A curious and almost ridiculous espionage followed, however, for a week, and not a pleasant afternoon passed but this fellow was noticed strolling somewhere near the old mill or past the house.
Another amazing evidence of his intent was received a few days later, in the shape of a five-pound box of choicest candies, that came by express with his card. Aunt Abby opened this and saw the card, and the next day she commissioned the stage driver to deliver the box, card and all, to Mr. Goodnow at his boarding house.
A long and adroitly worded letter to Chip came a day later, so humble, so flattering, and so importuning that it made her laugh.
“I think that fellow must have gone crazy,” she said, handing the letter to Aunt Abby, “he runs on so about how he can’t sleep nights from thinking about me. He says that he must go away next week, and shall die if he can’t see me once more. What ails him, anyway?”
“Nothing, except evil intentions,” responded Aunt Abby, perusing the missive. “He must think you a fool to believe such bosh,” she added severely, after finishing it. “Honest love doesn’t grow like a mushroom in one night, and the difference between his position and yours gives the lie to all he says. I hope he will go away next week, and never come back.”
Whether Chip’s studied avoidance of him, combined with the snubbing, served its purpose, or he decided his quest was hopeless, could only be guessed, for he was seen no more near the mill, and the next week his yacht left Christmas Cove, and Chip felt relieved.
It had been an experience quite new to her, and, in spite of its annoyance, somewhat exciting. It also served another purpose of more value,–it recalled Ray to her by sheer force of contrast. She had felt hurt ever since the night she left Greenvale. She had meant to put him out of her thoughts and forget all the silly hours and promises at the lake; and yet she never had succeeded. Instead, her thoughts turned to him in spite of her pride.
And now, contrasting and comparing that honest, manly lad, a playmate only, and yet a lover as well, with this polished, fulsome, flattering, shifty-eyed fop, who sneered at everything good, only made Ray, with his far different ways, seem the more attractive.
Then conscience began to smite her. She had yielded to pride and put him away from her thoughts. His uncle had almost pleaded for her to return to Greenvale, if only for a visit. She knew Ray had spent weeks in searching for her; yet not once in all the two years since they parted had she sent him a line of remembrance.
More mature now, Chip began to see her own conduct as it was, and to realize that she had been both ungrateful and heartless; but she could not confess it to any one, not even Aunt Abby.