frpm the rising 
 moon outlined the log barn, the two log cabins, and 
 pigsty, which, with the frame house she was in, com- 
 prised Tim's Place. Above and beyond where the 
 forest enclosed the hillside, it shone brighter, and 
 as Chip looked out upon the ethereal silvered view, 
 away to the right she saw the dark opening into the 
 old tote road. Up this they had brought her, eight 
 years before. Never since had she traversed it; 
 and yet, as she looked at it now, an inspiration born 
 of her father's sneer came to her. 
 
 It was a desperate chance, a foolhardy step 
 a journey so appalling, so almost hopeless, she might 
 well hesitate ; and yet, escape that way was her one 
 chance. Only a moment longer she waited, then 
 gathering her few belongings a pair of old shoes, 
 the moccasins Old Tomah had given her, a skirt 
 and jacket fashioned from Tim's cast-off garments, 
 a fur cap, and soft felt hat she thrust them into 
 a soiled pillow-case and crept down the stairs. 
 
 Once out, she looked about, listened, then darted 
 up the hillside, straight for the tote road entrance. 
 Here she paused, put on her moccasins, and looked 
 back. 
 
 The moon, now above the tree-tops, shone full
 
 14 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 upon Tim's Place, softening and silvering all its 
 ugliness and all its squalor. Away to the left stood 
 Tomah's hut, across the river, a shining path bright 
 and rippled. 
 
 In spite of the awful dread of her situation and the 
 years of her hard, unpaid, and ofttimes cursed toil, 
 a pang of regret now came to her. This was her 
 home, wretched as it was. Here she had at least 
 been fed and warmed in winters, and here Old 
 Tomah had shown her kindness. Oh, if he were 
 only in his hut now, that she might go and waken 
 him softly, and beg him to take her in his canoe and 
 speed down the river ! 
 
 But no ! only her own desperate courage would 
 now avail, and realizing that this look upon Tim's 
 Place was the last one, she turned and fled down the 
 path. Sixty miles of stony, bush-encumbered, 
 brier-grown, seldom-travelled road lay ahead of 
 her ! Sixty miles of mingled swamp, morass, and 
 rock-ribbed hill! Sixty miles through the sombre 
 silence and persistent menace of a wilderness, peo- 
 pled only by death-intending creatures, yellow-eyed 
 and sharp-fanged ! 
 
 With only a sickening, soul- nauseating fate 
 awaiting her at Tim's Place, and her sole escape 
 this almost insane flight, she sped on. The faint,.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 15 
 
 spectral rifts of moonlight through interlaced fir 
 and spruce as often deceived as aided her; bend- 
 ing boughs whipped her, bushes and logs tripped 
 her, sharp stones and pointed sticks bit her; she 
 hurried over hillocks, wallowed through sloughs 
 and dashed into tangles of briers, heedless of all 
 except her one mad impulse to escape. 
 
 Soon the ever present menace of a wilderness 
 assailed her, the yowl of a wildcat close at hand ; 
 in a swamp, the sharp bark of a wolf; on a hill- 
 side above her, the hoot of an owl; and when 
 after two hours of this desperate flight had ex- 
 hausted her and she was forced to halt, strange 
 creeping, crawling things seemed all about. 
 
 And now the erratic, fantastic belief of Old 
 Tomah returned to her. With him the forest 
 was peopled by a weird, uncanny race, sometimes 
 visible and sometimes not "spites," he called 
 them, and they were the souls of both man and 
 beast ; sometimes good, sometimes evil, accord- 
 ing as they had been in life, and all good or ill 
 luck was due to their ghostly influences. They 
 followed the hunter and trapper day and night, 
 luring him into safety or danger, as they chose. 
 They were everywhere, and in countless numbers, 
 ready and sure to avenge all wrongs and reward
 
 l6 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 all virtues. They had a Chieftain also, a great 
 white spectre who came forth from the north in 
 winter, and swept across the wilderness, spread- 
 ing death and terror. 
 
 Many times at Tim's Place, Chip had sat en- 
 thralled on winter evenings, while Old Tomah 
 described these mystic genii. They were so real 
 to him that he made them real to her, and now, 
 alone in this vast wilderness, spectral in the faint 
 moonlight and filled with countless terrors, they 
 returned in full force. On every side she could 
 see them, creeping, crawling, through the under- 
 growth or along the interlaced boughs above her. 
 She could hear the faint hiss of their breath in 
 the night wind, see the gleam of their little eyes in 
 dark places they were crossing the path in front 
 of her, following close behind, and gathering about 
 her from every direction. 
 
 Beneath bright sunlight, a vast wilderness is 
 at best a place peopled by many terrors. Its soli- 
 tude seems uncanny, its shadow fearsom3, its 
 silence ominous. The creaking of limbs moving 
 in the breeze sounds like the shriek of demons; 
 the rush of winds becomes the hiss of serpents. 
 Vague terrors assail one on every hand, and the 
 rustle of each dry leaf, or breaking of every twig,
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 17 
 
 becomes the footfall of a savage beast. We ad- 
 vance only with caution, oft halting to look and 
 listen. A stern, defiant Presence seems everywhere 
 confronting us, and the weird mysticism of Na- 
 ture bids us beware. By night this invisible Some- 
 thing becomes of monstrous proportions. Ghosts 
 fashion themselves out of each rift of light, and 
 every rock, thick-grown tree-top, or dark shadow 
 becomes a goblin. 
 
 To Chip, educated only in the fantastic lore 
 of Old Tomah, these terrors now became insan- 
 ity-breeding. She could not turn back better 
 death among the spites than slaving to the half- 
 breed ; and so, faint from awful fear, gasping 
 from miles of running, she stumbled on. And 
 now a little hope came, for the road bent down 
 beside the river, and its low voice seemed a word 
 of cheer. Into its cool depths she could at least 
 plunge and die, as a last resort. 
 
 Soon an opening showed ahead, and a bridge 
 appeared. Here, for the first time, on this van- 
 tage point, she halted. How thrice blessed those 
 knotted logs now seemed ! She hugged and patted 
 them in .abject gratitude. She crawled to the 
 edge and looked over into the dark, gurgling 
 water. Up above lay a faint ripple of silver. Here,
 
 l8 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 also, she could see the moon almost at the zenith, 
 and a few flickering stars. 
 
 A trifle of courage and renewal of hope now 
 came. Her face and hands were scratched and 
 bleeding, clothing torn, feet and legs black with 
 mud. But these things she neither noticed nor 
 felt only that blessed bridge of logs that gave 
 her safety, and the moon that bade her hope. 
 
 Then she began to count her chances. This 
 landmark told her that five miles of her desperate 
 journey had been covered and she was still alive. 
 She began to calculate. How soon would her 
 escape be discovered, and who would pursue her? 
 Only Pete, her purchaser, she felt sure, and there 
 was a possible chance that he might return to his 
 cabin before doing so. Or perhaps he might 
 sleep late, and thus give her one or two hours 
 more of time. 
 
 And now she began to review the usual morn- 
 ing movements at Tim's Place Tim the first 
 one up, calling her, then going out to milking; 
 the others, slower to arise, getting out and about 
 their special duties. Pete, she knew, always 
 slept in one of the two empty log cabins which 
 were first built there. Her father slept in the 
 other or in the barn. Neither would be called,
 
 
 ? 
 
 All the goblin forms and hideous shapes of Old Tomah's fancy were 
 
 rushing and leaping about.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 19 
 
 she knew it was get around in time for break- 
 fast at Tim's Place or go hungry. And so she 
 speculated on her chances of early pursuit. Here 
 on this bridge she now meant to remain until the 
 first sign of dawn, then push on again with all 
 speed. She already had a five- mile start, she was 
 weary, footsore, and still faint from the awful 
 terrors of her flight; to go on meant to rush 
 into the swarm of spites once more, and so she 
 lay inert on the hard logs watching, listening, 
 calculating. 
 
 And now cheered by this trifling hope and 
 lessening sense of danger, her past life came back. 
 Her childhood in a far-off settlement; the home 
 always in a turmoil from the strange men and 
 women ever coming and going; the drinking, 
 swearing, singing, at all hours of the night, her 
 constant fear of them and wonder who they were 
 and why they came. There were other features of 
 this disturbed life: frequent quarrels between her 
 father and mother; curses, tears, and sometimes 
 blows, until at last after a night more hideous than 
 any other her mother had taken her and fled. Then 
 came a long journey to another village and a new 
 life of peace and quietness. Here it was all sc 
 different no red-shirted men to be afraid of,
 
 2O THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 no loud-voiced women drinking with them. She 
 became acquainted with other children of her 
 own age, was sent to school and taken to church. 
 Here, also, her mother began to smile once more, 
 and look content. For two years, and the only 
 ones Chip cared to recall, she had been a happy 
 schoolgirl, and then came a sudden, tragic end 
 to it all. Of that she never wished to think. It 
 was all so horrible, and yet so mercifully brief. 
 
 The one friend life held, her mother, had been 
 brought home, wounded to death amid the whir- 
 ring wheels of the mill where she worked; there 
 were a few hours of agonized dread as her life 
 ebbed away, a whisper or two of love and longing, 
 and then the sad farewell made doubly awful by 
 her father's frowning face and harsh voice. At 
 its ending, and in spite of her fears and tears, she 
 was now borne away by him. For days they 
 journeyed deeper and deeper into a vast wilder- 
 ness, to halt at last at Tim's Place. 
 
 Like a dread dream it all came back now, as 
 she lay there on this one flat spot of security the 
 bridge and listened to the river's low murmur. 
 
 The moon was lowering now. Already the 
 shadow of the stream's bordering trees had reached 
 her. First the stars vanished, then the moon
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 21 
 
 faded into a dim patch of light, finally that disap- 
 peared, a chill breeze swept down from a neigh- 
 boring mountain, and the trees began to moan 
 and creak. Then a fiercer blast swept through 
 the forest, the great firs and spruces' bent and 
 groaned and screamed. Surely the spites were 
 gathering in force again, and this was their doing. 
 
 Once more she began to hear them creeping, 
 crawling, over the bridge. They spit, they snarled, 
 they growled. The darkness grew more intense, 
 no longer could the river's course be seen, but 
 only a black chasm. 
 
 All through her mad flight the wilderness had 
 been ghostly and spectral in the moonlight; 
 now it had become lost in inky blackness, yet 
 alive with demoniac voices. All the goblin 
 forms and hideous shapes of Old Tomah's fancy 
 were rushing and leaping about. Now high up 
 in the tree-tops, now deep in the hollows, they 
 screamed and shrieked and moaned. 
 
 And now, just as this fierce battle of sound and 
 spectral shape was at its worst, and Chip, a hope- 
 less, helpless mite of humanity, crouched low 
 upon the bridge, suddenly a vicious growl reached 
 her, and raising her head she saw at the bridge's 
 end two gleaming eyes !
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 MARTIN FRISBIE and his nephew Raymond 
 Stetson, or Ray, were cutting boughs and carry- 
 ing them to two tents standing in the mouth of 
 a bush-choked opening into the forest. In front 
 of this Angie, Martin's wife, was placing tin dishes, 
 knives, and forks, upon a low table of boards. 
 Upon the bank of a broad, slow-running stream, 
 two canoes were drawn out, and halfway between 
 these and the table a camp-fire burnt. 
 
 Here Levi, Martin's guide for many trips into 
 this wilderness, was also occupied, intently watch- 
 ing two pails depending from bending wambecks, 
 a coffee-pot hanging from another, and two frying- 
 pans, whose sputtering contents gave forth an 
 enticing odor. 
 
 Twilight was just falling, the river murmured 
 in low melody, and a few rods above a small rill 
 entered it, adding a more musical tinkle. 
 
 Soon Levi deftly swung one of the pails away 
 from the flame with a hook-stick and speared a 
 potato with a fork. 
 
 22
 
 CHIP MCGDTRE 23 
 
 "Supper ready," he called; and then as the rest 
 seated themselves at the table, he advanced, carry- 
 ing the pail of steaming potatoes on the hooked 
 stick and the frying-pan in his other hand. 
 
 The meal had scarce begun when a crackling 
 in the undergrowth back of the tent was heard, 
 and on the instant there emerged a girl. Her 
 clothing was in shreds, her face and hands were 
 black with mud, streaks of blood showed across 
 cheek and chin, and her eyes were fierce and sunken. 
 
 "For God's sake give me suthin' to eat," she 
 said, looking from one to another of the astonished 
 group. "I'm damn near starved only a bite," 
 she added, sinking to her knees and extending 
 her hands. "I hain't eat nothin' but roots 'n' ber- 
 ries for three days." 
 
 Angie was the first to ^recover. "Here," she 
 said, hastily extending her plate, "take this." 
 
 Without a word the starved creature grasped 
 it and began eating as only a desperate, hungry 
 animal would, while the group watched her. 
 
 "Don't hurry so," exclaimed Martin, whose 
 wits had now returned. "Here, take this cup of 
 coffee." 
 
 Soon the food vanished and then the girl arose. 
 "Sit down again, my poor child," entreated Angie,
 
 24 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 who had observed the strange scene with moist 
 eyes, "and tell us who you are and where you 
 came from." 
 
 "My name's Chip," answered the girl, bluntly, 
 "an' I'm runnin' away from Tim's Place, 'cause 
 dad sold me to Pete Bolduc. " 
 
 " Sold you to Pete Bolduc, " exclaimed 
 Angie, looking at her wide-eyed. "What do you 
 mean?" 
 
 "He did, sartin," answered the girl, laconically. 
 "I heerd 'em makin' the bargain, 'n' I fetched 
 three hundred dollars." 
 
 Martin and his wife exchanged glances. 
 
 "Well, and then what?" continued Angie. 
 
 "Wai, then I waited a spell, till they'd turned 
 in," explained the girl, "and then I lit out. I 
 knowed 'twas sixty miles to the settlement, but 
 'twas moonlight 'n' I chanced it. I've had an 
 awful time, though, the spites hev chased me all 
 the way, I was jist makin' a nestle when I seed 
 yer light, an' I crept through the brush 'n' peeked. 
 I seen ye wa'n't nobody from Tim's Place, 'n' then 
 I cum out. I guess you've saved my life. I was 
 gittin' dizzy." 
 
 It was a brief, blunt story whose directness be- 
 spoke truth; but it revealed such a pigsty state
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 25 
 
 of morality at this Tim's Place that the little group 
 of astonished listeners could scarce finish supper 
 or cease watching this much-soiled girl. 
 
 "And so your name is Chip," queried Angie 
 at last "Chip what?" 
 
 "Chip McGuire, " answered the waif, quickly; 
 "only my real name ain't Chip, it's Vera; but 
 they've allus called me Chip at Tim's Place." 
 
 "And your father sold you to this man?" 
 
 "He did, V he's a damn bad man," replied 
 Chip, readily. "He killed somebody once, an* 
 he don't show up often. I hate him!" 
 
 "You mustn't use swear words," returned 
 Angie, "it's not nice." 
 
 The girl looked abashed. "I guess you'd cuss 
 if you'd been sold to such a nasty-looking man as 
 Pete," she responded. "He chaws terbaccer 'n' 
 lets it drizzle on his chin, 'n' he hain't but one eye." 
 
 Angie smiled, while Martin stared at the girl 
 with increased astonishment. He knew who this 
 McGuire was, and something of his history, and 
 that Tim's Place was a hillside clearing far up the 
 river, inhabited by an Irish family devoted to the 
 raising of potatoes. He had halted there once, 
 long enough to observe its somewhat slothful con- 
 dition, and to buy pork and potatoes ; but this
 
 26 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 tale was a revelation, and the girl herself a greater 
 one. 
 
 This oasis in the wilderness was fully forty miles 
 above here, its only connection with civilization 
 was a seldom-used log road which only an expe- 
 rienced woodsman could follow, and how this 
 mere child had dared it, was a marvel. 
 
 But there she was, squat on the ground and 
 watching them with big black, pleading eyes. 
 There was but one thing to do, to care for her now, 
 as humanity insisted, and Angie made the first 
 move. It was in the direction of cleanliness; for 
 entering the tent, she soon appeared with some 
 of her own extra clothing, soap, and towels, and 
 bade the girl follow her up the river a few rods. 
 
 The moon was shining clearly above the tree- 
 tops, the camp-fire burned brightly, and Martin, 
 Ray, and Levi were lounging near it when the two 
 returned, and in one an astonishing transforma- 
 tion had taken place. 
 
 Angie had gone away with a girl of ten in respect 
 to clothing, her skirt evidently made of gunny 
 cloth and reaching but little below her knees, and 
 for a waist, what was once a man's red flannel 
 shirt, and both in rags. Soiled with black mud, 
 and bleeding, she was an object pitiable beyond
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 27 
 
 words; she returned a young lady, almost, in 
 stature, her face shining and rosy, and her eyes so 
 tender with gratitude that they were pathetic. 
 
 Another change had also come with cleanliness 
 and clothing a sudden bashfulness. It was 
 some time ere she could be made to talk again, but 
 finally that wore away and then her story caire. 
 What a tale it was scarce credible. 
 
 At first were growing terrors as she plunged 
 deeper and deeper into the shadowy forest, the 
 brush and logs that tripped her, the mud holes she 
 wallowed through, the ever increasing horrors of 
 this flight, the blood- chilling cries of night prowlers, 
 the gathering darkness while she waited on the 
 bridge, the awful moment when she saw two yellow 
 eyes watching her, not twenty feet away, her screams 
 of agonized fear, and then time that seemed eter- 
 nity, while she expected the next moment to feel 
 the fangs of a hungry panther. 
 
 How blessed the first dawn of morning had 
 seemed, how she ran on and on, until faint with 
 hunger she halted to eat roots, leaves, berries 
 anything to sustain life ! The river had been her 
 one boon of hope and consolation, and even beyond 
 the fear of wild beast had been the dread of pur- 
 suit and capture by this half-breed. When night
 
 28 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 came, she had crept into a thicket, covering herself 
 with boughs; when daylight dawned, she had 
 pushed on again, ever growing weaker and oft 
 stumbling from faintness. 
 
 Hope had almost vanished, her strength had 
 quite left her, the last day had been a partial blank 
 so far as knowledge of her progress went, but 
 filled with eerie sights and sounds. From first to 
 last the spites of Old Tomah had kept her company 
 by day she heard them, swifter- footed than 
 she, in the undergrowth ; by night they were all 
 about, dodging behind trees, hopping from limb 
 to limb, and sometimes snapping and snarling. 
 The one supreme moment of joy, oft referred to, 
 was when she had seen her rescuers' camp-fire, 
 with human, and possibly friendly, faces about it. 
 
 It was a fantastic, weird, almost spookish tale, 
 the spectres she had seen were so real to her that 
 the telling made them seem almost so to the rest, 
 and beyond that, the girl herself, so like a young 
 witch, with her shadowy eyes and furtive glances, 
 added to the illusion. 
 
 But now came a diversion, for Levi freshened 
 the fire, and at a nod from Angie, Ray brought 
 forth his banjo. It was his one pet foible, and it 
 went with him everywhere, and now, with time
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 29 
 
 and place so in accord, he was glad to exhibit his 
 talent. He was not an expert, a few jigs and 
 plantation melodies composed his repertory, but 
 with the moonlight glinting through the spruce 
 boughs, the river murmuring near, somehow 
 one could not fail to catch the quaint humor of 
 "Old Uncle Ned," "Jim Crack Corn," and the 
 like, and see the two dusky lovers as they floated 
 down the "Tombigbee River," and feel the pathos 
 of "Nellie Grey" and "Old Kentucky Home." 
 
 Ray sang fairly well and in sympathy with each 
 theme. To Angie and the rest it was but ordi- 
 nary; but to this waif, who never before had heard 
 a banjo or a darky song, it was marvellous. Her 
 face lit up with keen interest, her eyes grew misty 
 at times, and once two tears stole down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 For an hour Ray was the centre of interest, and 
 then Angie arose. 
 
 "Come, Chip," she said pleasantly, "it's time 
 to go to bed, and you are to share my tent. " 
 
 "I'd rather not," the girl replied bluntly. "I 
 ain't fit. I kin jist ez well curl 'longside o' the 
 fire." 
 
 But Angie insisted and the girl followed her 
 into the tent.
 
 30 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 Here occurred another incident that must be 
 related. Angie, always devout, and somewhat 
 puritanical, was one who never forgot her nightly 
 prayer, and now, when ready for slumber, she 
 knelt on the bed of fir twigs, and by the light of one 
 small candle offered her usual petition, while Chip 
 watched her with wide and wondering eyes. As 
 might be expected, that waif was mentioned, and 
 with deep feeling. 
 
 "Do ye s'pose God heard ye?" she queried with 
 evident candor, when Angie ceased. 
 
 "Why, certainly," came the earnest answer; 
 "God hears all prayers." 
 
 "And do the spites hear 'em?" 
 
 "There are no such creatures as 'spites,'" an- 
 swered Angie, severely; "you only imagine them, 
 and what this Indian has told you is super- 
 stition." 
 
 "But I've seen 'em, hundreds on 'em, big and 
 little," returned the girl, stoutly. 
 
 Angie looked at her with pity. 
 
 "Put that notion out of your head, once for 
 all," she said, almost sternly. "It is only a delu- 
 sion, and no doubt told to scare you." 
 
 And poor Chip, conscious that perhaps she had 
 sinned in speech, said no more.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 31 
 
 For a long time Angle lay sleepless upon her 
 fragrant bed, recalling the waif's strange story 
 and trying to grasp the depth and breadth of her 
 life at Tim's Place; also to surmise, if possible, 
 how serious a taint of evil she had inherited. That 
 her father was vile beyond compare seemed posi- 
 tive; that her mother might have been scarce bet- 
 ter was probable. No mention, thus far, had 
 been made of her ; and so Angie reflected upon 
 this pitiful child's ancestry and what manner of 
 heritage she had been blessed or cursed with. 
 Some of her attributes awoke Angie's admiration. 
 She had shown utter abhorrence of this brutal 
 sale of herself, a marvellous courage in endeavor- 
 ing to escape it. She seemed grateful for what 
 had been done for her, and a partial realization of 
 her own unfitness for association with refined 
 people. Her speech was no worse than might be 
 expected from her life at Tim's Place. Doubtless, 
 she was unable to read or write. And so Angie 
 lay, considering all the pros and cons of the situa- 
 tion and of this girl's life. 
 
 There was also another side to it all, the humane 
 one. They were on their way out of the wilder- 
 ness, for a business visit to the nearest settlement, 
 intending to return to the woods in a few days
 
 32 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 and what was to be done with this child of misfor- 
 tune? 
 
 Most assuredly they must protect her for the 
 present. But was there any one to whom she 
 could be turned over and cared for? It seemed 
 possible this brutal buyer of her would follow her 
 out of the woods, to abduct her if found, and 
 then the moral side of this episode with all its 
 abominable possibilities occurred to Angie, who 
 was, above all, unselfish and noble-hearted. Vice, 
 crime, and immorality were horrible to her. 
 
 Here was a self-evident duty thrusting itself 
 upon her, and how to meet it with justice to her- 
 self, her husband, and her own conscience, was a 
 problem. Thus dwelling upon this complex situa- 
 tion, she fell asleep. 
 
 The first faint light of morning was stealing into 
 the tent when Angie felt her companion stir. She 
 had, exhausted as she doubtless was, fallen asleep 
 almost the moment she lay down ; but now she was 
 evidently awake. 
 
 Curious to note what she would do, Angie remained 
 with closed eyes and motionless. From the corner 
 of the tent where she had curled up the night before, 
 the girl now cautiously crept toward the elder 
 woman. Inch by inch, upon the bed of boughs,
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 33 
 
 she moved nearer, until Angle, watching with half- 
 open eyes, saw her head lowered, and felt two soft 
 warm lips touch her hand. 
 
 It was a trifle. It was no more than the act of 
 a cat who rubs herself against her mistress or a dog 
 who licks his master's hand, and yet it settled once 
 for all that waif's fate and Angie's indecision.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 " Women are like grasshoppers ye kin never tell which 
 way they're goin' to jump." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 LEVI was starting a fire, Ray washing potatoes, 
 and Martin, in his shirt-sleeves, using a towel 
 vigorously near the canoes, when Angie and Chip 
 emerged that morning; and now while breakfast 
 is under way, a moment may be seized to explain 
 who these people were and their mission in this 
 wilderness. 
 
 Many years before, in a distant village called 
 Greenvale, two brothers, David and Amzi Curtis, 
 had quarrelled over an unfortunate division of in- 
 herited land. The outcome was that Amzi, some- 
 what misanthropic over the death of his wife, and 
 of peculiar make-up, deserted his home and little 
 daughter Angeline, and vanished. For many years 
 no one knew of his whereabouts, and he was given 
 up as dead. 
 
 In the meantime his child, cared for by a kindly 
 woman known as Aunt Comfort, had grown to 
 womanhood. About this time a boyhood sweet- 
 
 34
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 35 
 
 heart of Angelinas, named Martin Frisbie, who had 
 been gathering wealth in a distant city, invited a 
 former schoolmate, now the village doctor in Green- 
 vale, to join him on an outing trip into the wilder- 
 ness. 
 
 Here something of the history of a notorious out- 
 law named McGuire became known to Martin, and 
 more important than that, a queer old hermit was 
 discovered, dwelling in solitude on the shore of a 
 small lake. Who he was, and why this strange 
 manner of life, Martin could not learn, and not 
 until later, when he returned to Greenvale to woo 
 his former sweetheart once more, did he even guess. 
 Here, however, from a description furnished by a 
 village nondescript, a sort of Natty Bumpo and 
 philosopher combined, known as Old Cy Walker, 
 who had been Martin's youthful companion, he 
 was led to believe that the queer hermit and the 
 long- missing Amzi were one and the same. 
 
 Another trip into this wilderness with Old Cy, 
 taken to identify the hermit, resulted in proving the 
 correctness of the surmise. Then Martin set about 
 making this misanthropic recluse more comfortable in 
 all ways possible ; and then, leaving Old Cy to keep 
 him company, he returned to Greenvale and Angie. 
 
 A marriage was the outcome of his return to his
 
 36 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 native village, and then, with his nephew, Ray, and 
 long-tried guide, Levi, as helpers on this unique 
 wedding trip, the hermit was visited. 
 
 It was hoped that meeting his child once more 
 would result in inducing him to abandon his wild- 
 wood existence and to return to civilization ; and 
 it did partially. He seemed happy to meet his 
 daughter again, consented to return with them 
 when ready, and after a couple of weeks' sojourn 
 here, the canoes were packed and all set out for 
 civilization and Greenvale once more. 
 
 But "home, sweet home," albeit it was, as in 
 this case, a lonely log cabin in a vast wilderness, 
 proved stronger than parental love or aught else; 
 and sometime during first night's camp on the way 
 out, this strange recluse stole away in his canoe 
 and returned. 
 
 "It's natur," Old Cy observed when morning 
 came, "an' home is the hardest spot in the world 
 to fergit. Amzi's lived in that old shack all 'lone 
 for twenty years. He's got wonted to it like a dog 
 to his kennel, an' all the powers o' the univarse can't 
 break up the feelin'." 
 
 It seemed an indisputable, if disappointing, fact, 
 and Martin led his party back to the hermit's home 
 once more.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 37 
 
 Another plan was now considered by Martin 
 to buy the township, or at least a large tract enclos- 
 ing this lake, build a more commodious log cabin for 
 the use of himself and his wife, and spend a portion 
 of each summer there. There were several reasons 
 other than those of affection for this decision. 
 
 This lake, perhaps half a mile in diameter, teemed 
 with trout. The low mountains enclosing it were 
 thickly covered with fine spruce and fir, groves of 
 pine with some beech and birch grew in the valleys ; 
 deer, moose, and feathered game abounded here, 
 and best of all, no vandal lumbermen ever encroached 
 upon this region. 
 
 It was, all considered, a veritable sportsman's 
 paradise. Most likely a few thousand dollars 
 would purchase it, and so, for these collective 
 reasons, Martin decided to buy it. 
 
 Old Cy was left to keep the hermit company; 
 Martin, his wife, and Ray, with Levi, started for 
 civilization to obtain needed supplies, and had 
 been four days upon the way when this much- 
 abused waif appeared on the scene. The party 
 were journeying in two canoes, one manned by 
 Ray, who had already learned to wield a paddle, 
 which carried the tents and luggage ; while the 
 other was occupied by Martin, his wife, and Levi.
 
 38 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 The only available seat for the new arrival was in 
 Ray's canoe, and when breakfast was disposed of 
 and the voyagers ready to start, she was given a 
 place therein. 
 
 The river at this point was broad and of slow 
 current, only two days' journey was needful to reach 
 the settlement, and no cause for worry appeared 
 but Levi felt otherwise. 
 
 "You'd best hug the futher shore," he observed 
 to Ray quietly when the boy pushed off, "an* 
 don't git out o' sight o' us." "I ain't sartin 'bout 
 the outcome o' this matter," he said to Martin later. 
 "I know that half- breed, Bolduc, and he's a bad 
 'un. From the gal's story he paid big money fer 
 her. He don't know the meanin' o' law, and if 
 he follers down the tote road, as I callate he will, 
 'n' ketches sight o' her, the first we'll know on't '11 
 be the crack o' a rifle. The wonder to me is he 
 didn't ketch her 'fore she got to us. He could track 
 her faster'n she could run. I don't want to 'larm 
 you folks, but I shan't feel easy till we're out o' the 
 woods." 
 
 It wasn't reassuring. 
 
 But no thought of this came to Ray, at least, 
 and these two young people, yielding to the magic 
 of the morning, the rippled river that bore them
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 39 
 
 onward, the birds singing along the fir- clad banks, 
 and all the exhilaration of the wilderness, soon 
 reached the care- free converse of youthful friends. 
 "I never had nothin' but work 'n' cussin','' Chip 
 responded, when Ray asked if she never had any 
 time she could call her own. "Tim thinked I 
 couldn't get tired, I guess. He'd roust me up fust 
 of all 'n' larrup me if he caught me shirkin'. Once 
 I had a little posey bed back o' the pig-pen. I fixed 
 it after dark an' mornin's when I ketched the 
 chance. He ketched me thar one mornin' a-weedin' 
 it 'n' knocked me sprawlin' an' then stomped all over 
 the posies. That night I went out into the woods 
 'n' begged the spites to git him killed somehow. 
 'Nother time I forgot to put up the bars, an' the 
 cows got into the taters. That night he tied me 
 to a stump clus to the bars, an' left me thar all 
 night. I used to be more skeered o' my dad 'n 
 I was o' Tim, tho'. He'd look at me like he hated 
 me, an' say, 'Shut up,' if I said a word, an' I 'most 
 believed he'd kill me, just fer nothin'. Once he 
 said he'd take me out into the woods at night J n' 
 bait a bear trap with me if he heerd I didn't mind 
 Tim. I told Old Tomah that, an' he said if he did, 
 he'd shoot him; but Old Tomah wasn't round only 
 winters. I hated dad so I'd 'a' shot him myself,
 
 40 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 I guess, if I cud 'a' got hold o' a gun when he wa'n't 
 watchinV 
 
 "It's awful to have to feel that way toward your own 
 father," interrupted Ray, "for he was your father." 
 
 "I s'pose 'twas," admitted Chip, candidly, 
 "but I never felt much different. I've seen him 
 slap mother when she was on her knees a-bawlin', 
 an' the way he would cuss her was awful." 
 
 "But you had some friendship from this old 
 Indian," queried Ray, who began to realize what 
 a pitiful life the girl had led; "he was good to you, 
 wasn't he?" 
 
 "He was, sartin," returned Chip, eagerly; "he 
 used to tell me the spites 'ud fix dad 'fore long, so 
 he'd never show up agin, 'n' when I got big 'nuff he'd 
 sneak me off some night 'n' take me to the settle- 
 ment, whar I could arn a livin'. Old Tomah was 
 the only one who cared a cuss fer me. I used to 
 bawl when he went away every spring, an' beg him 
 to take me 'long 'n' help him camp 'n' cook. I'd 
 'a' done 'most anything fer Old Tomah. I didn't 
 mind havin' to work all the time fer Tim. I didn't 
 mind wearin' clothes made out o' old duds 'n' 
 bein' cussed fer not workin' hard 'nuff. What I 
 did mind was not havin' nobody who cared whether 
 I lived or died, or said a good word to me. Some-
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 41 
 
 times I got so lonesome, I used to go out in the woods 
 nights when 'twas moonlight 'n' beg the spites to 
 help me. I used to think mother might be one on 
 'em 'n' she'd keer fer me. I think she was, an' 
 'twas her as kept me goin' till I found you folks's 
 camp. I got awful skeered them nights I was 
 runnin' away, an' when 'twas so dark I couldn't 
 see no more, an' I heerd wildcats yowlin', I'd git 
 on my knees 'n' beg mother to keep 'em away. I 
 think she did, an' allus shall." 
 
 Much more in connection with the wild, harsh 
 life Chip had led for eight years was now told by 
 her. Old Tomah's superstition and belief in hob- 
 goblins were enlarged upon. Life at Tim's Place, 
 with all its filth, brutality, and nearly animal exist- 
 ence, was described in full; for Chip's tongue, once 
 loosened, ran on and on, while Ray, spellbound by 
 this description, was scarce conscious he was wield- 
 ing a paddle. Never before had he heard such a 
 tale, so unusual and so pathetic. Naturally of 
 chivalrous and manly nature, it appealed to him as 
 naught else could. Then the girl herself, with her 
 big, pleading eyes, her queer belief in those woodsy, 
 spectral forms she called spites, and her free 
 and easy confidence in him, and his sympathy also, 
 surprised Ray. Her speech was coarse and crude
 
 42 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 the vernacular of Tim's Place. Now and then 
 a profane word crept in ; yet it was absolute truth, 
 and forceful from its very simplicity. 
 
 But another influence, more potent than her 
 wrongs, was now appealing to Chip her sense of 
 joy at her rescue, and with it a positive faith that 
 the spites had been the means of her escape. 
 
 "I know they did it," she said time and again, 
 "an* I know mother was one on 'em. I wished I 
 cud do suthin' to show 'em how thankful I am 'n' 
 how happy I am now." And Ray, astonished that 
 so keen-witted and courageous a girl should have 
 such a fantastic belief, made no comment. 
 
 A more serious subject was under discussion in 
 the other canoe, meantime, as to the future disposi- 
 tion of Chip herself. 
 
 "I feel it my duty to take care of her," Angie 
 said, after relating her conversation with Chip and 
 that morning's incident. "She is a homeless, out- 
 cast waif, needing education and everything else 
 to Christianize her. We must bring her to the settle- 
 ment, but to turn her adrift might mean leaving her 
 to a life of vice, even if she escapes her brutal father 
 and this worse half-breed. Then, again, I am not 
 sure that her parentage will bear inspection. She 
 has told me something about her earlier life, and
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 43 
 
 about her mother, who evidently loved her. One 
 course only seems plain to me, to take care of 
 and educate this unfortunate." 
 
 "I am willing, my dear," responded Martin, who, 
 like all new husbands, was ready to concede any- 
 thing, "only I suggest that you go a little slow. 
 You can't tell yet what this girl will develop into. 
 She has had the worst possible parentage, without 
 doubt. Her life at Tim's Place, and contact with 
 lumbermen or worse, has been no benefit. She is 
 grossly ignorant, and may be ill-tempered, and once 
 given to understand that you have practically 
 adopted her, you can't or won't have the 
 heart to turn her off. Now we are to return 
 to the lake and remain a month, as you know, 
 and in the meantime, what will you do with this 
 girl?" 
 
 This was reducing Angie's philanthropic impulses 
 to a focus, as it were, and it set her thinking. Some- 
 thing more of this discussion followed, and finally 
 Angie announced her decision. 
 
 "We must take the girl back with us," she said, 
 "and begin her reformation at the camp. If she 
 shows any aptitude and willingness to obey, we will 
 take her to Greenvale. If not, you must arrange 
 to get her into some institution."
 
 44 THE GIRL FROM TIM S PLACE 
 
 "And suppose the half-breed finds where she is, 
 what then?" inquired Martin. 
 
 "What do you say, Levi?" he added, turning to 
 his guide, "you 'know this fellow; what will he be 
 apt to do?" 
 
 "I s'pose you know what a panther'll do, robbed 
 of her cub," Levi answered, "an' how a bull moose 
 acts in runnin' time, mebbe. Wai, this Pete is 
 worse'n both on 'em biled into one, I callate. If 
 you're goin' ter take the gal back, you've got to keep 
 her shady, or some day you'll find her missin'. 
 Besides, Pete, ez I told ye, don't know the meanin' 
 o' law and is handy with a gun." 
 
 But Martin did not quite share Levi's fears, and 
 so Angie's decision was agreed to. Levi's advice 
 to "keep shady" was accepted, however, and all 
 through that summer's somewhat thrilling experi- 
 ences it was the rule of conduct. 
 
 When noon came, Levi led the way into a lagoon ; 
 in a secluded spot at its head dinner was cooked, 
 and when the sun was well down and a tributary 
 stream was reached, he turned into it, and halted not 
 for the night camp until a full half-mile separated 
 them from the river. 
 
 A certain vague sense of impending danger began 
 to impress both Martin and his wife, and the woods
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 45 
 
 seemed to hold a one-eyed, malicious villain who 
 might appear at any moment. A danger which we 
 know actually exists, we can avoid or meet squarely ; 
 but one merely imaginary becomes irksome and 
 really more annoying. 
 
 No hint of this was dropped by the three older 
 ones, and when the tents were pitched, long before 
 twilight, and Martin and Ray had captured a goodly 
 string of trout and the camp-fire was al\?^t >>*' 
 wildwood life seemed absolutely perfect, to the 
 young folks at least. 
 
 Chip also showed one of the best features of her 
 training. She wanted to help everybody and do 
 everything, and Levi, who always did the cooking, 
 was importuned to let her help. Strong as a young 
 Amazon, she fetched and carried like a man, and 
 the one thing that gladdened her most was per- 
 mission to work. 
 
 When supper was over came the lounging beside 
 the cheerful fire, and as the shadows thickened, 
 forth came Ray's banjo once more, and with it the 
 light of admiration in Chip's eyes. 
 
 All that day he had been her charming com- 
 panion; his open, manly face, his bright brown 
 eyes, had been ever before her. His well-bred 
 ways, so unlike all the men at Tim's Place, had
 
 46 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 impressed her as those of a youth of eighteen will 
 a maid of sixteen; and now, with his voice appeal- 
 ing to the best in her, he seemed like Pan of old, 
 once more wooing a nymph with his pipes. 
 
 No knowledge of this was hers, no consciousness 
 of why she was happy came to her. She knew 
 what spites were; but the god Pan and Apollo with 
 his harp were unknown forms. 
 
 Neither did she realize that born in her soul that 
 day, on the broad shining river, was a magic impulse 
 woven out of heart throbs, and destined to mete out 
 to her more sorrow than all else in her life combined. 
 
 She had entered the wondrous vale of love whose 
 paths are flower-strewn, whose shores are rippled 
 with laughter, and whose borders, alas ! are ever 
 hid in the midst of tears.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 "The wilderness allus seems full o' spectres 'n' creepin' 
 crawlin' panthers. Sometimes I think it's God, an' then 
 agin, the devil." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 TIM'S PLACE, this refuge in the wilderness, cleared 
 and colonized by Tim Connor, was neither better 
 nor worse than such pioneer openings in Nature's 
 domain are apt to be. ' Tim, a hardy Irishman of 
 sod-hovel and potato- diet ancestors, had been 
 blacksmith for a lumber camp on this broad river 
 and at its junction with a tributary called the Fox 
 Hole years before Chip was born. 
 
 When all the adjacent lumber was cut and sent 
 down this river, the camp was abandoned, and then 
 Tim saw his opening. With his precious winter's 
 wages he purchased a large tract of this now worth- 
 less land, induced a robust Bridget, his brother 
 Mike, and his consort to join fortunes with him, 
 brought in cows, horses, pigs, and poultry, and 
 began farming with the lumber camp as domicile. 
 
 Another log cabin was soon added, the first crop 
 of potatoes sold readily to other lumbermen farther 
 
 47
 
 48 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 in the wilderness, the pigs in a sty adjacent to his 
 own throve, the poultry multiplied, children came, 
 and the red-shirted men coming into the wilderness 
 or going out found Tim's Place convenient. 
 
 With this added business came an enlargement 
 in Tim's ideas, the outcome of which was a framed 
 house containing a kitchen and dining room and 
 half a dozen others of closet-like proportions, fur- 
 nished with box-on-legs beds. It was not a pre- 
 tentious hostelry. Paint, shutters, and carpets were 
 absent, benches served for chairs, the only mirror in 
 it was eight by twelve inches, and used in common 
 by Bridget and Mary. The toilet conveniences 
 consisted of a wash-basin in the kitchen sink and 
 a "last year's" towel, used semi-occasionally. A 
 long table bare of cloth and set with tinware served 
 in the dining room, warmed in winter by a round 
 sheet-iron stove; above it usually hung an array 
 of socks and mittens, and a capacious cook stove 
 half filled the kitchen. It was the crudest possible 
 backwoods abode, and yet compared to the log 
 cabin first occupied by Tim, it was a palace, and he 
 was proud of it. 
 
 In autumn swarms of lumbermen halted there, 
 content to sleep on the floor if need be. In spring 
 they came again, log-driving down stream; later
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 49 
 
 a few sportsmen occasionally tried it, and all fared 
 alike. 
 
 There was no sentiment about Tim. If the 
 citified fishermen objected to what they found, 
 " Be gob, you kin kape away," he readily told them. 
 A quarter for each meal, or a night's lodging, was 
 the price, whether a bed or the floor was provided, 
 and from early spring until frost came, all the occu- 
 pants went barefoot. 
 
 When snow had made the sixty miles of log road 
 to the nearest settlement passable, Tim invariably 
 journeyed hither with horse and bob-sled for cloth- 
 ing and supplies. 
 
 No knowledge or news from the world reached 
 here, unless brought by chance visitors. Sundays 
 were an unknown factor, the work of clearing land 
 and potato-raising became a continuous perform- 
 ance from spring until autumn; and the change 
 of seasons, the rise and fall of the river, were the 
 only measure of time. 
 
 An addition to Tim's Place, other than babies 
 and pigs, came one fall in an old Indian who, by 
 ample presents of game, soon won Tim's good-will 
 and help in the erection of a log wigwam; but this 
 relic of a vanishing race reckoned by Tim as par- 
 tially insane remained there only winters, and
 
 50 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 when spring returned, disappeared into the wilder- 
 ness. 
 
 There were also two other occasional visitors both 
 meriting description. First, a beetle-browed, keen- 
 eyed, red-haired man garbed as a hunter, whose 
 speech disclosed something of the Scotch dialect, 
 and who, presenting Tim with a deer and two 
 bottles of whiskey as a peace-offering on his first 
 arrival, soon obtained a welcome. He told a plausi- 
 ble tale of having been pursued for years by enemies 
 seeking his life ; how he had been robbed and 
 driven away from the settlements ; and how two of 
 these enemies had even followed him into the woods. 
 He had been shot at by them, had killed one in 
 self-defence, a price had been set upon his capture, 
 dead or alive, and, all in all, he was a sorely abused 
 man. 
 
 How much of this lurid and fantastic tale Tim 
 
 believed, is not pertinent to this narrative. The 
 
 stranger, calling himself McGuire, was evidently a 
 
 good fellow, since he brought good whiskey, and 
 
 Tim made him welcome. 
 
 The facts as to McGuire, however, were somewhat 
 at variance with his assertions. He had originally 
 been a dive-keeper in a focal city for the lumbering 
 interests of this wilderness, had entertained swarms
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 51 
 
 of log-drivers just paid off and anxious to spend 
 money, and when the law interfered, he retreated 
 to a smaller town. 
 
 In the interval, strange to say, his moral nature 
 or rather immoral suffered a brief relapse, 
 during which he persuaded an excellent if confiding 
 young woman to share his name and infamy. 
 
 His second business venture came to grief, how- 
 ever, and his wife deserted him and met with a fatal 
 accident a few years after. In the meantime he 
 had kept busy, exercising his peculiar talents and 
 tastes in an individual manner, and evading officers, 
 and his ways of money-getting were peculiar and 
 diverse. 
 
 The Chinese Exclusion Act had just become oper- 
 ative, and the admission of Celestials into the land 
 of the free, and of good wages, became a valuable 
 matter. McGuire conceived the brilliant, if grew- 
 some, idea of passing "Chinks" over the border 
 line concealed in coffins. It worked admirably, and 
 with accomplices on both sides to obtain certifi- 
 Jcates and permits, and take charge of the "corpses," 
 a few dozen almond-eyed immigrants at two hun- 
 dred dollars each obtained admission. 
 
 In time, this budding industry met an official 
 quietus, and McGuire, with several warrants out
 
 52 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 against him, took to the woods. He still continued 
 business, however, in various ways. He smuggled 
 liquor over the border by canoe loads, hiding it 
 at convenient points, to exchange for log-drivers' 
 wages. He killed game out of season, and dyna- 
 mited trout and salmon on spawning beds for the 
 same purpose; and, handy with cards, did not 
 disdain their use in lumbering camps. 
 
 In all and through all his various ways of money- 
 getting, one purpose had governed him that of 
 money-saving. Trusting no one, as he had reason 
 to feel no one trusted him, he continually emulated 
 the squirrels and hid his savings in the woods. A 
 trapper and hunter by instinct, as well as thief, 
 dive-keeper, smuggler, poacher, and gambler, he 
 had in his wanderings discovered a cave in a slate 
 ledge upon the shores of a small lake far into the 
 wilderness. It was while trapping here that he 
 found this by the aid of a fox which, while dragging 
 a trap, became caught and held in a crevasse while 
 attempting to enter it. 
 
 The fox thus secured, McGuire made further 
 investigation, and by removing a loose slab of slate, 
 he was enabled to enter a roomy cavern, or rather 
 two small ones partially separated by slate walls. 
 A little light entered the larger one, through a seam
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 53 
 
 crossing it lengthwise. They were free from mois- 
 ture at this time early autumn and so secluded 
 was the spot that McGuire decided at once to use 
 this place as a hiding- spot for his money. The 
 entrance could be kept concealed, its location served 
 his purpose, and, fox-like himself, he decided to 
 occupy what he would never have found without 
 the aid of a fox, believing no one else would find it. 
 It could also be used as a domicile for himself as 
 well. A fireplace of slate could be built in it, an 
 escape for smoke might be formed through the crack, 
 if enlarged, and so this cave's possibilities increased. 
 
 There were still several other advantages. This 
 lake .was surrounded by precipitous mountains; no 
 lumbermen, even, were likely to operate there; the 
 stream flowing out of it soon crossed the border line, 
 finding escape into the St. Lawrence valley at a point 
 some twenty miles distant; a short carry enabled 
 him to reach the Fox Hole which flowed by Tim's 
 Place, and so this served as an excellent whip road 
 in case of pursuit. 
 
 His transient asylum at Tim's Place also served 
 as a vantage point in another way. 
 
 Here all who entered this portion of the wilderness 
 invariably halted, officers and wardens as well, 
 and as by this time McGuire had become an outlaw
 
 54 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 murderer, with a reward offered for his capture, 
 this outpost was of double advantage. 
 
 Caution was a strong point in his make-up, yet 
 he was daring as well. He still visited the settlements 
 occasionally, to sell furs and obtain ammunition 
 and whiskey ; and when he, as ill luck would have 
 it, happened there at the time his child was left 
 motherless, some malign impulse led him to take 
 her to Tim's Place and leave her in servitude there. 
 
 There was also another chance caller at this outpost 
 a half-breed trapper and hunter named Bolduc, 
 who had established himself in a lone cabin on the 
 Fox Hole, some ten miles up from Tim's Place. He 
 was a repulsive minor edition of McGuire. A 
 wildcat, with laudable intentions, had essayed 
 putting an end to his career, and succeeded to the 
 extent of one eye and some blood. He had been 
 the accomplice and partner of McGuire in many 
 a whiskey-smuggling trip. He also dealt in this 
 pernicious, but valuable, fluid, was a poacher ever 
 ready to pot-hunt for a lumbering camp in winter, 
 or find a moose yard on snow-shoes, after slaughter- 
 ing the helpless inmates of which, he would sell them 
 to the busy wood- choppers. 
 
 He, too, could be classed as brigand of the wilder- 
 ness, and while no warrants or charges against him
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 55 
 
 were rife, he felt it wise to avoid meeting minions 
 of the law. Tim's Place was a convenient point 
 to obtain information as to location of new lumber 
 camps or possible visits of officers . An occasional 
 bottle of whiskey secured Tim's favor. The even- 
 ings and meals there impressed Pete with the advan- 
 tages of owning a woman's services, and as Chip 
 matured in domestic and other possibilities, a desire 
 to possess her began to increase his visits. 
 
 His wooing met no response, however, and when 
 persisted in always awoke on her part the same 
 instinct once displayed toward him by a wildcat. 
 
 Then recourse to her father's greed for money 
 was taken, with results as described. 
 
 The only thing that saved poor Chip from pur- 
 suit and capture, however, was his wholesome fear 
 of her finger-nails, and the belief that it was best 
 to let her father earn the balance of her price and 
 fetch her, as agreed. Acting upon this theory, 
 Pete had departed from Tim's Place at dawn, to 
 await her arrival at his cabin, quite oblivious of the 
 fact that his bird had flown. 
 
 All that long day he waited in great expectancy. 
 Toward evening he returned to Tim's Place to learn 
 that Chip had not been seen since the previous 
 night; that her father had also vanished without 

 
 56 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 comment. That he was a party to this trick and 
 deception, and, after securing his three hundred 
 dollars, had taken her away, was Pete's conclusion, 
 and he vowed a murderous revenge. He returned 
 to his cabin, little realizing that twenty miles away 
 poor Chip, faint with hunger and the terror of a 
 vast wilderness, was fighting her way through bush, 
 bramble, and swamp in a mad attempt to escape. 
 Neither did Tim, while regretting the loss of his 
 slave, know or care that one of his occasional vis- 
 itors was now a mortal enemy of the other, and that 
 a tragedy, dark and grewsome, would be its outcome.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 "The size o' a toad is allus reg'lated by the size o' the 
 puddle." OLD Cv WALKER. 
 
 A WEEK was spent by Martin and his party at the 
 settlement, during which he acquired the title to 
 township forty- four, range ten, which included the 
 little lake near the hermit's hut, and made a four- 
 square-mile tract about it. 
 
 Chip, thanks to Angie, secured a simple outfit of 
 apparel and surprising fact evinced excellent 
 taste in its selection, thereby proving that eight years 
 of isolation and a gunny-sack and red-shirt garb 
 had not obliterated the deepest instinct of woman. 
 
 To Levi, Martin's woodwise helper, was left the 
 selection of fittings for the new camp. A couple of 
 husky Canucks were engaged to bring them in in 
 a bateau, and then the party started on its return. 
 
 Only one incident of importance occurred during 
 the wait at this village known as Grindstone. Angie 
 and Chip had just left the only store there, in front 
 of which a group of log-drivers had congregated, 
 when Angie, glancing back, saw that one of the 
 
 57
 
 58 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 group was following them. She quickened her 
 pace, and so did he, until just as they turned into a 
 side street, he passed them, halted, and turned about. 
 
 "Wai, I'm damned if 'tain't Chip, an' dressed 
 like a leddy," he exclaimed, as they drew near. 
 
 "Hullo, Chip," he added, as they passed, "when 
 did you strike luck?" 
 
 Chip made no response and he muttered again, 
 "Wai, I'm damned, jest like a leddy!" 
 
 It was annoying, especially to Angie, and neithei 
 of the two realized how soon this blunt log-driver's 
 discovery would reach Tim's Place. 
 
 And now, leaving the bateau to follow, the party 
 started once more on their journey into the wilder- 
 ness. No sight or sign of pursuit from the half- 
 breed had been thus far observed. A few idle 
 lumbermen in the village the only visible con- 
 nection between the vast forest and a busy world 
 were little thought of, as their canoes crept 
 slowly up the narrowing river and gave no hint of 
 interference from this low brute to any one except 
 Levi. 
 
 He, however, seldom speaking, but ever acting, 
 kept watch and ward continually. At every bend 
 of the stream his eyes were alert to catch the first 
 sight of a down- coming canoe in time to conceal
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 59 
 
 Chip, as he decided must be done. When night 
 camps were made, a site at the head of the lagoon 
 or up some tributary stream was selected, and while 
 not even hinting his reason for this, he felt it wise. 
 As they drew near to Tim's Place, it began to occur 
 to Martin that Chip's presence had best be concealed 
 until that point was passed. He also desired to 
 learn the situation there. He had always halted 
 at this clearing in all his up-river journeys, so far, 
 usually to buy pork and potatoes, and he now in- 
 tended to do so again. He also felt it imperative 
 to conceal Chip in Ray's canoe, before they reached 
 Tim's Place, and. let Ray paddle slowly on while 
 the halt was made. But Levi dissented. 
 
 "Tain't best," he said, "to let Tim know there's 
 two canoes of us and one not stoppin'. It'll make 
 him s'picious o' suthin, 'n' what he 'spects, Pete'll 
 find out. I callate we'd best pass thar in the night, 
 leave the wimmen above, 'n' you 'n' I go back 'n' git 
 what we want." 
 
 "But what about the Canucks following us with 
 the bateau?" returned Martin. "They'll tell who 
 is with us, won't they?" 
 
 "They didn't see us start," answered Levi, "'n' 
 can't swear wimmen came. We'll say we're alone, 'n' 
 bein' so'll make it plausible, 'n' you might say we're
 
 6o 
 
 goin' to build a camp V 'nother season fetch our 
 wimmen in." 
 
 " But how about our men, on the return trip, after 
 finding we have women at the camp?" rejoined 
 Martin. "They will be sure to tell all they know 
 on the way back." 
 
 "We've got to keep the wimmen shady, an' fool 
 J em," answered Levi. And so his plan was adopted. 
 
 It was in the early hours of morning when the 
 two canoes crept noiselessly past Tim's Place. The 
 stars barely outlined the river's course, the frame 
 dwelling, log cabin, and stump- dotted slope back 
 of them. All the untidiness existent about this 
 dwelling was hid in darkness, and only the faint 
 sounds and odors betrayed these conditions. But 
 every eye and ear in the two canoes was alert, pad- 
 dles were dipped without sound, and Chip's heart 
 was beating so loudly that it seemed to her Tim and 
 all his family must be awakened. Her recent escape 
 from this spot and all the reasons forcing it, the 
 fear that both her father and the half-breed might 
 even now be there, added dread; and not until a 
 bend hid even the shadowy view of this plague spot 
 did she breathe easier. 
 
 "I was nigh skeered to death," she whispered 
 to Ray when safety seemed assured, "an* if ever
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 6 1 
 
 Pete finds I'm up whar the folks is goin', I'm a 
 goner." 
 
 "Oh, we'll take care of you," returned that boy, 
 with the boundless confidence of youth; " my uncle 
 can shoot as well as any one, and then Old Cy is up 
 at the camp, and he's a wonder with a rifle. Why, 
 I've seen him hit a crow a half-mile off!" 
 
 Smoke was ascending from the chimney, and the 
 rising sun was just visible when Martin and Levi 
 returned to Tim's. Mike was out in an enclosure, 
 milking ; Tim was back of the house, preparing the 
 pigs' breakfast. The pigs were squealing, and a 
 group of unwashed children were watching opera- 
 tions, when Martin appeared. A pleasant "Good 
 morning" from him and a gruff one from Tim was 
 the introduction, and then that stolid pioneer started 
 for the sty. Not even the unusual event of a caller 
 could hinder him from the one duty he most enjoyed, 
 the care of his beloved swine. 
 
 "You have some nice thrifty pigs," began Martin, 
 when the pen was reached, desiring to placate Tim. 
 
 "They are thot," he returned. 
 
 "My guide and I are on our way into the woods, 
 to build a camp," continued Martin, anxious to 
 have his errand over with, "and we halted to buy a 
 few potatoes of you and some pork. I have a couple
 
 62 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 of men following with a bateau," he continued, 
 after pausing for a reply which did not come; "they 
 will be along in a day or two with most of our sup- 
 plies ; but I felt sure I could get some extra good 
 pork of you and some choice potatoes." 
 
 "You kin thot same," replied Tim, his demeanor 
 obviously softening under this flattery, and so busi- 
 ness relations were established. 
 
 Martin had intended asking some cautious ques- 
 tion regarding Chip or her father; but Tim's surly 
 face, his unresponsive manner, and a mistrust of 
 its wisdom prevented. He was blunt of speech, 
 almost to the verge of insolence, and the arrival of 
 Martin with all his polite words evoked not a ves- 
 tige of welcome; and yet back of those keen gray 
 eyes of his a deal of cunning might lurk, thought 
 Martin. 
 
 Two slovenly women peered out of back door and 
 window while the interview was in progress. Mike 
 came and looked on in silence ; two of the oldest 
 children were down by the canoe where Levi waited ; 
 the rest, open-eyed and astonished, seemed likely 
 to be trodden on by some one each moment. When 
 the stores were secured and paid for, and Martin 
 had pushed off with Levi, he realized something of 
 the life Chip must have led there.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 63 
 
 He had intended not only to obtain potatoes, 
 but some information of value. He obtained the 
 goods, paying a thrifty price, also a good bit of 
 cold shoulder, and that was all. 
 
 But Levi, shrewd woodsman that he was, fared 
 better. 
 
 "I larned Chip's gone off with old McGuire, " 
 he asserted with a quiet smile when they were well 
 away, "an' that Pete's swearin' murder agin him." 
 
 "And how?" responded Martin, in astonish- 
 ment. "I felt that silence was golden with that 
 surly chap, and didn't ask a question." 
 
 "I'm glad," rejoined Levi. "I wanted to tell you 
 not to, and I've larned all we want. Children 
 are easy to pump, an' I did it 'thout wakin' a hint 
 o' 'spicion. Tim's folks all believe Chip's gone 
 with her dad. Pete thinks so, an' is watchin' 
 for him with a gun, I 'spect, an' if so, the sooner 
 they meet, the better." 
 
 It was gratifying news to Martin, and when the 
 other canoe was reached, the two again pushed on, 
 with Martin, at least, feeling that the ways of Fate 
 might prove acceptable. 
 
 Three days more were consumed in reaching 
 the lake now owned by him, for t the river was low, 
 carries had to be made around two rapids, and
 
 64 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 when at last the sequestered, forest- bordered sheet 
 of water was being crossed, Martin wished some 
 titanic hand might raise an impassable barrier 
 about his possessions. 
 
 Old Cy's joy at their return was almost hilari- 
 ous. To a man long past the spasmodic exuberance 
 of youth, loving nature and the wild as few do, 
 the six months here with the misanthropic old 
 hermit, then a month of more cheerful companion- 
 ship, followed by the departure of Martin and Angie, 
 made this forest home-coming doubly welcome. 
 
 But Chip's appearance, and the somewhat thrill- 
 ing episode of her escape from Tim's Place and 
 her rescue, astonished him. Like all old men 
 who are childless, a young girl and her troubles 
 touched a responsive chord in his heart, and on 
 the instant Chip's unfortunate condition found 
 sympathy. Her bluntly told story, with all its 
 details, held him spellbound. He laughed over 
 her description of spites, and when she seemed 
 hurt at this seeming levity, he assured her that 
 spites were a reality in the woods he had seen 
 hundreds of them. It was not long ere he had 
 won her confidence and good-will, as he had Ray's, 
 and then he took Martin aside. 
 
 "That gal's chaser's bin here 'bout a week ago,"
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 65 
 
 he said, "an' the worst-lookin' cuss I ever seen. 
 I know from his description 'twas him. He kept 
 quizzin' me ez to how long we'd been here, if I knew 
 McGuire, or had seen him lately, until I got sorter 
 riled 'n' began to string him. I told him finally 
 that I'd been foolin' all 'long; that McGuire was a 
 friend o' mine; that he'd been here a day or two 
 afore, borrowed some money 'n' lit out fer Canada, 
 knowin' there was a bad man arter him. Then 
 this one-eyed gazoo got mad, real mad, 'n' said 
 things, an' then he cleared out." 
 
 When Martin explained the situation, as he 
 now did, Old Cy chuckled. 
 
 "'Tain't often one shoots in the dark 'n' makes 
 a bull's eye," he said. 
 
 "I think you and I had better keep mum about 
 this half-breed's call," Martin added quietly, 
 "and if Angie mentions it, you needn't say that 
 you know who he was. It will only make my 
 wife and the girl nervous." 
 
 The two tents were now pitched at the head of 
 a cove, some rods away from the hermit's hut, 
 and well out of sight from the landing, and to 
 these both Angie and Chip were assured they 
 must flee as soon as the expected bateau entered 
 the lake, and remain secluded until it had departed.
 
 66 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 In a way, it was a ticklish situation. All knowl- 
 edge that this waif was with Martin's party must 
 be kept from Tim's Place and this half-breed, 
 or she wouldn't be safe an hour; and until the 
 Canucks had come and gone, she must be kept 
 hidden. Another and quite a serious annoyance 
 to Martin was the fact that he had counted on 
 these two men as helpers in cutting and hauling 
 logs for this new camp. Only man-power was 
 available, and to move logs a foot in diameter and 
 twenty feet long, in midsummer, was no easy 
 task; but Levi, more experienced in camp- build- 
 ing, made light of it. 
 
 "We'll cut the logs we need, clus to the lake," 
 he said, "float 'em 'round, 'n' roll 'em up on skids. 
 It's easy 'nough, 'n' we don't need them Canuckers 
 round a minit. " 
 
 It was four days of keen suspense to Chip before 
 they appeared. Neither she nor Angie left the 
 closed tent while they remained over night, or 
 until they had been gone many hours, and then 
 every one felt easier. 
 
 The ringing sound of axes now began to echo over 
 the rippled lake, logs were towed across with canoes, 
 a cellar under the new cabin site was excavated, and 
 home-building in the wilderness went merrily on.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 67 
 
 While the men worked, Angie and Chip were 
 not idle. Not only did they have meals to prepare 
 over a rude out-door fireplace, but they gathered 
 grass and moss for beds, wove a hammock and 
 rustic chair seats out of sedge grass, and countless 
 other useful aids. 
 
 Chip was especially helpful and more grateful 
 than a dog for any and all consideration. Not 
 a step that she could take or a bit of work that she 
 could do was left to Angie; her interest and do- 
 all-she-could desire never flagged, and from early 
 morn until the supper dishes were washed and 
 wiped, Chip was busy. 
 
 But Martin, and especially Levi, had other 
 causes for worry than those which camp-build- 
 ing entailed. The fact that this "Pernicious 
 Pete," as Angie had once called him, would 
 soon learn of their presence here, and hating 
 all law-abiding people, as such forest brigands 
 always do, would naturally seek to injure them, 
 was one cause. Then, there were so many ways 
 by which he could do harm. A fire started at 
 one corner of the hut at midnight, the same Indian- 
 like malice applied to their two tents, the steal- 
 ing of their canoes or the gashing of them with 
 a hunting-knife, and countless other methods of
 
 68 THE GIRL FROM TIM ? S PLACE 
 
 venting spite, presented themselves. In a way, 
 they were helpless against such a night- prowling 
 enemy. Over one hundred miles separated them 
 from civilization and all assistance; an impass- 
 able wilderness lay between. The stream and 
 their canoes were the only means of egress. These 
 valuable craft were left out of sight and sound 
 each night, on the lake shore, and so their vulner- 
 ability on all sides was manifest. 
 
 Then, Chip's presence was an added danger. 
 If once this brute found that she was here, there 
 was no limit to what he would do to secure her 
 and take revenge. They had smuggled her past 
 Tim's Place, "but concealment here was impos- 
 sible; if ever this half-breed returned, she would 
 be discovered, and then what? 
 
 And so by day, while Martin and Levi were 
 busy with hut-building, or beside the evening 
 camp-fire when Ray picked his banjo and Chip 
 watched him with admiring glances, these two 
 guardians had eyes and ears ever alert for this 
 expected enemy.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 " It allus makes me coltish to see two young folks a-wea\in' 
 the thread o' affection." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 THERE were three people at Birch Camp, as 
 Angle had christened it, namely, herself, Ray, 
 and Chip, who did not share Martin's suspicion 
 of danger. A firm belief that a woman's aid in 
 such a complication was of no value, coupled with 
 a desire to save her anxiety, had kept his lips closed 
 as to the situation. 
 
 Life here at all hours soon settled itself into a 
 certain daily routine of work, amusement, and, 
 on Chip's part, of study. True to her philan- 
 thropic sense of duty toward this waif, Angie had 
 at once set about her much-needed education. 
 A reading and spelling book suitable for a child 
 of eight had been secured at the settlement, and 
 now "lessons" occupied a few hours of each day. 
 
 It was only a beginning, of course, and yet with 
 constant reminders as to pronunciation, this was 
 all that Angie could do. The idioms of Tim's 
 Place, with all its profanity, still adhered to Chip's 
 
 69
 
 70 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 speech. This latter, especially, would now and 
 then crop out in spite of all admonitions; and so 
 Angie found that her pupil made slow progress. 
 
 There was also another reason for this. Chip 
 was afraid of her, and oft reproved for her lapses 
 in speech, soon ceased all unnecessary talk when 
 with Angie. 
 
 But with Ray it was different. He was near 
 her own age, the companionship of youth was 
 theirs, and with him Chip's speech was ready 
 enough. This, of course, answered all the pur- 
 poses of benefit by assimilation, and so Angie was 
 well satisfied that they should be together. Be- 
 yond that she had no thought that love might 
 accrue from this association. 
 
 Chip, while fair of face and form, and at a sen- 
 timental age, was so crude of speech, so grossly 
 ignorant, and so allied to the ways and manners 
 of Tim's Place, that, according to Angie's reason- 
 ing, Ray's feelings were safe enough. He was 
 well bred and refined, a happy, natural boy now 
 verging upon manhood. In Greenvale he had 
 never shown much interest in girls' society, and 
 while he now showed a playmate enjoyment of 
 Chip's company, that was all that was likely to 
 happen.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 71 
 
 But the winged god wots not of speech or man- 
 ners. A youth of eighteen and a maid of sixteen 
 are the same the world over, and so out of sight 
 of Angie, and unsuspected by her, the by-play of 
 heart-interest went on. 
 
 And what a glorious golden summer opportu- 
 nity these two had ! 
 
 Back of the camp and tending northwest to 
 southeast was a low ridge of outcropping slate, 
 bare in spots a hog-back, in wilderness phrase. 
 Beyond this lay a mile-long "blow-down," where 
 a tornado had levelled the tall timber. A fire, 
 sweeping this when dry, left a criss-cross confu- 
 sion of charred logs, blueberry bushes had fol- 
 lowed fast, and now those luscious berries were 
 ripening in limitless profusion. Every fair day 
 Ray and Chip came here to pick, to eat, to hear 
 the birds sing, to gather flowers and be happy. 
 
 They watched the rippled lake with now and 
 then a deer upon its shores, from this ridge; they 
 climbed up or down it, hand in hand; they 
 fished in the lake or canoed about it, time and 
 again; and many a summer evening, when the 
 moon served, Chip handled the paddle, while Ray 
 picked his banjo and sang his darky songs all 
 around this placid sheet of water.
 
 72 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 And what a wondrous charm this combination 
 of moonlight on the lake and love songs softened 
 and made tender by the still water held for Chip ! 
 As those melodies had done on that first evening 
 beside the camp-fire, so now they filled her soul 
 with a strange, new-born, and wonderful sense of 
 joy and gladness. 
 
 The black forest enclosing them now was sombre 
 and silent. Spites still lurked in its depths and 
 doubtless were watching; but a protector was 
 near, his arm was strong; back at the landing 
 were kind friends, and the undulating path of 
 silvered light, the round, smiling orb above, the 
 twinkling stars, and this matchless music became 
 a new wonder-world to her. 
 
 Her eyes glistened and grew tender with pathos. 
 She had no more idea than a child why she was 
 happy. Each day sped by on wings of wind, 
 each hour, with her one best companion, the most 
 joyful, and so, day by day, poor Chip learned the 
 sad lesson of loving. 
 
 But never a word or hint of this fell from her 
 lips. Ray was so far above her and such a young 
 hero, that she, a homeless outcast, tainted by the 
 filth and service of Tim's Place, could only look 
 to him as she did to the moon.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 73 
 
 They laughed and exchanged histories. Oft- 
 times he reproved her speech. They fished, picked 
 berries, and worked together like two big children, 
 and only her wistful eyes told the other why they 
 were wistful. 
 
 Martin, busy at camp-building and watching 
 ever for an enemy's coming, saw it not. Angie 
 was as obtuse; the old hermit, misanthropic and 
 verging into dotage, was certainly oblivious, and 
 so no ripples of interest disturbed these workers. 
 
 Such conditions were as sunshine to flowers in 
 aiding the two young lovers, so this forest idyl 
 matured rapidly. Chip, perhaps more imagina- 
 tive than Ray, since most of her education had 
 been the weird superstition of Old Tomah, felt 
 most of its emotional force, though unconscious 
 of the reason. 
 
 "I dunno why I feel so upset all the time lately," 
 she said one afternoon to Ray as, returning from 
 the berry field, they halted on top of the ridge to 
 scan the lake below. "Some o' the time I feel 
 so happy I want to sing, V then I feel jes' t'other 
 way, 'n' like cryin'. When the good spell is on, 
 everything looks so purty, 'n' when I come on to 
 a bunch o' posies, then I feel I must go right down 
 on my knees 'n' kiss 'em. When I was at Tim's
 
 74 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 Place, I never thought about anything 'cept to 
 get my work done 'n' keep from gettin' cussed 'n' 
 licked. I was scart, too, most o' the time, 'n' kept 
 feelin' suthin awful was goin' to happen to me. 
 Now that's 'most gone, but I feel a heartache in 
 place on't. I allus hev a spell o' feelin' so every 
 mornin' when I wake up 'n' hear the birds singin'. 
 They 'feet me so that I'm near cryin' 'fore I git up. 
 You 'n' Mis' Frisbie 'n' everybody's been so good 
 to me, I guess it's made me silly. Then thar's 
 'nother thing worries me, an' that's goin' to the 
 settlement whar you folks is from. I feel I kin 
 sorter earn my keepin' here, but I s'pose I can't 
 thar, 'n' that bothers me. If only you 'n' all the 
 rest was goin' to stay here all the time 'n' I could 
 work some, same as I do now, an' be with you odd 
 spells 'n' evenin's, I'd be so happy. It 'ud be 
 jest like the spot Old Tomah said we're goin' to 
 when we die. He used to tell how 'twas summer 
 thar all the time, with game plenty, berries ripe, 
 flowers growin', too, all the year 'round, 'n' birds 
 singin'. He believed thar was two places some- 
 whar: one for white folks and one fer Injuns; that 
 when we died we turned into spites, stayed 'round 
 till we got revenge for everything bad done us, or 
 got a chance to pay up what good we owed for."
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 75 
 
 "I don't know where we go to when we quit 
 this world, and neither does anybody else, I be- 
 lieve, " Ray answered philosophically, and scarce 
 understanding Chip's mood. "I believe, as Old 
 Cy does, that the time to be happy is when we are 
 young and can be; that when we are ready to leave 
 this world is time enough for another one. As 
 to your worrying about your going to Greenvale, " 
 he added confidently, and encircling Chip's waist 
 with one arm, "why, you've got me to look out 
 for you, and then Angie won't begrudge you your 
 keep, so don't think about that." And then this 
 young optimist, quite content with what the gods 
 had provided in this maid of sweet lip and appeal- 
 ing eye, assured her she had everything to make 
 her happy, including himself for companion; that 
 all her moody spells were merely memories of Tim's 
 Place, best forgotten, and much more of equally 
 tender and silly import. 
 
 Not for one instant did he realize the growing 
 independence and self-reliance of this wilderness 
 waif, or how the first feeling that she was a burden 
 upon these kind people would chafe and vex her 
 defiant nature, until she would scorn even love, 
 to escape it. 
 
 Just now the tender impulse of first love was
 
 76 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 all Ray felt or considered. This girl of sweet 
 sixteen and utter confidence in him was so enthrall- 
 ing in spite of her crude speech and lack of educa- 
 tion, her kisses were so much his to take whenever 
 chance offered, and himself such a young hero in 
 her sight, that he thought of naught else. 
 
 In this, or at least so far as his reasoning went, 
 they were like two grown-up children entering a 
 new world the enchanted garden of love. Or 
 like two souls merged into one in impulse, yet 
 in no wise conscious why or for what all- wise 
 purpose. 
 
 For them alone the sun shone, birds sang, leaves 
 rustled, flowers bloomed, and the blue lake rippled. 
 For them alone was all this charming chance 
 given, with all that made it entrancing. For 
 them alone was life, love, and lips that met in 
 ecstasy. 
 
 Oh, wondrous beatitude ! Oh, heaven-born 
 joy ! Oh, divine illusion that builds the world 
 anew, and building thus, believes its secret safe ! 
 
 But Old Cy, wise old observer of all things 
 human, from the natural attraction of two chil- 
 dren to the philosophy of content, saw and under- 
 stood. 
 
 Not for worlds would he hint this to Angie or
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 77 
 
 Martin. Full well he knew how soon this "weavin' 
 o' the threads o' affection," would be frowned 
 upon by them; but he loved children as few men 
 do. 
 
 This summer-day budding of romance would 
 end in a few weeks, these two were happy now 
 let them remain so, and perhaps in Chip's case it 
 might prove the one best incentive to her own 
 improvement. 
 
 And now as he watched them day by day, came 
 another feeling. Homeless all his life so far, and 
 for many years a wanderer, these two had awak- 
 ened the home-building impulse in his. He could 
 not have a home himself, he could only help them 
 to one in the future, and to that end and purpose 
 he now bent his thought. 
 
 The weeks there with Ray had opened Old 
 Cy's heart to him. Even sooner, and with greater 
 force, had Chip's helpless condition made the 
 same appeal, and as he watched her wistful eyes 
 and willing ways, in spite of her speech and in 
 spite of her origin, he saw in her the making of a 
 good wife and mother. Her heritage, as he now 
 guessed, was of the worst, her education was yet 
 to be obtained ; but for all that, a girl no, a 
 child of sixteen who would dare sixty miles of
 
 78 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 wilderness alone to save herself from a shameful 
 fate, was of the metal and fibre to win, and more 
 than that, deserved the best that life afforded. 
 
 How he could at present aid her, he saw not. 
 A few years of help and time to study must be 
 given her, and as Old Cy realized how much must 
 be done for her and how uncertain it was whether 
 Angie would find time, or be willing to do it, then 
 and there he determined to share that duty with 
 her. 
 
 It was midsummer when Martin and his party 
 returned to the lake with Chip. In two weeks 
 the new log cabin a large one, divided into three 
 compartments was erected and ready for occu- 
 pation, and so convenient and picturesque a wild- 
 wood dwelling was it that a brief description may 
 be tolerated. 
 
 All log cabins are much alike a square enclos- 
 ure of unhewn logs thatched with saplings and 
 chinked with mud and moss. A low door of 
 boards or split poles is the usual entrance, with 
 one small window for light ; its floor may be of 
 small split logs or mother earth, and at best it is 
 a cramped, cheerless hovel. 
 
 But Martin's was a more pretentious creation. 
 Its location, well out on the birch-clad point, back
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 79 
 
 of which stood the hermit's hut, commanded a 
 view of the lake. A group of tall-stemmed spruce, 
 amid which it stood, gave shade, yet allowed obser- 
 vation. It was of oblong shape, with a wide piazza, 
 of white birch poles and roof of same; two four- 
 pane windows to each room gave ample light; 
 a small Franklin stove had been brought for the 
 sitting room, and a cook stove occupied the "lean- 
 to" cook room back of the main cabin. Beds, 
 chairs, and benches were fashioned from the plen- 
 tiful white birch stems, and floor and doors were 
 of planed boards. 
 
 It was but a crude structure, compared to even 
 the humblest of civilized dwellings; and yet with 
 all its fittings conveyed into this wilderness in one 
 bateau, and with only axes, a saw, and hammer 
 for tools, as was the case, it was a marvel. 
 
 Working as all the men had done from dawn 
 until dark to complete this cabin, no recreation 
 had been taken by any one except Ray and Chip; 
 and now Martin, a keen sportsman, felt that his 
 turn had come. The trout were rising night and 
 morn all over the lake, partridges so tame that 
 they would scarce fly were as plenty as sparrows, 
 a half-dozen deer could be seen any time along 
 the lake shore in fact, one had already furnished
 
 80 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 them venison and so Martin now anticipated 
 some relaxation and sport. 
 
 But Fate willed otherwise. 
 
 One of Old Cy's first and most far-sighted bits 
 of work, after being left with the hermit the pre- 
 vious autumn, had been the erection of an ice-house 
 out of large saplings. It stood at the foot of a 
 high bank on the north of the knoll and close to 
 the Jake, and here, out of the sunshine, yet handy 
 to fill, stood his creation. Its double walls of 
 poles were stuffed with moss, its roof chinked with 
 blue clay, a sliding door gave ingress, and even 
 now, with summer almost gone, an ample supply 
 f ice remained in it. 
 
 In the division of duties among these campers, 
 Levi usually started the morning fire while Old 
 Cy visited the ice-house for anything needed. One 
 morning after the new cabin was completed, he 
 came here as usual. 
 
 A fine string of trout caught by Martin and 
 Ray the day before were hanging in this ice- 
 house, and securing what was needed, Old Cy 
 closed the door and turned away. As usual 
 with him, he glanced up and down the narrow 
 beach to see if a deer had wandered along there 
 that morning, and in doing so he now saw, close to
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 8l 
 
 the water's edge and distinctly outlined in the damp 
 sand, the print of a moccasined foot. 
 
 It was of extra large size, and as Old Cy bent 
 over it, he saw it had recently been made. Glanc- 
 ing along toward the head of this cove, he saw 
 more tracks, and two rods away, the sharp furrow 
 of a canoe prow in the sand. 
 
 "It's that pesky half-breed, sure's a gun," he 
 muttered, stooping over the track, "fer a good 
 bit o' his legs was turned up to walk on, and he 
 wore moccasins t'other day." 
 
 Curious now, and somewhat startled, he looked 
 along where the narrow beach curved out and 
 around to the landing, and saw the tracks led 
 that way. Then picking his way so as not to 
 obscure them, he followed until not three rods 
 from the new cabin they left the beach and were 
 plainly visible behind a couple of spruces, in the 
 soft carpet of needles, which was crushed for a 
 small space, where some one had stood. 
 
 Returning to camp, Old Cy motioned to Levi 
 and Martin. All three returned to the ice-house, 
 looked where the canoe had cut its furrow, took 
 up the trail to its ending beside the two trees, and 
 then glanced into one another's eyes with serious, 
 sobered, troubled faces.
 
 82 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 And well they might ; for the evening previous 
 they had all been grouped upon the piazza of this 
 new cabin until late, while scarce three rods away 
 a spying enemy, presumably this half-breed, had 
 stood and watched them.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 " Blessed be them that 'spects nothin 1 , they won't git 
 fooled." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 CHRISTMAS COVE was never disturbed by aught 
 except small boats, and few of them. It was a 
 long, crescent-shaped arm of the sea, parallel to 
 the ocean, and separated from it by a spruce- clad 
 cliff; its placid surface scarcely more than rippled 
 or undulated outside, and so shallow was it that 
 each ebb tide left its sandy bottom bare. 
 
 A stream found devious way along this crescent 
 when the outflow left it bare. Mottled minnows, 
 schools of white and green smelts, crabs of all 
 sorts and sizes, swam and sported up and down 
 this broad, shallow brook while the tide was 
 away, and few of human kind ever watched 
 them. 
 
 Alongside this cove and inward a dozen or more 
 brown houses and a few white ones faced its curv- 
 ing shore, a broad street with many elms and ruts 
 between which the grass grew separated the houses 
 
 83
 
 84 THE GIRL PROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 and cove, and a small white church with a gilt 
 fish for weather-vane on its steeple stood midway 
 of these dwellings. 
 
 A low range of green hills to the northward of 
 this village shut off the wintry winds, at the upper 
 end of the street a stream from a cleft in the hills 
 crossed it, and here stood a mill, its roof green 
 with moss, its clapboards brown and whitened 
 with mill dust, the log dam above it half obscured 
 by willows. To the right of this a short flume 
 was entirely hidden by alders, and above the dam 
 lay a pond, entirely covered with green lily-pads, 
 and dotted by white blossoms all summer. 
 
 Beside the mill and nearer the roadway stood 
 an ancient dwelling, also moss- coated, two giant 
 elms shaded it, and the entire impression con- 
 veyed by the mill's drowsy rumble and splashing 
 wheel on a hot August afternoon was find a 
 shady spot and take a nap. 
 
 These were the summer conditions existent at 
 Christmas Cove. The winter ones may be left 
 undescribed. 
 
 Just beyond where the mill stream crossed the 
 road the highway divided, one fork following the 
 trend of these hills to where a railroad crossed 
 them, ten miles away; the other, running close
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 85 
 
 to the upper and marshy end of Christmas Cove 
 to where a spile bridge connected the two uplands 
 and thence over to another village called Bayport. 
 This, the larger of the two, had once contained a 
 shipyard, now idle, a score of its dwellings were 
 vacant, and the two hundred or more of its popu- 
 lation existed by farming, fishing, lobster-catching, 
 and a small factory devoted to the production of 
 sardines duly labelled with a French name. 
 
 Christmas Cove, however, was more respectable, 
 with its hundred residents, mostly retired sea cap- 
 tains with an income, and no litter of lobster pots 
 or nets to obstruct its one long, narrow wharf 
 which reached out to deep water at the mouth of 
 the cove. A few small pleasure craft were teth- 
 ered to the wharf, and gardens, cows, and poultry 
 were merely diversions here. 
 
 One other income it had, however, which was con- 
 sidered less plebeian than Bayport 's the money a 
 score of city-bred people left each summer. 
 
 Keeping boarders was all right at Christmas Cove. 
 It did not smack of trade and commerce. No 
 smoke of engines, no dust of coal, no noise of hammer 
 and saw, were parts of it. No odor from a canning 
 factory, no wrack of dismantled boats, tarred nets, 
 and broken traps, was connected with it. The
 
 86 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 dwellings at Christmas Cove were roomy, few chil- 
 dren were now a part of its population scarce 
 enough to fill the one schoolhouse presided over by 
 Mr. Bell, and so each season a few dozen of the 
 uneasy horde, always anxious to leave home and 
 board somewhere, came here. 
 
 A daily stage line an ancient carryall drawn by 
 one sleepy horse connected this village with the 
 railroad. Its church bell called the faithful to 
 Thursday evening prayer-meeting and Sunday ser- 
 vice with unfailing regularity. Its one general store 
 and post-office combined, was the evening rendez- 
 vous for a score of sea captains grizzled hulks 
 who had sailed into safe harbor here at last, and who 
 watched the weather, discussed the visitors, and 
 swapped yarns year in and year out. 
 
 Here also, many years before, when Bayport was 
 more prosperous, the threads of a romance had been 
 woven, and two brothers, Judson and Cyrus Walker, 
 born at Bayport, and sailing out of it, had paid court 
 to two sisters, Abigail and Amanda Grey, here at 
 Christmas Cove. 
 
 It was, as such sailors' courtships ever are, inter- 
 mittent. Six, eight, and sometimes twelve months 
 marked its interims, until finally only one brother, 
 Judson, returned to announce a shipwreck in mid-
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 87 
 
 ocean, a separation of their crew in two boats, and 
 Abbie Grey, whom Cyrus had smiled upon, was left 
 to wait and watch and hope. 
 
 In time, also, Judson and "Mandy" joined for- 
 tunes. In time, and after many voyages, during 
 which he vainly tried to find some tidings of his 
 brother, Judson, now Captain Walker, gave up the 
 sea, and with wife and two young sons retired 
 inland, purchased an abandoned farm in a seques- 
 tered valley, and began another life. 
 
 Another mating had also occurred at Christmas 
 Cove, for Abbie, the other sister and the sweetheart 
 of Cyrus, giving him up for lost, finally consented to 
 share the ancestral home of Captain Bemis once 
 a sailor and now the miller, who had exchanged the 
 sea's perils for that peaceful vocation. 
 
 His father had ground grist here for a lifetime, and 
 passed on. His mother still survived when Abbie 
 Grey, once the belle of the village and a boarding- 
 school graduate, married Captain Bemis, twice her 
 age, and her old-time romance became only a 
 memory. 
 
 No children came to fill this great, cheerless house 
 with laughter. The old mother was laid away in 
 due time, Abbie, once a handsome girl, grew portly 
 and became Aunt Abbie to neighboring children,
 
 88 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 and finally all the village; and disappointed as she 
 had cause to be, she turned her thoughts to good 
 works and religion. 
 
 But Cyrus, adrift in an open boat with half the 
 crew, was finally rescued by a whaler, after starva- 
 tion had left him almost an imbecile. A four-year, 
 compulsory voyage to southern seas followed; then 
 another wreck and a year on an island, and then a 
 chance meeting with another sailor from Bayport, 
 and from whom he learned two unpleasant facts, - 
 first that his sweetheart, Abbie Grey, was married; 
 and secondly that his brother had been lost at sea. 
 
 One was true, of course, and somewhat dishearten- 
 ing to Cyrus; the other, as discomforting, but not 
 true. It was simply a case of mistaken identity, 
 his own disappearance being confounded with that 
 of his brother. 
 
 This story served the purpose of so affecting 
 Cyrus that he resolved never to set foot in either 
 Christmas Cove or Bayport, and also never to allow 
 any one there to know that he was alive. 
 
 From now on, also, he deserted the sea and became 
 a wanderer. He first lived in the wilderness, where 
 as trapper and hunter and lumberman he learned 
 the woodsman's habits; and when mid-life was 
 reached, having become sceptical of all things, he
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 89 
 
 finally settled down at Greenvale. Here, loving 
 children and the woods, fields, brooks, and Nature 
 more than raiment, religion, and respectability, he 
 became a village nondescript, a social outcast, and 
 Old Cy Walker.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 " The poor V pious kin callate the crumbs fallin 1 from the 
 rich man's table'll be few V skimpy." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 AN enemy we can meet in the open need not appall 
 us; but an enemy who creeps up to us by day, or 
 still worse by night, in a vast wilderness, becomes a 
 panther and an Indian combined. 
 
 Such a one had spied upon Martin's camp that 
 night, and all the tales of this half-breed's cunning 
 and fierce nature, told by Levi, were now recalled. 
 Like a human brute whose fangs were tobacco- 
 stained, whose one evil eye glared at them out of 
 darkness, the half-breed had now become a creep- 
 ing, crawling beast, impossible to trail, yet certain 
 to bide his time, seize Chip, or avenge her loss upon 
 her protectors. 
 
 Now another complication arose as Martin, Old 
 Cy, and Levi left the spot where this enemy had 
 watched them what to do about Angie and the 
 girl? From the first warning from Levi that they 
 were in danger from the half-breed, Martin had 
 
 90
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE QI 
 
 avoided all hint of it to them. Now they must be 
 told, and all peace of mind at once destroyed. 
 Concealment was no longer possible, however, and 
 when Angie was told, her face paled. Her first 
 intuition, and as the sequel proved, a wise one, was 
 for them to at once pack up and quit the woods as 
 speedily as possible. 
 
 But Martin was of different fibre. To run away 
 like this was cowardly, and besides he cherished 
 only contempt for a wretch who had played the r61e 
 of this fellow, and was so vile of instinct. With 
 no desire to do wrong, he yet felt that if sufficient 
 provocation and the need of self-defence arose, the 
 earth, and especially this wilderness, would be well 
 rid of such a despicable creature. 
 
 Then Levi's advice carried weight. 
 
 "We ain't goin' to 'scape him," he said, "by 
 startin' out o' the woods now. Most likely he's 
 got his eye on us this minute. He knows every 
 rod o' the way out whar we'd be likely to camp. 
 He'd sure follow, an' if he didn't cut our canoes to 
 pieces some night, he'd watch his chance 'n' grab 
 the gal 'n' make off under cover o' darkness. We've 
 got a sort o' human panther to figger on, an' shootin' 
 under such conditions might mean killin' the gal. 
 We've got to go out sometime, but I don't believe
 
 92 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 in turnin' tail fust go-off, 'n' we may get a chance to 
 wing the cuss, like ez not," and the glitter in Levi's 
 eyes showed he would not hesitate to shoot this 
 half-breed if the chance presented itself. 
 
 Old Cy's opinion is also worth quoting : 
 
 "My notion is this hyena's a coward, 'n' like all 
 sich'll never show himself by daylight. He knows 
 we've got guns 'n' know how to use 'em. The 
 camp's as good as a fort. One on us kin allus be 
 on guard daytimes, an' when it's time to go out 
 wal, I think we ought to hev cunnin' 'nuff 'mongst 
 us to gin one hyena the slip. Thar's one thing 
 must be done, though, 'n' that is, keep the gal 
 clus. 'T won't do to let her go over the hog- 
 back arter berries, or canoein' round the lake no 
 more." 
 
 And now began a state of semi-siege at Birch 
 Camp. 
 
 Chip was kept an almost prisoner, hardly ever 
 permitted out of Angie's sight. One of the men, 
 always with rifle handy, remained on guard usu- 
 ally Old Cy, and for a few nights he lay in ambush 
 near the shore, to see if perchance this enemy would 
 steal up again. 
 
 With all these precautions against surprise, came 
 a certain feeling of defiance in Martin. With Ray
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 93 
 
 for companion he went fishing once more, and with 
 Levi as pilot he cruised about for game. 
 
 Only a few more weeks of his outing remained, 
 and on sober second thought, he didn't mean to let 
 this sneaking enemy spoil those. 
 
 But Old Cy never relaxed his vigil. This waif of 
 the wilderness and her pitiful position appealed to 
 him even more than to Angie, and true to the nature 
 that had made all Greenvale's children love him ; so 
 now did Chip find him a kind and protecting father. 
 
 With rifle always with him, he took her canoeing 
 and fishing; sometimes Angie joined them, and so 
 life at Birch Camp became pleasant once more. 
 
 A week or more of happiness was passed, with no 
 sight or sign of their enemy, and then one morning 
 when Old Cy had journeyed over to the ice-house, 
 he glanced across the lake to a narrow valley through 
 which a stream known as Beaver Brook reached the 
 lake, and far up this vale, rising above the dense 
 woods, was a faint column of smoke. 
 
 The morning was damp, cloudy, and still con- 
 ditions suitable for smoke-rising, and yet so faint 
 and distant was this that none but the keen, obser- 
 vant eyes of a woodsman would have noticed it. 
 Yet there it was, a thin white pillar, clearly outlined 
 against the dark green of the foliage.
 
 94 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 Old Cy hurried back, motioned to Levi, and the 
 two watched it from the front of the camp. Martin 
 soon joined them, then Angie and Chip, and all 
 stood and studied this smoke sign. It was almost 
 ludicrous, and yet not ; for at its foot must be a fire, 
 and beside it, doubtless, the half-breed. 
 
 "Can you locate it?" queried Martin of his 
 guide, as the delicate column of white slowly 
 faded. 
 
 "It's purty well up the brook," Levi answered; 
 "thar's a sort of Rocky Dundar thar, 'n' probably 
 a cave. I callate if it's him, he's s'pected a storm, 
 'n' so sneaked to cover." 
 
 And now, as if to prove this, a few drops of rain 
 began to patter on the motionless lake; thicker, 
 faster they came, and as the little group hurried to 
 shelter, a torrent, almost, descended. For weeks 
 not a drop of rain had fallen here. Each morn the 
 sun had risen in undimmed splendor, to vanish at 
 night, a ball of glorious red. 
 
 But now a change had come. Wind followed 
 the rain, and all that day the storm raged and roared 
 through the dense forest about. The lake was 
 white with driving scud, the cabin rocked, trees 
 creaked, and outdoor life was impossible. When 
 night came, it seemed a thousand demons were
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 95 
 
 wailing, moaning, and screeching in the forest, and 
 as the little party now grouped around the open 
 stove in the new cabin watched it, the fire rose and 
 fell in unison with the blasts. 
 
 "It's the spites," whispered Chip to Ray. "They 
 allus act that way when it's stormin'." 
 
 The next day the gale began to lessen, and by 
 night the moon, now half full, peeped out of the 
 scurrying clouds. At bedtime it was smiling se- 
 renely, well down toward the tree-tops, and Chip's 
 spites had ceased their wailing. 
 
 Fortunately, however, Martin's quest for game 
 had been successful. A saddle of venison, a dozen 
 or more partridges, and two goodly strings of trout 
 hung in cold storage. 
 
 But utter and almost speechless astonishment 
 awaited Old Cy at the ice-house when he visited it 
 the next morning, for the venison was gone, not a 
 bird remained, and one of the two strings of trout 
 had vanished. 
 
 In front, on the sand, was the same tell-tale moc- 
 casin tracks. 
 
 "Wai, by the Great Horn Spoon! if that cuss 
 hain't swiped the hull business," Old Cy ejaculated, 
 as he looked in and then at the tracks. "Crossed 
 over last night," he added, noting where a canoe had
 
 96 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 cut its furrow, "an' steered plumb for my ice-house ! 
 The varmint!" 
 
 But Martin was angry, thoroughly angry, at the 
 audacious insolence of the theft, and the thought 
 that just now this sneaking half-breed was doubtless 
 enjoying grilled venison and roast partridge in some 
 secure shelter. It also opened his eyes to the fact 
 that this chap would hang about, watching his 
 chance, until they started out of the wilderness, and 
 then capture the girl if he could. For a little while 
 Martin pondered over the situation and then an- 
 nounced his plans. 
 
 "There's law, and officers to execute it," he said, 
 "if a sufficient reward be offered ; and to-morrow you 
 and I, Levi, will start for the settlement and fetch 
 a couple in. I'll gladly give five hundred dollars 
 to land this sneak behind the bars. If he can't be 
 caught, we can at least have two officers to guard us 
 going out." 
 
 All that day he and Levi spent in hunting. An- 
 other deer was captured, more birds secured, and 
 when evening came plans to meet the situation were 
 discussed. 
 
 "You or Ray must remain on guard daytimes 
 near the cabin," Martin said to Old Cy. "My 
 wife and Chip had better keep in it, or near it most
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 97 
 
 of the time ; and both of you must sleep there nights. 
 One or the other can fish or hunt, as needed. We 
 must be gone a week or more, even if we have good 
 luck; but fetching the officers here is the best plan 
 now." 
 
 Levi was up early the next morning, and had the 
 best canoe packed for a hurry trip ere breakfast was 
 ready. No tent was to be taken, only blankets, a 
 rifle, a bag of the simplest cooking utensils, pork, 
 bread, and coffee. A modest outfit barely enough 
 to sustain life, yet all a woodsman carries when a 
 long canoe journey with many carries must be taken. 
 
 There were sober faces at the landing when Martin 
 was ready to start, Chip most sober of all, for 
 now she realized as never before how serious a 
 burden she had become. 
 
 No time was wasted in good-bys. Martin 
 grasped the bow paddle, and with "Old Faithful" 
 Levi wielding the stern one, they soon crossed the 
 lake and vanished at its outlet. 
 
 And now, also, for the first time, Angie realized 
 how much the presence of these two strong and 
 resourceful men meant to her. All that day she and 
 Chip clung to the cabin, while Old Cy, a long, lanky 
 Leatherstocking, patrolled the premises, rifle in hand. 
 
 "We hain't a mite o' cause to worry," he said,
 
 98 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 when nightfall drew near. "That pesky varmint's 
 a coward, 'n' knows guns are plenty here, an' we 
 folks handy in usin' 'em. I've rigged a fish line to 
 the ice-house door, so it'll rattle some tinware in the 
 cabin if he meddles it again. I sleep with one eye 
 'n' both ears open, an' if he comes prowlin' round 
 night-times, he'll hear bullets whizzin' an' think 
 Fourth o' July's opened up arly." 
 
 But for all his cheerful assurance, time passed 
 slowly, and a sense of real danger oppressed Angie 
 and Chip as well. Ray shared it also. He was not 
 as yet hardened to the wilderness, and like all who 
 are thus tender, its vast sombre solitude seemed 
 ominous. 
 
 Only the hermit, with his moonlike eyes and im- 
 passive ways, showed no sign of trouble. What 
 this half-breed wanted, other than food, he seemed 
 not to understand; and while he helped about the 
 camp work and followed Old Cy like a dog, he was 
 of no other aid. 
 
 One, two, three days of watchful guard and 
 evenings when even Old Cy's cheerful philosophy 
 or Ray's banjo failed to dispel the gloom, and then, 
 just as the sun was setting once again, a canoe with 
 one occupant was seen to enter the lake and head 
 for the landing.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 "The more I see o' the world, the better I like the 
 woods." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 MARTIN'S journey to the settlement was a rushing 
 one. The first day they wielded paddles without 
 rest, and aided by the current made rapid progress. 
 Both carries were passed before sunset, a halt made 
 for a supper of frizzled pork, coffee, and hard tack; 
 then on again by moonlight, and not until wearied 
 to the limit at almost midnight did they pause, and 
 hiding themselves in the entrance to an old tote 
 road, they slept the sleep of weariness. 
 
 Tim's Place was sighted the next day, and now, 
 at Levi's suggestion, Martin lay down in the canoe 
 as they passed it, concealed beneath a blanket. 
 
 "It's best to be keerful," Levi said, when pro- 
 posing this ; "I wouldn't trust Tim a minute. Most 
 likely he's found out whar the gal is, an' knows what 
 Pete's up to. The two are cahoots together, 'n' if 
 Tim saw you an' I both leavin', no tellin' what'd 
 happen." 
 
 The journey from here on was slower, as no cur- 
 
 99
 
 100 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 rent aided, and yet in three days and nights of 
 paddling, Martin and Levi covered that hundred- 
 mile journey and reached the settlement. 
 
 A stage and rail journey, consuming one day and 
 night more, enabled Martin to reach the man he 
 wanted a well-informed and fearless officer named 
 Hersey, and then, securing an assistant and a war- 
 rant for one Pete Bolduc, on the charge of theft, 
 the three returned to the settlement where Levi had 
 waited. 
 
 "I'm glad to get track of this half-breed," Hersey 
 said on the way. "He has been the pal of the noto- 
 rious McGuire for many years, and besides has been 
 smuggling whiskey into lumber camps and slaugh- 
 tering game out of season all the time. Like 
 McGuire, he is hard to locate. No guide or lum- 
 berman dare betray him, and so it's a fruitless task 
 to try to catch either. We have been after this 
 McGuire for years. He killed one deputy and 
 wounded another, as you may have heard. This 
 Bolduc is a cat of the same color, but less coura- 
 geous, I fancy, and yet as hard to catch. I think, for 
 the sake of your guide," he added, "we'd better not 
 enter the woods together. You two go on, saying 
 nothing. My mate and I will say we are on a pleas- 
 ure trip, and follow and overtake you in a few hours.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 101 
 
 This will protect your man, and evade suspicion. 
 Even these people at the settlement are half-hearted 
 in aiding an officer. Most of them are fearful of 
 house or barn burning if they give any information 
 to us, a few are in secret league with these outlaws ; 
 and so you see our position." 
 
 Martin saw, and marvelled that any of the simple, 
 honest dwellers at this small settlement, law-abiding 
 as they seemed, would either aid or warn so red- 
 handed a criminal as McGuire. 
 
 That fear of consequences might influence them,, 
 was possible, and yet all the more reason for 
 assisting the law in ridding the forest of two such 
 criminals. 
 
 But Martin, thorough sportsman that he was, and 
 keen to all the world's affairs, understood but little 
 of the conditions existent in the wilderness, or about 
 the lives and morals of those who find a living 
 thus. 
 
 He knew, as all do, that a few thousand lumber- 
 men entered each autumn, and, much to his regret, 
 made steady inroads toward its despoilment. He 
 knew, also, that these men included many of excel- 
 lent habits sober, industrious workers with fami- 
 lies which they cheerfully supported, and that there 
 were also many among them whose sole ambition
 
 102 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 was to earn a few hundred dollars in a season of 
 hard work, that they might spend it in a few weeks, 
 or even days, of drunken debauchery. 
 
 He was well aware that a few wandering hunters 
 and trappers plied their calling here, and many of 
 a mixed occupation, guiding sportsmen like him- 
 self in season, were engaged in lumbering or farming 
 between times. This mixed and transient popula- 
 tion, he knew, were neither better nor worse than 
 the average of such pioneers good-natured and 
 good-hearted, though somewhat lax in speech and 
 morals. 
 
 What he did not know, however, was that a few 
 unscrupulous and disreputable men, half gamblers, 
 half dive-keepers, followed these lumbermen into 
 camp as ostensible hunters and trappers, but really 
 gamblers, ready to turn a trick at cards, convoy a 
 keg of whiskey in, or follow a moose on snow-shoes, 
 kill and sell him, as occasion offered. Or that, 
 when spring opened the streams, these same itinerant 
 purveyors of vice spotted their possible victims, 
 as a bunco man does a rural "good thing" visiting 
 the metropolis, and when they reached town or 
 city, steered them where harpies waited to share 
 the spoil. A brief explanation of these facts were 
 furnished to Martin by Warden Hersey, when,
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 103 
 
 after overhauling him, the parties joined about one 
 camp-fire. 
 
 "We have," Hersey said, "in the case of this 
 McGuire, a fair sample of the outcome liable to 
 follow or attach to a man who makes a business of 
 preying upon the vices and follies of the lumbering 
 class. It is a sort of evolution in law-evasion and 
 opportunity, encouraged and aided by the animosity 
 which is sure to arise between the lumberman and us, 
 whose duty it is to enforce the fish and game laws. 
 These lumbermen, or a majority of them, feel and 
 believe that the forest and all it contains is theirs by 
 natural right ; that no law forbidding them to obtain 
 all the fish and game they can, is just ; that such laws 
 are enacted and accrue for the sole benefit of city 
 sportsmen who, like yourself, come here for rest and 
 recreation. It is all a wrong conclusion, as we know, 
 and yet it exists. Now come these leeches like 
 McGuire, who prey upon this hard-working class. 
 Such as McGuire foster the prejudice and antago- 
 nism of the lumbermen in all ways possible, arguing 
 that moose and deer are the natural perquisites of 
 those who go into the woods for a livelihood, and 
 belong to them as much as the trees which they have 
 paid stumpage to cut. Also that we who come in 
 to execute the laws are interlopers, who draw pay
 
 104 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 for the sole purpose of robbing them of their rights. 
 Of course, we receive no welcome at a lumbering 
 camp, and not one iota of information as to what is 
 going on or where a law-breaker may be found. 
 More than that, they will protect the leeches who 
 fatten on them in every way possible, even after, as 
 in McGuire's case, they become murderers and out- 
 laws, with a price set upon their capture. And here 
 comes in the factor of terrorism. A few of these 
 lumbermen might give information from a desire 
 to aid the law, or to obtain a reward, did they not 
 know that to do so would expose them to the in- 
 evitable fate of all betrayers. 
 
 "It is a community of interest, a sort of free- 
 masonry that exists between these lumbermen and 
 all who thrive upon their labors and hardships. 
 Now this McGuire has preyed upon them for years, 
 a notorious example of dive-keeper, gambler, 
 smuggler, and pot-hunter. He is now in hiding 
 somewhere in this wilderness, or, maybe, creeping 
 up some stream with a canoe load of liquor bought 
 in some Canadian town. He will meet and be wel- 
 comed by any lumber-cutting party just making 
 camp next fall, sell them liquor at exorbitant prices, 
 shoot and sell them venison, and when the snow is 
 deep enough, he will follow and find moose yards,
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 105 
 
 and do a wholesale slaughter act, and not satisfied 
 with this, will absorb any and all money these lum- 
 bermen have left by card games. And yet the 
 moment I enter the woods to arrest him, their 
 camps are closed to me, and word of my coming is 
 passed along to others. The guides even, who are 
 at the beck and call of you sportsmen, are, many 
 of them, in secret sympathy with such as McGuire; 
 or if not, dare not give any clews, and many a wild- 
 goose chase has resulted from following their sup- 
 posed information. Some of the wisest among 
 them are beginning to realize that they must co- 
 operate with us in the protection of fish and game, 
 or their occupation will be gone. But even those 
 sensible fellows and they are increasing hate 
 to become informer, fearing consequences. 
 
 "There is still another side to this game situation," 
 continued Hersey, filling and lighting his pipe, "and 
 this is our laws, or rather, the selfishness of our law- 
 makers. We have plenty of laws and good 
 ones. We impose a license tax upon all non-resi- 
 dents for the privilege of shooting or fishing. We 
 limit the season and number of moose, deer, or trout 
 which may be taken. This license, which is all 
 right, produces an annual fund sufficient to employ 
 ten wardens, where the State only employs one.
 
 106 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 The result is that this vast wilderness is so poorly 
 patrolled that a game warden is as much of a rarity 
 as a white deer. Now and then one may be seen 
 canoeing up or down some main stream, or loafing 
 a week or two at some backwoods farm and having 
 a good time. One may certainly be found at all 
 points of egress ; but a portion of the wilderness 
 the greater way-back region is rarely visited by 
 wardens. 
 
 "There is still one more point, and that is the pay 
 which wardens receive. It is so small that capable, 
 honest men cannot be obtained for what the State 
 allows; and considering the large sums raised from 
 this license tax, it is a mere pittance. The result 
 is, we have to employ a class of men, many of whom 
 are no respecters of the law themselves, or who may 
 be bribed." 
 
 It was a full and complete explanation of the con- 
 ditions then existing in the wilderness, and as Martin 
 glanced at "Old Faithful" Levi lounging on his 
 elbow, he understood why that astute guide had 
 always avoided all possible reference to McGuire. 
 
 "This half-breed, Bolduc, is another sample of 
 his class," continued Hersey, "and while we have 
 no criminal charge, we can prove we know he is 
 a pot-hunter, and I'll be glad to nab him, for an
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 107 
 
 example. I judge he is lurking about your camp, 
 watching a chance to abduct this girl, and while it's 
 an unusual case, it may serve our purpose nicely 
 a sort of bait, useful in alluring him into our hands. 
 How we can catch him, however, is not an easy 
 problem. He knows the forest far better than we 
 do ; every stream, lake, defile, or cave is familiar to 
 him, and, cunning as a fox, all pursuit would be 
 useless. Our only hope is to patrol the woods 
 about your camp as hunters, or watch for another 
 night visit, and halt him, at the muzzle of a rifle." 
 
 And now Martin turned the conversation to a more 
 interesting subject Chip herself. 
 
 "I saw the girl at Tim's Place," Hersey said, 
 "and knowing her ancestry, felt curious to observe 
 her. She appeared bright as a new dollar and a 
 willing worker for Tim. Of course, it seemed un- 
 fortunate that she should be left to grow up there 
 without education; and while her natural guardian 
 being an outlaw gave the State an ample right to 
 interfere, the proper officer has never seen fit to do 
 so. It has been a case of 'out of sight, out of mind,' 
 I presume, and while we have a law obliging parents 
 to send their children to public schools so many 
 months a year until a certain age, this is a case where 
 no one has seen fit to enforce it."
 
 108 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "But what about her parents?" queried Martin, 
 curious on this point. " Do you know whether they 
 were legally married?" 
 
 "Why, no-o, only by hearsay," Hersey responded. 
 "I've been told her mother was a Nova Scotia girl, 
 a mill worker in one of our larger cities, and as no 
 one ever hinted otherwise, I think it safe to assume 
 that they were married. If not, there would surely 
 have been some one to spread the sinister fact. It's 
 the way of the world. I presume Tim knows the 
 girl's history, but he is such a surly Irishman that I 
 never questioned him. In fact, his surroundings, 
 as you may have noticed, do not invite long visits." 
 
 But no visit or even halt at Tim's Place was now 
 considered advisable. In fact, as Levi said, it was 
 best to pass that spot at midnight. This suggestion 
 was carried out, and in five days from leaving the 
 settlement, Martin and the officers made their last 
 camp at the lake where he had once seen a spectral 
 canoeist.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 " A swelled heart may cost ye money, but a swelled head'll 
 cost ye ten times more." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 AN unexpected canoe entering a lake so secluded 
 and so seldom visited as this lake must needs awaken 
 the keenest surprise, and especially in the case of a 
 party situated as this one was. Ray, who had just 
 returned from a berry-picking trip over at the "blow 
 down," and Old Cy, carrying his suggestive rifle, were 
 at the landing some time before this canoe reached 
 it, while Angie and Chip waited almost breathlessly 
 on the cabin piazza. A stout, bare-headed Indian, 
 clad in white man's raiment, was paddling. He 
 glanced at the two awaiting him at the landing, with 
 big black, emotionless eyes, and then up to the 
 cabin. 
 
 As his canoe now grated on the sandy beach close 
 by, he laid aside his paddle, stepped forward and 
 out, drew his craft well up, and folding his arms 
 glanced at Old Cy again, as if waiting for a welcome. 
 None was needed, however, for on the instant, 
 almost, came an exclamation of joy from Chip, and 
 
 109
 
 110 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 with a "Hullo, Poppy Tomah," she was down the 
 bank, with both her hands in his. 
 
 A faint smile of welcome spread over his austere 
 face as he looked down at the girl, but not a word, 
 as yet, came. 
 
 Old Cy, quick to see that he was a friend, now 
 advanced. 
 
 " We're glad to see ye," he said, "an' as ye seem 
 to be a friend o' the gal's, we'll make ye welcome." 
 
 The Indian bowed low, and a "How do," like 
 a grunt, was his answer. A calm, slow, motionless 
 type of a now almost extinct race, as he seemed to be, 
 he would utter no word or move a step farther until 
 invited. But now, led by Chip, he advanced up the 
 path. 
 
 "It's Tomah, old Poppy Tomah," she said with 
 pride, as Angie rose to meet them, "and he's the 
 only body who was ever good to me." 
 
 "I am glad to see you, sir," Angie said, with a 
 gracious bow and smile, "and you are welcome here." 
 
 "I thank the white lady I not forget," came the 
 Indian's dignified answer with a stately bow. 
 
 Not a word of greeting for Chip or of surprise 
 at finding her here only the eagle glance, accus- 
 tomed to bright sunlight or to following the flight 
 of a bird far out of white man's vision.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE III 
 
 "We shall have supper soon," Angle added, 
 uncertain what to say to this impassive man, "and 
 some for you." 
 
 It was a deft speech, for Angie, accustomed to take 
 in every detail of a man from the condition of his 
 nails to the cut of his clothing, as all women will, had 
 ere now absorbed the appearance of this swarthy 
 redskin, and was not quite sure whether to invite 
 him to share their table or say nothing. 
 
 But the Indian solved his own problem, for spy- 
 ing the outdoor fire to which Old Cy now retreated, 
 he bowed again and strode away toward it. 
 
 "Me cook here?" he said to Old Cy. With an 
 "Of course, an' you're welcome to," the question 
 was settled. 
 
 Chip soon drew near, and now for the first time 
 the Indian's speech seemed to return, and while Old 
 Cy busied himself about the cooking, these two began 
 to visit. 
 
 Chip, as might be expected, did most of the talking, 
 asked questions as to Tim's Place, when he was 
 there, and what they said about her running 
 away, in rapid succession. Her own adventures 
 and how she came here soon followed, and it was 
 not long befor he knew all that was to be known 
 about her.
 
 112 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 \ 
 
 His replies were blunt and brief, after the manner 
 of such. Now and then an expressive nod or grunt 
 filled in the place of an ordinary answer. He knew 
 but little about the recent happenings at Tim's 
 Place, as he had stayed there only one night since 
 Chip departed with her father as he was told. 
 He had been away in the woods, looking for 
 places to set traps later, and had no idea Chip 
 was here. 
 
 As to Pete's movements, he was equally in the 
 dark, and when Chip told him what her friends here 
 suspected, he merely grunted. As he seemed to wish 
 to do his own cooking, Old Cy, having completed his 
 task, offered him a partridge and a couple of trout 
 fresh from the ice-house, also pork and potatoes, 
 and left him to care for himself. 
 
 He became more sociable later, and when supper 
 was over and the rest had, as usual, gathered on the 
 piazza of the new cabin, he joined them. 
 
 And now came a recital from Ray of far more 
 interest to these people than they suspected. 
 
 "I saw a bear over back of the ridge this after- 
 noon," he said, "or I don't know but it was a wild- 
 cat. I'd just filled my pail with berries, when way 
 up, close to the rocks, I saw something moving. I 
 crouched down back of a bush, thinking it might be
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 113 
 
 a bear, and if it was, I'd get a chance to see it nearer. 
 I could only see the top of its back above the bushes, 
 and once I saw its head, as if it was standing up. 
 Then I didn't see it for quite a spell, and then I 
 caught sight of its back again, a good deal nearer, and 
 then it went into one of the gullies in the hog-back. 
 It didn't wait to see if it came out, but cut for 
 home." 
 
 "Did this critter sorter wobble like a woodchuck 
 runnin'?" put in Old Cy. 
 
 "No, it just crept along evenly," answered Ray, 
 "I'd see it when it would come out between the 
 bushes." 
 
 " 'Twa'n't a b'ar," muttered Old Cy, and then, 
 as if the unwisdom of waking suspicion in Angle's 
 mind occurred, he added hastily, "but mebbe 'twas 
 a doe, walkin' head down 'n' feedin'." 
 
 No further notice was taken of Ray's adventure. 
 The sight of deer everywhere about was a ten-times- 
 daily occurrence, and Old Cy's dismissal of the 
 matter ended it. 
 
 His thoughts, however, were a different matter. 
 Full well he knew it was no bear thus moving. A 
 deer would never enter a crevasse, nor a wildcat or 
 lynx ever leave the shelter of woods to wander in 
 open sunlight.
 
 114 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 " I'll go over thar in the mornin'," he said to him- 
 self; "I may git a chance to wing that varmint V 
 end our worryin'." 
 
 And now Angie, more interested in spites and the 
 Weird belief which she heard that this Indian held 
 than in the sight of a doe, began to ply Old Tomah 
 with questions, and bit by bit she led him on toward 
 that subject. 
 
 It was not an easy task. His speech came slowly. 
 Deeds, not words, are an Indian's form of expres- 
 sion, and this fair white lady, serene as the moon 
 and as suave and smiling as culture could make her, 
 was one to awe him. 
 
 With Chip he had been fluent enough. She had 
 been almost a prote'ge'e of his, a big pappoose whom 
 he had taught to manage a canoe, for whom he had 
 made moccasins, a fur cap and cape, who had lis- 
 tened to all his strange theories with wide-open, 
 believing eyes, and, best of all, a helpless waif whom 
 he had learned to love. 
 
 But this white lady, awe-inspiring as she was, now 
 failed to induce him to talk. 
 
 Chip, however, keen to catch the drift of Angie's 
 wishes and anxious to have her own faith defended, 
 soon came to the rescue and induced Old Tomah to 
 speak not fluently at first, the "me" in place of
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 115 
 
 "I" always occurring, adjectives following nouns, 
 prepositions left out in many cases; and yet, as he 
 warmed up to his subject, his coal-black eyes were 
 fierce or tender, and the inborn eloquence of his 
 race glowed in face and speech. 
 
 And what a wild tale he told ! Some of it was 
 the history of his own race, beginning long before 
 white men came. He related the contests of his 
 people with wild animals, their deeds of valor, their 
 torturing of prisoners, their own scorn of death and 
 stoical endurance of pain. His own ancestors had 
 been mighty chieftains. They had led the tribe 
 through many battles, swept down upon their white 
 enemies, an avenging horde, and were now roam- 
 ing the happy hunting-grounds where he would soon 
 join them. Mingled with this tale of warfare and 
 conquest, and always an unseen force for good or 
 evil, were the spites the souls of all brute crea- 
 tion. How they followed or led the hunter ! How 
 they warned their own kind of his coming ! How 
 they lured him into unseen danger, and how they con- 
 tinually sought to avenge their own deaths ! There 
 were also two kinds of them, some evil and the 
 others good. The evil ones predominated, the 
 good ones feared them, yet sought to interfere in all 
 evil effort. These two hosts also had their own
 
 Il6 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 warfares. They fought oftenest when storms raged 
 in the forest. Then they swept the tree- tops and 
 scurried over the hills in vast numbers, shrieking 
 and screaming defiance. 
 
 Another apparition was oft referred to in this 
 weird talk. A great white spectre and chieftain of 
 all spites, who sprang from his abode in the north, 
 whose breath was a blast of snow, howling as it 
 swept over the wilderness this ghost, so vast that 
 it covered miles and miles of wilderness, was al- 
 together evil. It spared neither man nor beast. 
 The hunter trailing his game met death on the in- 
 stant and was left rigid and upright in his tracks. 
 Squaws and children huddled in wigwams shared 
 the same speedy fate. Lynxes and panthers, deer 
 and moose by the score, were touched by the same 
 mystic and awful wand of death. 
 
 It was all an uncanny, eerie, ghostly recital; yet 
 all real and true to Chip, whose eyes never once left 
 the Indian's face while he was speaking. Angie, 
 too, was spellbound. Never had she heard any- 
 thing like it; and while believing it was all a mere 
 myth and legend, a superstitious fancy, maybe, of 
 this strange Indian, its telling was none the less 
 interesting. 
 
 Ray wa: also enthralled, and he was half convinced
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 117 
 
 that the forest might, after all, contain spooks and 
 goblins. 
 
 But Old Cy was only a curious listener. He, too, 
 had woven many a fantastic tale of the sea, its storms 
 and monsters leaping from the crests of waves, and 
 all such figments of the imagination, and this fable 
 was but the same. The only feature of passing 
 interest to him was the fact that any Indian had 
 such a vivid imagination and could relate such a 
 mingled ghost story so coherently. 
 
 Old Tomah' ceased speaking even more abruptly 
 than he began, then looked from one to another of 
 the group, perhaps to see if they all believed him, 
 and then without a word or even "good night," he 
 rose and stalked out of the cabin. 
 
 For a few moments Chip watched Angie and the 
 rest, anxious to see how this explanation of her own 
 belief affected them, and then Old Cy spoke. 
 
 "I'd hate to be campin' with that Injun," he 
 said, " or sharin' a wigwam with him night-times. 
 It 'ud be worse'n a man I sot up with once that had 
 the jim-jams, 'n' I'd see spites and spooks for a week 
 arter." 
 
 Angie's sleep was troubled that night, and in her 
 dreams she saw white spectres and a man with a 
 hideously scarred face and one eye watching her.
 
 ' Il8 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 Ray also felt the uncanny influence of such a 
 tale and "saw things" in his sleep. But Old Cy, 
 who had securely barred the doors and then had 
 rolled himself in a blanket with rifle handy, thought 
 only of what Ray had seen that day and who it 
 might be.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 " An honest man's the best critter God ever made, an 1 the 
 skeercest." OLD CY WALKER. / 
 
 OLD CY'S suspicions were correct. It was neither 
 bear, deer, nor wildcat that Ray saw skulking along 
 the ridge, but the half-breed. 
 
 Believing Chip's father had taken her out of the 
 wilderness, or more likely up-stream to find a place 
 with these campers, he had come here to seek her. 
 To find her here, as he of course did, only convinced 
 him that his suspicions were true and that her father 
 had thus meant to rob him. 
 
 Two determined impulses now followed this dis- 
 covery: first, to make the girl he had bought a 
 prisoner, carry her into the woods, and then, when 
 the chance came, revenge himself on McGuire. No 
 sense of law, or decency even, entered his calcula- 
 ' tion. He was beyond such scruples, and what he 
 wanted was his only law. 
 
 The fear of rifles, which he knew were plenty 
 enough at this camp, was the only factor to be con- 
 sidered. For days he watched the camp from across 
 
 119
 
 120 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 the lake, hoping that the girl he saw canoeing with 
 a boy so often might come near enough for him 
 to make a capture. Many times, when darkness 
 served, he paddled close to where the cabin stood, 
 and once landed and watched it for hours. 
 
 Growing bolder, as the days wore on, he hid his 
 canoe below the outlet of the lake and taking ad- 
 vantage of this outcropping slate ledge with its many 
 fissures, secreted himself and watched. 
 
 But some shelter, at least to cook and eat in, he 
 must have, and this he found in a distant crevasse 
 of this same ledge, and from this he sneaked along 
 back of it until he could hide and watch the camp 
 below. From this vantage-point, he saw that the 
 girl no longer went out upon the lake, but remained 
 near the cabin; then later, he noticed the two men 
 leave the lake one morning. This encouraged him, 
 and now he grew still bolder, even descending the 
 ridge and watching those remaining at the cabin, 
 from a dense thicket. 
 
 From this new post he saw that but one man seemed 
 on guard, and almost was he tempted to shoot him 
 from ambush and make a dash to capture his victim. 
 Cautious and cunning, he still waited a chance 
 involving less risk. 
 
 And now he saw that certain duties were performed
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 121 
 
 by these people; that one man and the boy always 
 started the morning fire; that the girl invariably 
 went to the landing alone for water, at about the 
 same time. Here for the moment she was out of 
 sight from either cabin, and now in this act of hers, 
 he saw his opportunity to land from his canoe near 
 this spot before daylight, and hide in the bushes 
 fringing the shore here and below the bank, watch 
 his chance and seize and gag her before an outcry 
 could be made. To tie her hands and feet and to 
 push the other canoe out into the lake, thus avoiding 
 pursuit until they could get a good start, was an 
 easy matter. 
 
 It was risky, of course. She might hear or see 
 him in time to give o/>.e scream. The old man who 
 had said foolish things to him, and now seemed to 
 be on guard, would surely send bullets after him as 
 he sped away ; but once out of the lake, he would be 
 safe. It was a dangerous act; yet the other two 
 men might return any day, and with this in pros- 
 pect, this wily half-breed now resolved to act. 
 
 Old Cy was up early that fatal morning. Some- 
 how a sense of impending danger haunted him, and 
 calling Ray, he unlocked the cabin door and began 
 starting the morning fire. He wanted to get break- 
 fast out of the way as speedily as possible, and then
 
 122 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 visit this ridge, feeling almost sure that he would 
 find where this half-breed had been watching 
 them. 
 
 When Ray came out, and before the hermit or 
 Chip appeared, Old Cy hurried over to the ice-house, 
 and now Chip came forth as usual, and without a 
 word to any one, she took the two pails and started 
 for the landing. It was, perhaps, ten rods to this, 
 down a narrow path winding through the scrub 
 spruce. The morning was fair, the lake without a 
 ripple. 
 
 Above the ridge, and peeping through its topping 
 of stunted fir, came the first glance of the sun, and 
 Chip was happy. 
 
 Old Tomah, her, one and only friend for many 
 years, was here. A something Ray had whispered 
 the night before, now returned like a sweet note of 
 music vibrating in her heart, and as if to add their 
 cheer, the birds were piping all about. 
 
 For weeks the cheerful words of one of Ray's 
 songs had haunted her with its catchy rhythm : 
 " Dar was an old nigger and his name was Uncle Ned, 
 He died long 'go, long 'go." 
 
 They now rose to her lips, as she neared the lake. 
 Here she halted, filled a pail, and set it on the 
 log landing.
 
 - 
 
 Nearer and nearer that unconscious girl it erect'
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 123 
 
 From behind a low spruce one evil, sinister eye 
 watched her. 
 
 And now Chip, still humming this ditty, glanced 
 up at the rising sun and out over the lake. 
 
 A crouching form with hideous face now emerged 
 from behind the bush; step by step, this human 
 panther advanced. A slow, cautious, catlike move- 
 ment, without sound, as each moccasined foot 
 touched the sand. Nearer and nearer that uncon- 
 scious girl it crept ! Now twenty feet away, now 
 ten, now five ! 
 
 And now came a swift rush, two fierce hands en- 
 closed the girl's face and drew her backward on to 
 the sand. 
 
 Ray and the hermit were beside the fire, and the 
 Indian just emerging from the hut where he had 
 slept, when Old Cy returned from the ice-house. 
 
 "Where's Chip?" he questioned. 
 
 "Gone after water," answered Ray. And the 
 two glanced down the path. 
 
 One, two, five minutes elapsed, and then a sudden 
 suspicion of something wrong came to Old Cy, and, 
 followed by Ray, he hurried to the landing. 
 
 One pail of water stood on the float, both their 
 canoes were adrift on the lake, and as Old Cy looked 
 out, there, heading for the outlet, was a canoe !
 
 124 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 One swift glance and, "My God, he's got Chip !" 
 told the story, and with face fierce in anger, he 
 darted back, grasped his rifle, and returned. 
 
 The canoe, its paddler bending low as he forced 
 it into almost leaps, was scarce two lengths from the 
 outlet. 
 
 Old Cy raised his rifle, then lowered it. 
 
 Chip was in that canoe ! 
 
 His avenging shot was stayed. 
 
 And now Old Tomah leaped down the path, rifle 
 in hand. 
 
 One look at the vanishing canoe, and his own, 
 floating out upon the lake, told him the tale, and 
 without a word he turned and, plunging into the 
 undergrowth, leaping like a deer over rock and 
 chasm, vanished at the top of the ridge.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 " The man that won't bear watchin 1 needs it." 
 
 OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 WHILE Chip, bound, gagged, and helpless in the 
 half-breed's canoe, was just entering the alder- 
 choked outlet of this lake, twenty miles below and 
 close to where the stream entered another lake, four 
 men were launching their canoes. 
 
 "It was here," Martin was saying to Hersey, 
 "one moonlight night a year ago, that a friend of 
 mine and myself saw a spectral man astride a log, 
 just entering that bed of reeds, as I told you. Who 
 or what it was, we could not guess; but as that 
 spook canoeman went up this stream, we followed 
 and discovered our hermit's home." 
 
 "Night-time and moonshine play queer pranks 
 with our imagination," Hersey responded. "I'm 
 not a whit superstitious, and yet I've many a time 
 seen what I thought to be a hunter creeping along 
 the lake shore at night, and I once came near plug- 
 ging a fat man in a shadowy glen. I was up on a 
 cliff watching down into it, the day was cloudy, and 
 
 125
 
 126 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 'way below I saw what I was sure was a bear crawl- 
 ing along the bank of the stream. I had my rifle 
 raised and was only waiting for a better sight, when 
 up rose the bear and I saw a human face. For a 
 moment it made me faint, and since then I make 
 doubly sure before shooting at any object in the 
 woods." 
 
 And now these four men, Levi wielding the stern 
 paddle of Martin's canoe, and Hersey's deputy that 
 of his, entered the broad, winding stream. The 
 tall spruce-tops meeting darkened its currentless 
 course, long filaments of white moss depended from 
 every limb, and as they twisted and turned up this 
 sombre highway, the air grew stifling. Not a breeze, 
 not a sound, disturbed the solemn silence, and ex- 
 cept for the swish of paddles and faint thud as they 
 touched gunwales, the fall of a leaf might have been 
 heard. So dense was this dark, silent forest, and 
 so forbidding its effect, that for an hour no one scarce 
 spoke, and even when the two canoes finally drew 
 together, converse came in whispers. Another 
 hour of steady progress, and then the banks began 
 to outline themselves ahead, the trees opened more, 
 a sign of current was met, and the sun lit up their 
 pathway. 
 
 By now the spectral beard had vanished from the
 
 CHIP MCGUIKE 127 
 
 trees, white clouds were reflected from the still 
 waters, and the gleam of sandy bottom was seen 
 below. The birds, inspired perhaps by the ab- 
 sence of gloom, also added their cheering notes, 
 Nature was smiling once more, and not a hint or 
 even intuition of the fast-nearing tragedy met those 
 men. 
 
 And then, as a broad, eddying bend in the stream 
 held their canoes, by tacit consent a halt was made. 
 
 Martin, his paddle crossed on the thwarts in front, 
 dipped a cup of the cool, sweet water and drank. 
 Levi wiped the sweat from his face, and Hersey also 
 quenched his thirst. The day was hot. They had 
 paddled ten miles. There was no hurry, and as 
 pipes were drawn forth and filled, conversation 
 began. But just at this moment Levi's ears, ever 
 alert, caught the faint sound of a paddle striking a 
 canoe gunwale. Not as usual, in an intermittent 
 fashion, as would be the case with a skilled canoeist, 
 but a steady, rhythmic thud. 
 
 "Hist," he said, and silence fell upon the group. 
 
 In the wilderness all sounds are noticed and noted, 
 by night especially, because then they may mean a 
 bear crawling softly through the undergrowth, or a 
 wildcat, yellow-eyed and vicious, creeping near. But 
 by day as well they^are always heeded, and the crackle
 
 : : S THE GIKI. FROM TQC'S PLACE 
 
 of a trig, or the sound of a deer's foot striking a 
 stone, or any slight noise, becomes of feTn interest. 
 
 And now, from far ahead, came the steady tap, 
 tap, tap. It soon "* "p"*** 1 , and then it iiii'ini I 
 tihow waiting, liiui^ men that some canoe was 
 being "yi down-stream. 
 
 Without a word they glM^l at one **, and 
 then, as if an inim^inai came to frq*fc at JJM> same 
 rime, Martin and Heisey reached for their rifles. 
 
 On and on came the steady thump, thump. 
 
 Just ahead the stream narrowed and curved out 
 of sight. A few foam flecks from an unseen rifl 
 above floated down. Toe white sandy bottom 
 showed in the dear water. 
 
 And "*f**g as those stern-faced, watchinf. listen 
 ing men, riles in hand, almost side by side, waited 
 there, out from behind this bend shot a canoe. 
 
 "My God, it's Pete Bokhic! Look out!" al- 
 most yelled Levi, and "Halt! Surrender!" team 
 Hersey, as two rifles were levelled at the oocomer. 
 Then one instant's sight off a red and scarred face, 
 a quick reach for a rifle, a splash off water, an over- 
 turned canoe, and with a curse the astonished half- 
 breed dived into the undergrowth. 
 
 Two "ft** spoke ahnnst at tin* same instant from 
 the wiliug canoes, one answered from oat Ike
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 129 
 
 thicket. A thrashing, struggling something in the 
 filled canoe next caught all eyes, and Levi, leaping 
 into the waist-deep stream, grasped and lifted a 
 dripping form. 
 
 It was Chip ! 
 
 A brief yet bloodless tragedy, all over in less 
 time than the telling; yet a lifetime of horror had 
 been endured by that waif, for as Levi bore her to 
 the bank, cut the thongs that bound her, and freed 
 her mouth from a pad of deerskin, she grasped his 
 hand and kissed it. 
 
 And then came another surprise; for down a 
 sloping, thick-grown hillside, something was heard 
 thrashing, and soon Old Tomah, his clothing in 
 shreds, his face bleeding, appeared to view. 
 
 Calculating to a nicety where he could best inter- 
 cept and head off the escaping half-breed, he had 
 crossed four miles of pathless undergrowth in less 
 than an hour, and reached the stream at the nearest 
 point after it left the lake. 
 
 How Chip, still sobbing from the awful agony 
 of mind, and dripping water as well, greeted Old 
 Tomah; how Hersey, chagrined at the escape of 
 the half-breed, gave vent to muttered curses; how 
 Martin joined them in thought; and how they all 
 gathered around Chip and listened to her tale of
 
 130 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 horror, are but minor features of the episode, and 
 not worth the telling. 
 
 When all was said and done, Old Tomah, grim 
 and silent as ever, although he had done what no 
 white man could do or would try to do, washed his 
 bloody face in the stream, drank his fill of the cool 
 water, and lifting Pete's half-filled canoe as easily as 
 if it were a shingle, tipped it, turned the water out, 
 and set it on the sloping bank. 
 
 "Me take you back and watch you now," he said 
 to Chip. "You no get caught again." 
 
 And thus convoyed, poor Chip, willing to clasp 
 and caress the feet or legs of any or all of those men, 
 and more grateful than any dog ever was for a caress, 
 was escorted back to the lake. 
 
 All those waiting at the cabin were at the landing 
 when the rescuers arrived. Angie, her eyes brim- 
 ming, first embraced and then kissed the girl. Ray 
 would have felt it a proud privilege to have carried 
 her to the cabin, and Old Cy's wrinkled face showed 
 more joy than ever gladdened it in all his life before. 
 
 Somehow this hapless waif had grown dearer to 
 them all than she or they understood. 
 
 There was also feasting and rejoicing that night 
 at Martin's wildwood home, and mingled with it all 
 an oft-repeated tale.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 131 
 
 Old Cy told one end of it in his droll way, Martin 
 related the other, and Chip filled up the interim. 
 Levi had his say, and Hersey supplied more or less 
 mostly more of this half-breed's history. 
 
 Old Tomah, however, said nothing. To him, 
 who lived in the past of a bygone race which looked 
 upon lumbermen as devastating vandals ever eating 
 into its kingdom, and whose thoughts were upon the 
 happy hunting-grounds soon to be entered, this 
 half-breed's lust and cunning were as the fall of the 
 leaf. Were it needful he would, as he had, plunge 
 through bramble and brier and leap over rock and 
 chasm to rescue his big pappoose, but now that she 
 was safe again, he lapsed into his stoical reserve 
 once more. Shadowy forms and the mysticism of 
 the wilderness were more to his taste than all the 
 pathos of human life; and while his eyes kindled 
 at Chip's smile, his thoughts were following some 
 storm or tempest sweeping over a vast wilderness, 
 or the rush and roar of the great white spectre. 
 
 "Chip is good girl," he said to Angie the next 
 morning, "and white lady love her. Tomah's 
 heart is like squaw heart, too; but he go away and 
 forget. White lady must not forget," and with 
 that mixture of tenderness and stoicism he strode 
 away, and the last seen of him was when he entered
 
 132 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 the outlet without once looking back at the cabin 
 where his "big pappoose" was kept. 
 
 More serious, however, were the facts Martin 
 and Hersey now had to consider, and a council of 
 war, as it were, was now held with Levi, Old Cy, and ' 
 the deputy as advisers. 
 
 What the half-breed would now do, and in what 
 way they could now capture him were, of course, 
 discussed, and as usual in such cases, it was of no 
 avail, because they were dealing with absolutely 
 unknown quantities. The facts were these : Bolduc, 
 a cunning criminal, fearless of all law, had set his 
 heart upon the possession of this girl. Her story, 
 unquestionably true, that he had paid a large sum 
 for this right and title, must inevitably make 
 him feel that he would have what was his at any 
 cost. His first attempt at securing her had been 
 thwarted. He had been shot at by minions of the 
 law, an act sure to make him more vengeful, 
 his canoe had been taken, and what with the loss 
 of the girl, money, and canoe also, one of his stamp 
 would surely be driven to extreme revenge. 
 
 He was now at large in this wilderness, knew 
 where the girl and his enemies were, and as Hersey 
 said, "He had the drop on them." 
 
 "I believe in standing by our guns," that officer
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 133 
 
 continued, after all these conclusions had been ad- 
 mitted. "We are here to rid the woods of this 
 scoundrel. We have five good rifles and know how 
 to use them. The law is on our side, for he refused 
 to surrender, and returned our shots; and if I 
 catch sight of him, I shall shoot to cripple, 
 anyway." 
 
 Old Cy's advice, however, was more pacific. 
 
 "My notion is this feller's a cowardly cuss," he 
 said, "a sort o' human hyena. He'll never show 
 himself in the open, but come prowlin' 'round 
 nights, stealin' anything he can. He may take a 
 pop at some on us from a-top o' the ridge; but I 
 callate he'll never venture within gunshot daytimes. 
 His sort is allus more skeered o' us'n we need be 
 o' him." 
 
 In spite of Old Cy's conclusions, however, the camp 
 remained in a state of siege that day and many 
 days following. 
 
 Angie and Chip seldom strayed far from the 
 cabin. Ray assumed the water-bringing, night 
 and morning. Old Cy and Levi patrolled the 
 premises, while Martin, Hersey, and his deputy 
 hunted a little for game and a good deal for 
 moccasined footprints or a sight or a sign of this 
 half-breed.
 
 134 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 Hersey, more especially, made him his object of 
 pursuit. He had come here for that purpose, his 
 pride and reputation were at stake, and the thousand 
 dollars Martin had agreed to pay was a minor 
 factor. He and his mate passed hours in the morn- 
 ings and late in the afternoon watching from wide 
 apart outlooks on the ridge. They made long 
 jaunts up the brook valley to where the smoke sign 
 had been seen, they found where this half-breed 
 had built a fire here, and later another lair, a mile 
 from the cabins and in this ridge. Long detours 
 they made in other directions. Old Tomah's trail 
 through the forest was crossed ; but neither in forest 
 nor on lake shore were any recent footprints of 
 the half-breed found. Old ones were discovered in 
 plenty. An almost beaten trail led from his lair in 
 the ridge to a crevasse back of the cabins, but to one 
 well versed in wood tracks, it was easy to tell how 
 old these tracks were. 
 
 A freshly made trail in the forest bears unmistak- 
 able evidence of its date, and no woodwise man ever 
 confounds a two or three days' old one with it. One 
 footprint may not determine this occult fact; but 
 followed to where the moss is spongy or the earth 
 moist, a matter of hours, even, can be decided. 
 
 A week of this watchfulness, with no sign of their
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 135 
 
 enemy's return, not even to within the circuit patrolled 
 time and again, began to relieve suspense and 
 awaken curiosity. They had been so sure, espe- 
 cially Martin, that he would come back for revenge, 
 that now it was hard to account for his not doing so. 
 
 "My idee is he got so skeer-^d at them two shots," 
 Old Cy asserted, "he hain't stopped runnin' yit." 
 And then the old man chuckled at the ludicrous 
 picture of this pernicious "varmint" scampering 
 through a wilderness from fright. 
 
 But Old Cy was wrong. It was not fear that 
 saved them from a prompt visitation from this 
 half-breed, but lack of means of defence. The one 
 shot remaining in his rifle at the moment of meeting 
 had been sent on its vengeful errand, all the rest of 
 his ammunition was in his canoe, and now on the 
 bottom of the stream. Being thus crippled for 
 means to act, the only course left to him was a return 
 to his cabin seventy-five miles away, with only a 
 hunting-knife to sustain life with. 
 
 Even to a skilled hunter and trapper like him, 
 this was no easy task. It meant at least a week's 
 journey through almost impassable swamps and 
 undergrowth, with frogs, raw fish, roots, and berries 
 for food. 
 
 How that half-breed, unconscious that the mills
 
 136 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 of God had ground him the grist he deserved, 
 fought his way through this pathless wilderness; 
 how he ate mice and frogs to sustain his worthless 
 life; how he cursed McGuire as the original cause 
 of his wretched plight and Martin's party as aids; 
 and how many times he swore he would kill every 
 one of them, needs no description. 
 
 He lived to reach his hut on the Fox Hole, and 
 from that moment on, this wilderness held an im- 
 placable enemy of McGuire's, sworn to kill him, 
 first of all.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 " The biggest fool is the man that thinks he knows it all." 
 
 OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 FOR two weeks the little party at Birch Camp 
 first watched and then began to enjoy themselves 
 once more. September had come, the first tint 
 of autumn colored every patch of hardwood, a mel- 
 low haze softened the outline of each green- clad 
 hill and mountain, the sun rose red and sailed an 
 unclouded course each day, and gentle breezes 
 rippled the lake. The forest, the sky, the air and 
 earth, all seemed in harmonious mood, and the one 
 discordant note, fear of this half-breed, slowly 
 vanished. 
 
 Chip resumed her hour of study each day ; a little 
 fishing and hunting was indulged in by Martin and 
 the two officers; wild ducks, partridges, deer, and 
 trout supplied their table ; each evening all gathered 
 about the open fire in Martin's new cabin, and while 
 the older people chatted, Ray took his banjo or 
 whispered with Chip. 
 
 These two, quite unguessed by Angie, had become
 
 138 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 almost lovers, and as it was understood Chip was 
 to be taken to Greenvale, all that wonder-world, to 
 her, had be<n described by Ray many times. He 
 also outlined many little plans for sleigh-rides, skat- 
 ing on the mill-pond, and dances which he and she 
 were to enjoy together. 
 
 His own future and livelihood were a little hazy 
 to him. These matters do not impress a youth of 
 eighteen ; but of one thing he felt sure, that Chip 
 with her rosy face and black eyes, always tender to 
 him, was to be his future companion in all pleasures. 
 It was love among the spruce trees, a summer idyl 
 made tender by the dangers interrupting it, and 
 hidden from all eyes except Old Cy's, who was these 
 young friends' favorite. 
 
 How many times he had taken these two over the 
 ridge during the first two weeks, and picked berries 
 while they played at it, or crossed the lake in his 
 canoe to leave them on the shore while he cast for 
 trout, no one but himself knew, and he wasn't 
 telling. 
 
 Even now, with these two strangers about, Old 
 Cy, Chip, and Ray somehow seemed to "flock by 
 themselves." Old Cy took them canoeing. They 
 paddled up streams entering the lake. He showed 
 them where muskrats were house-building, where
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 139 
 
 mink had runways, and otter had sliding spots ; and 
 to forestall a plan of his own, he enlarged upon the 
 fun and profit of trapping here when the time came. 
 If these two young doves cooed a little meantime, 
 he never heard it ; if they held hands unduly long, 
 he never saw it ; and if they exchanged kisses behind 
 his back well, it was their own loss if they didn't. 
 
 But these days of mingled romance and tragic 
 happenings, of shooting, fishing, story-telling, and 
 wildwood life, were nearing their end, and one even- 
 ing Martin announced that on the morrow they 
 would pack their belongings and, escorted by the 
 officers, leave the wilderness. 
 
 The next morning Old Cy took Ray aside. 
 
 "I want a good square talk with ye, my boy," he 
 said, "an 5 I'm goin' to do ye a good turn if I kin. 
 Now to begin, I s'pose ye know yer aunt's goin' to 
 take Chip to Greenvale 'n' gin her a chance at the 
 schoolin' she sartinly needs. Now you're callatin' 
 to go 'long 'n' have a heap o' fun this winter. I'm 
 goin' to stay here 'n' keer for Amzi. This is the situa- 
 tion 'bout as it is. Now you hev got yer eddication, 
 'n' the next move is to make yer way in the world 'n' 
 arn suthin', an' ez a starter, I want ye to stay here 
 this winter with me 'n' trap. The woods round here 
 is jist bristlin' with spruce gum that is worth a dollar-
 
 140 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 fifty a pound, easy. We've got two months now, 
 'fore snow gits deep. We kin live on the top shelf 
 in the way o' fish 'n' game. We'll ketch a b'ar 
 and pickle his meat 'n' smoke his hams, and when 
 spring comes, I'll take ye out with mebbe five hun- 
 dred dollars' worth of furs 'n' gum ez a beginnin'. 
 
 "Thar's also 'nother side to consider. Chip 
 wants schoolin', 'n' she's got to study night 'n' 
 day fer the next eight months. If you go back with 
 'em, an' go gallivantin' 'round with her, ez you're 
 sure to, it won't be no help to her. I've given you 
 two all the chances fer weavin' the threads o' 'fect- 
 shun I could this summer, an' now let's you 'n' I turn 
 to and make some money. I've asked your uncle 
 'n' aunt. They're willin', 'n' now, what do ye 
 say?" 
 
 Few country boys with a love for trapping, such 
 as Ray had, ever had a more alluring prospect 
 spread before them. He knew Old Cy was right 
 in all his conclusions, and almost without hesitation 
 he agreed to the plan. 
 
 It was far-sighted wisdom on Old Cy's part, 
 however, in not giving Ray time to reflect, else the 
 magnet of Chip's eyes on the one hand, and eight 
 months of separation on the other, would have proved 
 too strong, and trap-setting and gum-gathering,
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 141 
 
 
 
 with five hundred dollars as reward, would have 
 failed. 
 
 As it was, he came near weakening at the last 
 moment when the canoes were packed and Angie 
 and Chip came to take their seats in them. 
 
 He and his crude, rude, yet winsome little sweet- 
 heart had suffered a brief preliminary parting the 
 evening previous. A good many sweet and silly 
 nothings had been exchanged, also promises, and 
 now the boy's heart was very sore. 
 
 Chip was more stoical. Her life at Tim's Place 
 and contact with Old Tomah had taught her reserve, 
 and yet when she turned for the last possible look at 
 Old Cy and Ray, waving good-bye at the landing, 
 a mist of tears hid them. 
 
 Old Cy's face was also a study. To him these 
 parting clouds were as the white ones hiding the sun ; 
 yet he felt their chill. His own life shadow was 
 lengthening. He had now but a brief renewal of 
 youth in the lives of these two, and then forgetful- 
 ness, as he knew full well, and yet he pitied them. 
 
 More than that, he had set his hand to guiding 
 the bark of their young lives into the safe harbor of 
 a home, and all feelings of his own subserved to that. 
 
 "Come, come, my boy," he said to Ray as the 
 two turned away, and he noted the lad's sad face.
 
 142 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "she's gone now, an' ye'd best ferget her fer a spell. 
 Ye won't, I know, V she won't ; but ye'd best make 
 believe ye do. This ain't no spot fer love-sick spells. 
 We've got work to do, 'n' money to arn ; ye've got 
 the chance o' yer life now, an' me to help ye to it, so 
 brace up 'n' look cheerful. 
 
 "Think o' what we got to do to git ready fer 
 winter 'n' six foot o' snow. Think o' the traps we're 
 goin' to set, an' the fun o' tendin' 'em. Why, girls 
 ain't in it a minnit with ketchin' mink, marten, otter, 
 an' now 'n' then a lynx or bobcat. Then when ye 
 go back with a new suit 'n' money in yer pocket^ 
 ye'll feel prouder'n a peacock, 'n' Chip a-smilin' at 
 ye sweeter'n new maple syrup." 
 
 Verily Old Cy had the wisdom of age and the cheer- 
 fulness of morning sunshine. 
 
 All that day these wilderness- marooned friends 
 worked hard. An ample stock of birch wood must 
 be cut and split, a shed of poles to cover it must be 
 erected alongside of the cabin, the hermit's log hut 
 was to be divested of its fittings, which were to be 
 removed to the new cabin which all were now to 
 occupy. 
 
 Realizing how vital to their existence the canoes 
 were, Old Cy had also planned a shelter of small 
 logs for them on one side of the log cabin, that could
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 143 
 
 be locked. Here the canoes not in use must be 
 stored at once to guard against a night call from the 
 malignant half-breed. His canoe had been taken 
 along by Martin's party, to be left at Tim's Place, 
 for even Hersey would have scorned to appropri- 
 ate it. 
 
 There were dozens of other needs to prepare for 
 during the next two months, all of which were impor- 
 tant. An ample supply of deer meat must be se- 
 cured, to be pickled and smoked. All the partridges 
 they could shoot would be needed, and later, when 
 south-bound ducks halted at the lake, a few of these 
 would add to their larder. 
 
 In this connection, also, another need occurred to 
 Old Cy. Trout could be caught all winter in the 
 lake, but live bait must be had, and so a slat car to 
 be sunk in some swift-running stream, which would 
 hold them, must be constructed, also a scoop of 
 mosquito net to catch them. These minnows were 
 to be found now by the million in every brook, and 
 forethought was Old Cy's watchword. 
 
 All these duties and details he discussed that 
 first day with Ray, while they worked, for a purpose. 
 
 But the first evening here, with its open fire, yet 
 empty seats, was the hardest to pass. In vain Old 
 Cy enlarged upon the joys of trap-setting once more,
 
 144 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 and how and where they were to secure gum. In 
 vain he described how deadfalls were built and 
 where they must be placed, how many signs of lynx 
 and wildcat he had seen that summer, and how sure 
 they were to secure some of these valuable furs. 
 
 Ray's heart was not here. Far away in some 
 night camp, Chip was thinking of him. He knew 
 each day would bear her farther away. No word 
 of her safe arrival could reach them now. Long 
 months must elapse ere he and she could meet again, 
 and in prospect they seemed an eternity. 
 
 "Come, git ycr banjo, my boy," Old Cy ejacu- 
 lated at last, seeing Ray's face grow gloomy. "Tune 
 'er up, an' play us suthin' lively. None o' them 
 goody-goody weepin' sort o* tunes; but give us 
 * Money Musk ' 'n' a few jigs. I'm feelin' our pros- 
 pects are so cheerful, I'd like to cut a few pigeon- 
 wings out o' compliment." 
 
 But Old Cy's hilarity was nearly all put on. He, 
 too, felt the effect of the empty seats and missed 
 every one that had gone, and Ray's jig tunes lacked 
 their spirit. He essayed a few, and then quite un- 
 consciously his fingers strayed to "My Old Ken- 
 tucky Home," and Old Cy's feelings responded.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 "I jist nachly hate a person that talks as tho' he'd bill 
 measured fer a harp." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 CHIP'S arrival in Greenvale produced aston- 
 ishment and gossip galore. It began when the 
 stage that "Uncle Joe" Barnes had driven for 
 twenty years started for that village. There 
 were other passengers besides Martin, his wife, 
 and Chip. The seats inside were soon filled, and 
 Chip, seeing a coveted chance, climbed nimbly 
 to a position beside the driver. 
 
 "Gee Whittaker," observed one bystander to 
 another, as Chip's black-stockinged legs flashed 
 into view, "but that gal's nimbler'n a squirrel 
 V don't mind showin' underpinnin'. I wished I 
 was drivin' that stage. I'll bet she's a circus." 
 
 Uncle Joe soon found her a live companion at 
 least, for he had scarce left the village ere she 
 began. 
 
 "Your hosses are fatter'n Tim's hosses used to 
 be," she said. "Do ye feed 'em on hay and 
 taters?" 
 
 HS
 
 146 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 Uncle Joe gave her a sideways glance. 
 
 "Hay and taters, " he exclaimed; "we don't 
 feed hosses on taters down here. Where'd you 
 come from?" 
 
 "I used to live at Tim's Place, up in the woods, 
 'n' we fed our hosses on taters, 'n' they had backs 
 sharp 'nuff to split ye." 
 
 This time Uncle Joe faced squarely around. 
 
 "I know all about hosses," she continued glibly, 
 "I used to take keer on 'em 'n' ride one ploughin', 
 an' I've been throwed more'n a hundred times 
 when we struck roots, an' ye ought to 'a' heerd 
 Tim cuss. I used to cuss just the same, but Mrs. 
 Frisbie says I mustn't." 
 
 "Wai, I swow," ejaculated Uncle Joe, realizing 
 that he had a "case." "What's your name, 'n' 
 whar's Tim's Place?" 
 
 "My name's Chip, Chip McGuire, only 'tain't, 
 it's Vera; but they allus called me Chip, an' Tim's 
 Place is ever so far up in the woods. I runned 
 away 'cause dad sold me, an' fetched up at Mrs. 
 Frisbie's camp, 'n' she's goin' to eddicate me. My 
 mother got killed when I was a kid, 'n' my dad 
 killed 'nother one, too ; he's a bad 'un. " 
 
 Uncle Joe gasped at this gory tale of double 
 murder, not being quite sure that the girl was sane.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 147 
 
 "Hain't they ketched yer dad yit?" he queried. 
 
 "No, nor they won't," Chip rattled on, as if 
 such killing were a daily occurrence in the woods. 
 "He's a slick 'un, they say, an' now he's got Pete's 
 money, he'll lay low." 
 
 "Worse and worse, and more of it," Uncle Joe 
 thought. 
 
 "You must 'a' had middlin' lively times up in 
 the woods," he said. "Did yer dad kill anybody 
 else 'sides yer mother 'n' this man?" 
 
 "He didn't kill mother," Chip returned promptly; 
 "he used to lick her, though, but she got killed in 
 a mill, 'n' I wisht it 'ud bin him. I wouldn't 'a' 
 bin an orfin then. Say," she added, as they entered 
 a woods-bordered stretch of road, "did ye ever 
 see spites here?" 
 
 "Spites," he responded, now more than ever 
 in doubt as to her sanity, "what's them?" 
 
 "Why, they's just spites things ye can't see 
 much of 'ceptin' it's dark. Then they come crawl- 
 in' round. They's souls o' animals mostly, Old 
 Tomah says. I've seen thousands on 'em." 
 
 Uncle Joe shifted his quid, turned and eyed the 
 girl once more. First, a wild and wofully mixed tale 
 of murder, and then spookish things ! Beyond ques- 
 tion she had wheels, and he resolved to humor her.
 
 148 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 " Oh, yes, we see them things here now 'n' then, " 
 he said, "but it takes considerable licker to do it. 
 We hain't had a murder, though, for quite a spell. 
 This is a sorter peaceful neck o' woods ye're comin' 
 to." 
 
 But Chip failed to grasp his quiet humor, and 
 all through that twenty-mile autumn day stage 
 ride she chattered on like a magpie. 
 
 He soon concluded she was sane enough, how- 
 ever, but the most voluble talker who ever shared 
 his seat. 
 
 "I never seen the beat o' her," he said that night 
 at Phinney's store, the village news agency, 
 "she clacked every minit from the time we started 
 till we fetched in, an' I never callated sich goin's 
 on ez she told about cud ever happen. Thar 
 was murder 'n' runnin' away, 'n' she got ketched 
 V carried off 'n' fetched back, 'n' a whole lot o* 
 resky business. She believes in ghosts, too, sorter 
 Injun sperits, 'n' she kin swear jist ez easy ez I kin. 
 It seems the Frisbies hev kinder 'dopted her, 'n' 
 I guess they'll hev their hands full. She's a bright 
 'un, though, but sich a talker ! " 
 
 At Aunt Comfort's spacious, old-fashioned 
 home, where Chip was now installed, she soon 
 began to create the same impression. This had
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 149 
 
 been Angle's former home, and her Aunt Comfort 
 Day had been her foster-mother. 
 
 This family, in addition to the new arrival, con- 
 sisted of Aunt Comfort, rotund and warm-hearted; 
 Hannah Pettibone, a well-along spinster of angu- 
 lar form and temper, thin to an almost painful 
 degree, with a well-defined mustache; and a 
 general helper on the farm, and a chore boy about 
 Chip's age named Nezer, completed the list. 
 
 Once included in this somewhat diverse group, 
 Chip became an immediate bone of contention. 
 
 Aunt Comfort, of course, opened her heart to 
 her at once; but Hannah closed hers, almost from 
 the first day, and in addition she began to nurse 
 malice as well. There was some reason for this, 
 mainly due to Chip's startling freshness of speech. 
 
 "I thought ye must be a man wearin' wimmin's 
 clothes, the first time I see ye," she said to Hannah 
 the next day after her arrival, and without mean- 
 ing offence. "It was all on account o' yer little 
 whiskers, I guess. I never see a woman with 'em * 
 afore. Why don't ye shave?" 
 
 This was enough; for if there was any one thing 
 more mortifying than all else to Hannah, it was 
 her facial blemish, and a mention of it she considered 
 an intentional insult.
 
 150 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 From this moment onward she hated Chip. 
 
 Nezer, however, took to her as a duck to water, 
 and her story, which he soon heard, became a real 
 dime novel to him, and not content with one telling, 
 he insisted on repetition. This was also unfortu- 
 nate for blessed with a vivid imagination and 
 sure to enlarge upon all facts he soon spread 
 the story with many blood-curdling additions. 
 
 These stories, with Uncle Joe's corroboration, 
 resulted in a direful tale believed by all. Neigh- 
 bors flocked in to see this heroine of many esca- 
 pades, villagers halted in front of Aunt Comfort's 
 to catch a sight of this marvel, and so the wonder 
 spread. 
 
 Angie was, of course, to blame. More impressed 
 with the seriousness of the task she had under- 
 taken than the need of caution, she had failed to 
 tell Chip she must not talk about herself, and so 
 a wofully distorted history became current gossip. 
 
 When Sunday came, the village church was 
 packed, and Parson Jones marvelled much at the 
 unexpected increase of religious interest. He had 
 heard of this new arrival, but when the Frisbie 
 family with Chip, in suitable clothing, entered 
 their pew, the cynosure of all eyes, this unusual 
 attendance was accounted for.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 151 
 
 And what a staring-at Chip received ! 
 
 On the church steps a group of both young and 
 old men had awaited her arrival and gazed at her 
 in open-eyed astonishment. All through service 
 she was watched, and not content with this, a dozen 
 or so, men and women, formed a double line out- 
 side, awaiting the Frisbies' exit. 
 
 Angie also failed to understand the, principal 
 cause of this interest. Her last appearance at 
 this church had been as a bride. Naturally that 
 fact would produce some staring, and so the curious 
 and almost rude scrutiny the family received, was 
 less noticed by her. 
 
 But Chip's eyes were observant. 
 
 "I don't like goin' to meetin'," she said, "an' 
 bein' stared at like I was a wildcat. I seen 'em 
 grinnin', too, some on 'em, when we went in, 
 an' one feller winked to another. What ailed 
 'em?" 
 
 Her vexations, however, had only just begun, 
 for Angie had seen and made arrangements with 
 Miss Phinney, one of the village school-teachers, 
 and the next morning Chip was sent to school. 
 And now real trouble commenced. 
 
 Not knowing more than how to read and spell 
 short words, and unable to write, she, a fairly well-
 
 152 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 developed young lady, presented a problem which 
 was hard for a teacher to solve. To put her in 
 the class where she belonged was absurd. She 
 must sit with older girls, or look ridiculous. If 
 she recited with the eight-year-old children, the 
 result would be the same, and so a species of pri- 
 vate tuition with recitations at noon or after school 
 became the only possible course and the one her 
 teacher adopted. 
 
 This also carried its vexations, for Chip was as 
 tall as Miss Phinney and a little larger. Not one 
 of that band of pupils was over twelve. To join 
 in their games was no sport for Chip, while they, 
 having heard about her thrilling experiences, with 
 a hint that she wasn't quite right in her head, felt 
 afraid of her. 
 
 "I feel so sorry for her," Miss Phinney explained 
 to Angie, a week later, "and yet, I don't know 
 what to do. She is so big the children won't play 
 with her, or she with them. I am the only one 
 with whom she will talk, and she seems so humble 
 and so grateful for every word. I can't be as stern 
 with her or govern her as I should, on account of 
 her temper and size. 
 
 " Only yesterday I heard screaming at recess, 
 and going out, I found that Chip had one of the
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 153 
 
 girls by the hair and was cuffing her. It transpired 
 that this girl had called her an Indian and asked 
 if she had ever scalped anybody. I can't punish 
 such a pupil, and I can't help loving her, so you 
 see she is a sore trial." 
 
 She also became a trial to Angie in countless 
 ways. 
 
 Of a deep religious conviction, and believing 
 this waif needed to be brought into the fold, Angie 
 set about that task at once. But Chip was imper- 
 vious to such instruction. By no argument or per- 
 suasion could Angie force her protegee to renounce 
 her belief in the heathenism of Old Tomah, or 
 convince her that God and the angels were any 
 different from his collection of spirit forms, or 
 that heaven was anything more than another 
 name for his happy hunting-grounds. Old Tomah 
 had been her wise and only friend, so far. She had 
 seen all the ghostly forms he had described, had 
 felt all the occult influences which he said existed, 
 and neither coaxing nor derision served to make her 
 disown them. 
 
 Of course, Angie took her to church regularly. 
 She sat through services and bowed as all did. 
 Sabbath-school instruction would have been forced 
 upon her but for the reason that made her a class
 
 154 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 of one under Miss Phinney, and Parson Jones's 
 attention was finally enlisted. 
 
 He spent an hour in pointing out her heathenish 
 sins, assured her that Old Tomah was a wicked 
 reprobate and an ignorant savage combined, that 
 all influences so far surrounding her had been 
 the worst possible, a self-evident fact, and 
 unless she confessed a change of heart, and soon, 
 too, all her friends here would desert her and the 
 devil would overtake her by and by, and then 
 closed this well-intended effort with a prayer. 
 
 Chip sat through it all, mute and cowering. 
 The parson's white hair, sharp eyes, and solemn 
 voice awed her, and when he had departed, she 
 began to cry. 
 
 "I don't see the need o' makin' me say I don't 
 believe suthin' when I do," she said. "I've seen 
 spites 'n' I know I've seen 'em, an' nobody can 
 make me believe Old Tomah a bad man, if he is 
 an Injun. He runned after me when I got ketched, 
 'n' near got his eyes scratched out " a logic it 
 was useless to contend with. 
 
 "You're jest a little spunky devil," Hannah 
 said to her later on with a vicious accent, "an 5 if 
 I was Mrs. Frisbie I'd larrup ye till ye confessed 
 penitence, I would. The idee o' you settin* thar
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 155 
 
 a-mullin' all the time the minister was tryin* to 
 save ye! It's scand'lus!" 
 
 And that night Chip was back in the wilderness 
 with Old Cy and Ray in thought, and so home- 
 sick for them that she cried herself to sleep.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 " While yer argufyin' with a fool, jes' figger that's two on 
 ''em." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 THE streams and swamps contiguous to this lake 
 were well adapted for the habitat of mink, muskrat, 
 otter, fisher, and those large fur-bearing animals, 
 the lynx and lucivee, and here a brief description of 
 where such animals exist, and how they are caught, 
 may be of interest. 
 
 The habits of the muskrat, the least cunning of 
 these, are so well known that they merit only a few 
 words. They are amphibious animals, their food 
 is succulent roots, bulbs, and bark, and they frequent 
 small, marshy ponds, sluggish streams, and swamps. 
 In summer they conceal themselves by burrowing 
 into soft banks ; in winter they erect houses of sedge- 
 grass, roots, and mud, and are caught in small steel 
 traps set in shallow water at the entrance of their 
 paths out of lake or stream. 
 
 Mink, marten, otter, and fisher are much alike in 
 shape and habit. All belong to the same family, but 
 vary in size, also slightly in the matter of food. 
 
 156
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 157 
 
 Mink and marten live on fish, frogs, birds, mice, etc. ; 
 otter on fish and roots; and fishers, as their name 
 implies, subsist largely on fish. All these are more 
 valuable fur-bearing animals than muskrats. Their 
 abiding places are swamps and shallow streams, in 
 the banks of which they burrow, and they are usu- 
 ally caught in steel traps baited with fish or meat. 
 
 The lucivee, or lynx, and bobcat, more ferocious 
 and cunning than their smaller cousins, roam the 
 woods and swamps, live on smaller animals, hide in 
 caves, crevices, and hollow trees, and they as well as 
 otter occasionally are caught in deadfalls. 
 
 Old Cy, familiar as he was with the homes, habits, 
 and the manner of catching these cunning animals, 
 soon began his trap-setting campaign. A few dozen 
 steel traps were first set along the stream and lagoons 
 entering the lake, and then he and Ray pushed up 
 Beaver Brook, and leaving their canoe, followed its 
 narrow valley in search of suitable spots to set the 
 more elaborated deadfalls, which also merit descrip- 
 tion. 
 
 A deadfall is made by placing one end of a suitably 
 sized log one perhaps fifteen feet long and a foot 
 in diameter on a figure four trap, so adjusted that 
 its spindle end, to which the bait is secured, shall 
 be poised beneath the upraised end of the log.
 
 158 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 Alongside of this log a double row of stakes is 
 driven to form a pen with entrance leading to the 
 bait. When this deadly contrivance is properly 
 adjusted, the log and its pen of stakes is concealed 
 with green boughs piled lightly over it, and all the 
 hungry lynx sees is a narrow opening under green 
 boughs, and in it a tempting morsel awaiting him. 
 As those creatures, as well as now and then an otter, 
 are sure to roam up and down all small streams, 
 a spot where one emerges from a narrow defile, 
 or joins a larger one, is usually selected for a 
 deadfall. 
 
 It is also quite a task to clear a suitable space, fell 
 a right-sized tree, and construct one of these penlike 
 traps; and although Old Cy and Ray started early, 
 it was mid-afternoon that day ere they had the third 
 one ready and awaiting its possible victim. 
 
 As gum-gathering was also a part of their season's 
 plan, they now left the swamp valley, and, ascending 
 the spruce-clad upland, began this work, which is 
 also worthy of description. 
 
 The chewing gum of commerce, so delightful to 
 schoolgirls and small boys, is the refined, diluted, 
 and sweetened product of gum nuts, or the small 
 excrescences of spruce sap that exudes and hardens 
 around knot-holes and cracks in the bark of those
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 159 
 
 trees. These form into hardened nuts or knobs of 
 gum, from the size of a hazelnut to that of butter- 
 nut, and are worth from a dollar to a dollar and fifty 
 cents a pound. A long pole with a sharpened knife 
 or chisel fastened to its tip is used by gum seekers. 
 It can be gathered from the time frost first hardens 
 it until spring, and to gather three to five pounds is 
 considered a good day's work. 
 
 Ray's first attempt at this labor seemed like nut- 
 gathering at home, only more romantic, and when 
 they were well into the vast spruce growth bordering 
 one side of the Beaver Brook valley, he became so 
 interested in hunting for the brown knobs, loosen- 
 ing them, and picking them up that he would 
 have soon lost all points of the compass, except for 
 Old Cy. 
 
 There is also a spice of danger seasoning this pur- 
 suit. A wildcat might at any moment be seen 
 watching from the crotch of a tree, or a bear might 
 suddenly emerge from the thicket. It was hard 
 work also, for while some parts of a spruce forest 
 may be free from undergrowth, not all portions are, 
 and this tangle is one not easy to move about in. 
 
 There was also another element that entered into 
 the trapping and gum-gathering life, the pos- 
 sible return of the half-breed.
 
 l6o THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "He hain't nothin' agin us," Old Cy asserted, 
 when the question came up. "We didn't chase 
 him the day he stole Chip, 'n' yet I s'pose he'll show 
 up some day, 'n' mebbe do us harm." 
 
 It was this fear that had led Old Cy to leave one 
 of their canoes in a log locker, securely barred, and 
 also to caution the hermit to remain on guard at the 
 cabin while he and Ray were away. 
 
 A canoe is the one most vital need of a wildwood 
 life, for the reason that the streams are the only 
 avenues of escape and afford the only opportunities 
 for travel. 
 
 The wilderness, of course, can be traversed, but 
 not easily. Swamps will be met and must be avoided, 
 for a wilderness swamp is practically impassable. 
 Streams can be forded, but lakes must be encom- 
 passed, and even an upland forest is but a tangled 
 jungle of fallen trees and undergrowth. 
 
 Old Cy knew, or at least he felt almost sure, that 
 the half-breed would return in good time. He had 
 also reasoned out his failure to do so at once, and 
 knew that left canoeless, as he had been that tragic 
 day, his only course must be the one he actually 
 followed. A month had elapsed since then, with no 
 sign of this "varmint's" return, and now Old Cy 
 was on the watch for it.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 101 
 
 Each morning, when he traversed the lake shore 
 from ice-house to landing, he looked for tell-tale foot- 
 prints. He watched for them wherever he went, 
 and the distant report of a rifle would have been 
 accepted as a sure harbinger of this enemy. 
 
 It became their custom now each day, first to visit 
 all small traps in the near-by streams, then pushing 
 their canoe as far as possible up the Beaver Brook, 
 to leave it, continue up the valley, and after inspect- 
 ing their deadfalls, turn to the right out of this swale, 
 and begin the gathering of gum. 
 
 And now, one day, in carrying out this programme, 
 a discovery was made. 
 
 They had first visited the small traps near the lake, 
 securing a couple of mink and three muskrats, which 
 were left in the canoe. An otter was found in one 
 of the deadfalls, and taking this with them, they en- 
 tered the spruce timber and hung it on a conspicuous 
 limb. Then the search for gum began. 
 
 As usual, they worked hard. The days were 
 short, the best of sunlight was needful to see the 
 brown nuts in the sombre forest, and so they paid 
 no heed to aught except what was overhead. When 
 time to return arrived, Old Cy picked up his rifle 
 and led the way back to where the otter had been 
 left, but it had vanished. Glancing about to make
 
 l62 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 sure that he was right, he advanced to the tree, looked 
 down, and saw two footprints. Stooping over to 
 examine them better in the uncertain light, he noted 
 also that they were not his own, but larger, and made 
 by some one wearing boots. 
 
 "Tain't the half-breed," he muttered, with an 
 accent of relief, and looking about, he saw a well- 
 defined trail leading down the slope and thence 
 onward toward the swamp. 
 
 Some one had crossed this broad, oval, spruce- 
 covered upland while they were not two hundred 
 rods away from this tree, had stolen their otter, and 
 gone on into the swamp. 
 
 Any freshly made human footprint found in a 
 vast wilderness awakens curiosity; these seemed 
 ominous. 
 
 "He must 'a' seen us 'fore he did the otter," Old 
 Cy ejaculated, "an* it's curis he didn't make himself 
 known. Neighbors ain't over plenty, hereabout." 
 
 But the sun was nearing the tree-tops, the canoe 
 was a mile away, and after one more look around, 
 Old Cy started for it. There was no use in following 
 this trail now, for it led into the tangled swamp, and 
 so, skirting this until a point opposite the canoe was 
 reached, Old Cy and Ray then plunged into it. 
 
 Twilight had begun to shadow this vale ere the
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 163 
 
 canoe was reached. And here was another surprise, 
 for the canoe was found turned half over, and on 
 its broad oval bottom was a curious outline of black 
 mud. The light was not good here. A fir-grown 
 ledge shadowed the spot ; but as Old Cy stooped to 
 examine this mud- made emblem, it gradually took 
 shape, and he saw a skull and cross bones ! 
 
 "Wai, by the Great Horn Spoon!" he exclaimed, 
 "I never s 'posed a pirate 'ud fetch in here! An' 
 he's swiped our muskrats and mink," he added, as 
 he looked under the canoe, "durn him!" 
 
 Then the bold bravado of it all occurred to Old 
 Cy. The theft was doubtless made by whosoever 
 had taken their otter, and not content with robbing 
 them, he had added insult. 
 
 "I s'pose we'd orter be grateful he left the paddles 
 'n' didn't smash the canoe," Old Cy continued, 
 turning it over. "I wonder who't can be?" 
 
 One hasty look around revealed the same boot- 
 marks in the soft earth near the stream, and then he 
 and Ray launched their craft and started for home. 
 
 "I'm goin' to foller them tracks to-morrer," Old 
 Cy said, when they were entering the lake and a light 
 in the cabin just across reassured him. "It may be 
 a little resky, but I'm goin' to find out what sorter a 
 neighbor we've got."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 " When a man begins talkin 1 'bout himself, it seems as tho 1 
 he'd never run down." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 ALL fellow-sojourners in the wilderness awaken 
 keen interest, and the unbroken silence and solitude 
 of a boundless forest make a fellow human being 
 one we are glad to accost. 
 
 A party of lumbermen wielding axes causes one 
 to turn aside and call on them. A sportsman's camp 
 seen on a lake shore or near a stream's bank always 
 invites a landing to interview whoever may be there. 
 
 All this interest was now felt by Old Cy and Ray, 
 and with it an added sense of danger. No friendly 
 hunter or trapper would thus ignore them in the 
 woods. This piratically minded thief must have 
 seen them, for the spruce- clad oval, perhaps half a 
 mile in width, was comparatively free from under- 
 growth where they had been working. He had 
 crossed it within fairly open sight of them, had found 
 the otter hanging from a limb, had taken it, and 
 thence on to rob their canoe, daub it with that hid- 
 eous emblem, world- wide in meaning, and then had 
 
 164
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 165 
 
 gone on his way. Almost could Old Cy see him 
 watching them from behind trees, skulking along 
 when their backs were turned, a low, contemptible 
 thief. 
 
 Old Cy knew that bordering this oval ridge on its 
 farther side was a swamp, that a stream flowed 
 through it, and surmising that this fellow might have 
 come up or down this stream, he left their cabin pre- 
 pared for a two or three days' sojourn away from it, 
 which meant that food, blankets, and simple cooking 
 utensils must be taken along. 
 
 No halt was made to visit traps. Old Cy was 
 trailing bigger game now; and when the point 
 where they had left the canoe the day previous was 
 reached, the canoe was pulled out on the stream's 
 bank, the rifles only taken, and the trailing began. 
 He followed up the brook valley a little way, to find 
 that only one track came down; he then circled 
 about the canoe, until, like a hound, he found 
 where the clearly defined trail left the swamp again. 
 
 Here in the soft carpet under the spruce trees one 
 could follow this trail on the run, and here also Old 
 Cy found where this enemy had halted beside trees 
 evidently while watching them, as the tracks indi- 
 cated. When the bordering swamp was reached, 
 the trail turned in a westerly direction, skirting thus
 
 l66 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 for half a mile, and here, also, evidences of skulking 
 along were visible. 
 
 Another trail was now come upon, but leading 
 directly over the ridge, and just beyond this juncture 
 both the trails now joined, entered the swamp, and 
 ended at a lagoon opening out from the stream. 
 Here, also, evidences of a canoe having been hauled 
 up into the bog were visible. 
 
 "That sneakin' pirate come up this stream," Old 
 Cy observed to Ray, as the two stood looking at these 
 unmistakable signs. "He left his canoe here 'n' 
 crossed the ridge above us 'n' down to whar we left 
 the otter 'n' on to our canoe. Then he come back 
 the way we follered, 'n' my idee is he had his eye 
 on us most o' the time. I callate he has been 
 laughin' ever since at what we'd say when we found 
 that mud daub on our canoe, durn him !" 
 
 But their canoe was now a half-mile away, and 
 for a little time Old Cy looked at the black, current- 
 less stream and considered. Then he glanced up 
 at the sun. 
 
 "I've a notion we'd best fetch our canoe over 
 here," he said at last, "an' follow this thief a spell 
 farther. We may come on to suthin'." 
 
 "Won't he shoot at us?" returned Ray, more im- 
 pressed by this possible danger than was Old Cy.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 167 
 
 "Wai, mebbe and mebbe not," answered the 
 old man. "Shootin's a game two kin play at, 
 an' we've jist ez good a right to foller the stream ez 
 he has." 
 
 But when their canoe had been carried over and 
 launched in this lagoon, Ray's spirits rose. It was 
 an expedition into new waters, somewhat venture- 
 some, and for that reason it appealed to him. 
 
 Then they had two rifles, Old Cy had taught him 
 to shoot, he had already killed one deer and some 
 smaller game, and the go-west-and-kill-Indian im- 
 pulse latent in all boys was a part of Ray's nature. 
 Besides, he had an unbounded faith in Old Cy's 
 skill with the rifle. 
 
 And now began a canoe journey into and through 
 a vast swamp, the upland border of which could 
 scarce be seen. The stream they followed was black, 
 and so absolutely motionless that it was a guess 
 which way they were going. The mingled hack- 
 matack and alder growth along each bank was so 
 dense that no view ahead could be seen, and they 
 must merely follow the winding pathway of dark 
 waters and hope to come out somewhere. 
 
 For two hours they paddled along this serpentine 
 highway, and then the vastness of this morass began 
 to impress them. No sign of current had been met.
 
 l68 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 All view of the spruce-grown upland they had left 
 was obscured by distance. Now and then a dead 
 tree, bleached and spectral, marked a turn in the 
 stream, and hundreds of them, rising all about above 
 the low green tangle, added a ghostly haze. It was 
 as if they were venturing into a new world a 
 boundless morass, covered by an impenetrable tan- 
 gle, and made grewsome by the bleaching trunks 
 of dead trees. 
 
 "I'm goin' to find which way we're goin'," Old 
 Cy exclaimed at last, as they neared a small dead 
 cedar that pointed out over the stream, and seizing 
 a projecting limb of this, he broke off bits of dry 
 twigs, and tossed them into the stream. For a 
 long moment not one stirred, and then at last a 
 movement backward could be discovered. 
 
 "We're goin' up-stream, anyhow," he added, 
 glancing at the sun, now marking mid-afternoon; 
 "but we've got to git out o' this 'fore dark, or we'll 
 be in a bad fix, an' hev to sleep in the canoe." 
 
 No halt for dinner had yet been made. They 
 were both' faint from need of food, and so Old Cy 
 reached for a small wooden pail containing their 
 sole supply of provisions. Neither was it a luxurious 
 repast which was now eaten. A couple of hard- 
 tacks munched by each and moistened with a cup
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 169 
 
 of this swamp water and a bit of dried deer meat 
 was all, and then Old Cy lit his pipe, dipped his 
 paddle handle in the stream, and once more they 
 pushed on. Soon a low mound of hard soil rose out 
 of the tangle just ahead, an oasis in this unvarying 
 mud swamp, and gaping at them from amid its cover 
 of scrub birch and cedar stood a deadfall. It faced 
 them as they neared this small island, and with log 
 upraised between a pen of stakes it much resembled 
 the open mouth of a huge alligator. 
 
 "Hain't been built long," Old Cy exclaimed, after 
 they had landed to examine it. "I've a notion it's 
 the doin's of our pirate friend, an' he's trappin* 
 round about this swamp. He's had good luck 
 lately, anyhow, for he's got six o' our pelts to add to 
 his string." 
 
 From here onward signs of human presence in 
 this swamp became more visible. Now and then 
 an opening cut through the limbs of a lopped-over 
 spruce was met ; a spot where drift had been pushed 
 aside to clear the stream was found at one place; 
 signs of a canoe having been nosed into the bog 
 grass were seen; and here were also the same foot- 
 prints they had followed. 
 
 Another bit of hard bottom was reached, and here 
 again was another deadfall. Tracks evidently made
 
 170 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 within a few days were about here, and tied to 
 its figure-four spindle was a freshly caught brook 
 sucker. 
 
 "The scent's gettin' warm," Old Cy muttered, as 
 he examined these signs of a trapper's presence, and 
 then, mindful of the sun, he paddled on again. 
 
 And now an upland growth of tall spruce was seen 
 ahead, the banks became in evidence, and a slight 
 current was met. One more long bend in the stream 
 was followed, then came curving banks and large- 
 bodied spruce. They were out of the swamp. 
 
 Soon a more distinctive current opposed them, a 
 low murmur of running water came from ahead, 
 and then a pass between two abutting ledges was 
 entered. Here the stream eddied over sunken 
 rocks, and pushing on, the forest seemed suddenly 
 to vanish as they emerged from the gloom of this 
 short canon, and the next moment they caught 
 sight of a long, narrow lakelet. 
 
 The sun, now almost to the tree- tops, cast a red- 
 dish glow upon its placid surface, and so welcome a 
 change was it from the ghostly, forbidding swamp 
 just left, that Old Cy halted their canoe at once to 
 look out upon it. It was seemingly a mile long, but 
 quite a narrow lake. A bold, rocky shore rising in 
 ledges faced them just across, and extended along
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE lyi 
 
 that side, back of these a low, green-clad mountain, 
 to the right, and at the end of this lanelike lake 
 a bolder, bare-topped cliff was outlined clear and 
 distinct. 
 
 This strip of water, for it was not much more, 
 seemingly filled an oblong gorge in these mountains, 
 only one break in them, to the left of this bare peak ; 
 and as Old Cy urged their canoe out of the alder- 
 choked stream, now currentless once more, a margin 
 line of rushes and reeds was seen to form that shore. 
 Back of these, also, rose the low ledge they had 
 passed. 
 
 " Looks like a good hidin' spot fer a pirate," he 
 exclaimed, glancing up and down the smiling lake- 
 let. "Thar ain't many folks likely to tackle that 
 swamp it took us 'most all day to cross it. I'll 
 bet no lumberman ever tried it twice, 'n' if I wanted 
 to git absolutely 'way from bein' molested, I'd locate 
 here. I dunno whether we'd best cross 'n' make 
 camp 'mong them ledges, or go back into the woods. 
 Guess we'd best go back 'n' take a sneak round be- 
 hind the ledge. I noticed a loggin 1 leadin' up that 
 way 'fore we left the swamp.'^ 
 
 But now something was discovered that proved 
 Old Cy's wisdom, for as they, charmed somewhat by 
 
 1 Lagoon.
 
 172 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 the spot, yet feeling it forbidding, still glanced up and 
 down the bold shore just across, suddenly a thin 
 column of smoke rose from away to the right, amid 
 the bare ledges. 
 
 First a faint haze, rising in the still air, then a 
 burst of white, until the fleecy pillar was plainly out- 
 lined as it ascended and drifted backward into the 
 green forest.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 "Licker allus lets the cat out." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 WHEN the half-breed, Pete Bolduc, reached Tim's 
 Place, he was more dead than alive. A week of 
 crawling through swamps, wading or swimming 
 streams, sleeping under fallen trees, while sustaining 
 life on frogs, raw fish, and one muskrat, had elimi- 
 nated about all desire to obtain Chip, and left a mur- 
 derous hate instead. And McGuire was its object. 
 
 Pete reasoned that he had bought the girl and paid 
 for her. Her father, never intending to keep faith, 
 had connived at her escape, and knowing of these 
 campers, had hired her for a serving maid, and they 
 would inevitably take her out when they left. It 
 was all a part of McGuire's plot and plan, and no 
 doubt this stranger had also paid him for her posses- 
 sion. 
 
 Two other facts also seemed proof positive that 
 these conclusions were correct. First, McGuire 
 had never been seen at Tim's Place since the girl's 
 escape; second, it would have been impossible for 
 her to reach these campers without aid. But she
 
 174 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 was lost to him for all time, as Pete now realized. 
 The stern faces and ready rifles of her protectors 
 had convinced him of that, and all that remained 
 was to find McGuire, force him to give back the 
 money, then obtain revenge. 
 
 Neither was this an easy task, for McGuire was a 
 dangerous man, as Pete well knew, and the more he 
 considered the matter, sojourning at Tim's Place 
 and nursing his hate meanwhile, the more he realized 
 that the killing of McGuire must precede the obtain- 
 ing of his money. And now, where to find McGuire 
 became a question. 
 
 Pete knew that at this season he usually devoted a 
 month or more to a trapping trip, that in starting 
 out he always ascended the Fox Hole, and that his 
 location for this purpose was the head waters of 
 another stream, reached by a carry from the Fox 
 Hole. 
 
 For a week Pete remained at Tim's Place, and 
 then, obtaining a canoe, returned to his hut on this 
 stream. 
 
 And now, in the seclusion of his own domicile, 
 certain other facts and conclusions bearing upon the 
 present whereabouts of McGuire occurred to him. 
 
 For many years they had been friends in a way, 
 or at least as much so as two such scamps ever are.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 
 
 Together they had made many canoe trips to the 
 Provinces to obtain liquor. In these expeditions, 
 McGuire had furnished the means; but outlawed 
 as he was, had remained in hiding while Pete trans- 
 acted the business and later shared the profits. 
 Pete's hut had also been used as headquarters, and 
 near by it the smuggled liquor had been secreted. 
 
 On rare occasions, also, McGuire had broken 
 away from his usual abstemiousness, and here, with 
 Pete for companion, had indulged in an orgie. At 
 these times he invariably boasted how cunning he 
 had been in eluding all hated officers of the law, 
 how much money he was worth, and how securely 
 he had it hidden. The one most pertinent fact, 
 the location of this hiding spot, he never betrayed. 
 But now Pete almost as shrewd as he reasoned 
 that it would most likely be somewhere in this region 
 annually visited by him. 
 
 To find this was a hard problem; to find Mc- 
 Guire's hiding spot for his money more so. It meant 
 trailing a human being of greater cunning than any 
 animal that roamed this wilderness; and yet with 
 the double incentive of robbing and revenge now 
 decided upon by this half-breed, he set about solv- 
 ing it. 
 
 A day's journey up the Fox Hole brought him ta
 
 176 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 the carry over into another stream, and here a prob- 
 ably month-old trail, crossing and recrossing it, was 
 found. Whoever left the tell-tale footprints wore 
 boots, and as McGuire was the only hunter or 
 trapper in this region known to wear them, this 
 seemed evidence that it was he. Then as two trails 
 led over, with only one returning, that proved he 
 had made two trips across to carry his canoe and 
 belongings and had not returned. This was plain 
 enough, but when once over, the question of whether 
 he went up or down stream was another matter. 
 It was an even chance, however, and Pete decided 
 to go up, and keep sharp watch for any signs which 
 would indicate that he was on the right track. To 
 trail any animal in this wilderness was child's play 
 to Pete; but to follow another trapper journeying 
 by canoe was not so easy. Halts for night camps 
 he must of course make, collections of drift in some 
 narrow part of the stream he would inevitably dis- 
 turb, and where a carry around a rapid came, a trail 
 would be left. These were the only signs possible 
 to discover, and for these Pete now watched. 
 
 The slow-running waterway he ascended the first 
 day wound through a stately forest of spruce. Its 
 banks were low and well defined, yet always covered 
 by undergrowth. No breaks in them, no openings
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 177 
 
 where a night halt would naturally be made; but 
 ever of the same unvarying character, and shadowed 
 by the overhang of interlaced boughs. With one 
 eye keen to any even the slightest signs of human 
 progress up this stream, and ears ever alert, Pete 
 paddled on. Wildwood sights and sounds, however, 
 were met in plenty. Once a lordly moose, seeing 
 or smelling him, snorted and plunged away, crashing 
 through the undergrowth. Deer were seen or heard 
 at every turn of the stream, and dozens of musk- 
 rats were noticed swimming or diving off the bank, 
 with now and then an otter or a mink, to vary this 
 monotony. 
 
 But these were of no interest to Pete. He was 
 trailing other game, and like an avenging Nemesis, 
 slowly crept through this vast, sombre, and for- 
 bidding forest. When nightfall neared, he hauled 
 his canoe out where a stretch of hard bank favored, 
 and camped for the night, and when daylight came 
 again, he pushed on. For three days this watchful, 
 up-stream journey was continued, and then a range 
 of low mountains began to close in, short rapids 
 needing the use of a setting-pole were met, and at 
 last a series of stair-like falls was sighted ahead. 
 The sun was well down when these were reached. 
 How long the necessary carry might be, he could not
 
 178 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 tell, and hauling out below the rapids, Pete took his 
 rifle and crept up along the bank. So far not a sign 
 indicating whether or not McGuire had gone up this 
 stream had been found, but here, if anywhere, they 
 must be met, and Pete watched eagerly for them. 
 
 Every rock where a human foot might scrape away 
 the moss was scanned. Each bending bough and 
 bush was observed, and when, perforce, he had to 
 leave the rock-lined bank and make a detour, he still 
 watched for signs. 
 
 At the top of this long pitch, the tall trees also 
 ended, and here the stream issued from a vast bush- 
 grown swamp devoid of timber. A few dead trees 
 rose from it, and climbing a low spruce, Pete saw 
 this whitened expanse of spectral cones extended for 
 miles. It was a forbidding prospect. The stream's 
 course appeared visible only a few rods. It seemed 
 hardly probable the man he was trailing would cross 
 this swamp. No signs of his ascending this water- 
 way had so far been met, and Pete, now discouraged, 
 was about to return to his canoe and on the morn go 
 back, when, glancing across the stream, he saw a 
 tiny opening in the bushes, as if they had been pushed 
 aside. 
 
 To cross, leaping from rock to rock in the rapids 
 below, was his next move, and returning to where
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 179 
 
 the fall began, there, just back from this point, and 
 beside a ledge, were the charred embers of a camp- 
 fire. 
 
 Weeks old, without doubt, for rain had fallen on 
 them, and all about were the footprints of some one 
 wearing boots.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 "Tain't allus the bell cow that gives the most milk." 
 
 OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 OLD CY was, above all, a peaceable man, and 
 while curiosity had led him to follow the trail of this 
 robber and to cross this vast swamp, now that he 
 saw the suggestive smoke sign, he hesitated about 
 venturing nearer. 
 
 "I guess we'd best be keerful," he whispered to 
 Ray, "or we may wish we had been. I callate our 
 pirate friend's got a hidin' spot over thar, 'n' most 
 likely don't want callers. He may be only a queer 
 old trapper a little short o' scruples ag'in' takin' 
 what he finds, 'n' then ag'in he may be worse'n that. 
 His campin' spot's ag'in' him, anyhow." 
 
 But the sun was now very low ; a camp site must 
 soon be found, and scarce two minutes from the time 
 he saw this rising column of smoke, Old Cy dipped 
 his paddle and slowly drew back into the protecting 
 forest. Once well out of sight, the canoe was turned 
 and they sped back down-stream and into the swamp 
 once more. Here he turned aside into a lagoon they 
 
 180
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE l8l 
 
 had passed, and at its head they pulled their canoe 
 out into the bog. 
 
 The two gathered up their belongings, and pick- 
 ing their way out of the morass, reached the belt of 
 hard bottom skirting the ridge. They were now out 
 of sight from the lake, but still too near the stream to 
 risk a camp-fire, and so Old Cy led the way along this 
 belt until a more secluded niche in the ridge was 
 reached, and here they began camp- making. It 
 was a simple process. A level spot was cleared 
 from brush, two convenient saplings denuded of 
 their lower limbs, a cross pole was placed in suit- 
 able crotches, near-by spruces were attacked with the 
 axe, and a bark wigwam soon resulted, and just 
 as the darkness began to gather, a fire was started. 
 
 Both Old Cy and Ray had worked with a will, and 
 none too soon was so much accomplished, for night 
 was upon them, and only by the firelight could they 
 see to complete the needful preparations. 
 
 A peculiar effect of the time, place, and their 
 position was also noticeable; for although at least 
 a mile away from where this smoke sign had warned 
 them, and screened from it by a high ridge, both 
 spoke only in whispers. More than that, the camp- 
 fire was kept low, barely enough to cook a modest 
 meal, and when the flame chanced to flare up, Old
 
 182 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 Cy glanced aloft into the tree-tops to see if they were 
 illumed. Not much was said, for Old Cy's thoughts 
 were far away, and when supper was eaten he lit 
 his pipe and sat watching the embers while Ray 
 studied him. Ray, too, spoke scarcely a word. All 
 that day he had felt much the same, and while he had 
 the most implicit confidence in Old Cy's wisdom, 
 now that he had advised retreat, the reasons for it 
 became ten times more ominous to Ray. 
 
 Then again, the sombre nook in which they had 
 camped and the vast swamp that lay between them 
 and the protecting cabin, all had an effect. This 
 weird feeling was also added to by the occasional 
 cry of some night prowler far away in the forest or 
 out in the swamp. Chip's spites, those uncanny 
 creatures of the imagination, also began to gather, 
 and Ray fancied he could hear them crawling 
 cautiously about. 
 
 "I don't like this," he whispered at last, "and 
 I wish we hadn't come. Don't you think we had 
 better go back soon as it's daylight?" 
 
 "Wai, mebbe," answered Old Cy, smiling at 
 Ray's nervousness. " I've kinder figgered we might 
 watch out from a-top o' the ridge when mornin' 
 came 'n' see what we ,kin see. We might ketch 
 sight o' the pirate chap 'cross the lake."
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 183 
 
 "But suppose he catches sight of us," returned 
 Ray, "what then?" 
 
 "I don't mean he shall," answered Old Cy, "so 
 don't git skeered. I'll take keer on ye." 
 
 That night, however, was the longest ever passed 
 by Ray, for not until near morning did he fall into 
 a fitful slumber, and scarcely had he lost himself 
 before Old Cy was up and watching for the 
 dawn. 
 
 Its first faint glow was visible when Ray's eyes 
 opened, and without waiting for fire or breakfast, 
 they started for the top of the ridge. From here a 
 curious sight met their eyes, for the lake and also 
 the ridges out of which the smoke had risen were 
 hidden beneath a white pall of fog. Back of them 
 also, and completely coating the immense swamp, 
 was the same sea of vapor. It soon vanished with 
 the rising sun, and just as the ledges across the lake 
 outlined themselves, once more that smoke sign 
 rose aloft. 
 
 And now the two watchers could better see whence 
 
 i 
 
 it came. Old Cy had expected to obtain sight of 
 some hut or bark shack nestling among these rocks ; 
 but none was visible. Instead, the smoke rose out 
 of a jagged rock, and there was not a cabin roof 
 or sign of one anywhere.
 
 184 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "That feller's in a cave," he whispered to Ray, 
 "an' the smoke's comin' out o' a crack, sure's a gun !" 
 
 It seemed so, and for a half-hour the two watched 
 it in silent amazement. 
 
 Then came another surprise, for suddenly Old 
 Cy caught sight of a man just emerging from behind 
 a rock fully ten rods from the rising smoke; he 
 stooped, lifted a canoe into view, advanced to the 
 shore, slid it halfway into the water, returned to 
 the rock, picked up a rifle, then pushed the canoe 
 off, and, crossing the lake, vanished into the outlet. 
 
 The two watchers on the ridge exchanged glances. 
 
 "He's goin' to tend his traps, an' mebbe ourn," 
 Old Cy said at last, and then led the way back to 
 their bark shack. Here he halted, and placing one 
 hand scoop-fashion over his ear, listened intently 
 until he caught the faint sound of a paddle touching 
 a canoe gunwale. First slightly, then a more distinc- 
 tive thud, and then less and less until the sound 
 ceased. 
 
 "The coast's clear," he added, now in an exult- 
 ant whisper, "an' while the old cat's away we'll 
 take a peek at his den." 
 
 A hurried gathering of their few belongings was 
 made, the canoe was shoved into the lagoon, and no 
 time was lost until the lake was crossed and they drew
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 185 
 
 alongside of where the smoke was still rising in a 
 thin film. No landing was possible here, for the 
 shore was a sheer face of upright slate, and only 
 where this lone trapper had launched his canoe 
 could they make one. 
 
 From here a series of outcropping slate ledges 
 rose one above another, and between them and 
 parallel to the shore, narrow, irregular passages 
 partially closed by broken rock. It was all of slaty 
 formation, jagged, serrated, and gray with moss. 
 
 Following one of these passages, Old Cy and Ray 
 came to the ledge out of which the smoke was rising 
 from a crevasse. It was a little lower than one in 
 front, perhaps forty feet in breadth, double that in 
 length, and of a more even surface. At each end 
 was a short transverse passage hardly wide enough 
 to walk in, and a few feet deep. 
 
 And now, after a more careful examination of 
 the crevasse out of which the thin film of smoke 
 rose, Old Cy began a search. Up and down each 
 narrow passway he peeped and peered, but nowhere 
 was a crack or cranny to be found in their walls. 
 In places they were as high as his head, sheer faces 
 of slate, then broken, serrated, moss-coated, or of 
 yellow, rusty color. Here and there a stunted 
 spruce had taken root in some crack, and over,
 
 l86 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 back from the topmost ledge, this green enclosure 
 began and continued up the low mountain. Here, 
 also, in a sunny nook below this belting tangle of 
 scrub spruce, were ample signs of a trapper's occu- 
 pation in the way of pelts stretched upon forked 
 sticks and hanging from a cord crossing this niche. 
 They were of the usual species found in this wilder- 
 ness, a dozen muskrat, with a few mink and otter 
 skins and one lynx. 
 
 Another sign of human presence was also noted, 
 for here a log showing axe-marks, with split wood 
 and chips all about, was seen. 
 
 "Some o' them pelts is ourn," Old Cy ejaculated, 
 glancing at the array, "an* I've a notion we'd 
 best hook on to 'em. Mebbe not, though," he 
 added a moment later, "it might git us into more 
 trouble." 
 
 But Ray was getting more and more uneasy each 
 moment since they had landed there. It seemed 
 to him a most dangerous exploit, and while Old 
 Cy had hunted over this curious confusion of slate 
 ledges and stared at the rising film of smoke, Ray 
 had covertly watched the lake's outlet. 
 
 "I don't think we'd better stay here much longer," 
 he said at last. " We can't tell how soon that man 
 may come back and catch us."
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 187 
 
 "Guess you're right," Old Cy asserted tersely, 
 and after one more look at the inch-wide crack out 
 of which the smoke rose, he led the way to their 
 canoe. 
 
 "Thar's a cave thar, sure's a gun," he muttered, 
 as they skirted the bold shore once more, "an' that 
 smoke's comin' out on't. I wish I dared stay here 
 a little longer V hunt fer it." 
 
 Old Cy was right, there was a cave there beneath 
 the slate ledge in fact, two caves ; and in one, 
 safe and secure, as its owner the notorious McGuire 
 believed, were concealed the savings of his lifetime. 
 
 More than that, so near do we often come to an 
 important discovery and miss it, Old Cy had twice 
 leaned against a slab of slate closing the entrance to 
 this cave and access to a fortune, the heritage of 
 Chip McGuire. 
 
 Ray's fears, while well founded, were needless, 
 however. McGuire for it was this outlaw whom 
 they had ample reason to avoid was many miles 
 away. And yet so potent was the sense of danger, 
 that neither Old Cy nor Ray thought of food, or 
 ceased paddling one moment, until they had crossed 
 the vast swamp and once more pulled their canoe 
 out at the point where they had entered it the day 
 before.
 
 l88 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 Here a brief halt for food and rest was taken; 
 then they shouldered their light craft and started for 
 Birch Camp. 
 
 In the meantime another canoe was ascending 
 this winding stream, and long before nightfall, Pete 
 Bolduc, sure that he was on the trail of McGuire, 
 entered the ledge-bordered lake.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 "If most on us cud see ourselves as the rest see us, we'd 
 want to be hermits." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 To trail an enemy who is never without a rifle and 
 the will to use it, requires courage and Indian cunning 
 as well. Pete Bolduc had both, and after observing 
 the many signs of a trapper's presence in the swamp, 
 he knew, after he crossed it and reached this lake, 
 that somewhere on its shores, his enemy, McGuire, 
 had his lair. 
 
 He paused at the outlet, as did Old Cy, to scan 
 every rod of its rocky shores, not once, but a dozen 
 times. 
 
 The sun was now halfway down. A mellow 
 autumn haze softened the encircling mountains and 
 the broad, frowning peak to the right. A gentle 
 breeze rippled the upper end of the lake, and here, 
 in the wild rice growing along its borders, stood a 
 deer, belly-deep in the green growth. 
 
 No thought of the blessed harmony of lake, sky, 
 and forest, or the sequestered beauty of this spot, 
 came to the half-breed. Revenge and murder 
 189
 
 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 twin demons of his nature were in his heart, and 
 the Indian cunning that made him hide while he 
 watched for signs of his enemy. The bare peak 
 overlooking the lake soon impressed him as a van- 
 tage point, and after a half-hour of watchful listen- 
 ing he laid his rifle across the thwart, handy to grasp 
 on the instant, and, seizing his paddle once more, 
 crossed the lake to the foot of the peak. 
 
 To hide his canoe here, ascend this with pack and 
 rifle, was the next move of this human panther, and 
 here in a sheltering crevasse he lay and watched for 
 his enemy. 
 
 Two hours later, and just at sunset, McGuire 
 returned to the lake. 
 
 As usual, he, too, paused at the outlet to scan its 
 shores. He believed himself utterly secure here, and 
 thought no human being was likely to find this 
 lakelet. But for all that, he was watchful. Some 
 exploring lumberman or some pioneer trapper 
 might cross this vast swamp and find this lake 
 during his absence. 
 
 A brief scrutiny assured him that he was still safe 
 from human eyes, and he crossed the lake. 
 
 From the bare cliff a single keen and vengeful 
 eye watched him. 
 
 As usual, also, McGuire made his landing at a
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE Ipl 
 
 convenient point, some fifty rods from his cave, and 
 carried his canoe up and turned it over, back of 
 a low-jutting ridge of slate. He skinned the half- 
 dozen prizes his traps had secured that day and 
 followed a shallow defile to his lair. Here his pelts 
 were stretched, a slab of slate was lifted from its 
 position in a deep, wide crevasse between two of these 
 ledges, and McGuire crawled into his den. 
 
 Most of these movements were observed by the 
 half-breed, who, watching ever while he plotted and 
 planned how best to catch his enemy unawares, saw 
 him emerge from amid the ledges again, go down 
 to the lake, return with a pail of water, and vanish 
 once more. 
 
 All this was a curious proceeding, for he, like Old 
 Cy, had expected to find McGuire occupying some 
 bark shelter, and even now he supposed there was 
 one among this confusion of bare rocks. 
 
 Another surprise soon came to this distant watcher, 
 for he now saw a thin column of smoke rise from a 
 ledge and continue in varying volume until hidden 
 by twilight. 
 
 And now, secure in his cave and quite unconscious 
 of the watcher with murderous intent who had ob- 
 served his actions, McGuire was enjoying himself. 
 He had built a little slate fireplace within his cave.
 
 192 THE GERL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 A funnel of the same easily fitted material carried the 
 smoke up to a long, inch-wide fissure in the roof. He 
 had a table of slate to eat from, handy by a bed 
 filled with moss and dry grass, also pine knots for 
 needed light. 
 
 Opening into this small cave was a lesser one, 
 always cool and dry, for no rain nor melting snow 
 could enter it, and here was McGuire's pantry, and 
 here also a half-dozen tin cans, safely hidden 
 under a slab of slate, stuffed with gold and bank- 
 notes. 
 
 To still further protect this inner cave, he had fitted 
 a section of slate to entirely fill its entrance. 
 
 When the last vestige of sunset had vanished and 
 twinkling stars were reflected from the placid lake, 
 the half-breed descended from his lookout point, and, 
 launching his canoe, followed close to the shadowed 
 shore and landed just above where McGuire dis- 
 embarked. Indian that he was, he chose the hours 
 of night and darkness to crawl up to the bark shelter 
 which he expected to find, his intention being to 
 thrust a rifle muzzle close to his enemy's head and 
 then pull the trigger. 
 
 But to do this required a long wait and extreme 
 caution. His enemy surely had a camp-fire behind a 
 ledge, and shelter as well. The smoke had seemed
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 193 
 
 to rise out of a ledge, but certainly could not, and so 
 
 still unaware of McGuire's position, yet sure 
 that he was amid these ledges, and near a shelter 
 
 Pete grasped his rifle and crept ashore. 
 
 It was too early to surprise his enemy time to 
 fall asleep must be allowed. Yet so eager was the 
 half-breed to deal death to him, that he must needs 
 come here to wait. No chances must be taken 
 when he did crawl up to his victim, for a false 
 step or the rattle of a loose stone, or his form 
 outlined against the starlit sky as he crawled over 
 a ledge, might mean death to him instead of 
 McGuire. And so, crouching safely in a dark 
 nook above the landing, Pete waited, watched, and 
 listened. 
 
 One hour passed it seemed two and then the 
 half-breed crept stealthily up to where the smoke 
 had been seen. Not by strides, or even steps, but 
 as a panther would, lifting one foot and feeling 
 where it would rest and then another, and all the 
 while listening and advancing again. 
 
 It was McGuire's habit, while staying here, to 
 look at the weather prospects each night, and also 
 to obtain a drink of cool lake water before going to 
 sleep. 
 
 Often when the evenings were not too cold, he
 
 194 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 would sit by the lake shore for a half-hour, smoking 
 and watching its starlit or moon-glittering surface, 
 and listening to the calls of night prowlers. 
 
 In spite of being an outlaw, devoid of moral nature, 
 and one who preyed upon his fellow-man, he was not 
 without sentiment, and the wild grandeur of these 
 enclosing mountains, and the sense of security they 
 gave, were pleasant to him. His life had been a harsh 
 and brutal one. He had dealt in man's lust and 
 love of liquor. He measured all humankind by 
 his own standard of right and wrong, and believed 
 that he must rob others or they would rob him. He 
 Jiad followed that belief implicitly from the start, 
 and would so long as he lived. He felt that every 
 man's hand was against him, and no reproaches of 
 conscience had resulted from his cold-blooded killing 
 of an officer. Never once did the thought return 
 of the few years when a woman's hand sought his in 
 tenderness, nor any sense of the unspeakable horror 
 he had decreed for his own child. 
 
 So vile a wretch seemed unfit for God's green earth ; 
 and yet the silence of night beside this lake, and the 
 stars mirrored on its motionless surface, soothed and 
 satisfied him. 
 
 He had now and then another impulse to 
 some day take his savings of many years, secreted
 
 He grasped and struck at this enemy in a blind instinct 
 of self-preservation.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 195 
 
 here, and go to some other country, assume another 
 name, and lead a different life. 
 
 And now, while an unsuspected enemy was wait- 
 ing for him to enter a sleep that should know no 
 waking, he left his cave and seated himself on a 
 shelf-like projection close to the lake, which was 
 deep here, and the ledge shore a sheer face rising 
 some ten feet above the water. 
 
 One hour or more this strange compound of brute 
 and man sat there contemplating the stars, and then 
 he suddenly detected a sound only a faint one, the 
 mere click of one pebble striking another. 
 
 He arose and listened. 
 
 Soon another soft, crushing sound reached him. 
 Some animal creeping along in the passage between 
 the ledges, he thought. 
 
 He stepped quickly to the end of the shelf. On 
 that instant a crouching form rose upward and con- 
 fronted him. 
 
 He had one moment only, but enough to see a tall 
 man a step below him, the next a flash of spitting fire, 
 a stinging pain in one shoulder, and this human 
 panther leaped upon McGuire ! 
 
 But life was sweet, even to McGuire, and as he 
 grasped and struck at this enemy in a blind instinct 
 of self-preservation as both closed in a death-grapple,
 
 196 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 one instant of awful agony came to him as a knife 
 entered his heart a yell of mingled hate and 
 deadly fear, as two bodies writhed on the narrow 
 shelf, a plunging sound, as both struck the water 
 below and then silence. 
 
 Death and vengeance were clasped in one eternal 
 embrace.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 " Thar's two things it don't pay to worry 'bout, those ye 
 can help V and those ye can't." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 WHEN Old Cy and Ray once more made their 
 way up the Beaver Brook valley, it was with the 
 feeling that this lone and sinister trapper might be 
 met at any moment. They dared not leave their 
 canoe where it might be easily found, but adopting 
 Indian tactics, Old Cy cunningly hid it in a rank 
 growth of swamp grass, and oft doubling on their 
 own tracks and wading the shallow stream, left only 
 a confusing trail. 
 
 When the deadfalls had been visited and they 
 began gum-gathering again, they watched con- 
 stantly for an enemy. 
 
 A dense forest of tall spruces is at best a weird and 
 ill-omened spot. Its vastness appalls, its shadows 
 seem spectral, and every natural object becomes 
 grotesque and distorted. An overturned stump 
 with bleaching roots appears like a hideous devil- 
 fish with arms ready to entwine and crush. A 
 twisted tree trunk, prone, rotting, and coated with 
 
 197
 
 198 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 moss, looks like a huge green serpent, and even a 
 knot in the side of a big spruce will resemble a grin- 
 ning gnome. Even the sunlight flitting through the 
 dense canopy plays fantastic tricks, and every breath 
 of wind becomes the moan of troubled spirits. 
 
 Something of this weird impress now assailed Old 
 Cy and more especially Ray, and after two days of 
 unpleasant work in this part of the wilderness, they 
 gave it up. 
 
 "I don't like feelin' I'm bein' watched," Old Cy 
 observed when they once more started for home, 
 "an* to-morrer I guess we'd best go 'nother way. 
 Thar's a good spruce growth over beyond the hog- 
 back, 'n' I'd feel safer leavin' the canoe whar Amzi 
 kin keep an eye on't. We kin come up now once 
 a week 'n' tend the deadfalls 'n' not leave the canoe 
 more'n an hour." 
 
 Little did Old Cy realize how groundless his fears 
 now were, or that fathoms deep, in a cold, moun- 
 tain-hid lake, the thieving McGuire and the im- 
 placable half-breed were now locked in the clasp of 
 death. 
 
 A change of location, however, banished somewhat 
 of this spectral presence, and although Old Cy was 
 ever alert and watchful, he showed no sign of it. 
 
 Ray, more volatile and with implicit faith in his
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 199 
 
 protector, soon returned to normal condition of mind 
 and once more entered into the spirit of their work 
 and sport with a keen zest. 
 
 The traps gave increased returns, the little bin where 
 they stored their gum was filling slowly but surely, and 
 their life at this wildwood home became enjoyable. 
 
 Neither was it all labor, for the ducks now migrat- 
 ing southward were alighting in the lake by thou- 
 sands, a few hours' shooting at them from ambush 
 made glorious sport, and what with all the partridges 
 they had secured and these additions, their ice- 
 house was soon unable to hold another bird. 
 
 But the halcyon days of autumn were fast passing 
 and signs of nearing winter were now visible. Ice 
 began to form in little coves, the ducks ceased 
 coming, soon the last of them had departed, the leaves 
 of all hardwood trees were now joining in a hurry- 
 scurry dance with every passing breeze, the days 
 were of a suggestive shortness, and soon the grim 
 and merciless snow the White Spirit of Old Tomah 
 would be sweeping over the wilderness. 
 
 And then one night the Frost King silently touched 
 that rippled lake with his wand and the next morn- 
 ing Old Cy and Ray looked out upon its motionless 
 expanse of black ice. The sky was also leaden, an 
 ominous stillness brooded over forest, lake, and
 
 2OO THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 mountain, and midway of that day, the first snow- 
 fall came. 
 
 Old Cy and Ray were a mile away from the cabin r 
 busy at gum-gathering, when the first flakes sifted 
 down through the canopied spruce tops. Soon the 
 carpet of needles began to whiten, and by mid-after- 
 noon they had to abandon work and return. 
 
 "I guess we come pretty clus to bein' prisoners 
 now," Old Cy ejaculated when he shook himself 
 free from the white coating on the cabin porch, "but 
 we've got to make the best on't. We'll git warm 
 fust 'n' then go 'n' fetch our canoe up 'n' stow it in 
 the shed. We ain't like to want it ag'in 'fore spring. 
 One thing is sartin," he added, when the fire began 
 to blaze in the open fireplace, "we are sure o' keepin* 
 warm 'n' 'nuff to eat this winter, 'n' that's all we really 
 need in life, anyway. The rest on't is mostly im- 
 agination." 
 
 But in spite of his serene philosophy, Old Cy had 
 dreaded the coming of winter more than Ray could 
 guess, and all on account of that lad. He himself 
 knew what a winter meant in this wilderness cabin, 
 while Ray did not. Separated as they were from 
 civilization by a full hundred miles, and from Tim's 
 place by forty, they were, as he stated, practically 
 prisoners for the next five months.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 201 
 
 To escape on snow-shoes was possible, of course, 
 if the need arose, and yet it would be a pretty serious 
 venture, after all. 
 
 They were in no particular danger, however. 
 With plenty of food and fuel, they need not suffer. 
 If the cabin burned, they could erect another shelter 
 or use the old one. Something of diversion could 
 be obtained from ice-fishing or gum-gathering on 
 warm days; but not enough, as Old Cy feared, to 
 keep Ray content and free from the megrims. 
 
 None of these fears escaped Old Cy, however. He 
 was too wise for that ; and moreover, in order to 
 inspire Ray, he now began to affect an almost boyish 
 interest in the snow coming and its enjoyments. 
 
 "We can't do much more trappin'," he said that 
 first winter evening beside the fire while the snow 
 beat against the windows, "but we kin hev some 
 fun keepin' warm an' cookin', 'n' when the snow 
 hardens a bit we kin go fer gum again, or set tip-ups. 
 We've got more'n a million shiners in the cage up 
 the brook, 'n' 'fore it gits too cold, we'll ketch a lot 
 o' trout." 
 
 It was this faculty for adaptation to the situation, 
 this making the best of all circumstances and seizing 
 all opportunities for pleasure or profit, that was 
 Old Cy's woodwise characteristic. No matter if it
 
 202 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 stormed, he knew that the sun shone behind the 
 clouds. No matter if they were utterly isolated in 
 this wilderness, he still saw ways of enjoyment, and 
 even when snowbound, or shut in by zero weather, 
 he would still find interest in cooking, keeping warm, 
 or getting ready to fish, or in gathering gum, when 
 the chance came. 
 
 But winter had now come upon them with a sud- 
 den swoop. The next day snow fell incessantly, and 
 when the sun shone again, a two-foot level of it hid 
 the lake. 
 
 Then, as if to test Ray's spirits, the temperature 
 kept well below freezing for the next week, the wind 
 blew continuously, sweeping the snow into drifts, 
 and all the three could do, as Old Cy said, was to 
 "cook vittles and keep warm." 
 
 And now for the first time, Ray began to show 
 homesickness. From the day Chip had left, not 
 once had he mentioned her or his aunt or uncle in 
 any way. He had kept step, as it were, with Old Cy 
 in all things adventurous as well as labor and sport. 
 
 The possible, even certain gain in the money 
 value of the furs and gum which they had secured, 
 coupled with their adventurous life, had occupied 
 his every thought ; but now that he could only help 
 Old Cy indoors, he began to mope.
 
 CHIP MCGUIKE 203 
 
 "I wonder what they are doing now down in 
 Greenvale," he said one evening after they had 
 gathered about the fire. "I wish we could hear 
 from 'em." 
 
 It was the first sign of homesickness which Old Cy 
 had so long dreaded to see in him. 
 
 "Oh, they ain't havin' half the fun we are," Old 
 Cy answered cheerfully. " Jest now I callate Chip's 
 studyin' 'longside o' Aunt Comfort's fire; mebbe 
 Angie 'n' Martin's over to Dr. Sol's, swappin' yarns. 
 To-morrer Chip'll go ter school, ez usual, 'n' when 
 Sunday comes they'll all dress up 'n' go ter meetin'. 
 One thing is sartin, they ain't takin' any more com- 
 fort'n we are, or gittin' better things to eat. If the 
 weather warms up, ez I callate it will in a day or two, 
 we'll pull some trout out o' the lake that 'ud make 
 all Greenvale stare. They allus bite sharp arter 
 a cold spell. Ez fer Chip," he continued, eying 
 Ray's sober face, "she ain't goin' to fergit ye, never 
 fear, an' when I take ye out o' the woods in the 
 spring 'n' start ye fer Greenvale with five hundred 
 dollars in yer inside pocket, ez I callate, ye'll feel's 
 though ye owned the hull town when ye git thar, 
 an' Chip'll feel ez tho' she owned ye." 
 
 "I wish I could hear how they are once in a 
 while," Ray rejoined. "They may be sick."
 
 204 TH E GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 That "they" meant Chip was self-evident. 
 
 Once a mood comes upon a person, it is hard 
 to change it, and of all the moods that torture 
 poor human beings, the love mood is the most 
 implacable. While the zest of trapping was upon 
 Ray, he was himself and a cheerful enough lad. 
 There had also been the spice of danger from 
 this unknown, thieving trapper; but when both 
 had vanished, and all that was left for excitement 
 was the monotony of indoor life, with occasional 
 half-days when fishing through the ice was per- 
 missible, his spirits fell to low tide. 
 
 Old Cy had feared this from the outset, but 
 believing that the experience here was the best 
 possible for the boy, to say nothing of the financial 
 side, he had brought it about. And now he had 
 his hands full. 
 
 But he was equal to it. Next to sport, work, 
 he knew, was the best panacea for any mental 
 disorder, and work a-plenty he now found for Ray. 
 First, it had been the making of tip-ups for use 
 on the lake, then snow-shoes for both of them, 
 and then cutting and splitting more wood. They 
 had an ample supply already, piled high in a lean- 
 to alongside the big cabin, but Old Cy asserted 
 that it was not enough, and so more was added.
 
 CHIP MCGUERE 205 
 
 The paths, one to the lake to obtain water and 
 one to the ice-house, were allotted to Ray to keep 
 open. 
 
 A few days were consumed in filling the ice- 
 house once more, and when a warm day came, 
 Old Cy led the way to the sheltered side of the 
 lake, as enthusiastic as a boy, to begin cutting 
 lioles and setting lines for fishing. 
 
 This especially interested Ray, and one good day 
 with a fine catch of trout would revive his spirits 
 for some time. 
 
 Each and every evening, also, when the social 
 side came, Old Cy, always a prolific story-teller, 
 would engage in his favorite pastime for a purpose. 
 
 And what a marvellous fund he had to draw 
 from! All the years when he, a sailor boy, had 
 sailed afar, all the strange countries and people 
 he had visited, and all the mishaps he had met 
 were now levied upon. 
 
 When these failed and it was not soon 
 his wilderness wanderings before he settled down 
 at Greenvale furnished tales, and when facts 
 became scarce, his fancies came into play, and 
 many a thrilling shipwreck and hair-breadth 
 escape that never happened, held Ray's attention 
 for a long evening.
 
 206 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 The banjo also helped out for many an hour. 
 The old hermit with his jews'-harp joined in, 
 and although Ray's fingers were prone to stray 
 to "solemn" tunes, Old Cy persisted in his calls 
 for livelier songs, even to the extent of adding his 
 voice; and so the first few weeks of winter wore 
 away. 
 
 When Christmas neared, however, Ray had a 
 "spell. " It had been a calendar day in his memory, 
 and he had been one of the crowd of young folks 
 who made merry in the usual ways; but now no 
 cheer was possible, he believed, and once more 
 he began to look glum. 
 
 It may seem rank foolishness and doubtless 
 was, yet Ray, like all humanity, must be measured 
 by his years and judged by his surroundings. 
 
 In Greenvale he had been one of fifty school- 
 mates whose lives and moods were akin, and 
 whose enjoyments must be much the same. Here 
 he was, in a way, utterly alone so far as age means 
 companionship, and worse than that, one of his 
 two companions was morose and misanthropic. 
 True, he twanged his jews'-harp in tune with 
 Ray's plantation melodies, but when that bond 
 of feeling ceased, he lapsed into chill silence once 
 more.
 
 CHIP MCGUURE 207 
 
 But Old Cy, wise philosopher that he was, saw 
 and felt every mood and tense that came to Ray, 
 and, seeing thus, forestalled each and every one. 
 
 "Christmas is 'most here," he said to Ray, a 
 few days before, "an' I've been figgerin' we three 
 ought to celebrate it 'cordin' to the best o' our 
 means. We can't do much in the way o' gifts, 
 but we kin bust ourselves with vittles 'n' have 
 some fun, just the same. I've kinder mapped 
 out the day sorter this way, if it's pleasant. Fust, 
 we'll hev an arly breakfast, then pack a lot o' 
 things on the hand-sled, go 'cross the lake 'n' round 
 to the cove facin' the south. Here we'll cut a 
 few holes, set some lines, 'n' while you're tendin' 
 'em, Amzi 'n' me '11 clear a spot under the bank, 
 build a bough lean-to facin' the sun, spread blank- 
 ets in it, 'n' when noon comes, cook a meal fit 
 fer the gods. We kin hev briled venison, fried 
 trout jist out o' the water, boiled taters, hot coffee, 
 'n' an appetite that'll make ye lick yer fingers 'n' 
 holler fer more. If only the sun shines, we kin 
 hev a heap o' fun." 
 
 It was all a boyish diversion as planned by Old 
 Cy, and the sole object was to tide Ray over a day 
 that might add to his homesickness. The weather 
 favored this kindly interest.
 
 208 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 Christmas morn opened warm, and but for the 
 deep snow it might have been an October day. 
 Old Cy's romantic plan also materialized to the 
 fullest, and when his green bough shed, with car- 
 pet of the same, was completed, the fire in front 
 blazing cheerfully and dinner cooking, it was all 
 a picture well worth a study. 
 
 Then as if to prove that good luck trots in double 
 harness, about this time the trout began to bite, 
 and the line of tip-ups across the cove were flag- 
 ging exciting signals that kept Ray and the old 
 hermit on the jump. Even when their picturesque 
 Christmas dinner was spread upon an improvised 
 table in front of the bough shelter, Ray could 
 hardly leave the sport to eat, and Old Cy had to 
 interfere. 
 
 "We ain't ketchin' fish to sell," he said to Ray, 
 "but jist fer fun. You've got more'n we kin eat 
 in two weeks, so give 'em a rest." 
 
 When dinner was over there came a lazy loung- 
 ing hour on the fir boughs in the warm sun, while 
 Old Cy smoked his pipe of content. 
 
 Ray, however, could not resist the signal flags 
 any longer, and as soon as the meal was eaten he 
 was out tending them again. 
 
 When the sun was halfway down, again the
 
 CHIP MCGUTRE 2OQ 
 
 happy trio broke camp and returned to the cabin, 
 carrying fish enough to feed a multitude. That 
 evening Old Cy told stories as usual, Ray picked 
 his banjo and sang lively songs, and so ended 
 Christmas in the wilderness. 
 
 Our lives are but a succession of moods, vary- 
 ing ever as our surroundings change; and so it 
 was with Ray, isolated as he was with two old 
 men for companions. With work or sport to 
 interest him, he was cheerful and content. But 
 when, as now happened, another long and heavy 
 snowfall succeeded that mellow Christmas Day, 
 he grew morose. It was selfish, perhaps, and 
 thoughtless, as youth ever is, and yet not surpris- 
 ing ; for when the sun shone again, they were prac- 
 tically buried under snow. It took an entire day, 
 with all three working, to shovel paths to the lake 
 and ice-house, and when that was done there was 
 naught else except to cook and keep the fire going. 
 A few days of this bore heavily on Ray's spirits, 
 and he became so glum that Old Cy took him to 
 task. 
 
 "You've got to brace up, my boy," he said one 
 evening, "an' likewise count yer blessin's. We 
 are shut up fer a spell, but think how much worse 
 off ye might be. We've got plenty to eat 'n' keep
 
 210 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 warm with, thar's a good three hundred pounds 
 o' gum we got, an' it's worth over four hundred 
 dollars, say nothin' o' the furs, 'n' all yourn. Then, 
 'nother thing, ye mustn't keep broodin' over yer 
 own lonesomeness so much. I'll 'low ye're kind 
 o' anxious to see the little gal ag'in, as is nat'ral; 
 but s'pose it was two years ye hed to look forrard 
 to, a-waitin', an' then on top o' that, arter waitin' 
 so long, ye hed to face three more, with never a 
 chance to larn whether she was dead or alive!" 
 
 And now Old Cy paused, and watched the low- 
 burning fire as if living once more in bygone days. 
 
 "It seems a long time, these months," he con- 
 tinued at last, glancing at Ray, "an' so 'tis; but I 
 had a longer spell on't once, an' it ended the way 
 I hope your waitin' won't. It all happened more'n 
 forty years ago, 'n' I've never told nobody 'bout 
 it since. 
 
 "I was born in Bayport, that's a seaport town, 
 an' me 'n' my only brother took to the sea at an 
 arly age. We had sweethearts, too, and, curislike, 
 they was sisters. Mine was Abbie Grey sweet 
 Abbie Grey they used to call her, an' she well 
 desarved it. 
 
 "Wai, I used to see her 'tween viages, mebbe 
 a week or two, onct in six or twelve months o'
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 211 
 
 waitin', an' them was spells I've lived over hun- 
 dreds o' times, I kin tell ye. We 'greed to hitch 
 up finally arter I made one more viage, 'n' I went 
 off, feelin' life ahead was all apple orchards 'n' 
 sunshine." 
 
 He paused, looked long at the dying embers 
 once more, and then continued: "Life is all a mix- 
 up o' hopes 'n' disapp'intments, tho', an' the brighter 
 the hopes the more sartin they are to be upset. 
 I started on that viage feelin' heaven was waitin' 
 fer me at shore, 'n' I seemed to 'a' sailed right into 
 the other place, fer our ship sprung a leak 'n' 
 foundered. We took to the boats, ez I told ye 
 onct. Most o' my crew died afore I was picked 
 up, 'n' then the whaler that took me aboard was 
 bound on a four years' viage. That was bad 
 enough, but worse was possible, fer she fetched 
 up on a coral island one night toward the last on't, 
 and 'twas plumb six years 'fore I heard from home 
 'n' Abbie. Things had happened thar in that 
 time, too, an' I was told my brother had been 
 given up ez lost, 'n' Abbie, believin' we both was 
 dead, had married 'nother man. I was so upsot 
 I never let her know I was alive, 'n' she don't know 
 it to-day, if she's still livin', which I hope she is." 
 
 For a long time now Old Cy remained silent,
 
 212 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 his head bowed, his eyes closed, as that long-ago 
 page of memories returned, while Ray watched 
 him. 
 
 "Life is a curis puzzle," he added at last, "an' 
 we all live in to-morrers. Fust we are like boys 
 chasm' Jack-lanterns, rushin' on all the time, 
 'spectin' most o' the trouble is past 'n' the future 
 is all rosy. We don't figger much on to-day, but 
 callate next week, next month, next year, is goin' 
 to be more sunshiny, till we get old 'n' gray 'n' 
 grumpy, 'n' nobody wants us 'round." 
 
 Once more he ceased speaking, and once more 
 his eyes closed. Five, ten, twenty minutes passed 
 while Ray watched Old Age in repose and the 
 fire quite died away. 
 
 "It's gittin' chilly," Old Cy said at last, sud- 
 denly rousing himself from his dream of the long 
 ago and sweet Abbie Grey, "an' we'd best turn 
 in."
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 "The biggest fool thing an' we all do it is shakin' 
 hands with trouble 'fore ye meet it." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 FOR two months life at Birch Camp much 
 resembled that of a woodchuck or a squirrel. Now 
 and then a day came when the crusted snow per- 
 mitted a gum-gathering trip into the forest, or a 
 few midday hours at ice-fishing; and never were 
 the first signs of spring more welcome than to 
 those winter-bound prisoners. The wise counsel 
 and patient example of Old Cy had not been lost 
 upon Ray, either; and that winter's experience 
 had changed him to an almost marvellous degree. 
 He was no longer a moody and selfish boy, think- 
 ing only of his own privations, but more of a man, 
 who realized that he had duties and obligations 
 toward others, as well as himself. 
 
 With the returning sun and vanishing snow, 
 animal life was once more astir, and a short season 
 of trapping was again entered upon, and mingled 
 with that a few days more of gum-gathering. It 
 was brief and at a disadvantage, for ice still covered 
 213
 
 214 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 the lake, and until that disappeared no use of the 
 canoes could be made. 
 
 Once well under way, however, spring returned 
 with speed, the brooks began to overflow, the lake 
 to rise, and one morning, instead of a white expanse 
 of watery ice, it was a blue and rippled lake once 
 more. 
 
 And now plans for Ray's return to Greenvale were 
 in order, and the sole topic of discussion. He was 
 as eager as a boy anxious for the close of school, 
 and for a double reason, which is self-evident. 
 
 It was agreed that Old Cy and himself should 
 make the trip out together in two canoes, and 
 convey their stores of gum and firs. At the settle- 
 ment these were to be packed, to await later sale 
 and shipment. Old Cy would then return to camp, 
 and Ray would go on to Greenvale. 
 
 A change in this plan came in an unexpected 
 manner, however, for a few days before the one 
 set for departure, Old Cy, always on watch, saw 
 a canoe enter the lake, and who should appear but 
 Levi, Martin's old guide. 
 
 "I've been cookin' up at a lumber camp on 
 the Moosehorn, " he explained, after greetings 
 had been exchanged, "an' I thought I would make 
 a trip up here an' call on ye 'fore I went out. "
 
 CHIP MCGDIRE 215 
 
 How welcome he was, and how all, even Amzi, 
 of those winter-bound prisoners vied with each 
 other in making him the guest of honor, need not 
 be asserted. He had been a part of their life here 
 the previous summer, with all its joys and dangers, 
 and now seemed one of them. 
 
 When mutual experiences and their winter's 
 history had been exchanged, of course Chip's 
 rescue, the half-breed's escape, and the where- 
 abouts of her father came up for discussion that 
 evening. 
 
 "I've heard from Tim's Place two or three 
 times this winter," said Levi, "an' neither Pete 
 nor old McGuire has been seen or heard on since 
 early last fall. Pete got thar all safe, but vowed re- 
 venge on McGuire, as Martin and I found, when 
 we went out. He stayed round a week or so, I 
 heard later, and then started for his cabin on the 
 Fox Hole, 'n' since then hain't never been seen 
 or heard of by nobody. Tim an' Mike went over 
 to his cabin 'long in the winter, but no signs of him 
 was found, or even of his bein' thar since snow 
 came. McGuire also seems to hev dropped out 
 o' business and ain't been heard on since in the 
 summer. We've expected him all winter at the 
 lumber camp, but he didn't show up."
 
 2l6 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "We've seen him," put in Old Cy, flashing a 
 smile at Ray, "leastwise I callated 'twas him, 
 though I never let on to that effect. He was trap- 
 pin' over beyond a big swamp last fall, 'n' he paid 
 us a visit, stole a half-dozen o' our catches 'n' left 
 his trade-mark on our canoe." And then Old 
 Cy told the story of their adventure, omitting, 
 however, any reference to the supposed cave. 
 
 "It's curis what has become o' him," Levi said, 
 when the tale was told, "and our camp crowd all 
 believe that thar's been foul play, with Pete at the 
 bottom on't. Nobody's shed any tears, though, 
 an' I'm thinkin' the woods is well rid o' him. He's 
 been a terror to everybody long enough." 
 
 Much more of this backwoods gossip and change 
 of experience filled in the evening, and next morn- 
 ing Old Cy gave Ray a word of caution. 
 
 "I kept whist 'bout our findin' what we callated 
 was a cave," he said, "an' I want you to. This 
 matter o' McGuire and the half-breed ain't blowed 
 over yit, an' we don't want to git mixed up in it. 
 Ez fer the cave, if we 'lowed we found one, the 
 folks at Tim's Place 'ud go huntin' fer it, sure, 'n' 
 I've my reasons for not wantin' they should go. 
 So mum's the word to Levi 'bout it." 
 
 Levi's arrival, however, changed their plans,
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 217 
 
 for he at once offered to convoy Ray out of the 
 woods, thus relieving Old Cy, and three days 
 later these two, with well-laden canoes, started on 
 the out-going journey. 
 
 It was not without incident, for when the main 
 stream was reached, it was dotted with floating 
 logs and the red-shirted drivers with the bateaux 
 and spike shoes were in evidence. A monster 
 jam was met at the first rapid, the bags of gum 
 nuts, bundles of firs, and canoes had to be carried 
 around it, and when Tim's Place was reached, 
 a score of the good-natured woodsmen were in 
 possession. 
 
 Levi discreetly avoided all questions as to what 
 Tim knew of Chip, her father, or the half-breed. 
 Ray's lips were also sealed, and so both escaped 
 much questioning. Here, also, they learned what 
 both had guessed that McGuire and Pete had 
 either left the wilderness or had perished that 
 winter. Where and how, if such was the case, 
 no one seemed to know or care, and a close observer 
 would have said that every one at Tim's Place 
 hoped that these two outlaws had met their fate. 
 
 Old Tomah was also found at Tim's Place, and 
 he was undeniably glad to see both Ray and Levi, 
 and to learn that Chip was likely to be well cared for.
 
 2l8 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 When these two voyagers were ready to start, 
 he joined and kept with them until the settlement 
 was reached. Knowing full well the value of gum 
 and furs, he soon found a purchaser for Ray's 
 store and stock at its full value; and when that 
 youth, now elated as never before, was ready to start 
 for Greenvale, this fine old Indian showed almost 
 a white man's emotion. 
 
 "Take this to little girl," he said, handing Ray 
 a package, "and tell her Old Tomah not forget. 
 He hope she come back to see him soon." 
 
 "Tell Mr. Frisbie I shall be here, waitin' to meet 
 him, when he sends word," Levi said; and shak- 
 ing hands with both of his good friends, Ray now 
 bade them good-by with many thanks for all 
 they had done. 
 
 Of his homeward trip and all the charming 
 anticipations now his, no mention need be made. 
 They are but the flowers wisely strewn in the path- 
 way of youth, and Ray now more a man than 
 when he entered the woods full well deserved 
 all that lay before him. 
 
 But Old Tomah's heart was sad, and far away 
 beside a rippled lake was another who felt the 
 same.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 "When ye see two hearts tryin 1 to beat ez one, gin 'em the 
 chance." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 CHIP'S success and popularity in Greenvale 
 was practically nullified by Hannah, who from 
 wounded vanity and petty jealousy became her 
 enemy from the outset. 
 
 Aunt Comfort did not know it. Angie was not 
 conscious of the facts, or, busy with her own 
 social duties and home-making, gave them no 
 thought. And yet, inspired by Hannah's mali- 
 cious tongue, Greenvale looked upon poor Chip 
 as one it was best to avoid. 
 
 With Angie as sponsor, she had been made one 
 of the Christmas church decorators, and had been 
 twice invited to parties, only to exasperate Hannah 
 all the more and cause an increase of sneers. 
 
 "She's nobody an' an upstart," Hannah said 
 at the first meeting of the village sewing circle 
 after Chip's advent, "an' I've my doubts about 
 her father an' mother ever bein' married. Then 
 she's an infiddle an' believes in Injun sperrits an' 
 
 219
 
 22O THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 hobgoblin things she calls spites, an' is a reg'lar 
 heathen. I don't trust her a minit, an' never 
 leave the house 'thout I lock up my things." 
 
 Much more of this sort fell from Hannah's lips 
 whenever occasion offered, though never within 
 hearing of Aunt Comfort or Angie. Neither did 
 the townspeople enlighten them, and so the under- 
 current of innuendo and gossip, once started by 
 Hannah, spread until all Greenvale looked askance 
 at Chip. 
 
 There was also some color for this ill repute, 
 for Angie had concealed nothing, and Chip, fool- 
 ishly perhaps, had asserted her belief when it 
 would have been better to conceal it. 
 
 The parson also, chagrined at his failure to make 
 a convert of the girl, referred to her as " rebellious, ob- 
 stinate in her ideas, and one who needed chastening." 
 
 Her teacher, however, was her stanch friend. 
 Aunt Comfort beamed upon her morning and 
 night, while Angie, having provided her with 
 home, raiment, opportunity for schooling, escort 
 to church, and much good advice, felt that she 
 had fulfilled her duty. And in a way, she had. 
 
 But social recognition in a country village can 
 be made or marred by such a person as Hannah, 
 and quite unknown to those most interested,
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 221 
 
 Chip's popularity was not decreed. Neither was 
 she conscious of this undercurrent. Each day 
 she went to and returned from school in a sturdy 
 sort of way. A most devoted pupil, she never 
 failed to thank her teacher for every word of help, 
 and if thanks to Hannah she failed to make 
 friends about the village, she won a place near to 
 Aunt Comfort's heart. 
 
 But somehow Aunt Comfort, who loved every- 
 body alike, good or bad, or at least spoke no ill 
 of the bad ones, didn't count. That she must 
 inevitably take Chip under her motherly wing, 
 all recognized. She had taken Hannah, then Angie 
 and Nezer, and now this waif who, as Hannah 
 insisted, was all bad ; and according to Greenvale's 
 belief, Aunt Comfort would keep on "taking in" 
 homeless waifs and outcast mortals as long as she 
 lived, or house room held out. And it was true. 
 
 By midwinter Martin's new house was all fur- 
 nished, and social obligations began to interest 
 Angie, which made matters all the worse for Chip, 
 for now Hannah could persecute her with less 
 danger of exposure. 
 
 But Chip was hard to persecute. She had 
 known adversity in its worst form. Her life at 
 Tim's Place had been practical slavery, and the
 
 222 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 worst that Hannah could do was as pin pricks 
 compared to it. 
 
 It is certain, also, if Chip had "spunked up," 
 as Hannah would call it, now and then, it would 
 have been better for her; but it wasn't Chip's 
 way. To work and suffer in silence had been her 
 lot at Tim's Place. Angie had said, "You must 
 obey everybody and make friends," and impelled 
 by experience, and this somewhat broad order, 
 Chip was doing her best. 
 
 One hope cheered her all that long, hard winter of 
 monotonous study the return of Ray, and possibly 
 Old Cy, when summer came. Somehow these two 
 had knit themselves into her life as no one else had 
 or could. Then she wondered how Ray would seem 
 to and feel toward her when he came, and if the 
 little bond a wondrous strong one, as far as her 
 feelings went would still call him to her side. 
 
 Of love and its real meaning she was scarce 
 conscious as yet. She simply felt that this youth 
 with his sunny face and brown eyes was the one 
 being on earth she wished to please. All the ro- 
 mance and pathos of that summer idyl, all the moon- 
 light and canoeing, all the songs he had charmed 
 her with, and every word and act of his from that 
 first evening when, ragged and starving, she had
 
 CHIP MOGUIRE 223 
 
 stumbled into the camp, until she had parted 
 from him with misty eyes, had been lived over by 
 her countless times. 
 
 It had all been a beacon of hope to her in the 
 uphill road toward the temple of learning ; and 
 how hard she had studied, and how patiently she 
 had tried to correct her own speech, not even her 
 teacher guessed. 
 
 Few of us can see ourselves as others see us, 
 and yet Chip, mature of mind as one just entering 
 womanhood, realized somewhat her own condi- 
 tion. Perhaps, also, she was conscious in some 
 degree as to why she was not more popular, but 
 that was a matter of scant interest to her. All 
 she wished and all she strove for was to learn what 
 others knew, speak as others spoke, and act as 
 they acted ; and all for one end and purpose 
 to win favor in the eyes of Ray. 
 
 And so no one, not even Hannah, whose prying 
 eyes saw all things, guessed her secret. 
 
 A little of gall and bitterness was now and then 
 meted out to Hannah in return for all her sneers, 
 for Chip's teacher occasionally spent an evening 
 at Aunt Comfort's, and every word of praise she 
 let fall for her pupil was a thorn to Hannah. But 
 she revenged herself, as might be expected.
 
 224 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "I think that Injun gal's a witch," she said 
 once to her bosom friend after one of these unpleas- 
 ant evenings, "the way she pulls wool over Miss 
 Phinney's eyes by pretending she's so anxious to 
 learn. You'd think to hear her go on that learnin' 
 was all she was livin' for, and her teacher almost 
 an angel. I think Angie must 'a' ben spell-bound 
 the same way when she fetched her here to crowd 
 out her betters." 
 
 But Chip, fortunately, was still unconscious of 
 the extent and injury of Hannah's malice. 
 
 With the coming of springtime and green grass, 
 life for Chip assumed a more smiling face, for now 
 she could fly to the hillsides, and for the time being 
 imagine herself at the lake once more. Some- 
 how Greenvale as a whole had impressed her as 
 cold and unloving, and to escape it was a relief. 
 Her teacher was dear to her, Aunt Comfort a 
 kindly mother, Angie a good friend ; but none 
 were kin to her and never could be, as she more 
 and more realized. 
 
 Then, too, poor Chip, in spite of Tim's Place, was 
 growing homesick for the wilderness again; or, to 
 be more accurate, for the little lake where her heart 
 had been touched by the wand of love. 
 
 With some insight into books and a developing
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 225 
 
 mind came a keener sensitiveness, and what people 
 thought of her and how they felt toward her became 
 of more consequence. Her life was simple. She 
 rose early, assisted as a housemaid in Aunt Com- 
 fort's home, departed at a set time for school with its 
 six hours of almost unbroken study, and, most prized 
 of all, a few moments' companionship with her 
 teacher. To her Chip had confided all her joys 
 and sorrows and most of her history as well. And 
 be it said to Miss Phinney's credit, she had discretion 
 and honor enough not to betray Chip's confidence. 
 
 It is also possible, in fact almost certain, that 
 that unfortunate waif's somewhat pitiful tale had 
 won her teacher's interest and affection as naught 
 else could. Only one reservation was made by 
 Chip her own feelings toward Ray. All else be- 
 came an open book to Miss Phinney. 
 
 When school was out, the two walked homeward 
 together as far as their ways permitted, and then 
 Chip obtained the one hour of the day which she 
 felt was quite her own. At first, during the autumn 
 days, she had used it for a scamper through the nut- 
 brown woods. When winter came and it was not 
 too cold, she occasionally visited the mill pond above 
 the village, where, if the conditions were right, all 
 the skating and sliding youth were gathered; and
 
 226 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 when blessed spring returned, it was away to the 
 hills and fields once more. 
 
 On Saturdays she seldom left the house, unless 
 sent on an errand, and Sunday became a day of 
 penance. 
 
 "I don't know why folks watch me so much when 
 Igo to meetin','' Chip complained once to her teacher, 
 "but they do, and I don't like it. I can see now 
 why they did when I first came. I guess they 
 thought I was an Injun, maybe; but what do I do 
 now to make 'em so curious?" 
 
 "Oh, I wouldn't mind them," Miss Phinney 
 answered soothingly, "no one intends to annoy you; 
 but it takes a long time for people here to become 
 accustomed to a stranger." 
 
 Miss Phinney dared not tell her pupil that her 
 somewhat wild belief and unquestionably rude 
 origin and early life formed the basis of this curi- 
 osity. 
 
 And now, when the flowers and birds had once 
 more returned to Greenvale, and Ray might return 
 any day, a little plan that Chip had had in mind 
 for many weeks took shape. She knew Ray must 
 come on the stage, and eager for a sight of his face 
 as only love can make one, she meant to be the first 
 to meet and greet him.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 227 
 
 A mile down the village street and beyond the 
 last house was a sharp hilltop. The stage usually 
 reached here about an hour after the close of school, 
 and to this vantage point, where she could hide 
 behind a stone wall, Chip now betook herself each 
 day. 
 
 Her plans for meeting her young hero were well 
 considered. She was sure he would, like herself, 
 prefer a seat with Uncle Joe. That important 
 person, whose heart she had won by her admiration 
 of his horses on her arrival, would surely invite her 
 to ride into the village, if he saw her. If he was 
 alone, she would remain hid ; but if some one was with 
 him, she would then disclose herself and the coveted 
 invitation and meeting with Ray would follow. 
 
 It was a vague, uncertain plan. No one in Green- 
 vale had the remotest idea when Ray would return. 
 Chip only knew that he was expected in the spring. 
 The day, or even week, was a long-range guess. 
 But even that slim chance poor, lonesome, heart- 
 longing Chip would not miss, and so each day at 
 close of school she hurried to her lookout point to 
 watch and wait. 
 
 It was a silly, almost hopeless sentinelship, as she 
 knew well enough; but with the dog's heart that 
 was hers, she would keep her vigil, and like one of
 
 228 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 those dumb brutes, wait weeks, months, ay, years 
 even, for a master coming. 
 
 It was mid- April when Chip began her daily watch, 
 and missed no day unless a pelting rain prevented. 
 It was June ere she won her reward, and then one 
 balmy afternoon when she saw the stage afar, there, 
 perched beside Uncle Joe, was a companion ! 
 
 How sure that weary, waiting waif was that her 
 heart was not mistaken ! How her pulses leaped 
 and thrilled as the slow- moving stage crept up the 
 hill; and how Ray, eager to catch the first glimpse 
 of his native village, saw a winsome, smiling face 
 shaded by a flower- decked hat, peeping at him over 
 a wall, was but a minor episode in the lives of these 
 two ; yet one to be recalled many, many times after- 
 ward and always with a heartache. 
 
 None came to them now, for on the instant Ray 
 saw who was waiting for him he halted the stage, 
 and the next moment he was beside his sweetheart. 
 And Uncle Joe, with the wisdom and sympathy of 
 old age, discreetly averted his face, and said "Go- 
 lang " to his horses, and drove on alone.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 " There ain't but few folks smell woollen quite quick enough." 
 
 OLD Cv WALKER. 
 
 DURING all the long weeks while Chip had awaited 
 her lover's coming, one hope had been hers that 
 his return would end all her loneliness and begin 
 a season of the happy, care-free days like those by 
 the lake once more. 
 
 And there were many reasons for it. 
 
 In this quiet, strictly religious, gossip-loving vil- 
 lage, a dependant upon charity, as it were, and with 
 Hannah's sneers, Chip had slowly but surely learned 
 how little akin she was to them all, and how distrust- 
 ful they all were of her. This knowledge had come 
 by degrees: first, from the way in which the older 
 pupils at school regarded her, having always kept 
 aloof; then the insistent staring she received each 
 Sunday at church; the somewhat chilly reception 
 she had met in a social way; and lastly, a seeming 
 indifference on Angle's part. There was no reason 
 for it all, so far as Chip could understand. She 
 walked in the straight and narrow path laid out for 
 229
 
 230 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 her each day, made herself useful between school 
 hours at Aunt Comfort's, studied hard, thanked 
 Angle for every trifle, and after her first unfortunate 
 experience in defending her belief in spites and Old 
 Tomah's hobgoblins, she had never referred to them 
 again. But the seeming fact that she was disliked 
 and unwelcome here had slowly forced itself upon 
 her and added to her loneliness. 
 
 It was all to end, however, when Ray came. In 
 him or from him she would find a welcome. He 
 knew her as she was, and what she was. He had 
 not been distrustful, but tender and loving, and all 
 clouds and sorrow and all humiliations would fade 
 away when he came. 
 
 She had pictured to herself, also, how much they 
 would be together and where; how he would come 
 to Aunt Comfort's the first evening and tell all about 
 his winter in the wilderness and Old Cy, all about 
 the trap-setting, gum-gathering, and the deep snows 
 she knew so much about. Maybe he would bring 
 his banjo now and then and play and sing the darky 
 songs she had hummed so many times. Possibly 
 he might come and meet her occasionally on the 
 way home from school; and when vacation came, 
 how many long rambles they would take in the dear 
 old woods, with no such ogre as the half-breed to
 
 CHIP MCGUTRE 231 
 
 spoil them. It had all been a rosy-hued dream 
 with her, while she waited his coming. And now 
 he was here ! 
 
 For the first few moments after he kissed her up- 
 raised lips, she could not speak for very joy; and 
 then, as hand in hand they started toward the village, 
 her speech came. 
 
 "I've been so lonesome," she said simply, "I've 
 counted the days, and come down here to meet you 
 daily, for over a month. I don't like it here, and 
 nobody likes me, I guess. I'm so glad you've come, 
 though. Now I shan't be lonesome no more. I've 
 studied hard, too," she added, with an accent of 
 pride. "I can read and spell words of six sylla- 
 bles. I've ciphered up to decimal fractions, an' 
 begun grammar." 
 
 "I'm. glad to get home, too," answered Ray, as 
 simply. "It waS lonesome in the woods all winter, 
 when we couldn't tend the traps. But I've made 
 a lot of money 'most five hundred dollars all 
 mine, too. How is everybody?" And so they 
 dropped from sentiment into commonplace. 
 
 At the tavern he secured his belongings. At the 
 corner where their ways parted, he bade Chip a light 
 good-by, and with an "I'll see you soon," left her. 
 
 Her hero had arrived. They had met, kissed as
 
 232 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 lovers should, and the lonely waiting and watching 
 days were at an end and a new life was to begin for 
 Chip. 
 
 Little did she realize what it would mean for her, 
 or how utterly her hopes were to fail. 
 
 "He will come to-night," her heart assured her, 
 and that evening, without a word to Aunt Comfort 
 or Hannah as to whom she expected, she arrayed 
 herself in her one best dress and awaited his ex- 
 pected visit. 
 
 And what a propitious and all- favoring evening 
 it was! The June night was balmy. Blooming 
 lilacs and syringas half hid, as well as adorned, the 
 porch of Aunt Comfort's home. Aunt Comfort had 
 just departed to make a call, Hannah was away at 
 prayer meeting, and "no one nigh to hinder." 
 
 But Chip waited in vain ! 
 
 The drowsy hum of the Mizzy Falls, up the village 
 street, came to her ; the fireflies twinkled amid 
 the dense -growing maples and over the broad 
 meadows; whippoorwills called across the valley; 
 but no lover came to Chip. One, two, almost 
 three hours she waited and watched. Then came 
 Aunt Comfort and Hannah, and heavy-hearted and 
 lonesome once more, poor Chip retired. 
 
 At school next day her mind and heart were at
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 233 
 
 x 
 
 war. The parts of speech and rules of subtrac- 
 tion and division seemed complete chaos, and when 
 homeward bound, she loitered slowly along, hoping 
 Ray would make amends and meet her on the way. 
 But again he failed to appear. 
 
 And that night, when alone with Hannah, a worse 
 blow came. 
 
 "I heerd young Stetson got back yesterday," she 
 said, fixing her steely blue eyes on Chip, "an' you 
 went down the road to meet him. I should think 
 you'd be 'shamed o' yourself. If you're callatin' on 
 settin' your cap for him, 'twon't do a mite o' good. 
 His aunt wouldn't think o' havin' sich an outcast ez 
 you for him that I can tell ye." 
 
 But not a word of reply came from poor Chip. 
 Such speeches were not new to her, and she had long 
 before ceased to answer them. But this one, from 
 its very truth, hurt more than all others had, and, 
 crushed by it, she stole away out of the house. 
 
 No thought that Ray might call came to her. She 
 only wished to escape somewhere, that she might 
 cry away her misery and shame in solitude. 
 
 The evening was but a repetition of the previous 
 one. The same sweet influence and silvered light 
 was all about, but no heed of its beauty came to 
 Chip. Instead, she felt herself a shameful thing
 
 234 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 of no account. Her lover had failed her now she 
 knew why, and as she sped along the lonely way to 
 the schoolhouse, scarce conscious of her steps, all 
 hope and all joy left her. Why or for what purpose 
 she was hurrying toward this deserted little building, 
 she knew not. Hot tears filled her eyes. Shame 
 surged in her heart. She was a nobody in the eyes of 
 all her world, and once she had reached the worn 
 sill, so often crossed by her, she threw herself upon 
 it and sobbed in utter despair. 
 
 For a long hour she sat there while the tide of 
 feeling ebbed and tears came unchecked, and then 
 the reaction came. With it, also, came something 
 of the old courage and defiance that had once led 
 her to face night, danger, and sixty miles of wilder- 
 ness alone. 
 
 "I have made a mistake," she said, sitting up, 
 "and Hannah was right. I am a nobody here, and 
 Ray has been told so and has kept away." 
 
 And now with returning calm, and soothed, 
 maybe, by the still, ethereal night, she saw herself, 
 her past and present, as it all was. Back in an 
 instant she sped in thought to the moment when, 
 kneeling to these people, she begged for food ; back 
 to that first prayer she ever heard in the tent, and 
 the offer of rescue that followed.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 235 
 
 And then her life here, with all its hopes and 
 humiliation, rose before her. 
 
 "It was all wrong, my coming here," she said, 
 looking away to the village where lights twinkled; 
 "I am not their sort, nor they mine. I'd better go 
 away." 
 
 Then, lifted a wee bit by this new resolve, she 
 rose and returned to the house. 
 
 The tall clock in the sitting room was just chiming 
 ten when she entered, and Aunt Comfort was there 
 alone. 
 
 "Raymond was here this evening," she said 
 kindly, "and waited quite a spell. Where have you 
 been?" 
 
 "Oh, nowhere," answered Chip, pleasantly, "only 
 I was lonesome and went out for a walk." 
 
 Little did good Aunt Comfort realize what a vol- 
 cano of hope, despair, shame, and tender love was 
 concealed beneath that calm answer, or the new 
 resolve budding in Chip's heart. 
 
 No more did Ray suspect it when he met her 
 coming home from school the next afternoon. 
 
 For during those two wretched hours when she 
 was alone on the worn schoolhouse step, poor Chip 
 McGuire, the low-born, pitiful waif, had become a 
 woman and put away girlish impulses.
 
 236 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "I couldn't come to see you that first evening," 
 he said at once, "for uncle and aunty kept me talk- 
 ing till bedtime. Where were you last night?" 
 
 "Oh, I didn't much think you would come," an- 
 swered Chip, calmly, smiling at him in a far-off way. 
 "I am a nobody here, as you will soon find out, and 
 I don't expect anything. I got lonesome last 
 night and went off for a walk." 
 
 Ray looked at her in wide-eyed astonishment. 
 And well he might, for only two short days since she 
 had met him, an eager, simple girl, and now she 
 spoke like a woman. No word, no hint of his 
 neglect, escaped her; but a cool indifference was 
 apparent. 
 
 "Tell me about the woods and Old Cy," she said, 
 not waiting for him to speak again, "and how is the 
 hermit? I want to know all about them." 
 
 "Oh, I left 'em all right," answered Ray, sullenly, 
 for like a boy he wanted to be coaxed. And then, 
 urged a little by Chip, he told his winter's experience. 
 
 One episode interested her most of all the 
 strange trapper's doings, his theft of their game, 
 their pursuit of him and discovery of his hiding spot. 
 
 "I know who that was," she said, when it was all 
 described. "It was my father, and if he had caught 
 you spying upon him, I guess he'd shot you both.
 
 CHIP MCGDTRE 237 
 
 He always used to go somewhere trapping every 
 fall; but nobody could ever find where." 
 
 This return to the memories of the wilderness 
 wore away something of Chip's cool reserve, and 
 when the house was reached her eyes had grown 
 tender. 
 
 "I shall be glad to see you often as as your 
 folks will let you come," she said, somewhat timidly 
 when they parted; and scarce understanding this 
 speech, Ray left her. 
 
 " Chip has changed a whole lot," he said to his aunt 
 a little later, "and I wish she hadn't; she don't seem 
 the same any more." 
 
 "I'm glad of it if she has," answered Angie, smil- 
 ing at him. "There was need enough of it."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 OLD CY had builded wiser than he realized when 
 he coaxed Ray to spend a winter in the woods. 
 
 The long tramps through the vast wilderness ; the 
 keen hunt for signs of mink, fisher, otter, and wild- 
 cat, with constant guard against danger; the unre- 
 mitting though zestful labor of gum-gathering; the 
 far-sighted need for winter preparation; and last 
 but not least Old Cy's cheerful philosophy, had 
 broadened the lad and developed both muscle and 
 mind. 
 
 His success, too, had encouraged him. He was 
 eager to try another season there, aad planned for 
 hiring men to gather gum, and saw in this vocation 
 possible future. 
 
 But the change in Chip puzzled him. He had 
 returned, expecting to find her the same timid, yet 
 courageous little girl, ready to be his companion 
 at all times and to kiss him when he chose a 
 somewhat better-educated girl, of course, using more 
 refined language, but otherwise the same confiding 
 child, as it were. 
 
 238
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 239^ 
 
 She was all this the day of his return ; and then, 
 presto! like a sudden blast of cold air came a, 
 change. Too loyal to her to question any one, he 
 could only wonder why this change. 
 
 He called again soon after that first, unsatisfying 
 walk home with her, to find her the same cool, col- 
 lected young lady. She was nice to him, induced 
 him to talk of the woods once more and his own 
 plans ; but it was not the Chip of old who listened, 
 but quite another person. 
 
 " I am going back to the lake with uncle and aunt," 
 he said at last, "and I mean to coax them to take 
 you along. You have been shut up in school sa 
 long, it will do you good." 
 
 "Please don't say a word to them about it," she 
 urged, in hurt tone, "for it will do no good. I 
 wouldn't go, anyway." 
 
 "Not go to the woods if you could," he exclaimed 
 in astonishment; "why, what do you mean?" 
 
 " Just what I say," she returned firmly, and then 
 added wistfully, "I'd fly there, if I had wings. I'd 
 give my life, almost, for one more summer like the 
 last. But I shall not go again now, and maybe 
 never." 
 
 It was unaccountable and quite beyond Ray's 
 ken this strange decision of hers and her
 
 240 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "Please don't say any more about it" closed the 
 subject. 
 
 Another and even greater shock came to Ray when 
 late that evening, on the porch, he essayed to kiss her. 
 
 "No, no; please don't," she said with almost a 
 sob, pushing him away. "It's silly now, and 
 and you mustn't." 
 
 A week later school closed, and Chip's conduct 
 was then also a puzzle to Miss Phinney. As usual 
 on these occasions, when the hour came, each pupil, 
 young and old, filed past the teacher at her desk, 
 the boys to shake hands, the girls to be kissed, and 
 all bade good-by, after which they trooped away, 
 glad to escape. 
 
 This ceremony now toojs place as usual. All 
 departed except Chip, and she remained at her 
 desk. Some intuition of pity or sympathy drew 
 Miss Phinney to her at once ; and then, at the first 
 word from her, Chip gave way to tears not light 
 ones, but sobs that shook her as a great grief. 
 Vainly Miss Phinney tried to cheer and console her, 
 stroking the bowed head until her own eyes grew 
 misty. 
 
 "I didn't mean to give way," Chip said at last, 
 looking up and brushing away the tears, "but you've 
 been so good and patient with me, I couldn't help
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 241 
 
 it. I hain't many friends here, I guess, and " 
 choking back another sob "I shall be more 
 lonesome'n ever." 
 
 It was true enough, as Miss Phinney well under- 
 stood, and somehow her heart went out to this un- 
 fortunate girl now, as never before. 
 
 "You mustn't think about that," she said at last, 
 in her most soothing voice, "but come and see me 
 as often as you can every day, if you like, for I 
 shall always be glad to have you. I'd keep on 
 studying, if I were you," she added, as Chip bright- 
 ened, "it will help you oh, and I will gladly hear 
 you recite every day." 
 
 Then hand in hand, like two sisters, they left the 
 dear old schoolhouse. Little did Miss Phinney, 
 good soul that she was, realize how recently poor 
 Chip had cried her heart almost out on its well- 
 worn sill, or that never again would this strange, 
 winsome, woman-grown pupil enter that temple. 
 
 At the parting of their ways the two embraced, 
 kissed, and with tear-dimmed eyes separated. 
 
 "I can't account for it," Miss Phinney said to 
 herself when well away. "It may be a love-affair 
 with young Stetson, or it may be something worse." 
 
 That evening she called on Angie. The result 
 was fruitless, so far as obtaining any light upon this
 
 242 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 puzzling matter was concerned, for Angie was 
 either blind to the situation, or feigned ignorance. 
 
 "They were together all last summer, of course," 
 she said, "in fact, they were forced to be like two 
 children, you know. I was glad to have it so, feel- 
 ing it would benefit the girl. If any love flame was 
 started then, it has had ample time to die out since." 
 
 "There is something else the matter with Chip, 
 then," Miss Phinney rejoined, "she has been moody 
 and quite upset at times for the past few weeks, and 
 to-day when school closed, she sobbed like a broken- 
 hearted woman. It was quite pathetic, and I had 
 to cry myself." 
 
 That night Angie took counsel of her husband. 
 
 "Well, what if it is so," he responded, to her sug- 
 gestion that a love-affair might have started between 
 them. "It won't harm either. So far as I've ob- 
 served, the girl couldn't have been better behaved 
 since she came here. She has never missed an hour 
 at school all winter, no matter how cold it has been. 
 Her teacher says she has made wonderful progress. 
 She has attended church with you every Sunday, 
 and as for Ray well, if I were in his shoes, I'd 
 be in love with her myself." 
 
 It was clear enough that Angle's fears were not 
 shared by Martin.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 243 
 
 "But think of her origin and parentage," an- 
 swered Angie, "and that outlaw father who might 
 appear at any time ! The very idea of Ray marry- 
 ing her is preposterous. It would wreck his life." 
 
 "But what about Chip?" returned Martin, who 
 had broader views of life. "You brought her here 
 to Christianize and educate her; do you propose 
 to turn her adrift because she has a pretty face and 
 the boy sees it? She isn't to blame for her origin. 
 As for Ray, if he shows that he is able to support a 
 wife and wants her, I honor him for it, and I'll give 
 him a house to start with." 
 
 At Aunt Comfort's, however, no signs of love 
 troubles were visible ; in fact, no signs of any sort, 
 except the malicious "hanging around" interference 
 of Hannah whenever Ray was there. She seemed 
 to feel it her duty to remain on guard at such times, 
 much to Ray's disgust. No annoyance at this 
 was apparent in Chip. She helped at housework, 
 studied at odd hours, and when Ray came she met 
 and talked with him as if he were a brother. 
 
 The day he was to leave Greenvale was close at 
 hand, however, and the evening before he came 
 early, bringing his banjo, and by tacit consent, per- 
 haps to escape Hannah, they both left the house at 
 once.
 
 244 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 Just above the village there was a long, narrow 
 pond, wooded upon one side and around its upper 
 end, with partially cleared land and scattered trees 
 along the opposite bank. One of these trees was a 
 monster beech near the water's edge, the trunk of 
 which was scarred by many entwined initials. 
 
 To this lovers' trysting tree now came Ray and 
 Chip. 
 
 The evening was not one for romance, for no 
 moon graced it only stars were reflected from the 
 pond's motionless surface, while fireflies twinkled 
 above it. 
 
 The shadow of the near parting also hovered over 
 these two as, hand in hand, they picked their way 
 up and along the bank; and once seated beneath 
 the tree, it seemed to forbid speech. 
 
 "I wish you'd play some of the songs you used to," 
 Chip said at last hurriedly, "I'd like to think I'm 
 back at the lake again." 
 
 Glad to do so, Ray drew out his banjo and began 
 to tune it. He started a song also one of the 
 "graveyardy" ones which Old Cy had interdicted, 
 but choked at once and stopped abruptly. 
 
 "I can't sing to-night," he said, "I'm too blue 
 about going away." 
 
 There were two in this frame of mind, evidently,
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 245 
 
 for Chip made no protest, and for another long 
 interval they watched the fireflies and listened to 
 the whippoorwills. 
 
 "I wish you were going back with us," Ray said 
 at last. " It breaks my heart to go away so soon and 
 leave you. Why won't you let me ask my uncle to 
 take you? He might be glad to do it, just for me." 
 
 "No," answered Chip, firmly, "you mustn't. It 
 would shame me so that I couldn't look them in 
 the face." Then, as if this subject and their own 
 feelings must be avoided, she added hurriedly^ 
 "Tell me what you will do when the folks come 
 back whether you will come with them or stay 
 at the lake?" 
 
 "Stay there, I suppose," answered Ray, somewhat 
 doggedly, for money-making and love were in con- 
 flict. " Old Cy says we can make a lot of money if 
 I will. I wish I were rich," he added with a sigh. 
 
 He was not the first young man to whom that 
 wish had come at such a moment. But converse 
 between them was at ebb tide just now, and the 
 parting moment, ever creeping nearer, overshadowed 
 all else. To Chip known only to herself it 
 meant forever. To Ray, another long isolation from 
 all the world and young associates, and all for a few 
 hundred dollars sorely needed by him, yet seeming
 
 ,246 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 of scant value compared to the sweet companion- 
 ship of this maid. 
 
 Then Chip's feelings and the reason for them were 
 quite beyond him. He could not see why she was 
 unwilling to ask to be taken to the woods again, nor 
 why she held herself aloof from him. She had not 
 done so at the lake, or when they met again, and why 
 should she now? 
 
 Something of this might have been inferred by 
 Chip, for she suddenly arose. 
 
 "I think we'd best go back," she said. "It's 
 time, and Hannah will be watching for me." 
 
 What Ray might have said had he been a world- 
 wise man, does not matter. What he did was to 
 pick up his useless banjo, and clasping Chip's arm, 
 led her along the winding walk. 
 
 Below the falls and near the house they paused, 
 for now the last moment alone together had come, 
 and with it the real parting. 
 
 "Tell Old Cy I I haven't forgot him," whis- 
 pered Chip, her voice quivering, "and and 
 you won't forget me either, will you, Ray?" 
 
 That little sob in her speech was all that was 
 needed to break away the barrier between them, 
 for the next instant Ray's arms were about the girl. 
 
 No words of love, no protestations, no promises.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 247 
 
 Only one instant's meeting of soul and impulse, 
 fierce as love of life, sacred as the hand of death. 
 
 Love consecrated it. The shadowing maples 
 blessed it. The stars hallowed it. 
 
 And yet it was a long, long parting. 
 
 When Ray rode away next morning, he watched 
 for her at the first sharp hilltop. 
 
 It was in vain, for Chip's resolve had been taken, 
 and he never saw the forlorn figure crouching be- 
 hind that bush-topped wall, or knew that two wistful, 
 misty eyes had seen him depart. 
 
 Few of us ever see even a faint image of ourselves 
 as others see us; and yet, calm reflection spurred 
 to self-analysis by a hungry heart occasionally 
 effects that almost miracle. 
 
 In Ray's case it did ; for after his eager eyes had 
 scanned every rod of that roadside trysting-place in 
 vain, a revelation came to him not a wide open 
 one, such as he deserved, but a glance at himself 
 and his conduct as it had been. First he saw Chip 
 just as she entered their camp that night in the wil- 
 derness, so pitiful in appearance, so pathetic in her 
 abject gratitude. Once again he looked at her 
 appealing eyes growing misty while he played and 
 sang his old-time love songs. He remembered that 
 during all the days., weeks, and months following,
 
 248 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 he had never failed to find the love-light of admira- 
 tion when his eyes met hers. It had all been a 
 summer idyl, so sweet, so romantic, so tender, and 
 so unexpected that he had scarce realized its value 
 not at all then, but faintly now. 
 
 For all that up-hill, down-dale journey to Riverton, 
 he lived over this moonlit lake and wilderness camp 
 episode, and every hour and every thought shared 
 with him by this girl a playmate and lover com- 
 bined returned again like echoes of past and gone 
 heart throbs, each time a little sweeter, each time 
 a trifle more piercing, until his own self-complacency 
 faded quite away and an abject penitence began to 
 replace it. For the first time in his callow youth 
 he began to reflect, and once started on this bene- 
 ficial course, the barometer of his vanity fell rapidly. 
 It was not long ere his own conduct since he returned 
 to Greenvale also added an assault. He had utterly 
 failed to realize the meaning of Chip's abject devo- 
 tion her pitiful first-hour confessions of how hard 
 she had studied, and all for his sake; how she had 
 counted days and hours until he was likely to return ; 
 how many times she had gone to the hilltop to watch 
 for him; and even the eagerness of her arms and 
 the warmth of her lips at that first moment of meet- 
 ing, now came back to him.
 
 CHIP MCGUIRE 249 
 
 Another and even a more painful self-reproach fol- 
 lowed this his own neglect of opportunities and 
 the result. 
 
 He had returned to Greenvale feeling that Chip 
 was his devoted slave and had found that she was. 
 Like many another arrogant youth, he had plumed 
 himself upon that fact, taking everything for granted. 
 He had yielded to his aunt's and other friends' 
 coaxings to tell his past winter's history of life in 
 the woods, feeling that Chip could and would wait; 
 and then, an unexpected and most vexatious frost 
 had fallen upon his little love-garden, and presto 1 
 his confiding sweetheart, his almost abject slave, 
 was one no longer. 
 
 At the moment of starting, that wildwood camp 
 and charming lake had seemed a Mecca which he 
 must hasten to reach once more. When he again 
 beheld it, it had lost its fairness, and to return to 
 Greenvale and beg and implore Chip's forgiveness 
 ay, even kneel to her, if need be seemed the 
 only duty life held. 
 
 His punishment had only just begun.
 
 PART II 
 VERA RAYMOND
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 FOR a few more days, Chip lived the life that had 
 now become unbearable, and then the end came. 
 It was hastened, perhaps, by Hannah, for that ill- 
 tempered spinster had been ever watchful, and with 
 shrewd insight had seen or guessed all that had 
 transpired. 
 
 "I s'pose ye know why the Frisbies hurried away 
 so soon after Ray got back," she said to Chip that 
 last day. "If you don't, I can tell ye. It was 'cos 
 they noticed the goin's on 'tween you an' him, an' 
 wanted to head it off." 
 
 Not a word of protest came from the poor child 
 in response to this sneer, and that night she wrote 
 two notes, one to Miss Phinney, the other to Aunt 
 Comfort. Then, making a bundle of the few be- 
 longings she could call her own the beaded 
 moccasins, cap, and fur cape old Tomah had given 
 her, and other trifles she waited until almost mid- 
 night and stole out of the house. 
 
 Once before she had left her only shelter, in 
 a more desperate mood. Now the same impulse 
 253
 
 254 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 nerved her, and for ample reason. Dependent upon 
 the bounty of those in no wise kin to her, tortured 
 by the sarcastic tongue of Hannah, her heart hunger- 
 ing for a love she believed could never be hers, no 
 other outcome seemed possible ; and defiant still, yet 
 saddened beyond all words, she set out to escape it all. 
 
 Where to go, she knew not nor cared only to 
 leave Greenvale and all the shame, sorrow, and hu- 
 miliation it held for her, and make her own way in 
 the world as best she could. 
 
 The village street was as silent as midnight always 
 found it. The low murmur of the Mizzy Falls 
 whispered down the valley. A half-moon was just 
 rising, and as Chip reached the hilltop where she had 
 waited for Ray, she halted. From here must be 
 taken the last glance at Greenvale, and as she turned 
 about a sob rose in her heart, in spite of her stern 
 resolve, for ties cannot be sundered easily. 
 
 And how vivid and life-lasting was that picture ! 
 The two long rows of white houses facing the broad 
 street, the tall-spired church in the middle of them ; 
 scattered dwellings to the right and left ; away to one 
 side the little brown schoolhouse that had been her 
 Mecca; the stream that wound through the broad 
 meadows; and over all the faint sheen of the rising 
 moon.
 
 VERA RAYMOND 255 
 
 Only for a moment she paused for this good-bye 
 look, then turned and ran. On and on she sped 
 mile after mile, up hill, down hill, halting now and 
 then for breath until a cross-road was reached, and 
 here she stopped. Here also came the question of 
 direction. To follow the main road was to reach 
 Riverton, between which and Greenvale the stage 
 journeyed. To go there meant being recognized 
 perhaps. In her study of geography, she had found 
 that the village which was her birthplace lay north- 
 east from Greenvale. She meant sometime and 
 somehow to reach that spot and visit her mother's 
 grave once more, and also, if possible, to send word 
 to Old Tomah. And so guided by this vague plan, 
 she turned to the left. 
 
 From now on the road became narrow. Miles 
 elapsed between houses, and Chip, wearied and 
 heavy-eyed, could only creep along. The way 
 became more devious now, bending around a wooded 
 hill and then crossing a wide swamp to enter a stretch 
 of forest. Direction became lost in these turnings, 
 the road grew hilly and less travelled. The moon 
 scarce showed it; and Chip, almost exhausted, 
 stumbled over stones and felt that she was becoming 
 lost in an unsettled country. And then, just as she 
 emerged from a thicket and ascended a low hill, the
 
 256 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 light of coming dawn faced her, and with it the need 
 of sleep and concealment. 
 
 Full well she knew she must avoid all observing 
 eyes and place many more miles between herself and 
 Greenvale to be certain of escape. And then, as 
 the daylight increased, she caught sight of an old, 
 almost ruined dwelling half hid among bushes just 
 ahead. Even if empty, as it appeared, it would 
 serve for shelter, and finding it so, she crept in, so 
 wearied that she fell asleep at once on the warped 
 and mouldy floor. 
 
 It was only a brief nap, for soon the rattle of a 
 passing farm wagon woke her, but refreshed some- 
 what by it, she again pushed on. 
 
 Soon a brook, singing cheerfully as it tumbled 
 down a ledge, was reached, and here Chip bathed 
 her face and hands and drank of the sweet, cool 
 water. 
 
 Hunger also asserted itself, but that did not daunt 
 her. She had faced it once before. 
 
 Then something of a plan as to her future move- 
 ments began to shape itself in her mind, following 
 which came an increased courage and self-reliance. 
 Not a cent did she now possess. Food she could 
 not have until she had made good her escape and 
 could earn it somewhere.
 
 VERA RAYMOND 257 
 
 But the sun was shining, the birds were singing, 
 her young, supple body was strong^ life and the 
 world were ahead; and, best of all, never again 
 would she have to feel herself a dependant upon 
 any one. 
 
 With these blessings, scant to most of us, hardened 
 as she had been by servitude at Tim's Place, came a 
 certain buoyancy of spirit and defiance of all things 
 human. 
 
 No wild beasts were here to menace, no spites to 
 creep and crawl along fence or hedgerow, no hideous 
 half-breed to pursue, and as she counted her bless- 
 ings, while her spirits rose, a new life and new hope 
 came to her. 
 
 And now another feeling came the certainty 
 that she had come so far that no one would recognize 
 her. At first that morning, when she heard a team 
 coming or overtaking her, she had hidden by the 
 roadside until it passed. When a house was sighted 
 ahead, she made a wide detour in the fields to avoid 
 it. Now this sense of caution vanished, and she 
 strode on fearless and confident. 
 
 When night came again she crept into an unused 
 sheep barn, and when daylight wakened her, she 
 hurried on one* mere. 
 
 During all that first day's journey, her one fea/
 
 258 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 had been that some one she would meet might recog- 
 nize her and report the fact in Greenvale. To 
 avoid that had been her sole thought. Now that 
 feeling of danger was vanishing, and when people 
 were met, she looked at them fearlessly and kept on. 
 When cross-roads were reached and a choice in ways 
 became necessary, she followed the one nearest to 
 northeast, and for the reason that her school map 
 had shown that her birthplace lay in this direction. 
 How far away it was, she had not the faintest idea, 
 or whether she could live to reach it. Her sole 
 thought was to escape Greenvale and the humiliat- 
 ing life of dependence there, and when she was so 
 far away that no one could find her, obtain work 
 at some farm-house. 
 
 All that second day she plodded on that same 
 patient up-hill, down-dale journey, never halting 
 except to pick a few berries, or where a brook crossed 
 the road to obtain a handful of water-cress or some 
 sweet-flag buds. 
 
 Now and then villages were passed, again it was 
 country sparsely settled, where farm-houses were 
 wide apart, and when this day was waning, even 
 these had vanished and she found herself in almost 
 a wilderness once more. 
 
 Hills now met her already weary feet ; they seemed
 
 Won't you please give me a lift an' a chance to earn my vittles 
 for a day or two ? "
 
 VERA RAYMOND 259 
 
 never ending, for as the crown of one was reached, 
 another met her eyes. The roadway also became 
 badly gullied, always stony, with grass growing in 
 the hollows. 
 
 By now she was faint and dizzy from two days' 
 fasting, and so footsore that she could scarce limp 
 along. So far her defiant pride had kept her from 
 begging food, but now that was weakening, and at 
 the next house she would have asked a morsel. But 
 no next house came. Only the same scrub growth 
 along the wayside with now and then a patch of 
 forest, with never a fence even, to indicate human 
 ownership. 
 
 The sun had now vanished. Already the stretches 
 of forest were shadowy, and as Chip reached the 
 apex of another long hill, beyond and far below she 
 could see another darkened valley. Night seemed 
 creeping up from it to meet her. Not a house, not 
 even a fence or recent clearing only the unending 
 tangle of green growth and this dark vale beyond. 
 
 "I guess I'll starve 'fore I find another house," 
 poor Chip muttered, and then as the utter desolation 
 of her situation and surroundings were realized for 
 a moment, her defiant courage gave way. 
 
 For two days and half a night she had plodded on 
 without food and with scarce a moment's rest. Her
 
 200 THE GIRL PROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 feet were blistered, her eyes smarted from sun and 
 dust, her head swam. She was miles away from 
 any human habitation, footsore, weary, and despon- 
 dent, with night enclosing her a homeless waif, still 
 clinging to the small bundle that contained her all. 
 
 But now as she crouched by the roadside, too 
 exhausted to move on, the memory of those three 
 days and nights of horror, one year ago, came to her. 
 Her plight was bad enough now, but nothing to 
 compare with what it was then, and as all the terror 
 and desperation of that mad flight now returned, it 
 renewed her courage. 
 
 "I ain't so bad off as I was then," she said. "I'm 
 sure of finding a house to-morrow." 
 
 And now, as if this moment marked the turning- 
 point of her fortunes, from far down the hill she had 
 climbed, came the faint creak, creak, and jolting 
 sound of an ascending wagon. Slowly it neared, 
 until just at the hilltop where Chip sat, the tired 
 horse halted, and its driver saw her rise almost 
 beside the wagon. 
 
 "Mister," she said, "I'm nearly tuckered out and 
 'bout starved. Won't you please give me a lift an' 
 a chance to earn my vittles for a day or two?" 
 
 The man gave a low whistle. 
 
 "Why sartin, sartin," he answered in a moment,
 
 VERA RAYMOND 26l 
 
 " but who be ye ? I thought for a minute ye was a 
 sperit. Git up here," he added, without waiting for 
 a reply and moving to make room. Then as Chip 
 obeyed, he chirruped to his horse and down the hill 
 they rattled. 
 
 "Who might be ye, girlie, an' whar'd ye come 
 from?" he asked again, as they came to another 
 ascent and the horse walked. 
 
 "My name's Vera, Vera Raymond," answered 
 Chip, " an' I run away from where I was livin'." 
 
 "That's curis," answered the old man, glancing 
 at her ; " whar'd ye run away from, some poor farm ? " 
 
 "No, sir," replied Chip, almost defiantly, "but I 
 guess I was a sort o' pauper. I was livin' with 
 folks that fetched me out o' the woods an' was 
 schoolin' me, and I couldn't stand it, so I run away. 
 I don't want to tell where they be, or where I came 
 from either," she added in a moment, "for I don't 
 want them ever to find me." 
 
 "Wai, that's a proper sort o' feelin'," responded 
 the man, still looking at his passenger, "an' I don't 
 mind. I live down beyond here in what's called 
 the Holler. Somebody called it Peaceful Valley 
 once. We'll take keer o' ye to-night 'n' to-morrer 
 we'll see what's best to be done. I guess ye need 
 a hum 'bout ez bad ez a body kin, anyway."
 
 262 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 And so Chip McGuire, waif of the wilderness and 
 erstwhile prote'ge'e of a philanthropic woman, as Vera 
 Raymond found another home, and began still 
 another life with this old farmer, Judson Walker, 
 and his wife Mandy. 
 
 But a sorrow deeper far than Chip ever realized 
 fell upon Aunt Comfort when her brimming eyes 
 read her note the morning after her flight. 
 
 "DEAR AUNT COMFORT, 
 
 "I can't stand Hannah or being a pauper any 
 longer. She as good as told me I wanted your 
 money and I never thought of it. She said I wasn't 
 good enough for Ray, either, and that was the reason 
 Mrs. Frisbie took him away so soon. I know I 
 ain't good for nothin' nor nobody, but I didn't ask 
 to be fetched here and I am going away, never, never, 
 never to come back. If ever I can, I will pay you 
 and Mrs. Frisbie for all I've eat and had. 
 
 "Good-bye Forever, 
 
 "Cmp."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 " There's a heap o 1 comfort in lookin' on the dark side o* 
 life cheerfully." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 OLD CY especially found life dull after Ray had 
 gone. The hermit also appeared to miss him and 
 became more morose than ever. He never had been 
 what might be termed social, speaking only when 
 spoken to, and then only in the fewest possible 
 words. Now Old Cy became almost a walking 
 sphinx, and found that time passed slowly. His 
 heartstrings had somehow become entwined with 
 Ray's hopes and plans. He had bent every energy 
 and thought to secure for Ray a valuable stock of 
 furs and gum, and, as was his nature, felt a keen 
 satisfaction in helping that youth to a few hundred 
 dollars. 
 
 Now Ray had departed, furs, gum, and all. He 
 had promised to return with Martin and Angie later 
 on, but of that Old Cy felt somewhat dubious, and 
 so the old man mourned. 
 
 There was no real reason for it, for all Nature was 
 now smiling. The lake was blue and rippled by 
 
 263
 
 264 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 the June breezes; trout leaped out of it night and 
 morning; flowers were blooming, squirrels frisking, 
 birds singing and nest-building; and what Old Cy 
 most enjoyed, the vernal season was at hand. 
 
 Another matter also disturbed him the where- 
 abouts of McGuire and the half-breed, Pete Bolduc. 
 
 Levi had brought the information that neither had 
 been seen nor heard of since the previous autumn; 
 but that was not conclusive, and somehow Old Cy 
 felt that a certain mystery had attached itself to them, 
 and once we suspect a mystery, it pursues us like a 
 phantom. He did not fear either of these renegades, 
 however. He had never harmed them. But he 
 felt that any day might bring a call from one or the 
 other, or that some tragic outcome would be dis- 
 closed. 
 
 Another problem also annoyed him who this 
 thief of their game could be, and whether his sup- 
 posed cave lair was a permanent hiding-spot. 
 
 Two reasons had kept Old Cy from another visit 
 to that sequestered lake during the fall trapping 
 season: first, its evident danger, and then lack of 
 time. But now, with nothing to do except wait 
 for the incoming ones, an impulse to visit again this 
 mysterious spot came to him. 
 
 He had, at the former excursion, felt almost cer-
 
 VERA RAYMOND 265 
 
 tain that this unknown trapper was either McGuire 
 or the half-breed. Some assertions made by Levi 
 seemed to corroborate that theory, and impelled by 
 it, Old Cy started alone, one morning, to visit this 
 lake again. It took him until midday to carry his 
 canoe, camp outfit, rifle, and all across from stream 
 to stream, and twilight had come ere he reached the 
 lagoon where he and Ray had left the main stream 
 and camped. Up here Old Cy now turned his canoe, 
 and repairing the bark shack they had built, which 
 had been crushed by winter's snow, he camped 
 there again. 
 
 Next morning, bright and early, he launched his 
 canoe and once more followed the winding stream 
 through the dark gorge and out into the rippled lake 
 again. 
 
 Here he halted and looked about. 
 
 No signs of aught human could be seen. The long, 
 narrow lakelet sparkled beneath the morning sun. 
 The bald mountain frowned upon it, the jagged 
 ledges just across faced him like serried ramparts, 
 an eagle slowly circled overhead, and, best indication 
 of primal solitude, an antlered deer stood looking at 
 him from out an opening above the ledges. 
 
 "Guess I'm alone here!" exclaimed Old Cy, 
 glancing around; "but if this ain't a pictur worth
 
 266 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 rememberin', I never saw one. Wish I could take 
 it with me into t'other world; an' if I was sure o* 
 findin' a spot like it thar, I'd never worry 'bout 
 goin' when my time comes." 
 
 After a long wait, as if he wanted to observe 
 every detail of this wondrous picture of wildwood 
 beauty, he dipped his paddle, crossed the sheet of 
 rippled water, and stepped ashore at the very spot 
 where he and Ray had landed over eight months 
 before. 
 
 "Great Scott!" he exclaimed, glancing around, 
 "if thar ain't a canoe, bottom up ! Two, by ginger ! " 
 he added, as he saw another drawn out and half hid 
 by a low ledge. 
 
 To this second one he hastened at once, and looked 
 into it. 
 
 It had evidently rested there all winter, for it was 
 partially filled with water, and half afloat in it were 
 two paddles and a setting pole. A gunny-cloth bag, 
 evidently containing the usual cooking outfit of a 
 woodsman, lay soaking in one end, a frying-pan 
 and an axe were rusting in the other, and a coating 
 of mould had browned each crossbar and thwart. 
 
 "Been here quite a spell, all winter, I guess," 
 muttered Old Cy, looking it over, and then he 
 advanced to the other canoe. That was, as he as-
 
 VERA RAYMOND 267 
 
 serted, bottom up, and also lay half hid back of a 
 jutting ledge of slate. Two paddles leaned against 
 this ledge, and near by was another setting pole. All 
 three of these familiar objects were brown with damp 
 mould and evidently had rested there many months. 
 
 "Curis, curis," muttered Old Cy again. "I 
 callated I'd find nothin' here, 'n' here's two canoes 
 left to rot, 'n' been here all winter." 
 
 Then with a vague sense of need, he returned to 
 his canoe, seized his rifle, looked all around, over the 
 lake, up into the green tangle above the ledges, and 
 finally followed the narrow passage leading to where 
 he had once watched smoke arise. Here on top of 
 this ledge he again halted and looked about. 
 
 Back of it was the same V-shaped cleft across 
 which a cord had held drying pelts, the cord was 
 still there, and below it he could see the dark skins 
 amid the confusion of jagged stones. 
 
 Turning, he stepped from this ledge to the lower 
 one nearer the lake, walked down its slope, and 
 looked about again. At its foot was a long, narrow, 
 shelf-like projection, ending at the corner of the ledge. 
 Old Cy followed this to its end and stepped down into 
 a narrow crevasse. 
 
 "Great Scott!" he exclaimed, taking a backward 
 step as he did so.
 
 268 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 And well he might, for there at his feet lay a rifle 
 coated with rust beside a brown felt hat. 
 
 Had a grinning skull met his eyes, he would not 
 have been more astounded. In fact, that was the 
 next object he expected to see, and he glanced up 
 and down the crevasse for it. None leered at him, 
 however, and picking up the rusted weapon, he 
 continued his search. 
 
 Two rods or so below where he had climbed the 
 upper ledge, he was halted again, for there, at his 
 hand almost, was a curious doorlike opening some 
 three feet high and one foot wide, back of an outstand- 
 ing slab of slate. 
 
 The two abandoned canoes had surprised him, the 
 rusty rifle astonished him, but this, a self-evident 
 cave entrance, almost took his breath away. 
 
 For one instant he glanced at it, stepped back a 
 step, dropped the rusty rifle and cocked his own, 
 as if expecting a ghost or panther to emerge. None 
 came, however, and once more Old Cy advanced 
 and peered into this opening. A faint light illumined 
 its interior a weird slant of sunlight, yet enough 
 to show a roomy cavern. 
 
 The mystery was solved. This surely was the 
 hiding-spot of the strange trapper ! 
 
 "Can't see why I missed it afore," Old Cy muttered,
 
 VERA RAYMOND 269 
 
 kneeling that he might better look within, and sniff- 
 ing at the peculiar odor. "Wonder if the cuss is 
 dead in thar, or what smells so!" 
 
 Then he arose and grasped the slab of slate. One 
 slight pull and it fell aside. 
 
 "A nat'ral door, by hokey ! " exclaimed Old Cy, 
 and once more he knelt and looked in. 
 
 The bravest man will hesitate a moment before 
 entering such a cavern, prefaced, so to speak, by 
 two abandoned canoes, a rusty rifle, human head 
 covering, each and all bespeaking something tragic, 
 and Old Cy was no exception. That he had come 
 upon some grewsome mystery was apparent. Canoes 
 were not left to rot in the wilderness or rifles dropped 
 without cause. 
 
 And then, that hat ! 
 
 Surely here, or hereabout, had been enacted a 
 drama of murderous nature, and inside this cavern 
 might repose its blood-stained sequel. 
 
 But the filtering beams of light encouraged Old 
 Cy, and he entered. No ghastly corpse confronted 
 him, but instead a human, if cramped, abode. A 
 fireplace deftly fashioned of slate occupied one side 
 of this cave; in front a low table of the same flat 
 stone, resting upon small ones; and upon the table 
 were rusty tin dishes, a few mouldy hardtack, a
 
 270 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 knife, fork, and scraps of meat, exhaling the odor of 
 decay. A smell of smoke from the charred wood in 
 the fireplace mingled with it all. In one corner was 
 a bed of brown fir twigs, also mouldy, a blanket, 
 and tanned deerskins. 
 
 The cave was of oval, irregular shape, barely high 
 enough for Old Cy to stand upright. Across its 
 roof, on either side of the rude chimney, a narrow 
 crack admitted light, and as he looked about, he 
 saw in the dim light another doorlike opening into 
 still another cave. Into this he peered, but could 
 see nothing. 
 
 "A queer livin' spot," he muttered at last, "a 
 reg'lar human panther den. An' 'twas out o' this 
 I seen the smoke come. An' here's his gun," he 
 added, as, more accustomed to the dim light, he saw 
 one in a corner. "Two guns, two canoes, an' 
 nobody to hum," he continued. "I'm safe, anyhow. 
 But I've got to peek into that other cave, sartin 
 sure," and he withdrew to the open air. 
 
 A visit to a couple of birches soon provided means 
 of light, and he again entered the cave. One mo- 
 ment more, and then a flaring torch of bark was 
 thrust into the inner cave, a mere crevasse not four 
 feet wide, and stooping, as he now had to, Old Cy 
 entered and knelt while he looked about.
 
 VERA RAYMOND 271 
 
 He saw nothing here of interest except the serried 
 rows of jutting slate, across two of which lay a slab 
 of the same no vestige of aught human, and Old 
 Cy was about to retreat when his flare burning close 
 to his finger tips unnoticed, caused him to drop it on 
 the instant, and drawing another from his pocket 
 he lit it while the flame lasted in the first one. 
 
 It is said that great discoveries are almost invari- 
 ably made by some trifling accident a gold mine 
 found by stumbling over a stone, a valley prolific 
 of diamonds disclosed. by digging for water. 
 
 In this case it was true, for as Old Cy bent to 
 light his second torch ere he withdrew from the 
 inner cave, a flash of reflected light came from 
 beneath this slab only for one second, but enough 
 to attract his attention. 
 
 He stooped again and lifted the slab. Six large 
 tin cans had been hidden by it. He grasped one 
 and could scarce lift it. Again his fingers closed 
 over it. He crawled backward to the better-lighted 
 cave and drew the cover off the can with eager motion, 
 and poured a heap of shining, glittering coin out upon 
 that food-littered table. 
 
 Into that dark hole he dived again, as a starved 
 dog leaps for food, seized the cans, two at a time, 
 almost tumbled back, and emptied them. Four
 
 272 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 had been filled with gold coin and two stuffed with 
 paper money. 
 
 Folded with these bills of all denominations from 
 one to fifty dollars was a legal paper yellowed by 
 age, with a red seal still glowing like a spot of blood. 
 
 It was an innholder's license, authorizing one 
 Thomas McGuire to furnish food, shelter, and en- 
 tertainment for man and beast. 
 
 With eyes almost tear-dimmed and heart throb- 
 bing at having found poor Chip's splendid heritage, 
 Old Cy now gazed at it. 
 
 The sharp stones upon which he knelt nearly 
 pierced his flesh, but he felt them not. 
 
 The glint of sunlight from the crack above caressed 
 his scant gray hairs and white fringing beard, form- 
 ing almost a halo, yet he knew it not. 
 
 He only knew that here, before him, on this rude 
 stone table, lay thousands of dollars, all belonging 
 to the child he loved. 
 
 "Thank God, little gal," he said at last, "I've 
 found what belongs to ye, 'n' ye hain't got to want 
 for nothin' no more. I wish I could kiss ye now." 
 
 Little did he realize that at this very moment of 
 thankfulness for her sake, poor Chip was lost to all 
 who knew her, and, half starved and almost hope- 
 less, knew not where to find shelter.
 
 'Thank God, little gal, I've found what belongs tc ye.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 "When life looks darkest to ye, count yer blessin's, boy, 
 count yer blessin's." OLD Cy WALKER. 
 
 WHEN the sun rose again and Chip awoke, she 
 scarce knew where she was. Outside, and almost 
 reaching the one window of her little room, was the 
 top of an apple tree in full bloom. Below she could 
 hear ducks quacking, now and then a barnyard 
 monarch's defiant crow, from farther away came 
 the rippling sound of running water, and as she 
 lay and listened to the medley, a robin lit on the tree- 
 top not ten feet away and chirped as he peered into 
 her window. A scent of lavender mingled with 
 apple blossoms became noticeable ; then the few 
 and very old-fashioned fittings of the room, a chest 
 of drawers with little brass handles, over it a narrow 
 mirror with gilt frame, two wood-seated chairs 
 painted blue, and white muslin curtains draped 
 away from the window. 
 
 And now, conscious that she was in some strange 
 place, back in an instant came the three days of her 
 long, weary tramp, the nights when she had slept 
 273
 
 274 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 in a sheep barn and in a deserted dwelling, and at 
 last, faint, footsore, and almost hopeless, she had 
 been rescued from another night with only the sky 
 for a roof. 
 
 Then the quaint old man, so much like Old Cy, 
 whom she had accosted, the rattling, bumping ride 
 down into this valley, and the halt where a cheery 
 light beamed its welcome and a motherly woman 
 made it real. 
 
 It was all so unexpected, so satisfying, so pro- 
 tective of herself, that Chip could hardly realize how 
 it had come about. 
 
 No questions had been asked of her here. These 
 two quaint old people had taken her as she was 
 dusty, dirty, and travel-worn. She had bathed 
 and been helped to an ample meal and shown to 
 this sweet-smelling room as if she had been their 
 own daughter. 
 
 "They must be awful kind sort o' people," Chip 
 thought, and then creeping out of bed she dressed, 
 and taking her stockings and sadly worn shoes in 
 hand softly descended the stairs. 
 
 No one seemed astir anywhere. The ticking of 
 a tall clock in the sitting room was the only sound, 
 the back door was wide open, and out of this 
 Chip passed and, seating herself on a bench, began
 
 
 VERA RAYMOND 275 
 
 putting on stockings and shoes. This was scarce 
 done ere she heard a step and saw the old man 
 emerge from the same door. 
 
 "Wai, Pattycake, how air ye?" he asked, smiling. 
 "I heerd ye creepin' downstairs like a mouse, but I 
 was up, 'n' 'bout dressed. Hope ye slept well. It's 
 Sunday," he added, without waiting for a reply, "an' 
 we don't git up quite so arly ez usual. Ye can help 
 Mandy 'bout breakfast now, if ye like, 'n' I'll do the 
 milkin'." 
 
 And this marked the entry of Chip into the new 
 home, and outlined her duties. No more questions 
 were asked of her. She was taken at her own valua- 
 tion a needy girl, willing to work for her board, 
 insisting on it, and yet, in a few days, so hospitable 
 were these people and so winsome was Chip, that 
 she stepped into their affection, as it were, almost 
 without effort. 
 
 "I don't think we best quiz her much," Uncle 
 Jud (as he was known) said to his wife that first 
 night. "I found her on the top o' Bangall Hill, 
 where she riz up like a ghost. She 'lowed she run 
 away from somewhar, but where 'twas, she didn't 
 want to tell. My 'pinion is thar's a love 'fair at the 
 bottom on't all; but whether it's so or not, it ain't 
 none o' our business. She needs a home, sartin
 
 276 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 sure. She says she means to aim her keep, which 
 is the right spent, an' long as she minds us, she kin 
 have it." 
 
 That Chip "aimed her keep" and something 
 more was soon evinced, for in two weeks it was 
 "Aunt Mandy" and "Uncle Jud " from her, and 
 "Patty" or "Patty cake," the nickname given her 
 that first morning, from them. More than that, 
 so rapidly had she won her way here that by now 
 Uncle Jud had visited the Riggsville store, some 
 four miles down this valley, and materials for two 
 dresses, new shoes, a broad sun hat, and other 
 much- needed clothing were bought for Chip. 
 
 Neither was it all one-sided, for these people, 
 well-to-do in their isolated home, were also quite 
 alone. Their two boys had grown up, gone away 
 and married, and had homes of their own, and the 
 company of a bright and winsome girl like Chip 
 was needed in this home. 
 
 Her adoption and acceptance of it were like a 
 small stream flowing into a larger one, for the reason 
 that these people were almost primitive in location 
 and custom. 
 
 "We don't go to meetin' Sundays," Uncle Jud 
 had explained that first day after breakfast. "We're 
 sorter heathen, I s'pose; but then ag'in, thar ain't
 
 VERA RAYMOND 277 
 
 no chance. Thar used to be meetin's down to the 
 Corners, 'n' a parson ; but he only got four hundred a 
 year, an' hard work to collect that, *n' so he gin the 
 job up. Since then the meetin' -house has kinder 
 gone to pieces, 'n' the Corner folks use it now for 
 storin' tools. We obsarve Sundays here by bein' 
 sorter lazy, 'n' I go fishin' some or pickin' berries." 
 
 To Chip, reared at Tim's Place, and whose knowl- 
 edge of Sunday was its strict observance at Green- 
 vale, this seemed a relief. Sundays there had never 
 been pleasant days to her. She could not under- 
 stand what the preaching and praying meant, or 
 why people needed to look so solemn on that day. 
 She had been stared at so much at church, also, that 
 the ordeal had become painful. The parson had, 
 on two occasions, glared and glowered at her while 
 he assured her that her opinions and belief in spites 
 were rank heresy and that she was a wicked heathen ; 
 and, all in all, religion was not to her taste. With 
 these people she was to escape it, and instead of 
 being imprisoned for long, weary hours while being 
 stared at each Sunday, she was likely to have per- 
 fect freedom and a chance to go with this nice old 
 man on a fishing or berry-picking jaunt. 
 
 And then Uncle Jud was so much like Old Cy 
 in ways and speech that her heart was won. And
 
 278 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 besides these blessings, the old farm-house, hidden 
 away between two ranges of wooded hills, seemed 
 so out of the world and so secure from observation 
 that she felt that no one from Greenvale ever could 
 or would discover her. She had meant to hide 
 herself from all who knew her, had changed her 
 name for that purpose, and here and now it was 
 accomplished. 
 
 That first Sunday, also, became a halcyon one for 
 her, for after chores, in the performance of which 
 Chip made herself useful, Uncle Jud took his fish- 
 pole, and giving her the basket to carry, led the way 
 to the brook, and for four bright sunny hours, Chip 
 knew not the lapse of time while she watched the 
 leaping, laughing stream, and her second Old Cy 
 pulling trout from each pool and cascade. 
 
 And so her new life began. 
 
 But the change was not made without some cost 
 to her feelings, for heartstrings reach far, and Miss 
 Phinney and her months of patient teaching were 
 not forgotten. 
 
 Aunt Comfort and her benign face oft returned 
 to Chip, "and dear Old Cy," as she always thought 
 of him, still oftener. Ray's face also lingered in her 
 heart. Now and then she caught herself humming 
 some darky song, and never once did the moon
 
 VERA RAYMOND 279 
 
 smile into this quiet vale that her thoughts did not 
 speed away to that wildwood lake, with its rippled 
 path of silver, the dark bordering forest, and how 
 she wielded a paddle while her young lover picked 
 his banjo. 
 
 No word or hint of all this bygone life and romance 
 ever fell from her lips. It was a page in her memory 
 that must never be turned, an idyl to be forgotten, 
 and yet forget it she could not, in spite of will or 
 wishes. 
 
 And now as the summer days sped by, and Chip 
 helping Uncle Jud in the meadows or Aunt Mandy 
 about the house, and winning love from both, saw 
 a new realm open before her. There was in the 
 sitting room of this quaint home a tall bookcase, 
 its shelves filled with a motley collection of books: 
 works on science, astronomy, geology, botany, and 
 the like; books of travel and adventure; stories of 
 strange countries and people never heard of by Chip ; 
 and novels by Scott, Lever, Cooper, and Hardy. 
 These last, especially Scott and Cooper, appealed 
 most to Chip, and once she began them, every spare 
 hour, and often until long past midnight, she became 
 lost in this new world. 
 
 "I know all about how folks live in the woods," 
 she said one Sunday to Uncle Jud, when half through
 
 2&D THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "The Deerslayer." "I was brought up there. I 
 know how Injuns live and what they believe. I 
 had an old Injun friend once. I've got the mocca- 
 sins and fur cape he gave me now. His name was 
 Tomah, 'n' he believed in queer things that some- 
 times creep an' sometimes run faster'n we can." 
 
 It was her first reference to her old life, but once 
 begun, she never paused until all her queer history 
 had been related. 
 
 "I didn't mean to tell it," she explained in con- 
 clusion, "for I don't want nobody to know where I 
 came from, an' I hope you won't tell." 
 
 How near she came to disclosing what was of far 
 more importance to herself and these people than 
 old Tomah's superstition she never knew, or that 
 all that saved her was her reference to Old Cy by 
 that name only. 
 
 More than that, and like Old Cy standing over 
 the cave where her heritage lay hid, she had no sus- 
 picion that this kindly old man, so much like him 
 in looks and speech, was his brother. 
 
 With the coming of September, however, a visitor 
 was announced. "Aunt Abby's comin' to stay 
 with us a spell," Uncle Jud said that day; "she's 
 Mandy's sister, Abigail Bemis, an' she lives at 
 Christmas Cove. It's a shore town, 'bout a hundred
 
 VERA RAYMOND 281 
 
 miles from here. She ain't much like Mandy," he 
 added confidentially to Chip; "she's more book- 
 larned, so you'll have to mind your />'s and ^'s. If 
 ye like, ye can go with me to the station to meet her." 
 
 And so it came to pass that a few days later, Chip, 
 dressed in her best, rode to the station with Uncle 
 Jud in the old carryall, and there met this visitor. 
 
 She was not a welcome guest, so far as Chip was 
 concerned, wonted as she had now become to Uncle 
 Jud and Aunt Mandy, whose speech, like her own, 
 was not "book-larned," and for this reason, Chip 
 felt afraid of her. So much so, in fact, that for a 
 few days she scarce dared speak at all. 
 
 Her timidity wore away in due time, for Aunt 
 Abby a counterpart of her sister was in no 
 wise awe-inspiring. She saw Chip as she was, and 
 soon felt an interest in her and her peculiar history, 
 or what was known of it. She also noted Chip's 
 interest in books, and guessing more than she had 
 been told, was not long in forming correct con- 
 clusions. 
 
 "What do you intend to do with this runaway 
 girl?" she said one day to her sister, "keep her here 
 and let her grow up in ignorance, or what?" 
 
 "Wai, we ain't thought much about that," re- 
 sponded Mandy, "at least not yet. She ain't got
 
 282 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 no relations to look arter her, so far ez we kin larn. 
 She's company for us, 'n' willin'. Uncle Jud sets 
 lots of store by her. She is with him from morn till 
 night, and handy at all sorts o' work. This is how 
 'tis with us here, an' now what do you say?" 
 
 For a moment Aunt Abby meditated.' "You 
 ought to do your duty by her," she said at last, " and 
 she certainly needs more schooling." 
 
 " We can send her down to the Corners when school 
 begins, if you think we orter," returned her sister, 
 timidly; "but we hate to lose her now. We've 
 kinder took to her, you see." 
 
 "I hardly think that will do," answered Aunt 
 Abby, knowing as she did that the three R's com- 
 prised the full extent of an education at the Corners. 
 "What she needs is a chance to mingle with more 
 people than she can here, and learn the ways of the 
 world, as well as books. Her mind is bright. I 
 notice she is reading every chance she can get, and 
 .you know my ideas about education. For her to 
 stay here, even with schooling at the Corners, is to 
 let her grow up like a hoyden. Now what would 
 you think if I took her back to Christmas Cove? 
 There is a better school there. She will meet and 
 mingle with more people, and improve faster." 
 
 "I dunno what Judson'll say," returned Aunt
 
 VERA RAYMOND 283 
 
 Mandy, somewhat sadly. "He's got so wonted to 
 her, he'll be heart-broke, I'm afraid." And so the 
 consultation closed. 
 
 The matter did not end here, for Aunt Abby, 
 "sot in her way," as Uncle Jud had often said, yet 
 in reality only advocating what she felt was best for 
 this homeless waif, now began a persuasive campaign. 
 She enlarged on Christmas Cove, its excellent school 
 and capable master, its social advantages and cul- 
 tured people, who boasted a public library and de- 
 bating society, and especially its summer attractions, 
 when a few dozen city people sojourned there. Its 
 opportunities for church -going also came in for 
 praise, though if this worthy woman had known how 
 Chip felt about that feature, it would have been left 
 unmentioned. 
 
 "The girl needs religious influence and contact 
 with believers, as well as schooling," she said later 
 on to Aunt Mandy, "and that must be considered. 
 Here she can have none, and will grow up a heathen. 
 I certainly think she ought to go back with me for a 
 year or two, at least, and then we can decide what is 
 best." 
 
 " Thar's one thing ye ain't thought 'bout," Mandy 
 answered, "an' that's her sense o' obligation. From 
 what she's told me, 'twas that that made her run
 
 284 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 away from whar she was, 'n' she'd run away from 
 here if she didn't feel she was earnin' her keep. 
 She's peculiar in that way, 'n' can't stand feelin' 
 she's dependent. How you goin' to get round that ? " 
 
 "Just as you do," returned Aunt Abby, not at 
 all discouraged. "We live about as you do, as you 
 know, only Mr. Bernis has the mill; and she can 
 help me about the house, as she does here." 
 
 But Chip's own consent to this new plan was the 
 hardest to obtain. 
 
 "I'll do just as Uncle Jud wants me to," she re- 
 sponded, when Aunt Abby proposed the change; 
 "but I'd hate to go 'way from here. It's all the real 
 sort o' home I've ever known, and they've been so 
 good to me I'll have to cry when I leave it. You'd 
 let me come here once in a while, wouldn't ye?" 
 
 As she seemed ready to cry at this moment, Aunt 
 Abby wisely dropped the subject then and there; 
 in fact, she did not allude to it again in Chip's pres- 
 ence. 
 
 But Aunt Abby carried her point with the others. 
 Uncle Jud consented very reluctantly, Aunt Mandy 
 also yielded after much more persuasion, and when 
 Aunt Abby's visit terminated, poor Chip's few 
 belongings were packed In a new telescope case; 
 she kissed Aunt Mandy, unable to speak, and this
 
 VERA RAYMOND 285 
 
 tearful parting was repeated at the station with 
 Uncle Jud. When the train had vanished he wiped 
 his eyes on his coat sleeves, climbed into his old 
 carryall, and drove away disconsolate. 
 
 " Curis, curis, how a gal like that 'un'll work her 
 way into a man's feelin's," he said to himself. "It 
 ain't been three months since I picked her up, 'n' 
 now her goin' away seems like pullin' my heart out."
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 CHRISTMAS COVE had entered its autumn lethargy 
 when Aunt Abby Bemis and her new protegee reached 
 it. Captain Bemis, who "never had no say 'bout 
 nothin','' but who had cooked his own meals un- 
 complainingly for three weeks, emerged, white- 
 dusted, from the mill, to greet the arrivals, and Chip 
 was soon installed in a somewhat bare room over- 
 looking the cove. Everything seemed slightly chilly 
 to her here. This room, with its four-poster bed, 
 blue-painted chairs, light blue shades, and dark 
 blue straw matting, the leafless elms in front, the 
 breeze that swept in from the sea, and even her re- 
 ception, seemed cool. Her heart was not in it. 
 Try as she would, she could not yet feel one spark 
 of affection for this " book-larned " Aunt Abby, who 
 had already begun to reprove her for lapses of speech. 
 It was all so different from the home life she had 
 just left ; and as Chip had now begun to notice and 
 feel trifles, the relations of the people seemed as 
 chilly as the room to which she was consigned. 
 
 When Sunday came a sunless one with leaden 
 286
 
 VERA RAYMOND 287 
 
 sky and cold wind bearing the ocean's moaning 
 Chip felt herself back at Greenvale with its Sundays, 
 for now she was stared at the moment she entered 
 the church. The singing was, of course, of the same 
 solemn character, the minister's prayers even longer, 
 and the preaching as incomprehensible as in Green- 
 vale. 
 
 To Chip, doubtless a heretic who needed regenera- 
 tion, it seemed a melancholy and solemn performance. 
 The sermon (on predestination, with a finale which 
 was a description of the resurrection day) made her 
 feel creepy, and when the white-robed procession 
 rising from countless graves was touched upon, 
 and a pause came when she could hear the ocean's 
 distant moan once more, it seemed that spites were 
 creeping and crawling all about that dim room. 
 
 With her advent at school Monday came some- 
 thing of the same trouble first met at Greenvale, 
 for the master, a weazen, dried-up little old man, 
 who wore a wig and seemed to exude rules and disci- 
 pline, lacked the kindly interest of Miss Phinney. 
 
 Chip, almost a mature young lady, was aligned 
 with girls and boys of ten and twelve, and once more 
 the same shame and humiliation had to be endured. 
 It wore away in time, however, for she had made 
 almost marvellous progress under Miss Phinney.
 
 288 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 Her mind was keen and quick, and once at study 
 again, she astonished Mr. Bell, the master. 
 
 Something of her old fearless self-reliance now 
 came to her aid, also. It had made her dare sixty 
 miles of wilderness alone and helpless, it had 
 spurred her to escape Greenvale and her sense of 
 being a dependent pauper, and now that latent force 
 for good or ill still nerved her. 
 
 But Christmas Cove did not suit her. The sea 
 that drew her eyes with its vastness seemed to awe 
 her. The great house, brown and moss-coated, 
 where she lived, was barnlike, and never quite 
 warm enough. The long street she traversed four 
 times daily was bleak and wind-swept. Aunt 
 Abby was austere and lacking in cordiality; and 
 Sundays well, Sundays were Chip's one chief 
 abhorrence. 
 
 She may be blamed for it, doubtless will be, 
 and yet she never had been, and it seemed never 
 would be, quite reconciled to Sundays. At Tim's 
 Place they were unknown. At Greenvale they had 
 been dreaded, and now at Christmas Cove they 
 were no less so. 
 
 At Uncle Jud's, in Peaceful Valley, where she had 
 found an asylum, loving care, and companionship 
 akin to her, Sundays were only half-Sundays
 
 VERA RAYMOND 289 
 
 days of chore-doing, of reading, of rest, or long 
 strolls along shady lanes with Uncle Jud, or follow- 
 ing the brook and watching him fish. It was not 
 right, maybe. It was somewhat of sacrilege, per- 
 haps, this lazy, summer-day-strolling, flower-picking, 
 berry-gathering way of passing them, and yet, as 
 the months with Martin and his party in the wilder- 
 ness where Sunday could not be observed, and those 
 with Uncle Jud were all that Chip had really en- 
 joyed, she must not be blamed. 
 
 Another influence an insidious heart-hunger she 
 could not put away now added to her loneliness 
 in the new life. It carried her thoughts back to the 
 rippled, moonlit lake, where Ray had picked his 
 banjo and sung to her ; even back to that first night 
 by the camp-fire when she had watched and listened 
 to him in rapt admiration. It thrilled her as naught 
 else could when she recalled the few moments at the 
 lake when, unconscious of the need of restraint, she 
 had let him caress her. 
 
 Then the long days of watching for his return 
 were lived over, and the one almost ecstatic moment 
 when he had leaped from the stage and over the wall, 
 with no one in sight, while he held her in his 
 arms. 
 
 And then and this hurt the most that last
 
 2QO THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 evening before they were to part again, when beside 
 the firefly-lit mill-pond he had the chance to say so 
 much, and said nothing ! 
 
 It was all a bitter-sweet memory, which she tried 
 to put away forever the night she left Greenvale. 
 She was now Vera Raymond. No one could trace 
 her; and yet, so at odds were her will and heart, 
 there still lingered the faint hope that Ray would 
 sometime and somehow find her out. 
 
 And so, studying faithfully, often lonesome, now 
 and then longing for the bygone days with Ray and 
 Old Cy, and always hoping that she might sometime 
 return to Peaceful Valley, Chip passed the winter 
 at Christmas Cove. 
 
 Something of success came to her through it all. 
 She reached and retained head positions in her 
 classes. A word of praise came occasionally from 
 Mr. Bell. Aunt Abby grew less austere and seemed 
 to have a little pride in her. She became acquainted 
 with other people and in touch with young folks, was 
 invited to parties and sleigh-rides. The vernacular 
 of Tim's Place left her, and even Sundays were less 
 a torture, in fact, almost pleasant, for then she saw 
 most of the young folks she mingled with, and now 
 and then exchanged a bit of gossip. 
 
 Her own dress became of more interest to her.
 
 VERA RAYMOND 29! 
 
 Aunt Abby, fortunately for Chip, felt desirous that 
 her ward should appear well, and Chip, thus edu- 
 cated and polished in village life, to a degree, at least, 
 fulfilled Aunt Abby's hopes. 
 
 Another success also came to her, for handsome 
 as she undeniably was, with her big, appealing 
 eyes, her splendid black hair, and well-rounded 
 form, the young men began to seek her. One 
 became persistent, and when spring had unlocked 
 the long, curved bay once more, Chip had be- 
 come almost a leader in the little circle of young 
 people. 
 
 Her life with those who had taken her in charge 
 also became more harmonious. In fact, something 
 of affection began to leaven it, for the reason that 
 never once had Aunt Abby questioned Chip as to 
 her past. Aunt Mandy and Uncle Jud had both 
 cautioned her as to its unwisdom, and she was broad 
 and charitable enough to let it remain a closed book 
 until such time as Chip was willing to open it; and 
 for this, more than all else that she received, Chip 
 felt grateful. But one day it came out or at least 
 a portion of it. 
 
 "I suppose you have often wondered where I was 
 born, and who my parents were," Chip said, one 
 Sunday afternoon, when she and Aunt Abby were
 
 2Q 2 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 alone, " and I want to thank you for never, never 
 asking." And then, omitting much, she briefly out- 
 lined her history. 
 
 "I was born close to the wilderness," she said, 
 "and my mother died when I was about eight years 
 old. Then my father took me into the woods, where 
 I worked at a kind of a boarding house for lumber- 
 men. I ran away from that when I was about six- 
 teen. I had to ; the reasons I don't want to tell. I 
 found some people camping in the woods when I'd 
 been gone three days and 'most starved. They felt 
 pity for me, I guess, and took care of me. I stayed 
 at their camp that summer, and then they fetched 
 me home with them and I was sent to school. Some- 
 body said something to me there, somebody who 
 hated me. She had been pestering me all the time, 
 and I ran away. Uncle Jud found me and took 
 care of me until you came, and that's all I want to 
 tell. I could tell a lot more, but I don't ever want 
 these people to find me or take me back where they 
 live, and that's why I don't tell where I came from. 
 Then I felt I was so dependent on them I was 
 twitted of it that it's another reason why I ran 
 away. I wouldn't have stayed with Uncle Jud 
 more than over night except I had a chance to 
 work and earn my board."
 
 VERA RAYMOND 293 
 
 " But wasn't it unkind of you isn't it now 
 not to let these people know you are alive ? " an- 
 swered Aunt Abby. "They were certainly good 
 to you." 
 
 "I know that they were," returned Chip, some- 
 what contritely; "but I couldn't stand being de- 
 pendent on them any longer. If they found where I 
 was, they'd come and fetch me back ; and I'd feel so 
 ashamed I couldn't look 'em in the face. I'd rather 
 they'd think I was dead." 
 
 " Well, perhaps it is best you do not," returned 
 Aunt Abby, sighing; "but years of doubt, and not 
 knowing whether some one we care for is dead or 
 alive, are hard to bear. And now that you have 
 told me some of your history, I will tell you a life- 
 long case of not knowing some one's fate. Many 
 years ago my sister and myself, who were born here, 
 became acquainted with two young men, sailor boys 
 from Bayport, named Cyrus and Judson Walker. 
 Cyrus became attached to me and we were engaged 
 to marry. It never came to pass, however, for the 
 ship that Judson was captain of, with Cyrus as first 
 mate, foundered at sea. All hands took to the two 
 boats. The one Judson was in was picked up, but 
 the other was never heard of afterward. In due 
 time Judson and my sister Amanda married. He
 
 294 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 gave up a sailor's life, and they settled down where 
 they now live. I waited many years, vainly hoping 
 for my sweetheart's return, and finally, realizing that 
 he must be dead, married Captain Bemis. That 
 all happened so long ago that I do not care to count 
 the years; and yet all through them has lingered 
 that pitiful thread of doubt and uncertainty, that 
 vain hope that somehow and someway Cyrus may 
 have escaped death and may return. I know it will 
 never happen. I know he is dead; and yet I can- 
 not put away that faint hope and quite believe it is 
 so, and never shall so long as I live. Now you have 
 left those who must have cared something for you 
 in much the same pitiful state of doubt, and it is not 
 right." 
 
 For one moment something almost akin to horror 
 flashed over Chip. 
 
 "And was he called was he never I mean 
 this brother, ever heard from ? " she stammered, 
 recovering herself in time. 
 
 "Why, no," answered Aunt Abby, looking at her 
 curiously, "of course not. Why, what ails you? 
 You look as if you'd seen a ghost." 
 
 "Oh, nothing," returned Chip, now more com- 
 posed; "only the story and how strange it was." 
 
 It ended the conversation, for Chip, so over-
 
 VERA RAYMOND 295 
 
 whelmed by the flood of possibilities contained in 
 this story, dared not trust herself longer with Aunt 
 Abby, and soon escaped to her room. 
 
 And now circumstances came trooping upon her: 
 the shipwreck, which she had heard Old Cy describe 
 so often ; the name she knew was really his ; the 
 almost startling resemblance to Uncle Jud in speech, 
 ways, and opinions ; and countless other proofs. 
 Surely it must be so. Surely Old Cy, of charming 
 memory, and Uncle Jud no less so, must be brothers, 
 and now it was in her power to and then she 
 paused, shocked at the position she faced. 
 
 She was now known as Vera Raymond, and re- 
 spected; she had cut loose forever from the old 
 shame of an outlaw's child; of a wretched drudge 
 at Tim's Place; of being sold as a slave; and all 
 that now made her blush. 
 
 And then Ray ! 
 
 Full well she knew now what must have been in 
 his heart that last evening and why he acted as 
 he did. Hannah had told her the bitter truth, as 
 she had since realized. Ray had been assured that 
 she was an outcast, and despicable in the sight of 
 Green vale. He dared not say "I love you; be my 
 wife." Instead, he had been hurried away to keep 
 them apart ; and as all this dire flood of shame that
 
 296 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 had driven her from Greenvale surged in her heart, 
 the bitter tears came. 
 
 In calmer moments, and when the heart-hunger 
 controlled, she had hoped he might some day find 
 her and some day say, "I love you." But now, so 
 soon, to make herself known, to tell who she was, to 
 admit to these new friends that she was Chip Mc- 
 Guire with all that went with it, to have to face and 
 live down that shame, to admit that she had taken 
 Ray's first name for her own no, no, a thousand 
 times no ! 
 
 But what of Old Cy and Uncle Jud, and their life- 
 long separation? 
 
 Truly her footsteps had led her to a parting of the 
 ways, one sign-board lettered "Duty and Shame," 
 the other a blank.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 " Good luck comes now 'n' then ; bad luck drops 'round 
 frequently." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 WHEN Old Cy emerged from the cave, his face 
 glorified and heart throbbing with the blessings now 
 his to give Chip, he looked about with almost fear. 
 The two abandoned canoes and the trusty rifle had 
 seemed an assurance of tragic import, and yet no 
 proof of this outlaw's death. That this cave had 
 been his lair, could not be doubted ; and so momen- 
 tous was this discovery, and so anxious was Old Cy 
 to rescue this fortune, that he trembled with a sudden 
 dread. 
 
 But no sign of human presence met his sweeping 
 look. 
 
 The lake still rippled and smiled in the sunlight. 
 Two deer, a buck and doe, were feeding on the rush- 
 grown shore just across, while at his feet that rusty 
 rifle still uttered its fatal message. 
 
 Once more Old Cy glanced all about, and then 
 entered the cave again. Here, in the dim light and 
 with trembling hands, he filled the cans once more, 
 
 297
 
 298 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 and almost staggering, so faint was he from excite- 
 ment, he hurried to the canoe, and packing them in 
 its bow, covered the precious cargo with his blanket. 
 
 Then he ran like a deer back to the cave, closed 
 it with the slab, grasped his rifle, and not even look- 
 ing at the rusty one, bounded down the path to his 
 canoe again, launched it, and pushed off. 
 
 Never before had it seemed so frail a craft. And 
 now, as he swung its prow around toward the outlet, 
 a curious object met his eyes. 
 
 Far up the lake, and where no ripple concealed it, 
 lay what looked like a floating log, clasped by a 
 human arm. 
 
 What intuition led him hither, Old Cy never could 
 explain, for escape from the lake was now his sole 
 thought. And yet, with one sweep of his paddle, he 
 turned his canoe and sped across the lake. And 
 now, as he neared this object, it slowly outlined itself, 
 and he saw a grewsome sight, two bloated corpses 
 grasping one another as if in a death grapple. One 
 had hair of bronze red, the other a hideously scarred 
 face with lips drawn and teeth exposed. 
 
 Hate, Horror, and Death personified. 
 
 Only for a moment did Old Cy glance at this 
 ghastly sight, and then he turned again and sped 
 back across the lake.
 
 VERA RAYMOND 299 
 
 The bright sun still smiled calm and serene, the 
 morning breeze still kissed the blue water, the two 
 deer still watched him with curious eyes; but he 
 saw them not only the winsome face and appeal- 
 ing eyes of Chip as he last beheld them. 
 
 And now in the prow of his canoe lay her fortune, 
 her heritage, which was, after all, but scant return 
 for all the shame and stigma so far meted out 
 to her. 
 
 It was almost sunset ere Old Cy, his nerves still 
 quivering and wearied as never before, crossed the 
 little lake and breathed a sigh of heart-felt gratitude 
 as he drew his canoe out on the sandy shore near the 
 ice-house. No one was in sight, nor likely to be. A 
 thin column of smoke rising from the cabin showed 
 that the hermit was still on earth, and now for the 
 first time, Old Cy sat down and considered his plans 
 for the near future. 
 
 First and foremost, not a soul, not even his old 
 trusted companion here, not even Martin, or Angie, 
 and certainly not Ray, must learn what had now 
 come into his possession. Neither must his journey 
 to this far-off lake or aught he had learned there be 
 disclosed. 
 
 But how was he to escape from the woods and 
 these people, soon to arrive for their summer sojourn ?
 
 300 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 And what if Chip herself should come? Two con- 
 clusions forced themselves upon him now: first, he 
 must so conceal the fortune that none of these friends 
 even could suspect its presence; next, he must by 
 some pretext leave here as soon as Martin and his 
 party arrived, and cease not his watchful care until 
 Chip's heritage was safe in some bank in her 
 name. 
 
 And now, with so much of his future moves de- 
 cided upon, he hurried to the cabin, greeted Amzi, 
 urged him to hasten supper, and, securing a shovel, 
 returned to his canoe. 
 
 In five minutes the cans of gold were buried deep 
 in the sand, not two feet from where the half-breed 
 had once landed, and upon Old Cy's person the bills 
 found concealment. How much it all amounted to, 
 he had not even guessed, nor scarce thought. To 
 secure it and bear it safely away from this now 
 almost accursed lake had been his sole thought, 
 and must be until locks and bolts could guard 
 it better. That night Old Cy hardly slept a 
 moment. 
 
 And now began days of waiting and watching, the 
 slow course of which he had never before known. 
 He dared not leave the cabin except to fish close by 
 and within sight of the one focal point of his interest.
 
 VERA RAYMOND 30! 
 
 Each midday, for not sooner would the expected 
 ones be apt to arrive, he began to watch the lake's 
 outlet, and ceased not this vigil until darkness came. 
 A dozen times a day he covertly visited the ice- 
 house to be certain no alien footprints had been 
 stamped upon the sand near his buried treasure, 
 and had the hermit been an alert and normal man, he 
 must have noticed Old Cy's strange conduct. 
 
 This burden of care also began to haunt his sleep, 
 and in it he saw the open cave, and himself watched 
 by vicious, leering faces. Once he saw those ghastly 
 corpses still clasped together, but hovering over him, 
 and then awoke with a sense of horror. 
 
 A worse dream than this came later, for in it he 
 saw the half-breed creeping along the lake's shore, 
 and then, stooping where the gold was buried, he 
 began to dig, at which Old Cy sprang from his bed 
 in sudden terror. 
 
 "J'll go crazy if I don't git rid o' that money 'fore 
 long," he said to himself ; and the next day another 
 place of concealment occurred to him. 
 
 There was, beneath the new cabin, a small cellar 
 entered through a trap-door. It was some ten feet 
 square, and had been used to store potatoes, pork, 
 and the like. To carry out his new plan, which was 
 to hide the gold in this cellar, it became necessary to
 
 302 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 keep Amzi out of sight until its transfer was made. 
 That was an easy task, for Amzi, docile as a child,, 
 was sent out on the lake to fish, and then Old Cy, 
 hastily constructing a bag of deerskin, hurried to 
 the beach, dug up the treasure, poured the glittering 
 coin into this bag, hid it in the cellar, nailed the trap- 
 door down, and that night slept better. 
 
 Two days after, just as the sun was nearing the 
 mountain top, Martin, Angie, Levi, and Ray entered 
 the lake. 
 
 How grateful both Old Cy and Amzi were for their 
 arrival, how eagerly they grasped hands with them at 
 the landing, and how like two boys Martin and Ray 
 behaved needs no description. 
 
 All that had happened in Greenvale was soon 
 told. Chip's conduct and progress were related by 
 Angie. Ray's plans to remain here another winter 
 were disclosed by him ; and then, when the cheerful 
 party had gathered about the evening fire, Martin 
 touched upon another matter. 
 
 "I met Hersey as we were coming in," he said, 
 "and he says that neither McGuire nor the half-breed 
 has been seen or heard of since early last fall. 
 Hersey came in early this spring with one of his 
 deputies; they visited a half-dozen lumber camps, 
 called twice at Tim's Place, and even went over to-
 
 VERA RAYMOND 303 
 
 Pete's cabin on the Fox Hole, but nowhere could they 
 learn anything of these two men. More than that, no 
 canoe was found at Pete's hut, and there was no sign 
 of occupation at all this past winter. Nothing could 
 be learned from Tim, either, although not much was 
 expected from that source. It is all a most mys- 
 terious disappearance, and the last that we can learn 
 of Pete was his arrival and departure from Tim's 
 Place after we rescued Chip." 
 
 "I think both on 'em has concluded this section 
 was gittin' too warm for 'em," remarked Levi, "an' 
 they've lit out." 
 
 "It's good riddance if they have," answered Old 
 Cy, "an' I'm sartin none on us'll ever set eyes on 
 'em agin." 
 
 And Old Cy spoke the truth, for none of this party 
 ever did. In fact, no human being, except himself 
 and Martin, ever learned the secret that this moun- 
 tain-hid lake could tell. 
 
 But another matter now began to interest Old Cy 
 how Ray and Chip stood in their mutual feelings. 
 That all was not as he wished, Old Cy soon guessed 
 from Ray's face and actions, and he was not long 
 in verifying it. 
 
 "Wai, how'd ye find the gal?" he said to Ray 
 when the chance came. "Was she glad to see ye?"
 
 304 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "Why, yes," answered Ray, looking away, "she 
 appeared to be. I wasn't in Greenvale but two 
 weeks, you know." 
 
 "Saw her 'most every evenin' durin' that time, I 
 s'pose?" 
 
 "No, not every one," returned Ray, vaguely; 
 "her school hadn't closed when I got home, and she 
 studied nights, you see." 
 
 Old Cy watched Ray's face for a moment. 
 
 "I ain't pryin' into yer love matters," he said at 
 last, "but as I'm on your side, I'd sorter like to know 
 how it's progressin'. Wa'n't thar nothin' said 'tween 
 ye no sort o' promise, 'fore ye come 'way?" 
 
 "No, nothing of that sort," answered Ray, looking 
 confused, "though we parted good friends, and she 
 sent her love to you. I'm afraid Chip don't quite 
 like Greenvale." 
 
 Old Cy made no answer, though a smothered 
 "hum, ha" escaped him at the disclosure of what he 
 feared. 
 
 "I wish ye'd sorter clinched matters 'fore ye left," 
 he said, after a pause; "that is, if ye're callatin' to 
 be here 'nother winter. It's 'most too long to keep 
 a gal guessin' ; 'sides, 'tain't right." 
 
 Ray, however, made no defence, in fact, seemed 
 guilty and confused, so Old Cy said no more.
 
 VERA RAYMOND 305 
 
 A few days later he made a proposal that aston- 
 ished Martin. 
 
 "I've been here now 'bout two years," he said, 
 "an' I'm gittin' sorter oneasy. I callate ye kin 
 spare me a couple o' weeks." 
 
 No intimation of his real errand escaped him, and 
 so adroitly had he laid his plans and timed his move- 
 ments, that when his canoe was packed and he bade 
 them good-bye, no one suspected how valuable a 
 cargo it carried. 
 
 But Old Cy was more than "sorter oneasy," for 
 the only spot where he dared close his eyes in sleep 
 during that three days' journey out of the wilderness 
 was in his canoe, with his head pillowed on that 
 precious gold.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 " A miser was created to prove how little real comfort kin 
 be got out o' money." OLD Cv WALKER. 
 
 WHEN Old Cy joined the little party at the lake 
 again, he seemed to have aged years. His sunny 
 smile was gone. He looked weary, worn, and 
 disconsolate. 
 
 "Chip's run away from Greenvale, " he said 
 simply, "an' nobody can find hide nor hair on her. 
 They've follered the roads for miles in every direc- 
 tion. Nobody can be found that's seen anybody 
 like her 'n' they've even dragged the mill-pond. 
 She left a note chargin' it to that durn fool, Hannah, 
 and things she said, which I guess was true. I'd 
 like to duck her in the hoss-pond ! " 
 
 Such news was like a bombshell in the camp, 
 or if not, what soon followed was, for after a few 
 days Old Cy made another announcement which 
 upset the entire party. 
 
 "I think I'd best go back to Greenvale," he 
 said, "an' begin a sarch for that gal. I ain't got 
 nobody in the world that needs me so much, or I 
 
 306
 
 VERA RAYMOND 307 
 
 . 
 
 them. I'm a sorter outcast myself, ez you folks 
 know. That little gal hez crept into my heart so, 
 I can't take no more comfort here. Amzi don't 
 need me so much as I need her, 'n' I've made up 
 my mind I'll start trampin' till I find her. I've 
 a notion, too, she'll head for the wilderness ag'in, 
 'n' I'm most sartin she'll fetch up whar her mother 
 was buried. I watched that gal middlin' clus all 
 last summer. She's true blue 'n' good grit. She 
 won't do no fool thing, like makin' 'way with her- 
 self, 'n' I'll find her somewhar arnin' her own 
 livin' if I live long 'nuff. From the note she left, 
 I know that was in her mind." 
 
 Martin realized that there was no use in trying 
 to change Old Cy's intent in fact, had no heart 
 to do so, for he too felt much the same toward 
 Chip. 
 
 "I'll give you all the funds you need, old 
 friend," he made answer, "and wish you God- 
 speed on your mission. I'll do more than that 
 even. I'll pay some one to watch at Grindstone 
 for the next year, so if Chip reaches there, we 
 can learn it." 
 
 That night he held a consultation with his 
 wife. 
 
 "I suspect we are somewhat to blame for this
 
 308 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 unfortunate happening," he said to her, "or, at 
 least, some thoughtless admissions you may have 
 made led up to it. It's a matter we are responsible 
 for, or I feel so, anyway. I think as Old Cy does, 
 that this girl must be found if money can do it, 
 and I propose that we break camp and return to 
 Greenvale. If Amzi can't be coaxed to go along, 
 I must leave Levi with him. No power on earth 
 can keep Old Cy here any longer." 
 
 But the old hermit had changed somewhat 
 since that night he broke away and returned to 
 this camp, and when the alternative of remaining 
 here alone, or going out with them all, was presented, 
 he soon yielded. 
 
 "If Cyrus is goin', I'll have to," he said. "I'd 
 be lonesome without him." And to this assertion 
 he adhered. 
 
 Ray, however, was the most dejected and un- 
 happy one now here, though fortunately Old Cy 
 was the only one who understood why, and he 
 kept silent. 
 
 Old Cy's defection had influenced all alike, and 
 wood life was no longer attractive. It was a pity, 
 in a way, for no more charming spot than this 
 sequestered lake could be found. The trout leap- 
 ing or breaking its glassy surface night and morn-
 
 VERA RAYMOND 309 
 
 ing seemed to almost urge an angler ; not an 
 hour in all the day but two to a dozen deer might 
 be seen along its shore, and blueberries were ripen- 
 ing over in the "blow down." Amzi's garden, 
 now doubled in size, was well along, and it seemed 
 a sin to leave so many attractions. 
 
 But Martin had lost heart for these allurements. 
 The thought of poor, homeless Chip begging her 
 way somewhere, spoiled it all. Conscious that 
 her own neglect might have invited this calamity, 
 Angie was almost heart-broken, and it was a sad- 
 dened party that closed and barred the new cabin 
 and left this rippled lake one morning. 
 
 They were even more sad when Aunt Comfort 
 showed them Chip's message, and Angie read it 
 with brimming eyes. 
 
 And now came Old Cy's departure, on a quest 
 as hopeless as that of the Wandering Jew and as 
 pathetic as the Ancient Mariner's. 
 
 But the climax was reached when Old Cy gave 
 Martin his parting message and charge: 
 
 "Here's a bank book," he said, "that calls fer 
 'bout sixty thousand dollars. It's the savin's o' 
 McGuire, 'n' belongs to Chip. I found the cave 
 whar 'twas hid. I found McGuire 'n' the half- 
 breed, both dead 'n' floatin' in the lake clus by,
 
 310 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 an' 'twas to keer fer this money I quit ye three 
 weeks ago. 
 
 "If I never come back here, an' I never shall 
 'thout I find Chip, keep it fer her. Sometime she 
 may show up. If ever she does, tell her Old Cy 
 did all he could fer her."
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 " Those who hev nothin' but a stiddy faith the Lord'll pro- 
 vide, never git fat." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 LIFE at Peaceful Valley and the home of Judson 
 Walker fell into its usual monotony after Chip's 
 departure. 
 
 Each day Uncle Jud went about his chores and 
 his crop-gathering and watched the leaves grow 
 scarlet, then brown, and finally go eddying up and 
 down the valley, or heap themselves into every 
 nook and cranny for final sleep. 
 
 Existence had become something like this to 
 him, but he could no longer anticipate a vernal 
 budding forth as the leaves came, but only the 
 sear and autumn for himself, with the small and 
 sadly neglected churchyard at the Corners for its 
 ending. 
 
 Snow came and piled itself into fantastic drifts. 
 The stream's summer chatter was hushed. The 
 cows, chickens, and his horse, with wood-cutting, 
 became his sole care. Once a week he journeyed 
 to the Corners for his weekly paper and Mandy's 
 
 3"
 
 312 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 errands, always hoping for a message from Chip. 
 Now and then one came, a little missive in angular 
 chirography, telling how she longed to return to 
 them, which they read and reread by candle- 
 light. 
 
 Somehow this strange wanderer, this unac- 
 counted-for waif, had crept into his life and love 
 as a flower would, and "Pattycake," as he had 
 named her, with her appealing eyes and odd ways, 
 was never out of his thoughts. 
 
 And so the winter dragged its slow, chill course. 
 Spring finally unlocked the brook once more, the 
 apple and cherry blossoms came, the robins began 
 nest-building, and one day Uncle Jud returned 
 from the corner with a glad smile on his face. 
 
 "Pattycake's school's goin' to close in a couple 
 o' weeks more, 'n' then she's comin' home," he 
 announced, and Aunt Mandy, her face beaming, 
 made haste to wipe her "specs" and read the 
 joyous tidings. 
 
 For a few days Uncle Jud acted as if he had for- 
 gotten something and knew not where to look for 
 it. He lingered about the house when he would 
 naturally be at work. He peered into one room 
 and then another, in an abstracted way, and finally 
 Aunt Mandy caught him in the keeping room,
 
 VERA RAYMOND 313 
 
 with one curtain raised, a thing unheard of, 
 seated in one of the haircloth chairs and looking 
 around. 
 
 "Mandy," he said, as she entered, "do you 
 know, I think them picturs we've had hangin' 
 here nigh on to forty year is homely 'nuff to stop 
 a horse, V they make me feel like I'd been to a 
 funeral. Thar's that 'Death Bed o' Dan'l Web- 
 ster,' an' ' Death o' Montcalm,' 'specially. I jest 
 can't stand 'em no longer, an' 'The Father o' his 
 Country.' I'm gittin' tired o' that, 'n' the smirk 
 he's got on his face. I feel jest as though I'd 
 like to throw a stun at him this minute. You 
 may feel sot on them picturs, but I'd like to chuck 
 the hull kit 'n' boodle into the cow shed. An' 
 them winder curtains," he continued, looking 
 around, "things so blue they make me shiver, 
 an' this carpet with the figgers o' green and yaller 
 birds, it sorter stuns me. 
 
 "Now Pattycake's comin' purty soon. She 
 must 'a' seen more cheerful keepin' rooms'n ourn, 
 'n' I'm callatin' we'd best rip this 'un all up an' 
 fix it new. Then thar's the front chamber in 
 fact, both on 'em with the yaller spindle beds 
 'n' blue curtains, an' only a square of rag carpet 
 front o' the dressers. [Say, Mandy," he continued,
 
 314 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 looking around once more, "how'd we ever happen 
 to git so many blue curtains ? " 
 
 His discontent with their home now took shape 
 in vigorous action, and Aunt Mandy came to share 
 it. Trip after trip to the Riggsville store was made. 
 Two new chamber sets and rolls of carpeting 
 arrived at the station six miles away, and came 
 up the valley. A paper-hanger was engaged and 
 kept busy for ten days. The death-bed pictures 
 were literally kicked into the cow shed, and in 
 three weeks four rooms had been so reconstructed 
 and fitted anew that no one would recognize them. 
 
 Meanwhile Uncle Jud had utterly neglected 
 his "craps," while he worked around the house. 
 The wide lawn had been clipped close. A new 
 picket fence, painted white, replaced the leaning, 
 zigzag one around the garden. Weeds and brush 
 disappeared, and only Aunt Mandy's protest 
 saved the picturesque brown house from a coat 
 of paint. 
 
 And then "Pattycake" arrived. 
 
 Nearly a year before she had been brought here, 
 a weary, bedraggled, dusty, half-starved waif. 
 Now Uncle Jud met her at the station, his face 
 shining; Aunt Mandy clasped her close to her 
 portly person; and as Chip looked around and
 
 VERA RAYMOND 315 
 
 saw what had been done in her honor and to 
 make her welcome, her eyes filled. 
 
 "I never thought anybody would care for 'me 
 like this," she exclaimed, and then glancing at 
 Uncle Jud, her eyes alight, she threw her arms 
 about his neck and, for the first time, kissed him. 
 
 And never in all his life had he felt more amply 
 paid for anything he had done. 
 
 Then and there, Chip resolved to do some- 
 thing that now lay in her power to face shame 
 and humbled pride and all the sacrifice it meant 
 to her in the end, and reunite these two long-sepa- 
 rated brothers. But not now, no, not yet. 
 
 Before her lay two golden joyous summer months. 
 Aunt Abby was coming up later. She could 
 not face her own humiliation now. She must 
 wait until these happy days were past, then tell 
 her wretched story, not sparing herself one iota, 
 and then, if she must, go her way, an outcast into 
 the world once more. 
 
 How utterly wrong she was in this conclusion, 
 and how little she understood the broad charity 
 of Uncle Jud, need not be explained. She was 
 only a child as yet in all but stature. The one 
 most bitter sneer of malicious Hannah still rankled 
 and poisoned her common sense. Its effect upon
 
 316 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 Chip had been as usual on her nature and belief, 
 and this waif of the wilderness, this gnome child, 
 must not be judged by ordinary standards. Like 
 reflections from grotesque mirrors, so had her 
 ideas of right and duty been distorted by eerie 
 influences and weird surroundings. There was 
 first the unspeakable brutality of her father; then 
 the menial years at Tim's Place, with no more 
 consideration than a horse or pig received, her 
 only education being the uncanny teachings of 
 Old Tomah. Under this baleful tuition, coupled 
 with the ever present menace and mystery of a 
 vast wilderness, she passed from childhood into 
 womanhood, with the fixed belief that human 
 kind were no better than brutes ; that the forest 
 was peopled by a nether world of spites, the shad- 
 owy forms of both man and beast ; and worse than 
 this, that all thought and action here must be the 
 selfish ones of personal gain and personal protec- 
 tion. Like a dog forever expecting a blow, like 
 any dumb brute ever on guard against superior 
 force, so had Chip grown to maturity, a cringing, 
 helpless, almost hopeless creature, and yet one 
 whose inborn impulses and desires revolted at her 
 surroundings. 
 Once removed from these, however, and in a
 
 VERA RAYMOND 317 
 
 purer atmosphere, she was like one born again. 
 Her past impressions still remained, her queer 
 belief of present and future conditions was still 
 a motive force, and the cringing, blow-expecting 
 nature was yet hers. 
 
 For this reason, and because this new world and 
 these new people were so unaccountable and quite 
 beyond her ken in tender influence and loving 
 care, what they had done and for what purpose 
 seemed all the more impressive. But it was in 
 no wise wasted ; instead, it was like God-given sun- 
 shine to a flower that has never known aught 
 except the chilling shadow of a dense forest. 
 
 And now ensued an almost pathetic play of 
 interest, for Chip set herself about the duty of 
 giving instead of obtaining pleasure. 
 
 She became what she was at Tim's Place, a 
 menial, so far as they would let her, and from 
 early morning until bedtime, some step, some 
 duty, some kindly care for her benefactors, was 
 assumed by her. She worked and weeded in the 
 garden, she drove and milked the cows, she fol- 
 lowed Uncle Jud to the hay-field, insisting that 
 she must help, until at last he protested. 
 
 "I like ye 'round me all the time, girlie," he 
 assured her, "for ye're the best o' company, V
 
 318 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 I'd rather see yer face'n' any posy that ever grew. 
 But you've got to quit workin' so much in the 
 sun. 'Twill get yer hands all calloused 'n' face 
 freckled, an' I won't have it. I want ye to injie 
 yourself, read books, pick flowers, 'n' sit in the 
 shade. I see ye've got into the habit o' workin', 
 which ain't a bad 'un, but thar ain't no need on't 
 here." 
 
 One day a stranger happened up this valley, 
 so seldom travelled that its roadway ruts were 
 obscured by grass. Chip noticed him that morn- 
 ing where the brook curved almost to the garden, 
 a fair-haired young man with jaunty straw hat, 
 delicate, shining rod, and new fish basket. He 
 was garbed in a spick-span brown linen suit. He 
 saw her also, looking over the garden wall, and 
 raising his hat gracefully, strode on. 
 
 His appearance, so neat and dainty and so like 
 pictures of fishermen in books, his courteous man- 
 ner of touching his hat, without a rude stare or 
 even a second glance at her, caught her attention, 
 and she watched him a few moments. 
 
 He did not look back until he had cast his line 
 into a few eddies some twenty rods away ; and then 
 he turned, looked at her, the house, barns, garden, all 
 as one picture, and then continued up the brook.
 
 VERA RAYMOND 319 
 
 He was not seen again until almost twilight 
 by her, and then he and Uncle Jud entered the 
 sitting room. 
 
 "This is Mr. Goodnow, Mandy," Uncle Jud 
 explained, nodding to the newcomer and glancing 
 at Aunt Mandy and Chip. "He says he follered 
 the brook further up'n he figgered on. It's four 
 miles to the Corners, 'n' he wants us to keep him 
 over night. I 'lowed we could, if you was willin'. " 
 
 "I shall be most grateful if you kind ladies will 
 permit my intrusion," the stranger added. "I 
 have been so captivated by this delightful brook 
 that I quite forgot where I was or the distance to 
 the village until I saw that the sun was setting. If 
 you can take care of me until morning, any pay- 
 ment you will accept shall be yours." 
 
 "I guess we can 'commodate ye," responded 
 Aunt Mandy, pleasantly. And so this modern Don 
 Juan found lodgement in the home of these people. 
 
 "I am an enthusiast on trout-catching," he 
 explained, after all had gathered on the vine-en- 
 closed porch and he had presented Uncle Jud with 
 an excellent cigar. "About all I do summers 
 is to hunt for brooks. I came to the village below 
 here yesterday, having heard of this stream, and 
 never before have I found one quite so attractive. ' %
 
 320 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 Then followed a more or less fictitious account 
 of his own station and occupation in life, all very 
 plausible, entirely frank, and quite convincing. 
 
 "I am unfortunate in one respect," he said, "in 
 that I have no fixed occupation. My father, now 
 dead, was a prominent physician. I was educated 
 for the same profession and had just begun its 
 practice when he died. An uncle also left me a 
 large bequest at about the same time. My mother 
 insisted that I give up practice, and now I am an 
 enforced idler." 
 
 He was such an entirely new specimen of man- 
 hood, so charming of manner, so smooth of speech, 
 that Chip watched and listened while he talked 
 on and on, quite enthralled. She had seen similar 
 gentlemen pass and repass Tim's Place, not quite 
 so dainty and suave, perhaps, but dressed much 
 the same. She had now and then noticed a pic- 
 tured reproduction of one in some magazine. 
 Insensibly, she compared this Mr. Goodnow with 
 Ray, to the latter's discredit, and when the even- 
 ing was ended and she was alone in her room, 
 this new arrival's delicately chiselled face, smiling 
 blue eyes, slightly curled mustache, and refined 
 manners followed her. 
 
 "He's a purty slick talker," Uncle Jud admitted
 
 VERA RAYMOND 321 
 
 to his wife later on, "a sorter china ware, pictur- 
 book feller 'thout much harm in him. I kinder 
 felt sorry for him, so I 'lowed we'd keep him over 
 night. Guess he ain't much use in the world." 
 
 How little use and how much harm he was 
 capable of may be gleaned from a brief re'sume' of 
 this stranger's history. 
 
 He was, as he stated, without occupation and 
 with plenty of money. He also, as stated, loved 
 trout brooks and wildwood life not wildwood 
 life in its true sense, but the summer- day kind, 
 where, clad as he was, he could follow some 
 meadow brook or sit in the shade and watch it 
 while indulging in day-dreams and smoking. He 
 loved these things, but he loved fair ladies col- 
 lectively still more. He had stumbled upon 
 Peaceful Valley by accident, coming to it from a 
 fashionable resort to escape an intrigue with a 
 foolish grande dame and consequent irate husband. 
 Chip's face and form had caught his eyes as he 
 strolled by that day, and admission to the home 
 of Uncle Jud and opportunity to meet, and, if pos- 
 sible, impress this handsome country lass, had been 
 a matter of shrewd calculation with him. He 
 had purposely remained up the brook until night- 
 fall. He watched for and intercepted Uncle Jud
 
 322 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 in the nick of time, persuaded that confiding man 
 that he was too tired to reach the village, and with 
 all the blandishments of speech at his command, 
 had obtained entry to this home. 
 
 But he failed to impress Chip as he had hoped. 
 She was no fool, if she had been reared at Tim's 
 Place. A certain shiftiness in his eyes when he 
 looked at her, a covert, sideways glance, never 
 firm but ever elusive, was soon noted and awoke 
 her suspicion. Then the glib story he had told 
 of himself was soon contradicted by him in a few 
 minor details. Like all liars, he lacked a perfect 
 memory, and, talking freely, he occasionally crossed 
 his own tracks. 
 
 Unfortunately for him, he also showed more 
 interest in her than in the brook the next day, and 
 the following one he capped the climax by asking 
 her to go fishing with him an invitation which 
 she promptly refused. 
 
 "I don't like that Mr. Goodnow," she asserted 
 to Uncle Jud a little later. "I think he's a deceit- 
 ful man. He pesters me every chance he can, 
 and I wish he'd go away." 
 
 That was enough for Uncle Jud, and after sup- 
 per he harnessed his horse and politely but firmly 
 requested Mr. Goodnow's company to the village.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 FOR many weeks now Chip had suffered from 
 a troubled conscience, and, like most of us, was 
 unable to face its consequences and admit her 
 sin. 
 
 Time and again she had planned how she could 
 best evade it and yet bring those two brothers 
 together without first confessing. Old Cy must 
 be told, of course. She could explain her conduct 
 to him. He would surely forgive her, she thought, 
 and then, maybe, find another home for her some- 
 how and somewhere. Oversensitive as she was, 
 to now confess her cowardly concealment and 
 her deception of those who had loved and trusted 
 her, seemed horrible. 
 
 But events were stronger than her will, for one 
 day in the last of August, Uncle Jud returned 
 from the village store, bringing dress materials 
 and startling information. "Cap'n Bemis is failin' 
 purty fast," he said, "so Aunt Abby writes, an' 
 she ain't comin' up here. It won't make no differ- 
 ence to you, girlie," he continued, turning to Chip. 
 
 323
 
 324 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "I've brought home stuff to rig ye out fer school. 
 Miss Solon the dressmaker's comin' to-morrer, 
 'n' we'll take keer o' ye jn good shape. We've 
 made up our minds ye belong to us fer good, me 
 'n' Mandy," he added, smiling at Chip, "an' I 
 shall go with ye to Christmas Cove, if Cap'n Bemis 
 ain't improvin', 'n' find ye a boardin' place." 
 
 "I'm awful sorry to hear 'bout the Cap'n," 
 interrupted Aunt Mandy, as if the other matter 
 and Chip's future were settled definitely; "but if 
 he drops off, Aunt Abby must come here fer good. 
 I dunno but it'll be a relief," she added, looking 
 at Uncle Jud and sighing. "'Twa'n't no love- 
 match in the first place, 'n' Abby's mind's always 
 been sot on your brother Cyrus, 'n' she never quite 
 gin up the idee he was alive." 
 
 And now a sudden faintness came to Chip as 
 the chasm irv her own life was thus opened. Only 
 one instant she faltered, and then her defiant cour- 
 age rose supreme and she took the plunge. 
 
 "Oh, your brother Cyrus isn't dead, Uncle 
 Jud," she exclaimed, "he's alive and I know him. 
 I've known it all summer and dare not tell because 
 I'm a miserable coward and couldn't own up that 
 I lied to you. My name isn't Raymond, it's 
 McGuire; and my father was a murderer, and I'm
 
 VERA RAYMOND 325 
 
 nobody and fit for nobody. I know you'll all 
 despise me now and I deserve it. I'm willing 
 to go away, though," and the next instant she was 
 kneeling before Uncle Jud and sobbing. 
 
 It had all come in a brief torrent of pitiful con- 
 fession which few would be brave enough to make. 
 
 To Chip, seeing herself as she did, it meant 
 loss of love, home, respect, and all else she now 
 valued, and that she must become a homeless 
 wanderer once more. 
 
 But Uncle Jud thought otherwise, for now he 
 drew the sobbing girl into his lap. 
 
 "Quit takin' on so, girlie," he said, choking 
 back a lump; "why, we'll all love ye ten times 
 more fer all this, an' ez fer bein' a nobody, ye're 
 a blessed angel to us fer bringin' the news ye hev." 
 And then he kissed her, while Aunt Mandy wiped 
 her eyes on her apron. 
 
 The shower, violent for a moment, was soon 
 over; for as Chip raised her wet eyes, a sunshiny 
 smile illumined Uncle Jud's face. 
 
 "If Cyrus is alive," he said, "as ye callate, 
 I'll thank God till I set eyes on him, and then I 
 think I'll lick him fer not huntin' me up all these 
 years. " 
 
 "But mebbe he found Abby was married 'n'
 
 326 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 didn't want to," interposed Aunt Mandy. "We 
 mustn't judge him yet." 
 
 " No, I won't judge him, " asserted Uncle Jud ; " I'll 
 jest cuff him, good 'n' hard, an' let it go at that. 
 
 "Ez fer you, girlie, an' jest to set yer mind at 
 rest, we found out what your right name was and 
 where ye run away from last fall, but never let 
 on to nobody. 'Twas your business and nobody 
 else's, an' made no difference in our feelin's, ez 
 ye must see; an' now I'll tell ye how I found out. 
 
 "I was down to the Corners one day arter ye 
 went to Christmas Cove, 'n' a feller nice-lookin' 
 feller, too, with honest brown eyes was askin' 
 if anybody had seen or heard o' a runaway girl 
 by the name o' McGuire. Said she'd run away 
 from Green vale 'That's 'bout a hundred miles 
 from here,' he said an' he was huntin' for her. 
 Nobody at the Corners knew about ye 'n' I kept 
 still, believin' ye had reason fer not wantin' to be 
 found out." 
 
 And now another tide the thrill of love 
 surged in Chip's heart, and her face became glori- 
 fied. 
 
 And so the clouds rolled away. That night 
 Chip wrote a brief but curious letter, so odd, in 
 fact, it must be quoted verbatim :
 
 'Quit takin' on so, girlie," he said.
 
 VERA RAYMOND 327 
 
 "MR. MARTIN FRISBIE, 
 
 "Please send word at once to Mr. Cyrus Walker 
 that his brother Judson, who lives in Riggsville, 
 wants to see him. No one else must be told of this, 
 for it's a secret. 
 
 "ONE WHO KNOWS." 
 
 But Chip's secret was a most transparent one, 
 for when this missive reached Martin three days 
 later, he recognized its angular penmanship and 
 similarity to the note Aunt Comfort still treasured, 
 and knew that Chip wrote it. 
 
 It startled him somewhat, however, for Old 
 Cy's youthful history was unknown to him, and 
 suspecting that some mystery lay beneath this 
 information, he told no one, but started for Riggs- 
 ville at once. 
 
 The tide of emotion that had upset the even 
 tenor of Uncle. Jud's home life slowly ebbed away, 
 and a keen sense of expectancy took its place. 
 
 Chip, after giving him her letter, explained that 
 Old Cy was most likely in the wilderness, and 
 that the letter might not reach him for weeks. 
 
 And then one day a broad-shouldered, rather 
 commanding, and somewhat citified man drove up 
 to the home of Uncle Jud.
 
 328 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "Does Mr. Judson Walker live here?" he in- 
 quired of Aunt Mandy, who met him at the door. 
 
 Her admission of that fact was scarce uttered 
 when there came a rustling of skirts, a "Why, 
 Mr. Frisbie!" and Chip was beside her, at which 
 Martin, collected man of the world that he was, 
 felt an unusual heart-throb of thankfulness. 
 
 A little later, when Uncle Jud had been sum- 
 moned into their newly furnished "keeping room,'* 
 disclosures astonishing to all followed. 
 
 "We have been searching for you, Chip, far and 
 near," Martin assured them, "and Old Cy is still 
 at it. He left us at the camp, almost a year ago, 
 came to Greenvale, found you had run away, and 
 came back to tell us. It upset us all so that we 
 broke camp at once, taking Amzi with us, and 
 returned to Greenvale. Old Cy there bade us 
 good-bye and started to find you. Ray also began 
 a search as well. I've advertised in dozens of 
 papers, have kept Levi on watch for you at Grind- 
 stone ever since, and now I hope you will return 
 with me to Greenvale." 
 
 "I thank you all, oh, so much," answered Chip, 
 scared a little at this proposal, "but I don't want 
 to. I'm nobody there and never can be. I'd be 
 ashamed to face folks there any more."
 
 VERA RAYMOND 329 
 
 "I guess she best stay with us," put in Uncle 
 Jud, "fer we sorter 'dopted her, 'n' not meanin* 
 no disrespect to you folks, I callate she'll be more 
 content here. I'd like ye to get word to Cyrus, 
 though, soon's possible. I hain't sot eyes on him 
 fer forty years, 'n'," his eyes twinkling, "I'm jest 
 spilin' to pull his hair 'n' cuff him." 
 
 "I will 'help out in that matter at once, and 
 more than gladly," replied Martin, again looking 
 at Chip and' noting how improved she was; "but 
 I still think Miss Runaway had better return with 
 me. We need you, Chip," he continued earnestly, 
 "and so does some else I can name, more than 
 you imagine, I fancy, and my wife will welcome 
 you with open arms, you may be sure. As for 
 that foolish Hannah, she's the most penitent per- 
 son in Greenvale. There's another reason still," 
 he added, glancing around with a smile, " and no 
 one is more glad of it than we all are. It's a sixty- 
 thousand-dollar reason your heritage, Miss Vera 
 McGuire, for your father is dead, and that amount is 
 now in the Riverton Savings Bank awaiting you." 
 
 Martin had expected this news to be overpow- 
 ering, and a "Good God!" from Uncle Jud, and 
 a gasping "Land sakes!" from Aunt Mandy, 
 proved that it was.
 
 33 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 Chip's face, however, was a study. First she 
 grew pale, then flashed a scared glance from one 
 to another of the three who watched her, and then 
 almost did her shame and hatred of this vile parent 
 find expression. 
 
 "I'm glad he no, I won't say so, for he was 
 my father," she exclaimed; "but I want Old Cy 
 to have some of the money, and Uncle Jud here, 
 and you folks, all. I was a pauper long enough," 
 and then, true to her instinct of how to escape from 
 trouble, she ran out of the room. 
 
 "She's a curis gal," asserted Uncle Jud, looking 
 after her as if feeling that she needed explanation, 
 "the most curis gal I ever saw. But we can't let 
 her go, money or no money, Mr. Frisbie. I found 
 her one night upon top o' Bangall Hill. She was so 
 starved an' beat out from trampin' she couldn't hardly 
 crawl up on to the wagon, 'n' yet she said she wouldn't 
 be helped 'thout she could arn it. I think she's 
 like folks we read about, who starve ruther'n beg. 
 But she kin have all we've got some day, an' we 
 jest can't let her go." 
 
 And Martin, realizing its futility, made no further 
 protest. 
 
 Something of chagrin also came to him, for, 
 broad-minded as he was, he realized how partial
 
 VERA RAYMOND 33! 
 
 neglect, the narrow religious prejudice of Green- 
 vale, and unwise notice of her childish ideas about 
 spites and Old Tomah's superstitions had all con- 
 spired to drive her away. She was honest and self- 
 respecting, " true blue," as Old Cy had said, grateful 
 as a fawning dog for all that had been done for her, 
 and in spite of her origin, a circumstance that carried 
 no weight with Martin, she was one, he believed, 
 who would develop into splendid womanhood. 
 That she was well on her way toward that goal, her 
 improved speech and devotion to these new friends 
 gave ample evidence. 
 
 And now Ray's position in this complex situation 
 occurred to Martin; for this young man's interest 
 in Chip and almost heart-broken grief over her dis- 
 appearance had long since betrayed his attachment. 
 
 "I suppose you may have guessed that there was a 
 love-affair mixed up with this episode," he said to 
 the two somewhat dazed people. 
 
 "I callated thar was, that fust night," Uncle Jud 
 responded, his eyes twinkling again, "an* told 
 Mandy so. 'Twas that more'n anything else kept 
 us from quizzin' the gal. I knowed by her face 
 she had heart trouble, 'n' I've seen the cause on't." 
 
 "You have," exclaimed Martin, astonished in 
 turn, "for Heaven's sake, where?"
 
 332 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "Oh, down to the Corners, 'most a year ago, 'n* 
 a likely boy he was, too." 
 
 "And never told her?" 
 
 "No, why should I, thinkin' she'd run away 
 from him. We didn't want to spile her plans. We 
 found out, though, her name was McGuire, but 
 never let on till she told us a spell ago." And then 
 Uncle Jud told the story of Ray's arrival in Riggs- 
 ville in search of Chip. 
 
 "That fellow is my nephew, Raymond Stetson," 
 rejoined Martin with pride, "he also is an orphan, 
 and I have adopted him. Chip has no cause to be 
 ashamed of his attachment." 
 
 "I don't callate she is," replied Uncle Jud. 
 "'Tain't that that jinerally makes a gal kick over 
 the traces. Mebbe 'twas suthin some o' you folks 
 said." And then a new light came to Martin. 
 
 "Mr. Walker," he answered impressively, "in 
 every village there is always a meddlesome old 
 maid who invariably says things she'd better not, 
 and ours is no exception. In this case it was a 
 dependent of our family who took a dislike to Chip, 
 it seems, and her escapade was its outcome." 
 
 "Wai, ye've got to hev charity for 'em," replied 
 Uncle Jud with a broad smile. "Never havin' 
 suffered the] joys 'n' sorrows o' love, they look at it
 
 ','" VERA RAYMOND 333 
 
 sorter criss-cross, an' mebbe this 'un did. Old maids 
 are a good deal like cider nat'raly turn into vinegar. 
 What wimmin need more'n all the rest is bein' 
 loved, 'n' if they don't get it, they sour up in time an' 
 ain't no comfort to themselves nor nobody else. 
 Then ag'in, not havin' no man nor no babies to look 
 arter, they take to coddlin' cats 'n' dogs 'n' parrots, 
 which ain't nat'ral." 
 
 "I think," continued Uncle Jud, "now that we've 
 turned another furrow, you'd best stop a day or 
 two with us, 'n' sorter git 'quainted. We'll be 
 mighty glad to hev ye, me an' Mandy, an' then ag'in 
 thar's a lot o' good trout holes up the brook. We 
 hev plenty to eat, 'n' mebbe a few days here in 
 Peaceful Valley '11 sorter reconcile ye to leavin' the gal 
 with us." And nothing loath, Martin accepted. 
 
 Aunt Mandy and Chip now bestirred themselves 
 as never before. The dressmaker was left to her 
 own resources, Martin and Uncle Jud rigged fish- 
 poles and started for the brook. Chip, with pail 
 in hand, hurried away to the fields, and when tea- 
 time arrived, the big platter of crisp fried trout, 
 saucers filled with luscious blackberries, and ample 
 shortcake of the same with cream that poured in 
 clots, assured Martin that these people did indeed 
 have plenty to eat.
 
 334 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "How did this come to be named Peaceful Val- 
 ley?" he queried, when they had all gathered around 
 the table. "It's very appropriate." 
 
 "Wai," answered Uncle Jud, "we got it from a 
 feller that come up here paintin' picturs one summer, 
 an'," chuckling, "'twas all we got for a month's 
 board, at that. He was a sort o' skimpy critter, 
 with long hair, kinder pale, and chawed tobacco 
 stiddy. He 'lowed his name was Grahame, that 
 he was in the show business 'n' gittin' backgrounds, 
 as he called 'em, fer show picturs. He roved up 'n' 
 down the brook, puttin' rocks 'n' trees 'n' waterfalls 
 on paper, alms gittin' 'round reg'lar 'bout meal-time 
 must 'a' gained twenty pounds while here. An' 
 then one mornin' he was missin', 'n' so was Aunt 
 Mandy's gold thimble 'n' all her silver spoons. She'd 
 sorter took to him, too, he was that palaverin' in his 
 way." 
 
 There now ensued a series a questions from Uncle 
 Jud in regard to Old Cy how long Martin had 
 known him, and all that pertained to his history. 
 
 It was gladly recited by Martin, together with all 
 the strange happenings in the wilderness, the finding 
 of Chip, the half-breed's pursuit and abduction of 
 her, and much else that has been told. 
 
 It was almost midnight ere Martin was shown to
 
 VERA RAYMOND 335 
 
 the best front chamber, and even then he lay awake 
 an hour, listening to the steady prattle of a near-by 
 brook and thinking of all that had happened. 
 
 A tone of regret crept into his voice, however, 
 when, after thanking Uncle Jud and Aunt Mandy, 
 and bidding them good-bye, he addressed Chip. 
 
 "I wish I could take you back with me," he said, 
 "your return would be such a blessing to Aunt 
 Comfort and my wife. You may not believe it, 
 but you are dear to them both. I must insist that you 
 at least pay us a visit soon. Here is your bank book," 
 he added, presenting it. "You are rich now, or at 
 least need never want, for which we are all grateful. 
 And what about Ray?" he added, pausing to watch 
 her. "What shall I say to him? Shall I tell him 
 to come and see you?" 
 
 Chip shook her head firmly. "No, no," she an- 
 swered, "please don't do that. Some day I may 
 feel different, but not now."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 SAD news arrived in Peaceful Valley a week later, 
 for Captain Bemis had passed on, Aunt Abby was 
 in lonely sorrow, and wrote for Chip to come at once. 
 
 Her fate was now linked with these people. Aunt 
 Abby had been kind and helpful, and Chip, more 
 than glad to return a little of the obligation, hurried 
 to Christmas Cove. 
 
 It was a solemn and silent house she now entered. 
 Aunt Abby, despite the fact that it was not a love- 
 match, mourned her departed companion. The 
 mill's pertinent silence added gloom, and Chip's 
 smiling face and affectionate interest was more than 
 welcome to Aunt Abby. 
 
 And now that concealment was no longer needed, 
 Chip hastened to tell her story in full. 
 
 How utterly Aunt Abby was astonished, how 
 breathlessly she listened to Chip's recital, and how, 
 when the climax came and Chip assured her that 
 good Old Cy Walker was still alive, Aunt Abby col- 
 lapsed entirely, sobbing and thanking God all at 
 once, is but a sidelight on this tale. 
 
 336
 
 VERA RAYMOND 337 
 
 "I couldn't tell you before," Chip assured her, 
 while her own tears still flowed. " I was so ashamed 
 and guilty all in one, I couldn't bear to. I never 
 did so mean a thing in all my life, and never will 
 again. < But when Uncle Jud told me what you 
 didn't, and how much he cared for me, and how 
 you once cared for Uncle Cy, I went all to pieces and 
 told the whole story and sent word to Uncle Cy that 
 day. I feel so guilty now, and so mean, I don't 
 see how you can forgive me." 
 
 But Aunt Abby's forgiveness was not slow in 
 coming. The past ten days of sorrow had left her 
 heart very tender. In spite of being "book-larned," 
 she was very humane. Chip's sad life and misfor- 
 tunes appealed to her, as they had to Uncle Jud, 
 and true Christian woman that she was, her heart 
 opened to Chip. 
 
 "I hope we shall never be parted while I live," 
 she said, as the tears came again. " I have no chil- 
 dren, and no one to live for but my sister. I am so 
 wonted to Christmas Cove, I could not feel at home 
 anywhere else. If Uncle Jud will consent, I will 
 adopt you legally, and when I am laid away, all I 
 have shall be yours." 
 
 And so Chip McGuire, waif of the wilderness, 
 child of an outlaw, once sold to a human brute, yet
 
 338 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 fighting her way upward and onward to a better life, 
 despite every drawback, now found a home and 
 mother. 
 
 No light of education had illumined her pathway, 
 no Christian teaching and no home example, only 
 the inborn and God-given impulse of purity, self- 
 respect, and gratitude; and yet, like a bud forcing 
 its way up out of a muck heap and into the sunshine, 
 so Chip had emerged to win respect and love. 
 
 But all her history is not told yet. She still 
 lacked even a common education. There was still 
 an old man seeking to find her, who was yet wander- 
 ing afar. A homeless, almost friendless old man 
 was he, whose life had gone amiss, and whose sole 
 ambition was to do for her and find content in her 
 happiness. A wanderer and recluse for many years, 
 he was still more so now, and out of place as well 
 among the busy haunts of men. More than that, 
 he was an object of curiosity to all grown people 
 and the jest of the young, as he tramped up and down 
 the land in search of Chip. 
 
 And what a pitiful quest it was, this asking the 
 same question thousands of times, this lingering in 
 towns to watch mill operatives file out, this peering 
 into stores and marts, to go on again, and repeat 
 it for months and months.
 
 VERA RAYMOND 339 
 
 There was still another link in this chain, 
 a boy, so far as experience goes, who was only 
 deterred from unwise haste by a cool-headed 
 man. 
 
 "You had better not go to Chip now," Martin 
 said to him on his return from Peaceful Valley. 
 "She is an odd child of nature, and you won't lose 
 by waiting. My advice to you is to forget her for 
 the present, find some profitable occupation, and then, 
 when you have made a little advancement in life, 
 go and woo her if you can. To try it now is foolish." 
 
 It was cold comfort for Ray. 
 
 One of Chip's first acts of emancipation was to 
 write to Aunt Comfort and Angie, assuring both of 
 her love and best wishes, and thanking them for all 
 they had done. Both letters were cramped in 
 chirography but correct in spelling, and in Angle's 
 was a note for Martin, asking that he draw one 
 hundred dollars of her money and send it to her, and 
 as much more to pay some one to follow Old Cy. 
 The latter request Martin ignored, however, for he 
 had already set the machinery of newspaperdom at 
 work, and an advertisement for information of that 
 wanderer was flying far and wide. 
 
 Of the money sent her, Chip made odd and quite 
 characteristic uses, only one of which needs mention,
 
 340 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 the purchase of a banjo. Had Ray known this, 
 and that the tender memory it invoked was the reason 
 for this investment, he would have had less cause for 
 grief. But Ray did not, which was all the better 
 for him. 
 
 And now, while she is in good company at Christ- 
 mas Cove, with Mr. Bell, syntax, decimal fractions, 
 the planetary system, and divisions of the earth 
 six hours of each school day, or with Aunt Abby 
 sewing, or picking at the banjo, or attending church, 
 we must leave Chip and follow Old Cy. 
 
 With a hunter's instinct he had calculated that 
 Chip would head for the place of her birth, and then, 
 if possible, send word to either himself or the Indian. 
 That she had made way with herself he did not 
 consider probable. She was not of that fibre, he 
 felt positive ; but instead, would make her own way 
 across country, working, if need be, to obtain food 
 and shelter until she at last reached the one spot 
 nearest her heart, her mother's grave. 
 
 Believing this of her, and judging rightly, he left 
 Greenvale, and, as it happened, twice crossed and 
 once followed the very route she had taken for miles. 
 That he failed to hear of her from the many he asked 
 was solely due to accident, added to her own caution 
 in avoiding all observant eyes.
 
 VERA RAYMOND 341 
 
 And what an almost hopeless and interminable 
 tramp he took ! Back and forth across the section 
 of country she was likely to follow for weeks and 
 weeks, halting a day in every village and two or three 
 in each city, asking the same question over and over 
 again, until his indomitable courage and almost 
 deathless faith slowly ebbed away. 
 
 Autumn came, the leaves grew scarlet and brown, 
 snow followed, and winter locked all streams, and 
 still Old Cy journeyed on. Spring and sunshine 
 once more warmed the earth into life, the fields grew 
 green, and yet he paused not. 
 
 With June and the real beginning of summer, 
 however, came a new inspiration, which was to go 
 at once by rail and stage to Chip's native town and 
 learn if, perchance, she, or any news of her, had 
 reached this village. 
 
 Another thought also came with this, that Mar- 
 tin might soon again visit the woods and perhaps he 
 could intercept him. 
 
 A little satisfaction was obtained by this advance 
 move, for when this village was reached, Levi was 
 found waiting. 
 
 "I've been watchin' for the gal over eight months 
 now, under pay from Mr. Frisbie," he assured Old 
 Cy when they met. " I also sent word to Old Tomah
 
 342 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 late last fall, 'n' he came out o' the woods 'n' stayed 
 here two months, but nothin's been heard o' poor 
 Chip by any one, 'n' I doubt ever will be." 
 
 "Mebbe not yet," answered Old Cy, "but thar 
 will be some day, an' here, too. She hadn't a cent 
 when she left Greenvale only grit, 'n' it's a long 
 ways here fer a gal what's got to arn her vittles 
 while she's trampin'. It may be one year, it may be 
 two, but some day Chip'll show up here, if she lives 
 to do it. I callate I'd best wait here a few weeks 
 tho', an' then, if nothin' turns up, I'll start ag'in." 
 
 Nothing did, however; but during his stay, Old 
 Cy learned that Chip's entire history, from the night 
 she left Tim's Place until she ran away from Green- 
 vale, was known at this village. This fact was of no 
 value whatever, except to prove the universal interest 
 all humanity has in the fate and fortune of one 
 another. 
 
 "I never told what happened in the woods," 
 Levi responded when Old Cy questioned him, "an* 
 didn't need to, for it got here 'fore I did. I jest 
 'lowed it was true, 'n' that I was hired to wait and 
 watch here for Chip. It's curis, too, how every- 
 body here feels 'bout it. They're a poorish sort here, 
 families o' lumbermen, men that work in the saw- 
 mills, some farmin', an' all findin' it hard work to git
 
 VERA RAYMOND 343 
 
 a livin'. An' yet they're so interested in Chip 'n' 
 so sorry for her, if she shows up now she'd be carried 
 'round the village like some queen 'ud be, with every- 
 body follerin'. Thar's 'nother curis thing happened 
 since I've been here that I'd never believed o' these 
 people neither. I told them, of course, who I was, 
 'n' what I was here for, 'n' who was payin' me, 
 when I come, an' then as time kinder went slow, I 
 began huntin' some 'round here. Wai, thar's a 
 little graveyard up back o' the village 'n' all growed 
 up to weeds 'n' bushes, an' one day last fall I hap- 
 pened to be lookin' it over 'n' somebody come 'long. 
 It was a man that keeps store here, an' I asked him 
 if 'twas here Chip's mother was buried. He said 
 'twas, an' pointed out the spot 'way up in one corner, 
 'thout any stone, 'n' the mound most hid in a tangle. 
 I didn't say nothin' jest looked, an' went on, 'n' that 
 was all. Wai, the curis part is last spring they sot 
 a couple o' men to work cleanin' up the graveyard 
 o' bushes an' laid out walks 'n' built a new fence 
 'round it. That one unmarked grave got the most 
 attention o' all, for they turfed it over nice and built 
 a little fence 'round it. I kinder callated how 'n' why 
 it all come 'bout, 'n' feelin' I oughter do suthin, I 
 had a little stun sot up with Chip's mother's name 
 on it."
 
 344 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 But time also went "kinder slow" for Old Cy, and 
 as the date for Martin's probable coming had now 
 passed, he finally yielded to Levi's suggestion and 
 the call of the wilderness as well, and the two started 
 for Martin's camp. 
 
 It was almost like a pilgrimage to one's boyhood 
 home ; for while scarce a year had elapsed since Old 
 Cy and Martin's party left it, Nature, always seek- 
 ing to hide human handiwork, had been busy, and 
 the garden was a tangle of weeds. Amzi's old cabin 
 was almost hid by bushes, the walks were choked 
 with them, and a colony of squirrels frisked about, 
 and now, alarmed at human presence, added a 
 touch of pathos. 
 
 One act of vandalism was in evidence, for some 
 wandering trappers had apparently used the larger 
 cabin the previous season. Its floor was littered 
 with all manner of debris, the bones of a deer mould- 
 ered in the woodshed, and a family of porcupines 
 had also found the premises available. The impres- 
 sion conveyed by the entire spot and its surroundings 
 made even Levi gloomy, while Old Cy scarce spoke 
 the entire first day there, except to exclaim at "var- 
 mints" who would break locks, use the cabin for 
 months, and then leave a litter of garbage to draw 
 vermin.
 
 VERA RAYMOND 345 
 
 "It's curis how near to hogs 'n' hyenas a few 
 humans are," he said as he looked around and saw 
 how these vandals had behaved. "They wa'n't 
 satisfied with burglin' the cabin, turnin' it into a pig- 
 pen, stealin' all they could carry off, but they was 
 so durned lazy, they smashed up the furniture to 
 burn." 
 
 For a few days only these two fine old backwoods- 
 men tarried here, and then Old Cy proposed depar- 
 ture. 
 
 "I can't take no comfort here, nohow," he said, 
 "for the premises seem ha'nted. Whichever way 
 I turn I 'spect to meet Amzi with his moon eyes, or 
 see Chip watchin' me, or Angie steppin' out o' the 
 cabin. If I stayed here long, I'd see Chip's spites 
 crawlin' out o' the bushes soon ez it got dusky. I'm 
 used to the woods, but this spot seems like a grave- 
 yard. 
 
 "I never done no prayin'," he added sadly. "I 
 don't b'lieve in't. But if I could set eyes on Chip 
 this minit, I'd go right down on my knees 'n' say, 
 'Thank God for this blessinV I'm 'fraid I never 
 will, though." 
 
 The next morning these two friends left this abode 
 of unseen forms, more disconsolate than ever. They 
 halted at Tim's Place long enough to learn that no
 
 346 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 tidings of McGuire or the half-breed had even 
 reached that filthy station, and then returned to the 
 settlement once more. Here Old Cy waited until 
 the summer waned, vainly hoping each day would 
 at least bring some word from Martin or Chip, and 
 then bade Levi good-bye, and departed. 
 
 Ke had been gone a week, a wandering tramp 
 once more, when Ray appeared, bearing the glad 
 news that Chip had been found. And also another 
 and a more astounding fact. 
 
 But Old Cy was not there.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 LIFE, always colorless at Christmas Cove, except 
 in midsummer, now became changed for Aunt 
 Abby. For all the years since her one girlish ro- 
 mance had ended, she had been a patient helpmate* 
 to a man she merely respected. Religion had been 
 her chief solace. The annual visit to her sister's 
 gave the only relief to this motionless life, monoto- 
 nous as the tides sweeping in and out of the cove; 
 but now a counter-current slowly flowed into it. 
 
 Chip, of course, with her winsome eyes and grate- 
 ful ways, was its mainspring, and so checkered had 
 been her career and so humiliating all her past ex- 
 periences, that now, escaped from dependence and 
 feeling herself a valued companion, she tasted a new 
 and joyous life. So true was this, that hard lessons 
 at school, the regularity of church-going, and the 
 unvarying tenor of it all seemed less by comparison. 
 
 Another undercurrent, aside from Chip's devo- 
 tion, also swept into Aunt Abby's feelings, the 
 strange emotions following the knowledge that her 
 former lover was still alive. For many years she 
 
 347
 
 348 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 had waited and hoped for this sailor boy's return; 
 then her heart had grown silent, as hope slowly 
 ebbed, and then, almost forgetfulness but not 
 quite, however, for the long, lily-dotted mill-pond 
 just above had now and then been visited by them. 
 A certain curiously grown oak which was secluded 
 near its upper end was once a trysting-place, and 
 even the old mill with its plashing wheel held 
 memories. 
 
 And now after forty years, during which she had 
 become gray-haired and slightly wrinkled, all these 
 memories returned like ghosts of long ago. No 
 word or hint of them fell from her lips, not even to 
 Chip, who was now nearest to her ; and yet had that 
 girl been a mind-reader, she would have seen that 
 Aunt Abby's persistent interest in all she had to tell 
 about Old Cy meant something. Where he was 
 now, how soon he would learn that his brother was 
 still alive after all these years, was the one most 
 pertinent subject oft discussed. 
 
 How Chip felt toward him, not alone for the 
 heritage he had secured for her, but for other and 
 more valued heart interests, need not be specified. 
 He had seemed almost a father to her at the lake. 
 He was the first of her new-found friends whose 
 feelings had warmed toward her, and Chip was now
 
 VERA RAYMOND 349 
 
 mature enough to value these blessings at their true 
 worth. 
 
 A certain mutual expectancy now entered the 
 lives of Chip and Aunt Abby. Nothing could be 
 done, however. Old Cy had gone out into the wide, 
 wide world, as it were, searching for the little girl 
 he loved. No manner of reaching him seemed pos- 
 sible ; and yet, some day, he must learn what would 
 bring him to them as fast as steam could fetch him. 
 
 " I know that he loved me as his own child there 
 at the lake," Chip said once in an exultant tone. 
 "His going after me proves it; and once he hears 
 where I am, he will hurry here, I know." 
 
 Whether Aunt Abby's heart responded to that 
 wish or not, she never disclosed. 
 
 But the days, weeks, and months swept by, and 
 Old Cy came not. Neither did any message come 
 to Chip from Greenvale. At first, rebelling at Ray's 
 treatment of her, Chip felt that she never wanted 
 to see him again. She had been so tender and 
 loving toward him at the lake, had striven so hard 
 to learn and to be more like him, had waited and 
 watched, counting the days until his return, only 
 to be told what she could not forget and to find him 
 so neglectful, so cool to her, when her girlish heart 
 was so full of love, that her feelings had changed
 
 350 THE GIRL FROM TIM 5 S PLACE 
 
 almost in one instant, and pride had made her 
 bitter. 
 
 Hannah had told an unpleasant truth, as Chip 
 knew well enough; but truth and confiding love 
 mixed illy, and Ray's conduct, leaving her as he did 
 with scarce a word or promise, was an episode that 
 had chilled and almost killed Chip's budding affec- 
 tion. As is always the case, such a feeling fades 
 and flares like all others. There would now be a 
 brief space when Chip hoped and longed for Ray's 
 coming, and then days when no thought of him 
 came. 
 
 It was perhaps fortunate for him that Christmas 
 Cove contained no serious admirer of Chip the 
 while, else his cause and all memory of him would 
 have been swept away. But that quaint village was 
 peopled chiefly by old folk, those of the male per- 
 suasion being quite young, with a few girls of Chip's 
 age. Few young men remained there to make their 
 way, and so no added interest came to vary Chip's 
 life. 
 
 The coming of summer, however, brought the 
 annual influx of city boarders once more. First 
 came elderly ladies, more anxious about suitable 
 rooms and food than aught else, and then came the 
 younger ones, whose gowns and their display ap-
 
 VERA RAYMOND 351 
 
 peared the only motive for existence. A few young 
 men followed in their wake. Now and then a small 
 yacht anchored in the mouth of the cove. The long 
 wharf became a rendezvous for promenaders, tennis 
 courts were established, and gay costumes, bright 
 parasols, and astounding hats were in evidence. 
 
 It was all a new and fascinating panorama for 
 Chip. Never before had she seen such butterflies 
 of fashion, who glanced at her and her more modest 
 raiment almost with scorn, and scarce conscious of 
 them, she looked on with awe and admiration. 
 
 The old mill, the quaint house where she dwelt, 
 and especially the long pond, now sprinkled thickly 
 with lilies, became a Mecca for these newcomers, 
 and not a pleasant day passed but from two to a 
 dozen of them came trooping about and around it. 
 They peered into the mill, exclaimed over the great 
 dripping wheel, and almost shouted at the sight of 
 the white blossoms on the pond. 
 
 One day a bevy of laughing and chattering girls 
 with one gallant in white flannels approached the 
 mill while Chip in calico was kneeling beside a 
 flower-bed. She looked up at once and saw her 
 erstwhile admirer at Peaceful Valley, Mr. Goodnow. 
 One instant only their eyes met, his to turn quickly 
 away, and then Chip, coloring at the slight, rose
 
 352 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 and entered the house. Once safe in this asylum, 
 womanlike, she hastened to peep out at the arrivals. 
 They halted for only a glance about and then, their 
 protector (?) still in the lead, vanished behind the 
 mill. 
 
 The next afternoon, just as Chip was returning 
 from the village store, she met Mr. Goodnow again, 
 this time alone. 
 
 With a bow and smile he raised his hat and halted. 
 
 "Why, Miss Raymond," he exclaimed eagerly, 
 "I am so glad to meet you again. Are you visiting 
 here, and when did you leave Peaceful Valley?" 
 
 "I am living here now," returned Chip, coolly, 
 continuing on her way, "where you saw me yes- 
 terday." 
 
 "Oh, yes," he answered, not the least abashed, 
 "and you must pardon me for not recognizing you 
 then. It's been a year, you know, since I saw you, 
 and you have changed so in that time." 
 
 "Of course," responded Chip, her eyes snapping, 
 "you couldn't remember me so long. Why don't 
 you tell the truth and say you didn't dare know me 
 before those ladies?" 
 
 "Why, Miss Raymond, you wrong me; but I 
 admire your frankness it is so unusual among 
 your charming sex!"
 
 VERA RAYMOND 353 
 
 "Then you did know me," she returned sarcas- 
 tically, "I knew well enough, and if they were with 
 you now, you wouldn't know me. I'm no fool, if I 
 do wear calico." 
 
 It was blunt. It was truthful. It was Chip all 
 over; but this polished rake never winced. 
 
 "I never dispute a lady," he answered suavely; 
 "it doesn't pay. Besides, I have found they all 
 prefer sweet lies instead of truth. And now I will 
 admit you looked so charming as you raised your 
 face from among the flowers that I was dazed and 
 didn't think to bow." 
 
 "You weren't so dazed but that you managed to 
 get away in a hurry." 
 
 "Why, of course, I was piloting my friends up to 
 the lily pond," he returned, still unruffled, "and 
 much as I desired, I couldn't pause to visit with 
 you." 
 
 They had now reached Chip's home. She halted 
 at the gate, turned, and looked at him. 
 
 "I hope we may be friends, now that you have 
 scolded me enough," he added. "I had a delight- 
 ful week with you last summer. I've lived it over 
 many times. May I not call here to-morrow, and 
 you and I will gather some of the lilies?" 
 
 A droll smile crept over Chip's face at this.
 
 354 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "Yes, if you will bring your lady friends also," 
 she answered. And with a "Thank you," and 
 raising his hat once more, this smooth-spoken fellow, 
 impervious to sarcasm, turned away. 
 
 "Who was the young man?" Aunt Abby queried, 
 when Chip entered the house. 
 
 "It's a Mr. Goodnow, who spent a week with 
 Uncle Jud," she answered, smiling. "He came by 
 here yesterday with three ladies and was close to me 
 when I was working in my posy bed. He made out 
 he didn't remember me then, when I met him this 
 afternoon. I guess I was saucy to him. I meant 
 to be. He wouldn't take it, and walked home with 
 me." 
 
 Aunt Abby looked surprised. 
 
 "I hope you weren't really saucy," she answered, 
 "that wouldn't have been becoming." 
 
 Mr. Goodnow appeared next day, not at all dis- 
 turbed, and Chip, a little more gracious, consented 
 to gather lilies with him. The leaky punt that had 
 served for that purpose many years was bailed out. 
 He manned the oars. Chip bared one rounded arm, 
 and, thus equipped, two really enjoyable hours were 
 passed. 
 
 As Uncle Jud had said, he was a "slick talker." 
 Truth was not considered by him; instead, subtile
 
 VERA RAYMOND 355 
 
 flatteries were his stock in trade, and Chip, for the 
 first time in her life, felt their insidious influence. 
 She was in no wise deceived. Her woman's wit and 
 good sense detected the sham, and caring not one 
 whit for him, she responded as saucily as she chose. 
 It was not, perhaps, quite ladylike, but Chip was 
 not as yet a polished lady; instead, she was a de- 
 cidedly blunt-spoken girl who enjoyed exasperating 
 this fashionable Lothario. 
 
 And never before had he met her like or one so 
 fearless of speech. 
 
 "You are the sauciest girl I have ever had the 
 pleasure of meeting," he said, as they drew up to 
 the landing and began sorting the lilies. "I didn't 
 notice it so much last summer ; and yet you are no 
 less charming, mainly because you are so frank. 
 Most ladies whom I know are not so. They are 
 arrant hypocrites and not one assertion in ten can 
 be taken at its face value." 
 
 "You seem to have been an apt scholar," Chip 
 responded, smiling. "If you like my blunt speech, 
 as you say, why don't you imitate it and be truthful 
 for once in your life ? " 
 
 "I dare not. No man ever yet won a woman's 
 favor by plain speech." 
 
 "And so you want my favor. What for? I am
 
 356 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 not of your sort. I do not spend my life playing 
 golf and tennis and wearing fine clothes." 
 
 "But you ought to. You have the face and form 
 required, and once you got into the swim of society, 
 you would become a leader." 
 
 Chip greeted this with a laugh. "Do you plaster 
 it on as thick as that with every one," she queried, 
 "and will they stand it?" 
 
 "Why, yes," he chuckled, "and almost beg for 
 more. My ladies thrive on flattery, and unless a 
 man doles it out to them, they think him stupid." 
 
 When he had helped her out of the boat, holding 
 and pressing her hand unduly long she thought, he 
 gathered up the lilies and, with a graceful bow and 
 "Sweets to the sweet," offered them to her. 
 
 "I don't want them," she answered bluntly. 
 "Take them to your arrant hypocrites and tell them 
 a girl you couldn't fool sent 'em." And nonplussed 
 a little at this speech, but still smiling, he followed 
 Chip to the house. At the gate he halted and their 
 eyes met. 
 
 "I've had a most charming morning, for which 
 I thank you," he said. And drawing two of the 
 largest blooms from the bunch of lilies, he laid the 
 rest on the gate-post. "You will have to take them," 
 he added. "And now I have something else to
 
 VERA RAYMOND 357 
 
 propose. I own a small yacht. It is anchored 
 down near the wharf. How would you like a sail 
 to-morrow? I shall be highly pleased to have you 
 for my guest. Will you go?" 
 
 But Chip was not caught so easily. 
 
 "I'll go if you will ask Aunt Abby also," she an- 
 swered, "not otherwise." 
 
 "Why, of course," he responded graciously, 
 "that is understood." 
 
 And still unruffled by this parting evidence of 
 distrust, he bowed himself away.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 " A girl with a new ring allus hez trouble with her hair." 
 
 OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 As might be expected, Chip gave Aunt Abby a full 
 recital of her morning's episode as soon as she entered 
 the house, and with it her comments upon this 
 smooth-spoken young man. 
 
 "He reeled off flattery by the yard," she said, 
 "and no matter how I took it, or how sharply I set 
 him back, he kept at it. The way he piled it on 
 was almost funny, just as though he thought I be- 
 lieved it. Of course I didn't, not a word, and what's 
 more I wouldn't trust him farther than I could see 
 him. He's got shifty eyes, and Cy once told me 
 never to believe a man with such eyes. He wants me 
 to go sailing with, him to-morrow, and I said I would 
 go if you were asked. I knew you wouldn't go, 
 however." 
 
 "Of course not," answered Aunt Abby, severely, 
 "and his asking you in such a way was almost an 
 insult. If he had meant well, he would have said 
 he was taking other friends out and would have 
 
 358
 
 VERA RAYMOND 359 
 
 asked us both to join them. I should not have con- 
 sented to that even, however. These summer 
 people are not our sort, and to accept such favors 
 from them is to put ourselves in a fair way of being 
 laughed at. I would advise, also, that you have no 
 more to say to this young man. It will not reflect 
 credit upon you if you do." 
 
 That afternoon, while Chip practised upon her 
 banjo, it being vacation time, Aunt Abby called upon 
 several neighbors with news-gathering intent. She 
 succeeded to the fullest, and that evening related it 
 to Chip. 
 
 "This Mr. Goodnow has been here about two 
 weeks," she said, "and is boarding at Captain 
 Perkins's. He came in a small steam yacht he 
 claims he owns, and has been going about with three 
 ladies who are stopping at the Mix House. Two of 
 them are sisters, the Misses Wilson, and a Mrs. 
 Simpson, a widow. He seems the most devoted to 
 the widow. They have been out driving quite often, 
 and once or twice she has been sailing with him alone. 
 It's all right, of course, only she being a good deal 
 older than he is, makes it seem curious. When he 
 calls here to-morrow, as I suppose he will, I'd better 
 see him." 
 
 He called quite early the next morning, as may be
 
 360 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 guessed, and a more picture-book yachtsman Aunt 
 Abby never set eyes upon. His white duck shoes, 
 trousers, and cap, white flannel coat, dark blue silk 
 shirt, jaunty sailor tie and russet belt, all completed 
 an attire so spick and span that it seemed that he 
 must have just emerged from a tailor shop. 
 
 But Aunt Abby was not awed overmuch. She 
 had seen his like before, and met him at her door 
 with serene self-possession. 
 
 "I am Mr. Goodnow," he explained with easy 
 assurance, "and Miss Raymond has kindly consented 
 to accept a few hours' enjoyment in my yacht if you 
 will also honor me." And he bowed again. 
 
 "We thank you very much, sir," Aunt Abby re- 
 sponded stiffly, "but I must decline for us both. We 
 should hardly care to accept hospitalities which we 
 could not return." 
 
 "I regret it very much," he answered in a hurt 
 tone, "and assure you I am the one to feel obligated." 
 And then, as Aunt Abby drew back, and the door 
 began to close very slowly, he bowed and retreated 
 in good order. 
 
 But he was not to be thus checkmated, and from 
 now on he began to watch for chances to intercept 
 and accost Chip. 
 
 It was, and always had been, a part of her nature
 
 VERA RAYMOND 361 
 
 to be out of doors as much as possible, and since the 
 close of school she was out more than ever. Some- 
 what akin to Old Cy in love of Nature, the fields, 
 woods, and streams had always attracted her, and 
 at Christmas Cove the sea added a new charm to 
 which she yielded nearly every pleasant day. And 
 her steps led her far and wide. 
 
 Down to the seldom-used wharf to watch the tide 
 ebb and flow between its mussel-coated piles, over 
 the broad-rippled sands of the cove when the tide 
 left them bare, around to the long, rocky barrier 
 beyond the cove where the sea waves dashed, were 
 her favorite strolls. 
 
 The next afternoon she strayed to where the ocean 
 spray was leaping. She had scarce reached her 
 favorite lookout spot, a shaded cliff, when she saw 
 Goodnow approaching. 
 
 Her first impulse was to return home at once, the 
 next to remain. 
 
 She did not fear him, he seemed such an effemi- 
 nate, foppish sort of man, that lithe and strong as 
 she was, she felt she could outrun him, or, if need 
 be, throw him into the sea. And so she waited, cool 
 and indifferent. Although conscious that he was 
 nearing her, she never turned her head until he was 
 beside her. Then she looked up.
 
 362 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he said, raising his hat, 
 "but may I share this cliff with you?" And he 
 seated himself near. 
 
 "It isn't mine," answered Chip, rather ungra- 
 ciously, "so there's no need to ask." 
 
 "But every lady has a right to decline a gentle- 
 man's company wherever she is," he responded in 
 his usual suave tone. "I saw you coming here, 
 and I'll admit I was bold enough to follow." 
 
 "And what for?" she answered, in her blunt way, 
 "I never invited you." 
 
 "No, you didn't, and I never expect you will. 
 But you are such a saucy, fascinating little wood- 
 nymph that I couldn't help it. I am sorry, though, 
 that you and your worthy aunt refused my yacht 
 yesterday. I wanted an opportunity to get better 
 acquainted with her and yourself as well, and thought 
 that a good way. 
 
 "Do you love the ocean," he continued, as Chip 
 made no response, " and is this village your real home, 
 or do you reside at Peaceful Valley?" 
 
 "I live here now," returned Chip, resolving to be 
 brief in all her answers and hoping he would betake 
 himself away. 
 
 She did not like him, nor his smooth, polished 
 speech. She felt that it was all affected, and that
 
 VERA RAYMOND 363 
 
 at heart he meant no good toward her. Then his 
 failure to recognize her when with his lady friends 
 still rankled. She knew well enough that he dared 
 not admit acquaintance with a calico-clad country- 
 girl at that moment. And what the gossips of 
 Christmas Cove insinuated about him and this 
 widow awoke her contempt. 
 
 Totally unused to the ways of fashionable society 
 as she was, for him to play court to a widow evi- 
 dently ten or fifteen years his senior seemed un- 
 natural. 
 
 His almost nauseating and persistent flattery of 
 herself was equally objectionable. All this flashed 
 over her now while he was talking. 
 
 "You must find it lonesome here," he said, in 
 response to her admission; "but perhaps you have 
 a beau, a sweetheart, somewhere, whom you care 
 for." 
 
 Chip colored slightly, but made no answer. 
 
 "I'm sure you haven't here," he went on, "for 
 I've not seen an eligible fellow native to this village 
 since I came." He paused a moment, awaiting 
 an admission, and then continued: "How do you 
 pass the time, anyway, and isn't life here monoto- 
 nous? Don't you long for some excitement, some 
 fun, some color to it all? I've watched these vil-
 
 364 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 lagers now for three weeks and their lives seem so 
 prosy, so dead slow, it is painful. They get up, eat, 
 chase the cows and chickens, hoe in the gardens, 
 mow hay, and every blessed woman wears the same 
 calico gown six days in the week. Sundays they 
 all spruce up, go to meeting, and the next week 
 repeat the programme. Isn't it so?" 
 
 "I presume it is," answered Chip, with rising ire; 
 "but if folks here weren't satisfied, they could move 
 away, couldn't they? And if it's all so dull, what 
 did you come here for? Nobody asked you, did 
 they?" 
 
 "No," he responded, laughing, "no one did, and 
 no one will miss me when I go not even you. The 
 only redeeming feature is that they all seem willing 
 to take my money." 
 
 "Would you stay if they weren't," she returned, 
 still more hotly, "would you sponge on us folks and 
 sneer at us as well?" 
 
 "Keep cool, my dear girl," he answered unruffled, 
 "keep cool, and let your lovely hair grow. I'm not 
 sneering at you or any one. I am merely stating 
 facts. To us who live in the whirl of city life, a few 
 weeks here is a delightful change, and we are glad to 
 pay well for it. I am only speaking of how it must 
 seem to live this way all the time."
 
 VERA RAYMOND 365 
 
 He paused a moment, watching Chip's face turned 
 half away, and then continued persuasively: "I 
 am sorry you are so ready to believe ill of me or to 
 think I am sneering at all things. In that you have 
 changed very much since last summer. Then you 
 seemed to enjoy talking with me ; now you blaze up 
 into wrath at my pleasantry. I am very sorry you 
 feel as you do. I'd like to be better friends with 
 you if possible, otherwise I wouldn't have risked 
 the rebuff I received from your excellent aunt yes- 
 terday. I'd like very much to call on you, and 
 nothing would give me greater pleasure than to 
 entertain you and your aunt on my boat. I am an 
 idle fellow, I'll admit, with nothing to do but spend 
 my time and money, but that is my misfortune, 
 and you ought to have pity on me." 
 
 And so this smooth-tongued, persuasive talker 
 ran on and on while Chip, fascinated, in spite of her 
 dislike of him, listened. 
 
 More than that, he grew eloquent and even pa- 
 thetic at times in describing his hopes and ambitions 
 in life. He even asserted that he longed to live 
 differently and to become a useful man, instead of 
 an idle one. It was all hypocrisy, of course, but 
 Chip was scarce able to detect it, and lulled by his 
 specious, pleading voice, she admitted that she had
 
 366 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 no real reason for distrusting or disliking him. Also, 
 that she would enjoy a sail on his boat, and would 
 try to persuade her aunt to accept another in- 
 vitation. 
 
 This especially was what he most wanted, for 
 shrewd schemer that he was, he knew that if he could 
 ingratiate himself with this guardian aunt, permis- 
 sion to call must follow, and with that, some oppor- 
 tunity to make a conquest of this simple country 
 girl. 
 
 Sated as he was with the society of more polished 
 and therefore artificial womanhood, blase to all the 
 purities of life and refined society, a roue* and rake 
 conversant with all vice, this fearless, wholesome, 
 yet unsophisticated girl who seemed like a breath 
 from the pine woods, attracted him as no other 
 could. 
 
 And now he had her almost spellbound on this 
 lonely shore, with the sea murmuring at their feet 
 and the cool winds whispering in the pine trees 
 shading them. 
 
 It was Don Juan and Haidee over again, only 
 this Juan was a more selfish and heartless one, cal- 
 culating on the ruin of this wood-born flower without 
 thought of consequences. 
 
 He made one mistake, however, after he had lulled
 
 VERA RAYMOND 367 
 
 her into almost believing him to be both honest and 
 worthy, he sneered at religion. 
 
 "All that people go to church for is to see and be 
 seen, ladies especially," he said. "They live to 
 dress and show off their new gowns and hats, and 
 were it not for the chance church-going gives them, 
 not one parson in a hundred would have a 
 corporal's guard for audience. As for the preach- 
 ing, not one in ten understands a word of it, and 
 most of those who understand fail to believe it. I 
 don't, I am sure. I consider a minister is a man 
 who talks to earn his money. A few old tabbies, 
 of course, are sincere and believe in prayer and all 
 that sort of foolishness, but the rest only make 
 believe they do. There may be a God and maybe 
 there isn't I don't know. I doubt it, however. 
 As for the hereafter, that is all moonshine. When 
 we go, that is the end of us." 
 
 "And so you don't believe in spirits and a future 
 life," answered Chip, with sudden defiance. "Well, 
 I do, and I know that people have souls that live 
 again, for I've seen them, hundreds of times. As 
 for all church-going people being hypocrites, that's 
 a lie, and I know better. The best woman I ever 
 knew believed in praying, and so did my mother,, 
 and I won't hear them called such a name."
 
 368 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 It was Chip, blazing up again, in defence of her 
 own opinions, and this smooth-spoken fellow saw 
 his mistake on the instant. 
 
 "Oh, well, you may be right," he admitted at 
 once. "I wasn't speaking of all womankind only 
 the fashionable ones whom I know. As for soul life, 
 I want to believe as you do, of course, and wish you 
 would convince me that it is true." And so peace 
 was restored, and once more the lullaby of his woo- 
 ing talk began. 
 
 For two hours he spun to Chip the web of his 
 blandishments, and then the sun warned her, and 
 she rose to go. 
 
 "It would be delightful to escort you home," he 
 said, "but I fear I'd better not. Your aunt might 
 see us returning, and scold you. Now if you will 
 meet me here again to-morrow afternoon, and try to 
 convince me that there is a future life, I shall be most 
 happy. Will you?" 
 
 But Chip was alert. 
 
 "No, I don't think I shall," she responded bluntly; 
 "I am not running after you not a step. As for 
 what you believe or don't believe, that isn't my look- 
 out," and with an almost uncivil "Good day, sir," 
 she left him. 
 
 The farther away she got from this snakelike
 
 VERA RAYMOND 369 
 
 charmer, the more an intuitive belief in his real 
 intentions possessed her. She was unskilled in the 
 fine art of conversation, had only the inborn purity of 
 her thoughts to protect her; and yet .she half read 
 this specious flatterer, and felt, rather than realized, 
 his baseness. 
 
 A change in her own convictions that now served 
 as a mantle of protection against his persuasions had 
 come to her during these dreamy hours by the sea. 
 Accepting at first Old Tomah's superstitions, she 
 had been led to contemplate the great question of 
 future life and the existence of God. Aunt Com- 
 fort's unselfish character, combined with perfect 
 faith in the Supreme Power, had had its influence. 
 Angle's kindness and that first prayer Chip had 
 heard in the tent were not lost. Aunt Abby's con- 
 sistent belief and devotion to duty also had had its 
 effect; and all these pertinent examples, com- 
 bined with the impress of the vast ocean, the solitude 
 of this lonely shore, and the echo of its ceaseless 
 billows, had awakened true veneration in Chip's 
 heart, and convinced her that some Unseen Power 
 moved all human impulse and controlled all human 
 destiny.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 AFTER Chip had run away from Greenvale, con- 
 cealment of her name and all else had forced itself 
 upon her. It was not natural for her to deceive. 
 She had kept it up for one unhappy year only under 
 inward protest, which ended in abject confession and 
 tears. Now recalling that unpleasant episode, she 
 made haste to confess her long conversation with 
 this fluent fellow. 
 
 " Mr. Goodnow followed me over to the point this 
 afternoon," she explained that evening to Aunt Abby, 
 " and talked for two hours. He was nice enough, but 
 he made me sick of him, he flattered me so much." 
 
 Aunt Abby looked at her with a slight sense of 
 alarm. 
 
 "He certainly has the gift of impudence, at least," 
 she said, "in view of the way I declined his invita- 
 tion yesterday. I think you'd best discontinue your 
 long rambles for the present, or until he leaves here. 
 He is not our sort. He is not even a friend of ours, 
 and if people see you together, they will say unkind 
 things." 
 
 370
 
 VERA RAYMOND 371 
 
 That was warning enough for Chip, and from that 
 time on she never even walked down to the village 
 store except with Aunt Abby. 
 
 A curious and almost ridiculous espionage fol- 
 lowed, however, for a week, and not a pleasant after- 
 noon passed but this fellow was noticed strolling 
 somewhere near the old mill or past the house. 
 
 Another amazing evidence of his intent was re- 
 ceived a few days later, in the shape of a five-pound 
 box of choicest candies, that came by express with 
 his card. Aunt Abby opened this and saw the card, 
 and the next day she commissioned the stage driver 
 to deliver the box, card and all, to Mr. Goodnow at 
 his boarding house. 
 
 A long and adroitly worded letter to Chip came a 
 day later, so humble, so flattering, and so importun- 
 ing that it made her laugh. 
 
 "I think that fellow must have gone crazy," she 
 said, handing the letter to Aunt Abby, "he runs on 
 so about how he can't sleep nights from thinking 
 about me. He says that he must go away next week, 
 ,and shall die if he can't see me once more. What 
 ails him, anyway ? " 
 
 "Nothing, except evil intentions," responded Aunt 
 Abby, perusing the missive. "He must think you 
 a fool to believe such bosh," she added severely, after
 
 372 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 finishing it. "Honest love doesn't grow like a 
 mushroom in one night, and the difference between 
 his position and yours gives the lie to all he says. I 
 hope he will go away next week, and never come 
 back." 
 
 Whether Chip's studied avoidance of him, com- 
 bined with the snubbing, served its purpose, or he 
 decided his quest was hopeless, could only be guessed, 
 for he was seen no more near the mill, and the next 
 week his yacht left Christmas Cove, and Chip felt 
 relieved. 
 
 It had been an experience quite new to her, and, 
 in spite of its annoyance, somewhat exciting. It 
 also served another purpose of more value, it re- 
 called Ray to her by sheer force of contrast. She 
 had felt hurt ever since the night she left Green vale. 
 She had meant to put him out of her thoughts and 
 forget all the silly hours and promises at the lake; 
 and yet she never had succeeded. Instead, her 
 thoughts turned to him in spite of her pride. 
 
 And now, contrasting and comparing that honest, 
 manly lad, a playmate only, and yet a lover as well, 
 with this polished, fulsome, flattering, shifty-eyed 
 fop, who sneered at everything good, only made Ray, 
 with his far different ways, seem the more attractive. 
 
 Then conscience began to smite her. She had
 
 VERA RAYMOND 373 
 
 yielded to pride and put him away from her thoughts. 
 His uncle had almost pleaded for her to return to 
 Greenvale, if only for a visit. She knew Ray had 
 spent weeks in searching for her ; yet not once in all 
 the two years since they parted had she sent him a 
 line of remembrance. 
 
 More mature now, Chip began to see her own 
 conduct as it was, and to realize that she had been 
 both ungrateful and heartless; but she could not 
 confess it to any one, not even Aunt Abby. 
 
 Chip's life had been a strange, complex series of 
 moods of peculiar effect, and her conduct must be 
 judged accordingly. 
 
 First, the dense ignorance of years at Tim's Place, 
 with its saving grace of disgust at such surroundings 
 and such a life. Then a few months with people so 
 different and so kind that it seemed an entrance into 
 heaven, to be followed by weeks of a growing realiza- 
 tion that she was a nobody, and an outcast unfit for 
 Greenvale. 
 
 And then came the climax of all this: the bitter 
 sneers of Hannah, Ray's cool neglect, the conscious- 
 ness that she was only a dependent pauper, and then 
 her flight into the world and away from all that stung 
 her like so many whips. 
 
 But a revulsion of feeling was coming. Chip, no
 
 374 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 longer a simple child of the wilderness, was realizing 
 her own needs and her own nature. Something 
 broader and more satisfying than school life and the 
 companionship of Aunt Abby was needed; yet how 
 to find it never occurred to her. 
 
 With September came Aunt Abby's annual visit 
 to Peaceful Valley. A few days before their de- 
 parture, Chip received a letter which was so unex- 
 pected and so vital to her feelings that it must be 
 quoted. 
 
 It was dated at the little village of Grindstone, 
 directed to Vera McGuire, care of Judson Walker, 
 by whom it was forwarded to Christmas Cove. 
 
 "MY DEAR CHIP," it began. 
 
 "I feel that you will not care to hear from me, and 
 yet I must write. I know I am more to blame than 
 any one for the way you left Greenvale, and that you 
 must consider me a foolish boy, without much cour- 
 age, which I have been, and I realize it only too well 
 now, when it is too late. But I am more of a man 
 to-day, I hope, and sometime I shall come and try to 
 obtain your forgiveness for being so blind. No one 
 ever has been, and I know no one ever will be, what 
 you are to me. As Old Cy says, ' Blessings brighten as 
 they vanish,' and now, after this long separation, one
 
 VERA RAYMOND 37$ 
 
 word and one smile from dear little Chip would .seem 
 priceless to me, and I shall come and try to win it 
 before many months. 
 
 "I am here with Uncle Martin's old guide, Levi. 
 We are going into the woods to-morrow to gather 
 gum and trap until spring. I have hired two other 
 men to help, and hope to do well and make some 
 money. I think you will be glad to know that Old 
 Cy was here this summer and was well. He does not 
 know that you have been found, and is still hunting 
 for you. Levi told me that the people here are much 
 interested in you, that they have fixed up the yard 
 where your mother is buried, and he put up a small 
 stone. 
 
 "I wish I could hear from you, but there is no 
 chance now. Please try to forgive a foolish boy for 
 being stupid, and think of me as you did during 
 
 those happy days by the lake. 
 
 "Good-bye, 
 
 "RAY." 
 
 How every word of this half-boyish, half-manly 
 letter was read and re-read by Chip; how it woke 
 the old memories of the wilderness and of herself, a 
 ragged waif there; and how, somehow, in spite of 
 pride and anger, a little thrill of happiness crept into 
 her heart, needs no explanation.
 
 376 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 But she was not quite ready yet to forgive him, 
 and what he failed to say when he might, still rankled 
 in her feelings. 
 
 But Old Cy, that, kindly soul, so like a father! 
 Almost did she feel that to meet him would be worth 
 more than to see any one else in the world. And 
 to think he was still hunting for her, far and near ! 
 
 And now, quite unlike most young ladies, who 
 deem their love missives sacred, Chip showed hers 
 to Aunt Abby. 
 
 "It's from Raymond Stetson," she said, rather 
 bashfully, "a boy who was in the woods with those 
 people who were kind to me, and we became very 
 good friends." 
 
 Aunt Abby smiled as she perused its contents. 
 
 "And so he was the cause of your running away 
 from Greenvale," she said. "Why didn't you write 
 him a note of thanks after you learned he had been 
 searching for you ? I think he deserved that much, 
 at least." 
 
 "I wouldn't humble myself," Chip answered 
 spiritedly, "and then I was ashamed to let any one 
 know I had used his name. I hadn't time to think 
 what name to give when Uncle Jud asked me, and 
 his was the first that came to mind," she added 
 naively.
 
 VERA RAYMOND 377 
 
 Aunt Abby laughed. 
 
 "I guess Master Stetson won't find forgiveness 
 hard to earn," she said, and then her face beamed at 
 the disclosure of a romance while she read the letter 
 a second time. 
 
 But there was more to tell, as Aunt Abby knew 
 full well, and now, bit by bit, she drew the story from 
 Chip, even to the admission of the tender scenes 
 between these two lovers, in which they promised to 
 love each other and be married. 
 
 "It was silly, I suppose," Chip continued blush- 
 ingly, " but I didn't know any better then, and I was 
 so happy that I didn't think about it at all. I never 
 had a beau before, you see, and I guess I acted 
 foolishly. Old Cy used to help us, too, and took us 
 away so we could have a chance to hold hands and 
 act silly. I was so lonesome, too, for Ray all that 
 winter in Greenvale, and nobody knew it. I walked 
 a mile to meet the stage every night for a month, to 
 be the first to see him when he came. I guess he 
 must have thought he owned me. I wouldn't do it 
 now." 
 
 Once more Aunt Abby laughed, a good, hearty 
 laugh, and then, much to Chip's astonishment, she 
 took her face in her hands and kissed it. 
 
 "You dear little goose," she said, "and to think
 
 378 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 you ran away from a boy you cared for like that ! I 
 only hope he is good enough for you, for I can see 
 what the outcome will be." 
 
 That night when the tea-table had been cleared 
 and the lamp lit, Aunt Abby once more began her 
 adroit questioning of Chip; but this time it was of 
 Old Cy, and all about him. For an hour, Chip, 
 nothing loath, recited his praises, repeated his odd say- 
 ings, described his looks and ways and portrayed 
 him as best she could, while Aunt Abby smiled 
 content. 
 
 "It makes me feel young again to hear your story 
 and about Cyrus," she said when all was told. "I 
 was just sixteen when he first came to see me. He 
 was also my first beau, you know. I should judge 
 he must have changed so I would never know him, 
 and maybe he wouldn't recognize me. Forty years 
 is a long time !" And she sighed. 
 
 And now Aunt Abby closed her eyes, let fall her 
 knitting, and lapsed into bygones. 
 
 No longer was she a staid and matronly widow 
 not young, it is true, yet not old, but with rounded 
 face, few wrinkles, and slightly gray hair. Instead 
 was she sweet Abby Grey of the long ago, and once 
 more the belle of this quiet village and Bayport, and 
 the leader at every dance, every husking, and every
 
 VERA RAYMOND 379 
 
 party. Once more she primped and curled her hair, 
 and donned her best, and waited her sailor boy's 
 coming. Once more she heard the bells jingle and 
 saw the stars twinkle as they sped away to a winter 
 night's dance and once more she felt the sorrow 
 of parting, the long years of waiting, waiting, waiting, 
 and at last the numb despair and final conviction 
 that never would her lover return. 
 
 And now he was still alive, though a wanderer, 
 and some day he might surely would come to see 
 her, just once, if no more. 
 
 "Ah, me," she said, rousing herself at last and 
 looking at Chip's smiling, sunny face, "life is a queer 
 riddle, and we never know how to guess it." 
 
 Then she sighed again.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 " The milk o' human kindness 'most allus turns out old 
 cheese, V all rind at that." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 SOME sneering critic once said that few young men 
 ever start out in the world until they are kicked out, 
 and there is a grain of truth in that assertion. It is 
 seldom an actual kick, however, but some motive 
 force quite as compelling. 
 
 In Ray's case it was his uncle's assertion that if 
 he hoped to win Chip he must first show the ability 
 to provide a home for her, which is excellent advice 
 for any young man to follow. 
 
 "It won't be a pleasure trip," Martin said when 
 Ray proposed to go to the wilderness and, with Levi 
 and a couple of other assistants, make a business of 
 gum-gathering and trap-setting, "but you can't lose 
 much by it. You are welcome to the camp; Levi 
 will see that you have game enough to eat, and boss 
 the expedition. I will loan you five hundred, and 
 with what you have, that is capital enough and you 
 ought to do well. It would be better if Old Cy could 
 
 380
 
 VERA RAYMOND 381 
 
 take charge, but as it is, you must go it alone." And 
 go it alone Ray did. 
 
 Levi's services were easily secured. Two young 
 fellows whom he knew were hired at Greenvale. 
 A bateau was purchased, together with more traps 
 and supplies, and after Ray had written Chip his 
 plan, the party started for Martin's camp. They 
 had been established there a month and were doing 
 well. The first ice had begun forming in shallow 
 coves when one afternoon, who should enter the lake 
 and paddle rapidly across but Old Cy. 
 
 "Ye can't git rid o' me when trappin's goin' on," 
 he said cheerily, as Ray and Levi met him at the 
 landing. "I fetched into the settlement kinder 
 homesick fer the woods last week. I heard the good 
 news 'bout Chip's bein' found 'n' you'd come here 
 fer the winter, 'n' I didn't wait a minute 'fore I hired 
 a canoe 'n' started." And then, in the exuberance 
 of his joy, he shook hands with Ray and Levi once 
 more. 
 
 That evening, Ray, who had hard work to keep 
 the secret so long, told Old Cy who lived in Peaceful 
 Valley. 
 
 It was like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky, a shock 
 of joyful news that made Old Cy gasp. 
 
 "Why, I feel jest like a colt once more," he said
 
 382 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 after the exclamation stage had passed. "An', do 
 ye know, boys, I felt all the way comin' in ez though 
 good news was waitin' fer me. I 'spose 'twas from 
 hearin' Chip was all right ag'in." 
 
 That evening was one that none who were in that 
 wildwood camp ever forgot, for Old Cy was the cen- 
 tral figure, and told as only he could the story of his 
 year's wandering in search of Chip. 
 
 It was humorous, pathetic, and tragic all in one, 
 and a tale that held its listeners spellbound for three 
 delightful hours. 
 
 "I had dogs set on me, huidreds on 'em," Old 
 Cy said, in conclusion, "an' I never knew afore how 
 many kinds V sizes o' dogs thar was in this world. 
 I uster think thar warn't more'n two dozen or so 
 kinds. I know now thar's two million 'n' a few 
 more I didn't wait to count. I got 'rested a few 
 times on account o' not havin' visible means o' sup- 
 port. I've been hauled over the coals by doctors 
 tryin' to make me out a lunatic, 'n' I'd 'a' done time 
 in jail if I hadn't had money to show. I tell ye, boys, 
 this is an awful 'spicious world fer strangers, 'n' the 
 milk o' human kindness is mostly old cheese, 'n' all 
 rind at that. I had a little fun, too, mixed in with 
 all the trouble, 'n' one woman who owned a place 
 where I 'plied for lodgin' jest 'bout told me she'd be
 
 VERA RAYMOND 383 
 
 willin' to marry me if I'd stay 'n' work the farm. She 
 had red hair, hard eyes, 'n' bossy sort o' ways, an* 
 that's a dangerous combination. I watched my 
 chance when she wa'n't lookin', 'n' lit out middlin' 
 lively." 
 
 And now life at this wilderness camp, less re- 
 strained than when womankind were here, became 
 one of work, and persistent, steady, no-time-wasted 
 work at that. Martin had said that Levi could boss 
 matters, but it was Ray who assumed management 
 instead. Two years and changed him almost from 
 boy to man. His new ambition was the controlling 
 power. He was here to make his mark, as it were, 
 and the half-hearted, boyish interest in work had 
 changed into a tireless leadership. Then, too, an 
 unspoken, tacit interest in his ambition was felt by 
 those who helped. They knew what he was striving 
 for, and that Chip was the ultimate object. Her 
 history, known as it now was to all who came into 
 the wilderness, influenced these woodsmen. She 
 had been of them and from them, and as an entire 
 village will gather to help at a house-raising, so these 
 three, Levi and the two helpers, now felt the same 
 incentive. 
 
 Success usually comes to all who strive for it, and 
 now, with four willing workers to aid him, Ray was
 
 384 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 rapidly making a success of this venture. Old Cy, 
 the most valuable assistant, was indefatigable. He 
 not only kept the larder well supplied with game, 
 but tended and set traps, worked in the woods with 
 the rest between times, and his cheerful optimism 
 and droll humor bridged many a stormy day and 
 shortened many a weary tramp. And he seemed to 
 grow younger in this new, helpful life for others. 
 His eyes were bright, his step elastic, his spirits 
 buoyant, his strength tireless. 
 
 With Chip safe and provided for, with Ray suc- 
 ceeding in manhood's natural ambition, Old Cy 
 saw his heart's best hopes nearing fruition, and for 
 these two and in these two all his interest centred. 
 
 Only once was the bond of feeling between Ray 
 and Chip referred to by Old Cy, and then in response 
 to a wish of Ray's that he might hear from her. 
 
 "I don't think ye've cause to worry now, arter 
 ye've sent her word what ye're doin' 'n' who for," 
 he answered. "Chip's true blue, not one o' the 
 fickle sort, 'n' once she keers fer a man, she won't 
 give him up till he's married or dead. I think ye'd 
 orter sent her word sooner, ye know she run 'way 
 out o' spunk, but when ye go to her like a man 'n* 
 say, ' I've been workin' 'n' waitin' fer ye all the time,' 
 thar won't be no quarrellin'."
 
 VERA RAYMOND 385 
 
 "I'm not so sure about that," responded Ray, 
 soberly. "From what Uncle Martin said, my 
 chance is gone with Miss Chip, and I don't blame 
 her for feeling so. Like every young fellow, I 
 took it for granted that she was in love with me 
 and ready to fall into my arms on call. Then I 
 hadn't any plans in life, anyway, and, like a fool, 
 believed it made no difference to her. To mix 
 matters up still more, Hannah crowded herself 
 into our affairs and said things to Chip, with the 
 result that Chip got mad, ran away, and you know 
 the rest." 
 
 "Wai," asserted Old Cy, his eyes twinkling, 
 "the time to hug a gal is when she's willin', 'n' ye 
 orter spunked up that night 'fore ye come away 
 'n' told her ye was callatin' to make yer fortin in 
 the woods, an' that ye wanted her to wait 'n' share 
 it then hugged 'n' kissed her a little more by 
 way o' bindin' the bargain, an' knowin' that gal 
 ez I do, she'd fought Hannah, tooth 'n' nail, 'n' 
 walked through fire 'n' brimstun fer ye. I 
 think, 'stead o' hidin' herself fer two years, an' 
 changin' her name, she'd 'a' tramped clear to Grind- 
 stun jest to tell ye her troubles, 'n', if need be, she'd 
 'a' starved fer ye. I tell ye, boy, wimmin like 
 her is scarce in this world, 'n' when ye find one
 
 386 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 young V pretty ez she is, hang on to her an' hang 
 hard." 
 
 "I know it now well enough," returned Ray, 
 ruefully; "but that don't help matters. Then that 
 fortune you found for her makes my case all the 
 worse, and Chip quite independent." 
 
 "It do, it do," chuckled Old Cy, as if glad of 
 it, "an' all the more need o' you hustlin'. It's a 
 case o' woodchuck with ye now. But don't git 
 discouraged. Jest dig. Chip's worth it, ten times 
 over, 'n' no man ever worked to win a woman 'thout 
 bein' bettered by it." 
 
 It was terse and homely advice, and not only 
 convinced Ray that he had neglected one whom he 
 now felt meant home, wife, happiness, and all 
 that life might mean for him, but made him real- 
 ize that all possible striving and self-denial must 
 be made in atonement. With whom and what 
 sort of people Chip had found asylum, he knew 
 not. What influence they would have upon her 
 feelings was an equally unknown matter; and 
 worse than that, the ogre of another suitor for 
 Chip's favor now entered Ray's calculations, and 
 the slang truism, "There are others," was with 
 him every waking moment a much-deserved 
 punishment, all womankind will say.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 ONE day while Aunt Abby and Chip were enjoy- 
 ing the newly furnished home of Uncle Jud, a capa- 
 cious carriage drawn by a handsome pair of horses 
 halted there and Martin and Angie alighted. 
 
 "We are taking a cross-country drive for an 
 outing," he explained, after Angie had kissed 
 Chip tenderly and greetings had been exchanged. 
 "We have waited for you, Miss Runaway, to 
 come and visit us," he added, turning to Chip, 
 "until we couldn't wait any longer and so came to 
 look for you. We have also some news that may 
 interest you. Old Cy has been heard from at 
 last. He spent a year looking for you. He has 
 now gone into the woods, to my camp, where Ray 
 located for the winter, and when spring comes, I 
 can guess where they will head for." 
 
 How welcome this news was to Chip, her face 
 fully indicated ; but neither Martin nor Angie 
 realized how much or for what reason it interested 
 this soft-voiced, gracious lady whom Chip called 
 Aunt Abby. They knew Uncle Jud was Old Cy's 
 
 387
 
 388 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 brother and that they had once been sailors from 
 Bayport, but the long-ago romance of Aunt Abby's 
 life was unknown to them. 
 
 And now ensued a welcome to the callers such 
 as only Uncle Jud and Aunt Mandy could offer. 
 
 "We sorter feel we robbed ye o' Vera," Uncle 
 Jud explained, "though 'twa'n't any intention on 
 our part, an' so ye must gin us some chance to 
 make amends. We callate 'twa'n't no fault o* 
 yourn, either, only one o' them happenin's that 
 was luck for us." 
 
 That evening was one long to be remembered 
 by all who were present, for Chip's history, as 
 told by Martin and Angie, was the entertaining 
 topic, and its humorous side was made the most 
 of by Martin. Chip was in no wise annoyed by 
 Martin's fun-making, either. Instead, conscious 
 of the good-will and affection of the friends who 
 had rescued her from the wilderness, she rather 
 enjoyed, it and laughed heartily at Martin's de- 
 scription of various incidents, especially her first 
 appearance in their camp, and the language she 
 used. 
 
 "I couldn't help swearing," she explained. "I 
 never had heard much except 'cuss' words. I 
 think also now, as I recall my life at Tim's Place,
 
 VERA RAYMOND 389 
 
 I would never have dared that desperate mode of 
 escape had I not been hardened by such a life. 
 I wish I could see Old Tomah once more," she 
 added musingly, "and I'd like to send him some 
 gift. He was the best-hearted Indian I ever saw 
 or heard of, and his queer teachings about spites 
 and how they rewarded us for good deeds and 
 punished us for evil ones was no harm, for it set 
 me thinking. The one thought that encouraged 
 me most during those awful days and nights alone 
 in the woods was the belief that among the spites 
 which I was sure followed me was my mother's 
 soul. I've never changed in my belief, either, 
 and shall always feel that she guided me to your 
 camp." 
 
 Uncle Jud also obtained his share of fun at 
 Chip's expense, describing his finding of her with 
 humorous additions. 
 
 "She was all beat out that night I found her 
 on top o' Bangall Hill, 'n' yet when I asked her if 
 she'd run away from some poor farm, she was 
 ready to claw my eyes out, an' dunno's I blame 
 her. I was innocent, too, fer I really s'posed she 
 had." 
 
 Martin's visit at this hospitable home was not 
 allowed to terminate for a week, for visitors sel-
 
 390 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 dom came here, and Uncle Jud, as big a boy as 
 his brother when the chance came, planned all 
 sorts of trips and outings to entertain them, and 
 quite characteristic affairs they were, too. 
 
 One day they drove to a wood-bordered pond 
 far up the valley, fished a few hours for pickerel 
 and perch, and had a fish fry and picnic dinner. 
 
 The next day they visited a strange, romantic 
 grotto up in the mountains, known as the Wolf's 
 Den, and here a table was set, broiled chicken, 
 sweet corn, and such toothsome fare formed the 
 meal, with nut-gathering for amusement. 
 
 Squirrel and partridge shooting also furnished 
 Martin a little excitement. When he and Angie 
 insisted that they must leave, both host and hostess 
 showed genuine regret. A few remarks made by 
 Angie to her former protegee, in private, the last 
 evening of this visit, may be quoted. 
 
 "I must insist, my dear child," she said, "that 
 you make us a visit in the near future. You left 
 us under an entirely false impression and it has 
 grieved me more than you can imagine. There 
 was never a word of truth in anything that Hannah 
 said. She was spiteful and malicious and desired 
 to get even with you for a hurt to her pride. We 
 had no thought of hurrying away to the woods
 
 VERA RAYMOND 39! 
 
 to separate you and Ray for any reason whatever. 
 Of course, as you must know, I had no suspicion 
 of any attachment between you, and if I had, I 
 certainly should not have tried to break it off in 
 that way. That is a matter that concerns only 
 you and him. My own life experience shows that 
 first love is the wisest and best, and while you were 
 both too young then for an engagement, you must 
 believe me when I tell you that I had no wish to 
 interfere. " 
 
 And so the breach was healed. 
 
 This visit of the Frisbies to Peaceful Valley 
 also awakened something of repentance in Chip's 
 mind, and more mature now, it occurred to her 
 that leaving Greenvale as she did, was, after all, 
 childish. 
 
 Then Angie's part in this drama of her life now 
 returned to Chip in a new light. Once she began 
 to reflect, her self-accusation grew apace and her 
 repentance as well. Now she began to see herself 
 as she was at Tim's Place. 
 
 "I think I treated my Greenvale friends very 
 ungratefully," she said to Aunt Abby one evening 
 after they had returned to Christmas Cove once 
 more, "and what Mrs. Frisbie said to me has 
 made me realize it. I know now that few would
 
 392 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 have done what she did for me. I was an igno- 
 rant, dirty, homeless creature and no relation of 
 hers, and yet she took charge of me, bought me 
 clothes, paid all my expenses going to Greenvale, 
 clothed me there, and always treated me nicely 
 without my even asking for it. 
 
 "The Frisbies certainly ran some risk by keeping 
 me at their cabin when they knew that half-breed 
 was after me. I don't know why they should 
 have done all this. I was nothing to them. And 
 yet when I recall the night I stumbled into their 
 camp, how Mrs. Frisbie dressed me in her own 
 clothes, shared her tent with me, and even prayed 
 for me, I feel ashamed to think of what I have 
 done. I did think that Mrs. Frisbie despised me 
 from what Hannah said. I know now that I was 
 wrong, and running away as I did, was very un- 
 grateful." 
 
 "I think it was, myself," responded Aunt Abby, 
 "and yet believing as you did, Mrs. Frisbie ought 
 not to blame you. I don't think she does, either. 
 She seems a very sensible woman, and I like her. 
 You made your mistake in not confiding in her 
 more. You should have gone to her as you would 
 to a mother, in the first place, and told her just 
 what Hannah had said to you and how you felt
 
 VERA RAYMOND 393 
 
 about it. To brood over such matters and imagr 
 ine the worst possible, is unwise in any one. I 
 think from what you have told me, that this person 
 who sneered against you so much must have had 
 a spite against you." 
 
 "Hannah was jealous, I know," Chip inter- 
 rupted, smiling at the recollection, "and I hurt 
 her feelings because I asked her why she didn't 
 shave." 
 
 "Didn't shave!" exclaimed Aunt Abby, wide- 
 eyed, "what do you mean?" 
 
 "Why, she has whiskers, you see," laughed 
 Chip, "almost as much as some men a nice 
 little mustache and some on her chin. I told 
 her the next day after I got there I thought she 
 was a man dressed as a woman. I snickered, too, 
 I remember, when I said it, for she looked so comi- 
 cal like a goat, almost and then I asked her 
 why she didn't shave. I guess she laid it up against 
 me ever after." 
 
 " She revenged herself amply, it seems," answered 
 Aunt Abby. 
 
 When Christmas neared, and with it a vacation 
 for Chip, new impulses came to her: a desire to- 
 visit Greenvale once more and make amends as 
 best she could to her friends there; and her gift-
 
 394 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 giving desire was quickened by the coming holi- 
 days. She now felt that she had ample means to 
 gratify this latter wish. Day by day, since meet- 
 ing Angie again, her sense of obligation had in- 
 creased, and now it was in her power at Christmas- 
 tide to repay at least a little of the debt. 
 
 Others were also included in this generous proj- 
 ect: Uncle Jud, Aunt Mandy, her foster-mother, 
 Aunt Abby, as well; and then there was Old Cy, 
 whom most of all she now desired to make glad. 
 That was impossible, however. He was still an 
 absent wanderer, and so, as it ever is and ever 
 will be, some thread of regret, some note of sorrow, 
 must be woven into all joys. 
 
 A rapid and almost wonderful growth of this 
 yule-tide impulse now swept over Chip, so much 
 so that it must be told. At first it took shape in 
 the intended purchase of comparative trifles, a 
 fishing-rod for Uncle Jud, a pipe for Martin, gloves 
 for Aunt Abby, and so on. Then as that seem- 
 ingly vast fortune, now hers to spend, occurred to 
 Chip, and her sense of obligation as well, the 
 intended gifts increased in proportion until a 
 costly picture of some camp or wildwood scene 
 for Angie and a valuable watch for Miss Phinney 
 were decided upon.
 
 VERA RAYMOND 395 
 
 Her plans as to how to obtain these presents 
 also took shape. Riverton was the only place 
 where they could be obtained. To that village 
 she would go first, obtain the money needed, devote 
 one entire day to making her purchases, and 
 then go on to Greenvale and astonish these good 
 friends from whom she was once so eager to escape. 
 
 It was all a most delightful episode which was 
 now anticipated by Chip. Again and again she 
 lived it over, especially her arrival in Greenvale, 
 and how like a Lady Bountiful she would present 
 her gifts to her friends. 
 
 So eager was she thus to make some compensa- 
 tion to them that lessons became irksome, the day 
 seemed weeks in length, and she could scarce sleep 
 when bedtime came. 
 
 But the slow days dragged by at last, and then 
 Chip, happier than ever before in her life, dressed 
 in her best, bade Aunt Abby good-bye and started 
 on her journey alone.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 " A man braggin' gits riled if ye try V choke him off." . 
 
 OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 RIVERTON, less provincial than Greenvale, was 
 a village of some two thousand inhabitants. A 
 few brick blocks, with less pretentious wooden 
 buildings, formed a nucleus of stores. A brown- 
 stone bank, four churches, two hotels, the 
 Quaboag House and the Astor House were inter- 
 mingled among these, and a railroad with two 
 trains in each direction a day added life and inter- 
 est to the place. Each of the hotels sent a con- 
 veyance to meet every train, with a loud-voiced 
 emissary to announce the fact of free transporta- 
 tion. In each hostelry a bar flourished, and like 
 rival clubs, each had its afternoon and evening 
 gathering of loafers who swapped yarns and gossip, 
 smoked and chewed incessantly, and contributed 
 little else to support the establishments. Three 
 times daily, at meal hours, each of the rival land- 
 lords banged a discordant gong in his front door- 
 way, without apparent result. 
 
 396
 
 VERA RAYMOND 397 
 
 At about eleven in the forenoon each week- 
 day in summer, Uncle Joe Barnes on his lumber- 
 ing two-horse stage, arrived from Greenvale, 
 paused at the post-office, threw off a mail-pouch, 
 thence around to the Quaboag House stable, and 
 cared for his horses. At two he was ready for the 
 return trip and mounting his lofty seat, he again 
 drove to the front of the hotel, shouting "All 
 aboard ! " dismounted to assist lady passengers, 
 but let masculine ones do their own climbing, and 
 after halting to receive a mail-bag, again departed 
 on his return trip. 
 
 A certain monotonous regularity was apparent 
 in every move and every act and function of vil- 
 lage life in Riverton. At precisely seven o'clock 
 each morning the two landlords appeared simul- 
 taneously and banged their gongs. At twelve 
 and six, this was repeated. At eight o'clock the 
 three principal storekeepers usually entered their 
 places of business; at nine, and while the academy 
 bell was ringing near by, every village doctor might 
 be seen starting out. At ten exactly, Dwight 
 Bennett, the cashier of the bank, unlocked its 
 front door, and the two hotel 'buses invariably 
 started so nearly together that they met at the first 
 turn going stationward. Even the four church
 
 398 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 clocks had the same habit, and it was often related 
 that a stranger there, a travelling man, on his first 
 visit, made an amusing discovery. 
 
 "What kind of a fool clock have you got in this 
 town?" he said to Sam Gates, the landlord of the 
 Quaboag, next morning after his arrival. "I 
 went to bed in good season last night an' just got 
 asleep when I heard it strike thirty-two. I dozed 
 off an' the next I knew it began clanging again, 
 and I counted forty-four. What sort of time do 
 you keep here, anyway? Do you run your town 
 by the multiplication table?" 
 
 The half-dozen chronic loafers who met every 
 afternoon in the Quaboag House office arrived 
 in about the same order, smoked, drank, told 
 their yarns, gathered all the gossip, and departed 
 at nearly the same moment. Their evening visits 
 partook of the same clocklike regularity. 
 
 These of the old guard were also dressed much 
 the same, and "slouchy" best describes it. Gray 
 flannel shirts in winter or summer alike. Collars, 
 cuffs, and ties were never seen on them, though 
 patches were, and as for shaving or hair-cutting, 
 a few shaved once a week, some never did, and 
 semi-annual hair-cuts were a fair average. 
 
 The worst sinner in this respect, Luke Atwater,
 
 VERA RAYMOND 399 
 
 occasionally called "Lazy Luke," never had his 
 beard shortened but once, and that was due to its 
 
 being burnt off while he was fighting a brush 
 
 ' 
 
 fire in spring. 
 
 It was related of him, and believed by many, 
 that once upon a time many years previous he 
 had had his hair cut, and on that occasion the bar- 
 ber had found a whetstone concealed in Luke's 
 shock of tangled hair. It was also asserted that 
 he admitted always carrying his whetstone back 
 of his ear while mowing, and so losing it that way. 
 
 All the news and every happening in Riverton, 
 from the catching of an extra big trout to twins, 
 was duly commented upon and discussed by this 
 coterie. Village politics, how much money each 
 storekeeper was making, crop prospects, the run 
 of sap every spring, drouth, weather indications, 
 rain or snow falls, each and all formed rotating 
 subjects upon which every one of this faithful-to- 
 the-post clique expressed opinions. 
 
 Chip's arrival there with the Frisbie family, 
 and her later history, learned from Uncle Joe, 
 furnished a fertile topic, her escapade in running 
 away from Greenvale a more exciting one, while 
 Old Cy's visit and deposit of a fabulous sum in 
 the bank in her name had been a nine days'
 
 400 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 wonder. That amount, hinted at only by the 
 cashier as a comfortable fortune, soon grew in 
 size until it was generally believed to be almost a 
 million. 
 
 This was Riverton and its decidedly rural status 
 when late one December afternoon the Quaboag 
 free 'bus (a two-seated pung, this time) swept up 
 to that hotel's front door, where the porter assisted 
 a stylish young lady to alight, and he, stepping 
 like a drum major, led the way into the Quaboag's 
 unwarmed parlor. 
 
 "Young lady, sir, a stunner, wants room over 
 night, sir," he announced to the landlord in the 
 office a moment later. "Goin' to Greenvale 
 to-morrer, she says." 
 
 On the instant all converse in the office ceased, 
 and the six constant callers hardly breathed until 
 Sam Gates hastened to the parlor and returned. 
 
 " It's that McGuire gal lady, I mean," he 
 asserted pompously; then to the porter, "Git a 
 move on, Jim, 'n' start a fire in Number 6, an* 
 quick, too ! " And hastily brushing his untidy 
 hair before the office mirror, he left the room again, 
 followed by six envious glances. Then those as- 
 tonished loafers grouped themselves, the better 
 to observe the passage between parlor and office.
 
 VERA RAYMOND 4<DI 
 
 Only one instant sight of this important guest 
 was obtained by them as Chip emerged from the 
 parlor and followed the landlord upstairs, and 
 then the hushed spell was broken. 
 
 " By gosh, it's her ! " exclaimed one in an awed 
 whisper, "an' Jim was right, she's a stunner!" 
 
 "I 'member jest how she looked that fust day 
 she came," asserted another. "Saw her legs, too, 
 when she shinned up top o' the stage." 
 
 " Ye won't git 'nother chance, I'll bet ! " declared 
 a third. 
 
 "What do ye s'pose she's here for," queried a 
 fourth, "to draw the int'rest on her money, or 
 what?" 
 
 It was precisely four-forty-five when Chip ap- 
 peared before this judge and jury of all Riverton's 
 happenings. At five-forty-five they had agreed 
 that she was the handsomest young lady who had 
 ever set foot in the town, that she must be going 
 to get married soon, and that her mission there 
 was to draw out a few thousand dollars for wedding 
 finery. Then they dispersed, and at six-forty-five, 
 when they assembled at the Quaboag again, half 
 of Riverton knew their conclusions, and by bed- 
 time all knew them. 
 
 By eight-thirty next morning, this all-observant
 
 402 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 and all-wise clique had gathered in the hotel office 
 once more, an unusual proceeding, and when 
 Chip tripped out, eight pairs of eyes watched her 
 depart. Then they dispersed. 
 
 At nine o'clock Chip walked up the stone steps 
 to the bank door, read the legend, "Open from 
 10 A.M. until 2 P.M.," turned away, and once more 
 resumed her leisurely stroll up and down the 
 street while she peered into store windows. At 
 ten precisely by the four church clocks she was 
 back at the bank again, and the cashier lost count 
 of the column he was adding when he saw her enter. 
 
 "I would like three hundred dollars, if you 
 please, sir," she said, presenting her little book, 
 and he had to count it over four times, to make 
 sure the amount was right. Then he passed the 
 thick bundle of currency out under his latticed 
 window, seeing only the two wide-open, fathom- 
 less eyes and dimpled face that had watched him, 
 and feeling, as he afterward admitted, like fifty 
 cents. 
 
 And now ensued an experience the like of which 
 poor Chip had never even dreamed, the supreme 
 joy of spending money without stint for those near 
 and dear to her. And what a medley of gifts she 
 bought! Two silk dress patterns, two warm
 
 VERA RAYMOND 403 
 
 wraps, three winter hats, a gold watch for Miss 
 Phinney, an easy-chair, two of the finest pipes 
 she could find, a trout rod, four pairs of gloves, 
 and finally a gun for Nezer. Then as her roll 
 of money grew less, she began to pick up smaller 
 articles, handkerchiefs, slippers, and the like. 
 
 "Send them to the hotel, please," she said to 
 one and all of whom she purchased articles of any 
 size, "marked for Vera McGuire." 
 
 That was enough ! 
 
 Riverton had sensations, mild ones, of course. 
 Now and then a fire had occurred, once an elope- 
 ment. Occasionally a horse ran away, causing 
 damage to some one. But nothing had occurred to 
 compare with the arrival of a supposed fabulously 
 rich young lady who came without escort, who 
 walked into and out of stores like a young goddess, 
 noticing no one, and who spent money as if it were 
 autumn leaves. 
 
 A few of the Quaboag retinue followed her about 
 in a not-to-be-observed manner. Women by the 
 dozen hastily donned outdoor raiment, and visited 
 stores, just to observe her. They crossed and re- 
 crossed the street to meet her, and a battery of 
 curious eyes was focussed on her for two hours. 
 
 When she returned to the hotel, the old guard,
 
 404 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 recruited by every idle man in town, filled the office, 
 awaiting her. Uncle Joe, who had heard of her 
 arrival the moment he came, was among them, re- 
 counting her history once more, and when she neared 
 the hotel, he emerged to meet her. 
 
 "Why, bless yer eyes, Chip," he said, extending a 
 calloused hand, "but I'm powerful glad to see ye 
 once more. Whatever made ye run away the way 
 ye did, 'n' what be ye doin' here? Buyin' out the 
 hull town? I've got the pung filled wi' bundles 
 a'ready wi' yer name on 'em." 
 
 He beaued her into the parlor, like the ancient 
 gallant he was. He washed, brushed his hair and 
 clothing, and awaited her readiness to dine, without 
 holding further converse with the curious crowd. 
 He ushered her into the dining room and made bold 
 to sit and eat with her unasked, and when he assisted 
 her to the front seat in his long box sleigh, crowded 
 with her purchases, and drove away, he was envied 
 by two dozen observers. 
 
 "Why didn't ye send us word o' yer comin', " he 
 said as they left Riverton, "so I cud 'a' spruced up 
 some an' come down with a better rig, bells on the 
 hosses and new buffi 1 er robes?" 
 
 "There was no need of that," answered Chip, 
 pleased, as well she might be. "I am just the same
 
 VERA RAYMOND 405 
 
 girl that I always was, only happier now that I have 
 more friends. How is dear old Aunt Comfort, and 
 every one in Green vale? I am anticipating seeing 
 them so much." 
 
 And never during all the twenty years in which 
 Uncle Joe had journeyed twice each day over this 
 road had the way seemed shorter, or had he been 
 blessed with a more interesting companion. 
 
 The only regret Chip had, was that she ,had for- 
 gotten to buy Uncle Joe a present. She made up for 
 it later, however. 
 
 At Greenvale, Chip met almost an ovation. Aunt 
 Comfort kissed her and cried over her. Nezer ran 
 for Angie, who soon appeared on the scene, and 
 Hannah was so "flustered" she was unable to speak 
 after the first greeting. Martin, who had heard of 
 Chip's arrival from Uncle Joe, hastened to Aunt 
 Comfort's, and had Chip been a real " millionnairess" 
 or some titled lady, she could not have awakened 
 more interest or received half so cordial a welcome. 
 
 Hannah was the one who felt the most embar- 
 rassed, however, and guilty as well. For half an 
 hour, while Chip was the centre of interest, she 
 could only stare at her in dumb amazement. Then 
 she stole out of the room, and later Chip found her 
 in the kitchen, shedding copious tears.
 
 406 THE GIRL FROM TIM 5 S PLACE 
 
 "I'm a miserable sinner 'n' the Lord'll never 
 forgive me," she half moaned, when Chip tried to 
 console her. "An' to think ye feel the way ye say, 
 'n' to bring me a present, arter all the mean things 
 I said. It's a-heapin' coals o' fire on my head, that 
 it is." And the shower increased. 
 
 "I have forgotten all about them, Hannah, truly 
 I have," Chip assured her, "and I wish you would. 
 You didn't understand me then, perhaps, or I you, 
 so let us be friends now." 
 
 The next afternoon Chip, who had learned that 
 Miss Phinney's school was to close the day following, 
 set out to call on her in time to arrive at its adjourn- 
 ment. 
 
 No hint of her return had reached Miss Phinney, 
 no letters had been exchanged, and not since that 
 tearful separation had they met. 
 
 And now as Chip followed the lonely by-road so 
 often traversed by her, what a flood of bitter-sweet 
 memories returned, each bend, each- tree, each 
 rock, and the bridge over the Mizzy held a different 
 recollection. Here at this turn she had first met 
 Ray, after her resolve to leave Greenvale. At the 
 next landmark, a lane crossing the meadows, she 
 had always parted from her teacher, the last time in 
 tears. And how long, long ago it all seemed !
 
 VERA RAYMOND 407 
 
 Then beyond, and barely visible, was the dear 
 old schoolhouse. She could see it now, half hid in 
 the bushes, a lone and lowly little brown building 
 outlined on the winter landscape and apparently 
 dwarfed in size. Once it had awed her; now it 
 seemed pathetic. 
 
 The last of its pupils were vanishing as Chip drew 
 near, and inside, and as lonely as that lone temple, 
 Miss Phinney still lingered. 
 
 That day had not gone well with her. A note of 
 complaint had come from one parent that morning, 
 and news that a dearly loved scholar was ill as well, 
 and Miss Phinney's own life seemed like the fields 
 just now cold, desolate, and snow-covered. 
 
 And then while she, thus lone and lonesome, was 
 putting away books, slates, ink-bottles, and all the 
 badges of her servitude, Chip, without knocking, 
 walked in. 
 
 How they first exclaimed, then embraced, then 
 kissed, and then repeated it while each tried to wink 
 the tears away, and failed; how they sat hand in 
 hand in that dingy, smoke-browned room with its 
 knife-hacked benches, unconscious of the chill, 
 while Chip told her story; and how, just as the 
 last rays of the setting sun flashed from the icicles 
 along its eaves, they left it, still hand in hand,
 
 408 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 was but an episode such as many a schoolgirl can 
 recall. 
 
 Of the few friends Greenvale held for Chip, none 
 seemed quite so near, and dear as Miss Phinney, 
 and none lived longer in her memory. They had 
 been for many months not teacher and pupil, but 
 rather two sisters, confiding, patient, and tender. 
 Life swept them apart. They might never meet 
 again, and yet, so long as both lived, never would 
 those school days be forgotten. 
 
 With Sunday came Chip's most gratifying ex- 
 perience, perhaps, for her arrival was now known 
 by the entire village and the fact that she was an 
 heiress as well. Her fortune (also known) was 
 considered almost fabulous according to Green- 
 vale standards, and when Chip with Angie entered 
 the church porch, it was crowded with people 
 waiting to receive them. Chip, of course, now well 
 clad and well poised, was once more the cynosure 
 of all eyes except when the pastor prayed. At fbe 
 close of service a score, most of whom she knew by 
 sight only, waited to greet her and shake hands with 
 her in the porch. The parson hurried down the 
 aisle to add his smile and hand clasp, and, all in all, 
 it was a most gratifying reception. 
 
 And here and now, let no carping critic say it was
 
 VERA RAYMOND 4OO/ 
 
 all due to that bank account, but rather a country- 
 town's expression of respect and good- will toward 
 one whom they felt deserved it. 
 
 That it all pleased Angie, goes without saying. 
 That Chip well deserved this vindication, no one 
 will question ; and when her visit ended and she de- 
 parted, no one, not even Miss Phinney, missed her 
 more than Angie. 
 
 Only one thread of regret wove itself into Chip's 
 feelings as she rode away with Uncle Joe, whose 
 horses were now decked properly for this important 
 event. She had received a most cordial reception 
 on all sides almost a triumph of good- will. Her 
 gifts had brought an oft-repeated chorus of thanks 
 and a few tears. On all sides and among all she 
 had been welcome, even receiving a call and words 
 of praise from Parson Jones. She was a nobody no 
 longer; instead, a somebody whom all delighted to 
 honor and commend. 
 
 But the one whose motherly pride would have been 
 most gratified, she for whom Chip's heart yearned 
 for oftenest, would never know it.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 WITH the birds and flowers once more returning 
 to Christmas Cove, came outdoor freedom for Chip 
 again. Like the wood-nymph she was in character 
 and taste, the wild, rock-bound coast outside and the 
 low, wooded mountain enclosing this village were 
 her playgrounds where she found companionship. 
 Other associates she cared but little for, and a few 
 hours alone on a wave-washed shore, watching the 
 wild ocean billows tossing spray aloft, or a long 
 ramble in a deep, silent forest, appealed to her far 
 more than parties and girlish enjoyments. 
 
 The wood-bordered road, leading from the village 
 to the railroad ten miles away, was now a favorite 
 walk of hers. It was suited to her in many ways, 
 for it was seldom travelled; it followed the sunny 
 side of the low mountain range back of Christmas 
 Cove, not a house stood along its entire way, and to 
 add charm, a brook kept it company, crossing and 
 recrossing it for two miles. That feature was the 
 most especial attraction, for beds of watercress 
 waved beneath the limpid waters in deep pools, 
 
 410
 
 VERA RAYMOND 411 
 
 bunches of flag grew along its banks, their blue 
 flowers bending to kiss the current; its ripples 
 danced in the sunlight; its music was a tinkling 
 melody, and these simple attractions appealed to 
 Chip. 
 
 There was also another reason for now choosing 
 this byway walk. She knew, or felt sure, that Ray 
 would visit Christmas Cove on his return from the 
 woods. He must come in the old carryall, about 
 the only vehicle ever journeying along this road, 
 and now, like a brownie of the forest, she watched 
 until she spied it afar and then hid in the bushes 
 and peeped out until it passed each day. 
 
 A curious and somewhat complex feeling toward 
 this young man had also come to her. At first, 
 like a child, she had loved him unasked. She had 
 known no different. He had seemed like a young 
 god to her, and to cling to him was supreme happi- 
 ness. Then had come an awakening, a conscious- 
 ness that this freedom was not right and must be 
 checked. Following that also a bitter lesson 
 it had come to her that she was a kind of outcast, 
 a child of shame, as it were, whose origin was des- 
 picable, and who was dependent upon the charity 
 of others. This awakening, this new consciousness, 
 was like a black chasm in front of her, a horror and
 
 412 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 shame combined, and true to her nature, she fled 
 from it like one pursued. 
 
 But two years had changed her views of humanity. 
 She had learned that money and social position did 
 not always win friends and respect. That birth and 
 ancestry were of less consideration than a pure mind 
 and honest intentions, and that fine raiment some- 
 times covered a base heart and vile nature. 
 
 Toward this boyish lover, also, her feelings had 
 been altered. A little of the old-time fondness 
 remained, however. She could not put that away. 
 She had tried and tried earnestly, yet the wildwood 
 illusion still lingered. She had meant, also, to put 
 him and herself quite apart so far, and in such a 
 way, that she would never be found by him. That 
 had failed, however; he knew where she was. He 
 had said that he was coming here. Most likely he 
 would expect to renew the old tender relations ; but in 
 that he would be disappointed. She was sure she 
 would be glad to see him for old times' sake, however. 
 She would be gracious and dignified, as Aunt Abby 
 was. She wanted to hear all about the woods and 
 Old Cy again, but caresses must be forbidden. 
 More than that, every time she recalled how freely 
 she had permitted them once, she blushed and felt 
 that it would be an effort to look him in the face again.
 
 VERA RAYMOND 413 
 
 But she was anxious to see how he would appear 
 now : whether the same boy, with frank, open face, 
 or a commanding, self-possessed man. 
 
 And so each pleasant afternoon she strolled up 
 this byway road. When the ancient carryall was 
 sighted, she hid and watched until it passed. 
 
 But Captain Mix, its driver, also had observing 
 eyes. He knew her now as far as he could see her, 
 as every one in the village did, and he soon noticed 
 her unusual conduct. He also watched along the 
 wayside where she left it, and slyly observed her 
 peeping out from some thicket. Just why this odd 
 proceeding happened time and again, he could not 
 guess, and not until a strange young man alighted 
 from the train one day and asked to be left at the 
 home of Mrs. Abby Bemis, did it dawn on him. 
 
 Then he laughed. "Friend o' Aunt Abby, I 
 'spose?" he inquired in his Yankee fashion, after 
 they had started. 
 
 "No," answered Ray, frankly, "I have never seen 
 the lady. I know some one who is living with her, 
 however. A Miss Me Raymond, I mean." 
 
 Captain Mix glanced at him, his eyes twinkling. 
 "So ye're 'quainted with Vera, be ye," he responded. 
 "Wai, ye're lucky." Then as curiosity grew he 
 added, "Known her quite a spell, hev ye?"
 
 414 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 But Ray was discreet. " Oh, three or four years," 
 he answered nonchalantly. " I knew her when she 
 lived in Greenvale." Then to check the stage- 
 driver's curiosity, he added, " She was only a little 
 girl, then. I presume she has changed since." 
 
 "She's a purty good-lookin' gal now," asserted 
 Captain Mix, "but middlin' odd in her ways. Not 
 much on gallivantin' round wi' young folks, but 
 goin' to school stiddy 'n' roamin' round the woods 
 when she ain't. Purty big gal to be goin' to school 
 she is. I callate her arly eddication must 'a' been 
 sorter neglected. Mebbe ye know 'bout it," and 
 once more this persistent Yankee glanced at his 
 companion. 
 
 But Ray was too loyal to the little girl he loved to 
 discuss her further, and made no answer. Instead, 
 he began inquiries about Christmas Cove, and as 
 they jogged on mile after mile, he learned all that 
 was to be known of that quiet village. When they 
 had reached a point some three miles from it, a 
 kindly thought came to the driver. 
 
 "If Vera ain't 'spectin' ye," he said, "mebbe ye'd 
 like to s'prise her. If so be it, ye kin. She's 'most 
 allus out this way 'n', curislike, hides 'fore I get 
 'long whar she is. If I see her to-day, 'n' ye want to, 
 I'll drop ye clus by 'n' let ye."
 
 VERA RAYMOND 41$ 
 
 And so it came to pass. 
 
 Chip, as usual, had followed her oft- taken walk 
 on this pleasant May afternoon. When the carryall 
 was sighted also, as usual, she had hidden herself. 
 With beating heart she saw two occupants this time, 
 and looking out of her laurel screen, she saw that 
 one was Ray. 
 
 Then she crouched lower. The moment she had 
 waited for had come. 
 
 But now something unexpected happened, for after 
 the carryall passed her hiding spot, Ray, brown and 
 stalwart, leaped out. The carryall drove on, and 
 she saw him returning and scanning the bushes. 
 
 She was caught, fairly and squarely. One in- 
 stant she hesitated, then, blushing rose- red, emerged 
 from the undergrowth. 
 
 And now came another capture, for with a "Chip, 
 my darling," Ray sprang forward, and although 
 she turned away, the next moment she was clasped 
 in his arms. 
 
 In vain she struggled. In vain she writhed and 
 twisted. In vain she pushed him away and then 
 covered her blushing face. 
 
 Love, fierce and eager, could not be thus opposed. 
 All her pride, anger, resentment, shame, and intended 
 coldness were as so many straws, for despite her
 
 416 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 struggles, he pulled her hands aside and kissed her 
 again and again. 
 
 "My darling," he exclaimed at last, "say you 
 forgive me; say you love me; say it now! " 
 
 Then, as she drew away, he saw her eyes were 
 brimming with tears. 
 
 "I won't," she said, "I hate " but his lips cut 
 the sentence in two, and it was never finished. 
 
 "I did mean to hate you," she declared once more, 
 covering her face, "but I I can't." 
 
 " No, you can't," he asserted eagerly, "for I won't 
 let you. You promised to love me once, and now 
 you've got to, for life." 
 
 And she did. 
 
 When the outburst of emotion had subsided and 
 they strolled homeward, Chip glanced shyly up at 
 her lover. 
 
 "Why did you pounce on me so?" she queried; 
 "why didn't you ask me, first?" 
 
 "My dear," he answered, "a wise man kisses the 
 girl first, and asks her afterwards." Then he re- 
 peated the offence. 
 
 And now what a charming summer of sweet illu- 
 sion and castle-building followed for the lovers ! 
 How Aunt Abby smiled benignly upon them, quite 
 content to accord ample chance for wooing ! How
 
 I did mean to hate you, but I I can't."
 
 VERA RAYMOND 417 
 
 many blissful, dreamy hours they passed on lonely 
 wave- washed cliffs, while the marvel of love was dis- 
 cussed ! How its wondrous magic opened a new 
 world whose walks were flower-decked, whose sky 
 was ever serene, where lilies bloomed, birds sang, 
 sea winds whispered of time and eternity, and where 
 Chip was an adored queen ! How all the shame and 
 humiliation of her past life faded away and joy 
 supreme entered on the azure and golden wings of 
 this new morning! Even Old Cy was almost for- 
 gotten; the spites, Old Tomah, and Tim's Place 
 quite so ; and all hope, all joy, all protection, and all 
 her future centred in the will and wishes of this 
 Prince Perfect. 
 
 "Blind and foolish," I hear some fair critic say. 
 Yes, more than that, almost idiotic ; for selfish man 
 never pursues unless forced to do so, and an object 
 of worship once possessed, is but a summer flower.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 "A man'll hev all the friends he kin keer for if he tends to 
 his own knittin' work." OLD CY WALKER. 
 
 QUITE different from the meeting of the lovers was 
 that which occurred when Old Cy reached Peaceful 
 Valley. There were no heroics, no falling upon one 
 another's necks, no tears. Just a "Hullo, Cyrus!" 
 "Hullo, Judson!" as these two brothers clasped 
 hands, and forty years were bridged. 
 
 Aunt Mandy, however, showed more emotion, for 
 when Old Cy rather awkwardly stooped to kiss her, 
 the long ago of Sister Abby's sorrow welled up in her 
 heart, and the tears came. 
 
 That evening's reunion, with its two life his- 
 tories to be exchanged, did not close until the 
 tall clock had ticked time into the wee, small hours. 
 
 All of Old Cy's almost marvellous adventures had 
 to be told by him, and not the least interesting were 
 the last few years at the wilderness home of the 
 hermit. Chip's entry into it and her history formed 
 another chapter fully as thrilling, with Uncle Jud's 
 rescue of her for a denouement. 
 
 418
 
 VERA RAYMOND 419 
 
 The most pathetic feature of this intermingled 
 history the years while sweet Abby Grey waited 
 and watched for her lover was left untold. Only 
 once was it referred to by Aunt Mandy, in an indirect 
 way ; but the quick lowering of Old Cy's eyes and the 
 shadow that overspread his face, checked her at 
 once. Almost intuitively she realized its unwisdom, 
 and that it was a sorrow best not referred to. 
 
 Old Cy evidently felt it a subject to avoid, and not 
 until the next day did he even ask how Aunt Abby 
 looked or what had been her life experiences. A 
 little of this reticence wore away in due time, how- 
 ever, and then Aunt Mandy once more referred to 
 her sister. 
 
 "I kinder feel you blame Abby somehow, Cyrus, 
 the way you act," she said, "and yet thar ain't no 
 cause for it. She'd waited 'most seven years. We'd 
 all given you up for dead, and life in Christmas Cove 
 wa'n't promisin' much for Abby." 
 
 "I don't blame her a mite," Old Cy answered 
 quickly, "an' no need o' yer thinkin' so. I don't 
 blame no woman fer makin' the best shift they kin. 
 They've got to hev a home 'n' pertecter, bless 'em, 
 or be nobody in this world. Comin' here and findin' 
 how things are, sorter makes me realize how much 
 I've missed in life, though, an' how much sorrer I've
 
 42O THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 had to outgrow. I don't lay up nothin' 'gainst 
 Abby, not fer a minit. Only I hated to hev ye tell 
 me what I knew ye'd hev to, that fust night." 
 
 "But you're goin' to see her, ain't ye, Cyrus?" 
 Aunt Mandy asked anxiously. "Ye won't shame 
 her by not goin', will ye?" 
 
 "Wai, mebbe," he answered slowly, and after a 
 long pause. "I wouldn't want to hurt her knowin'ly. 
 I callate I've done more grievin'n she has, though, 
 ten times over, an' seem' her now's a good deal like 
 openin' an old tomb a sorter invitin' ghosts o* 
 old heartaches to step out. Abby's outgrowed the 
 old times, 'n' I'm sartin, too, won't be the happier 
 by seein' me ag'in. I may be wrong, but I've a notion 
 she'll sorter hate to see me. 'Twas to keep her from 
 feelin' 'shamed 'n' miserable 'n' spoilin' her life, I've 
 never let her nor nobody that knew her find out I 
 was alive. I'm doubtin' I would now if she hadn't 
 larned it from Chip." 
 
 He relented a little from this strange and almost 
 cruel whim a week later, and after visiting the Riggs- 
 ville store and obtaining what really amounted to a 
 disguise in new garments, he announced his plans. 
 
 "I've got to see Chip," he said, "an' see how she 
 'n' Ray's gittin' on. I've got to see Abby, I s'pose. 
 I want to, an' I don't want to, both in one. Then
 
 VERA RAYMOND 421 
 
 ag'in, these two young folks Chip 'n' the boy 
 hev sorter got tangled up in my feelin's, 'n' I can't 
 rest content till I've seen 'em settled in life. I'm 
 goin' to Christmas Cove fer a day. Then back here 
 till they hitch up, 'n' then wal, then mebbe I'd 
 better go to the woods ag'in. I ain't fitted by natur 
 fer dressed-up folks." 
 
 No opposition to this unseemly outcome was 
 made by Uncle Jud or Aunt Mandy. They knew, 
 or hoped, the leaven of bygone memories and asso- 
 ciation would change the hermit-like impulse of Old 
 Cy, and all in good time a better ending of his life 
 would seem possible to him. To argue it now was 
 apparently useless. A man so set in his ideas as to 
 remain a homeless wanderer for almost a lifetime, was 
 not to be changed in a month, or perhaps in a year. 
 
 Neither did Old Cy seem in a hurry to visit Christ- 
 mas Cove. 
 
 "I don't look nat'ral or feel nat'ral in them new 
 clothes," he said to Aunt Mandy one day, "an* 
 while I want to see Abby, I've lived in the woods so 
 long I'm sorter 'shamed to go 'mongst respectable 
 people. Then I look like one o' them wooden men 
 dressed up in a store winder with that new rig on, an' 
 jest know folks'll all be laughin' at me. I've got to 
 go, I callate, but I'd like to make the trip in a cage.
 
 422 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 I'm sartin sure Abby'll laugh at me arterwards." 
 From which it may be seen how hard it was for 
 Old Cy to fit himself into civilized life once more. 
 
 He nerved himself for the trip to Christmas Cove 
 in a few days, however, and how he met and renewed 
 acquaintance with his old-time sweetheart shall be 
 told in his own words. 
 
 " Abby hain't changed near so much as I callated," 
 he said on his return ; "a leetle fuller in figger, but 
 jest the same easy-spoken, sweet sorter woman I 
 always knew she'd be. She was 'lone when I called, 
 an' fer a minit arter we shook hands neither on us 
 could speak ag'in. Then she kinder bit her lip V 
 swallered her feelin's, keepin' her face turned away, 
 an' then we sot down 'n' begun talkin'. It was 
 techin', too, the way she acted, fer she kept tryiri* to 
 smile, 'n' all the while the tears kept startin'. It 
 was like one o' them summer days when the rain 
 patters while the sun is shinin'. I don't think she 
 noticed my clothes much, either, an' we sot up till 
 'most midnight talkin' over old times. It all turned 
 out 'bout the way I 'spected a sorter funeral o' 
 old hopes with us two fer mourners. She's powerful 
 considerate, too, Abby is, for all the time we was 
 talkin' she never once spoke o' Cap'n Bemis, 'n' I 
 didn't. It was jest ez if we started in whar we left
 
 VERA RAYMOND 423 
 
 off, 'n' skippin' the gap between. She 'lowed she 
 hoped she'd see me soon ag'in, that she felt like a 
 mother to Chip; an' when I bid her good-bye, she 
 kinder choked once more. 
 
 "I didn't see much o' Chip, either, which sorter 
 hurt me. Take it all in all, my visit thar upsot me 
 more'n I callated, 'n' I guess when Chip's settled, 
 I'd best go to the woods 'n' forgit all that's past. 
 My life's been a failure, anyway." 
 
 And Old Cy was right ; but it was grim and merci- 
 less Fate that made it so, and for that he was not 
 responsible. 
 
 Love in youth is a sweet song of joy and hope and 
 promise. But love that spans a lifetime, that 
 reaches and caresses our heartstrings once again as 
 we enter the final shadows, has only the pathos of 
 parting and the tender chords of almost forgotten 
 melodies in it. Vainly do we strive to enter the en- 
 chanted garden once more. Vainly do our heart 
 throbs beat against its adamant walls. Vainly do 
 we hope to catch just one more of the old bygone 
 thrills. It is useless, for none can live life over, and 
 once age has locked the portals of youth and fervor, 
 they are never opened again. .
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 WITH September came a supreme event in the 
 lives of Chip and Ray, when Mr. and Mrs. Frisbie, 
 Aunt Comfort, Miss Phinney and Hannah, Uncle 
 Jud and Aunt Mandy, and Old Cy, all gathered in 
 Aunt Abby's quaint parlor to see her aged pastor 
 join their hands and lives. Then came the kisses, 
 the congratulations, the rice, and old-shoe throwing, 
 and then solitude and tears for Aunt Abby. All 
 the wedding guests except Old Cy hied them- 
 selves away with the new pair, and he left for 
 Bayport. 
 
 And thus closes the history of Chip McGuire, waif 
 of the wilderness and slave of Tim's Place. 
 
 Bless her ! 
 
 Two days later Old Cy returned. 
 
 No one was in the house when he knocked at Aunt 
 Abby's door, and then, led perhaps by the invisible 
 chord that spanned forty years, he slowly strolled 
 up the path beside the old mill-pond, which he and 
 she had often followed in the old, old days. 
 
 His heart had led him aright, for there, at the foot 
 424
 
 VERA RAYMOND 425 
 
 of the ancient oak that had once been their trysting- 
 place, she sat. 
 
 "I thought I'd come over V bid ye good-bye, 
 Abby, " he said gently, as she arose to meet him. 
 "I've been doin' a good deal o' biddin' good-bye 
 to-day. I bid good-bye to the old graveyard whar 
 my folks is ; it's all growed up to weeds 'n' bushes, 
 I'm sorry to say. But that can't be helped. It's 
 the way o' natur. I've been down to the p'int whar 
 you 'n' I used to go, an' I bid that good-bye," he 
 added, seating himself near her. "Ye 'member it, 
 don't ye, Abby, 'n' them days when we went thar to 
 watch the waves?" 
 
 "I do, Cyrus," she answered, her voice trembling. 
 "I remember all the old days only too well." 
 
 "They all come back to me, too," he continued in 
 a lower tone, "an' I wish I could skip back to 'em, 
 but I can't. I'm an old man now, an' no use to 
 nobody, 'n' not much to myself. I've been a wan- 
 derer many years ye know why, Abby. I've had 
 a short spell o' joy, kinder helpin' this boy 'n' gal 
 into sunshine 'n' a home. They've gone their way 
 now 'n' sure to forgit me an' you. It's nat'ral they 
 should, 'n' all that's left me is to go back to the 
 woods 'n' stay." 
 
 He paused a moment, glancing up the narrow
 
 426 THE GIRL FROM TIM'S PLACE 
 
 pond to where it ended in shadow, and then con- 
 tinued: "It's curis, Abby, how life begins with 
 how-de-do's 'n' smilin' friends 'n' cheerin' pros- 
 pects, 'n' then ends with good-byes 'n' bein' forgot. 
 It's what we must callate on, though, an' a good deal 
 like a graveyard is left to weeds 'n' bushes." 
 
 Once more he paused, closed his eyes, and re- 
 mained silent for a time. 
 
 "Wai, I might as well be goin'," he said finally, 
 rising and extending his hand, "so good-bye, Abby. 
 I wish ye well in life." 
 
 "But is there any need of it?" she answered, 
 turning her face to hide the tears as his hand clasped 
 hers. 
 
 "Why, no, only to fergit my sorrer," he answered; 
 "I can't do it here." 
 
 " But who will care for you there at last and 
 must you go ?" Then she turned to him again. 
 
 And then he saw, not the gentle, saddened face 
 upraised to his, but the tender face of sweet Abby 
 Grey of the long, long ago. 
 
 " Must you leave us me ? " she whispered once 
 again. 
 
 "Wai, mebbe not," he answered. 
 
 THE END
 
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 PROSE TALES By Edgar Allan Poe. 
 
 A large izmo volume, bound in cloth, with decorative cover. 
 Containing eleven striking drawings by Alice B. Woodward, a biog- 
 raphy of the author, a bibliography of the Tales, and comprehensive 
 notes. The best edition ever published in a single volume. 
 
 ISHMAEL > By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. 
 
 SELF-RAISED ) The two vols. in a flat box, or boxed separately 
 Handtome new editions of these two old favorites, with illustrations 
 by Clare Angell 
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN By Jessie Fothergill. 
 
 A fine edition of this popular musical novel, with illustrations by 
 
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 A BEAUTIFUL BOOK 
 
 LORNA DOONE 
 
 EXMQQR EDITION. Bv R. D. BLACKMORE 
 
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 and fifty drawings, initial letters, head and tail pieces, etc., 
 by some of the best American Artists, among whom are 
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 PRICE, BOXED, Two DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS. 
 
 THE SAME, Two Volume Edition, beautifully bound 
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 PRICE FIVE DOLLARS PER SET. 
 
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 tew writers of recent years have achieved such a wida 
 popularity in this particular field as has Mr. Marchmont. 
 For rattling good stories of love, intrigue, adventure, 
 plots and counter-plots, we know of nothing better, and 
 to the reader who has become surfeited with the analyti- 
 cal and so-called historical novels of the day, we heartily 
 Bommend them. There is life, mojrement, animation, 
 on every page, and for a tedious railway journey or a 
 dull rainy afternoon, nothing could be better. They will 
 make you forget your troubles. 
 
 The following five volumes are novr ready in oar 
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 No Field Collection is Complete 
 Without this Book 
 
 A LITTLE BOOK of 
 TRIBUNE VERSE 
 
 By EUGENE FIELD 
 
 Compiled and edited by JOSEPH G. BROWN, formerly 
 city editor of the Denver Tribune, and an intimate friend 
 and associate of the poet during the several years in which 
 he was on the staff of that paper. 
 
 This volume resurrects a literary treasure which has 
 been buried for many years in the forgotten files of a 
 newspaper, and it is, as nearly as it has been possible to 
 make, an absolutely complete collection of the hitherto 
 unpublished poems of the gifted author. 
 
 These poems are the early product of Field's genius. 
 They breathe the spirit of Western life of twenty years ago. 
 The reckless cowboy, the bucking broncho, the hardy 
 miner, the English tenderfoot, the coquettish belle, and all 
 the foibles and extravagances of Western social life, are de- 
 picted with a naivete and satire, tempered with sym- 
 y>athy and pathos, which no other writer could imitate. 
 
 The book contains nearly three hundred pages, in- 
 cluding an interesting and valuable introduction by the 
 editor, and is printed from new type on fine deckle edge 
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 VIA CRUCIS : A Romance of the Second Crusade. 
 
 Illustrated by Louis Loeb. 
 
 Mr. Crawford has manifestly brought his best qualities 
 os a student of history, and his finest resource* as a master 
 af an original and picturesque style, to bear upon this story. 
 
 MR. ISAACS : A Tale of Modem India. 
 
 Under an unpretentious title we have here one of the 
 most brilliant novels that has been given to the world. 
 
 THE HEART OF ROME. 
 
 The legend of a buried treasure under the trails of the 
 palace of Conri, known to but few, provides the frame- 
 work for many exciting incidents. 
 
 SARACINESCA 
 
 A graphic picture of Roman society in ths last u/ of 
 the Pope's temporal power. 
 
 SANT* ILARIO ; A Sequel to Saracinesou 
 
 A singularly powerful and beautiful story, fulfilling every 
 requirement of artistic fiction. 
 
 IN THE PALACE OF THE KING : A Love Story 
 
 of Old Madrid. Illustrated. 
 
 The imaginative richness, the marvellous ingenuity of 
 plot, and the charm of romantic environment, rank this 
 novel among the great creations. 
 
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 BY 
 
 LOUIS TRACY 
 
 I2mo, cloth, 75 cents each, postpaid 
 
 Books that make the nerves tingle romance and ad- 
 venture of the best type wholesome for family reading 
 
 THE PILLAR OF LIGHT 
 
 ' Breathless interest is a hackneyed phrase, but every 
 reader of The Pillar of Light ' who has red biood in 
 his or her veins, will agree that the trite saying applies to 
 the attention which this story commands. New York Sun. 
 
 THE WINGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 ** Here is a story filled with the swing of adventure, 
 There are no dragging intervals in this volume : from the 
 moment of their landing on the island until the rescuing 
 crew find them there, there is not a dull moment for the 
 young people nor for the reader either." Neto York 
 Times. 
 
 THE KING OF DIAMONDS 
 
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 charm ii a little hard to describe, but it is as definite as 
 that of a rainbow. The reader is carried along by the 
 robust imagination of the author. San Francisco Exam- 
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