One day while Aunt Abby and Chip were enjoying the newly furnished home of Uncle Jud, a capacious 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 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 of 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 description 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, 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 seldom 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 protÉgÉe, 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 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 have done what she did for me. I was an ignorant, 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 ungrateful.”

“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 about it. To brood over such matters and imagine 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 interrupted, 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 comical–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-giving desire was quickened by the coming holidays. She now felt that she had ample means to gratify this latter wish. Day by day, since meeting Angie again, her sense of obligation had increased, 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 project: 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 seemingly 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.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 compensation 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.