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 belongings she could call her own–the beaded moccasins, cap, and fur cape old Tomah had given her, and other trifles–she waited until almost midnight and stole out of the house.

Once before she had left her only shelter, in a more desperate mood. Now the same impulse 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 hungering 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 humiliation 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.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 northeast 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 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 somewhat 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 movements 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.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 dependent 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 blessings, 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 once more.

During all that first day’s journey, her one fear had been that some one she would meet might recognize 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 humiliating 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 watercress 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.

“Won’t you please give me a lift an’ a chance to earn my vittles for a day or two?”