“Dear Aunt Comfort,
“I can’t stand Hannah or being a pauper any longer. She as good as told me I wanted your money and I never thought of it. She said I wasn’t good enough for Ray, either, and that was the reason Mrs. Frisbie took him away so soon. I know I ain’t good for nothin’ nor nobody, but I didn’t ask to be fetched here and I am going away, never, never, never to come back. If ever I can, I will pay you and Mrs. Frisbie for all I’ve eat and had.
“Good-bye Forever,
“Chip.”
CHAPTER XXVI
“There’s a heap o’ comfort in lookin’ on the dark side o’ life cheerfully.”–Old Cy Walker.
Old Cy especially found life dull after Ray had gone. The hermit also appeared to miss him and became more morose than ever. He never had been what might be termed social, speaking only when spoken to, and then only in the fewest possible words. Now Old Cy became almost a walking sphinx, and found that time passed slowly. His heartstrings had somehow become entwined with Ray’s hopes and plans. He had bent every energy and thought to secure for Ray a valuable stock of furs and gum, and, as was his nature, felt a keen satisfaction in helping that youth to a few hundred dollars.
Now Ray had departed, furs, gum, and all. He had promised to return with Martin and Angie later on, but of that Old Cy felt somewhat dubious, and so the old man mourned.
There was no real reason for it, for all Nature was now smiling. The lake was blue and rippled by the June breezes; trout leaped out of it night and morning; flowers were blooming, squirrels frisking, birds singing and nest-building; and what Old Cy most enjoyed, the vernal season was at hand.