“I can’t take no comfort here, nohow,” he said, “for the premises seem ha’nted. Whichever way I turn I ’spect to meet Amzi with his moon eyes, or see Chip watchin’ me, or Angie steppin’ out o’ the cabin. If I stayed here long, I’d see Chip’s spites crawlin’ out o’ the bushes soon ez it got dusky. I’m used to the woods, but this spot seems like a graveyard.
“I never done no prayin’,” he added sadly. “I don’t b’lieve in’t. But if I could set eyes on Chip this minit, I’d go right down on my knees ’n’ say, ’Thank God for this blessin’.’ I’m ’fraid I never will, though.”
The next morning these two friends left this abode of unseen forms, more disconsolate than ever. They halted at Tim’s Place long enough to learn that no tidings of McGuire or the half-breed had even reached that filthy station, and then returned to the settlement once more. Here Old Cy waited until the summer waned, vainly hoping each day would at least bring some word from Martin or Chip, and then bade Levi good-bye, and departed.
He had been gone a week, a wandering tramp once more, when Ray appeared, bearing the glad news that Chip had been found. And also another and a more astounding fact.
But Old Cy was not there.
CHAPTER XXXIV
Life, always colorless at Christmas Cove, except in midsummer, now became changed for Aunt Abby. For all the years since her one girlish romance had ended, she had been a patient helpmate to a man she merely respected. Religion had been her chief solace. The annual visit to her sister’s gave the only relief to this motionless life, monotonous as the tides sweeping in and out of the cove; but now a counter-current slowly flowed into it.
Chip, of course, with her winsome eyes and grateful ways, was its mainspring, and so checkered had been her career and so humiliating all her past experiences, that now, escaped from dependence and feeling herself a valued companion, she tasted a new and joyous life. So true was this, that hard lessons at school, the regularity of church-going, and the unvarying tenor of it all seemed less by comparison.
Another undercurrent, aside from Chip’s devotion, also swept into Aunt Abby’s feelings,–the strange emotions following the knowledge that her former lover was still alive. For many years she had waited and hoped for this sailor boy’s return; then her heart had grown silent, as hope slowly ebbed, and then, almost forgetfulness–but not quite, however, for the long, lily-dotted mill-pond just above had now and then been visited by them. A certain curiously grown oak which was secluded near its upper end was once a trysting-place, and even the old mill with its plashing wheel held memories.