Curious to note what she would do, Angie remained with closed eyes and motionless. From the corner of the tent where she had curled up the night before, the girl now cautiously crept toward the elder woman. Inch by inch, upon the bed of boughs, she moved nearer, until Angie, watching with half-open eyes, saw her head lowered, and felt two soft warm lips touch her hand.
It was a trifle. It was no more than the act of a cat who rubs herself against her mistress or a dog who licks his master’s hand, and yet it settled once for all that waif’s fate and Angie’s indecision.
CHAPTER III
“Women are like grasshoppers–ye kin never tell which way they’re goin’ to jump.”–Old Cy Walker.
Levi was starting a fire, Ray washing potatoes, and Martin, in his shirt-sleeves, using a towel vigorously near the canoes, when Angie and Chip emerged that morning; and now while breakfast is under way, a moment may be seized to explain who these people were and their mission in this wilderness.
Many years before, in a distant village called Greenvale, two brothers, David and Amzi Curtis, had quarrelled over an unfortunate division of inherited land. The outcome was that Amzi, somewhat misanthropic over the death of his wife, and of peculiar make-up, deserted his home and little daughter Angeline, and vanished. For many years no one knew of his whereabouts, and he was given up as dead.
In the meantime his child, cared for by a kindly woman known as Aunt Comfort, had grown to womanhood. About this time a boyhood sweetheart of Angeline’s, named Martin Frisbie, who had been gathering wealth in a distant city, invited a former schoolmate, now the village doctor in Greenvale, to join him on an outing trip into the wilderness.
Here something of the history of a notorious outlaw named McGuire became known to Martin, and more important than that, a queer old hermit was discovered, dwelling in solitude on the shore of a small lake. Who he was, and why this strange manner of life, Martin could not learn, and not until later, when he returned to Greenvale to woo his former sweetheart once more, did he even guess. Here, however, from a description furnished by a village nondescript,–a sort of Natty Bumpo and philosopher combined, known as Old Cy Walker, who had been Martin’s youthful companion,–he was led to believe that the queer hermit and the long-missing Amzi were one and the same.
Another trip into this wilderness with Old Cy, taken to identify the hermit, resulted in proving the correctness of the surmise. Then Martin set about making this misanthropic recluse more comfortable in all ways possible; and then, leaving Old Cy to keep him company, he returned to Greenvale and Angie.