“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 “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 took 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 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 understood, and somehow her heart went out to this unfortunate 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 brightened, “it will help you on, 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.