The next day they visited a strange, romantic grotto up in the mountains, known as the Wolf’s Den, and here a table was set, broiled chicken, sweet corn, and such toothsome fare formed the meal, with nut-gathering for amusement.
Squirrel and partridge shooting also furnished Martin a little excitement. When he and Angie insisted that they must leave, both host and hostess showed genuine regret. A few remarks made by Angie to her former protégée, in private, the last evening of this visit, may be quoted.
“I must insist, my dear child,” she said, “that you make us a visit in the near future. You left us under an entirely false impression and it has grieved me more than you can imagine. There was never a word of truth in anything that Hannah said. She was spiteful and malicious and desired to get even with you for a hurt to her pride. We had no thought of hurrying away to the woods to separate you and Ray for any reason whatever. Of course, as you must know, I had no suspicion of any attachment between you, and if I had, I certainly should not have tried to break it off in that way. That is a matter that concerns only you and him. My own life experience shows that first love is the wisest and best, and while you were both too young then for an engagement, you must believe me when I tell you that I had no wish to interfere.”
And so the breach was healed.
This visit of the Frisbies to Peaceful Valley also awakened something of repentance in Chip’s mind, and more mature now, it occurred to her that leaving Greenvale as she did, was, after all, childish.
Then Angie’s part in this drama of her life now returned to Chip in a new light. Once she began to reflect, her self-accusation grew apace and her repentance as well. Now she began to see herself as she was at Tim’s Place.
“I think I treated my Greenvale friends very ungratefully,” she said to Aunt Abby one evening after they had returned to Christmas Cove once more, “and what Mrs. Frisbie said to me has made me realize it. I know now that few would have done what she did for me. I was an ignorant, dirty, homeless creature and no relation of hers, and yet she took charge of me, bought me clothes, paid all my expenses going to Greenvale, clothed me there, and always treated me nicely without my even asking for it.
“The Frisbies certainly ran some risk by keeping me at their cabin when they knew that half-breed was after me. I don’t know why they should have done all this. I was nothing to them. And yet when I recall the night I stumbled into their camp, how Mrs. Frisbie dressed me in her own clothes, shared her tent with me, and even prayed for me, I feel ashamed to think of what I have done. I did think that Mrs. Frisbie despised me from what Hannah said. I know now that I was wrong, and running away as I did, was very ungrateful.”
“I think it was, myself,” responded Aunt Abby, “and yet believing as you did, Mrs. Frisbie ought not to blame you. I don’t think she does, either. She seems a very sensible woman, and I like her. You made your mistake in not confiding in her more. You should have gone to her as you would to a mother, in the first place, and told her just what Hannah had said to you and how you felt about it. To brood over such matters and imagine the worst possible, is unwise in any one. I think from what you have told me, that this person who sneered against you so much must have had a spite against you.”
“Hannah was jealous, I know,” Chip interrupted, smiling at the recollection, “and I hurt her feelings because I asked her why she didn’t shave.”