Martin and his wife exchanged glances.
“Well, and then what?” continued Angie.
“Wal, 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 bespoke truth; but it revealed such a pigsty state 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, ’n’ 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.”