These stories, with Uncle Joe’s corroboration, resulted in a direful tale believed by all. Neighbors flocked in to see this heroine of many escapades, villagers halted in front of Aunt Comfort’s to catch a sight of this marvel, and so the wonder spread.
Angie was, of course, to blame. More impressed with the seriousness of the task she had undertaken than the need of caution, she had failed to tell Chip she must not talk about herself, and so a wofully distorted history became current gossip.
When Sunday came, the village church was packed, and Parson Jones marvelled much at the unexpected increase of religious interest. He had heard of this new arrival, but when the Frisbie family with Chip, in suitable clothing, entered their pew, the cynosure of all eyes, this unusual attendance was accounted for.
And what a staring-at Chip received!
On the church steps a group of both young and old men had awaited her arrival and gazed at her in open-eyed astonishment. All through service she was watched, and not content with this, a dozen or so, men and women, formed a double line outside, awaiting the Frisbies’ exit.
Angie also failed to understand the principal cause of this interest. Her last appearance at this church had been as a bride. Naturally that fact would produce some staring, and so the curious and almost rude scrutiny the family received, was less noticed by her.
But Chip’s eyes were observant.
“I don’t like goin’ to meetin’,” she said, “an’ bein’ stared at like I was a wildcat. I seen ’em grinnin’, too, some on ’em, when we went in, an’ one feller winked to another. What ailed ’em?”
Her vexations, however, had only just begun, for Angie had seen and made arrangements with Miss Phinney, one of the village school-teachers, and the next morning Chip was sent to school. And now real trouble commenced.
Not knowing more than how to read and spell short words, and unable to write, she, a fairly well-developed young lady, presented a problem which was hard for a teacher to solve. To put her in the class where she belonged was absurd. She must sit with older girls, or look ridiculous. If she recited with the eight-year-old children, the result would be the same, and so a species of private tuition with recitations at noon or after school became the only possible course and the one her teacher adopted.