“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, “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.”
“Wal, 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.”
And so Chip McGuire, waif of the wilderness and erstwhile protégée 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.