How sure that weary, waiting waif was that her heart was not mistaken! How her pulses leaped and thrilled as the slow-moving stage crept up the hill; and how Ray, eager to catch the first glimpse of his native village, saw a winsome, smiling face shaded by a flower-decked hat, peeping at him over a wall, was but a minor episode in the lives of these two; yet one to be recalled many, many times afterward and always with a heartache.
None came to them now, for on the instant Ray saw who was waiting for him he halted the stage, and the next moment he was beside his sweetheart. And Uncle Joe, with the wisdom and sympathy of old age, discreetly averted his face, and said “Go-lang” to his horses, and drove on alone.
CHAPTER XXIII
“There ain’t but few folks smell woollen quite quick enough.” –Old Cy Walker.
During all the long weeks while Chip had awaited her lover’s coming, one hope had been hers–that his return would end all her loneliness and begin a season of the happy, care-free days like those by the lake once more.
And there were many reasons for it.
In this quiet, strictly religious, gossip-loving village, a dependant upon charity, as it were, and with Hannah’s sneers, Chip had slowly but surely learned how little akin she was to them all, and how distrustful they all were of her. This knowledge had come by degrees: first, from the way in which the older pupils at school regarded her, having always kept aloof; then the insistent staring she received each Sunday at church; the somewhat chilly reception she had met in a social way; and lastly, a seeming indifference on Angie’s part. There was no reason for it all, so far as Chip could understand. She walked in the straight and narrow path laid out for her each day, made herself useful between school hours at Aunt Comfort’s, studied hard, thanked Angie for every trifle, and after her first unfortunate experience in defending her belief in spites and Old Tomah’s hobgoblins, she had never referred to them again. But the seeming fact that she was disliked and unwelcome here had slowly forced itself upon her and added to her loneliness.
It was all to end, however, when Ray came. In him or from him she would find a welcome. He knew her as she was, and what she was. He had not been distrustful, but tender and loving, and all clouds and sorrow and all humiliations would fade away when he came.
She had pictured to herself, also, how much they would be together and where; how he would come to Aunt Comfort’s the first evening and tell all about his winter in the wilderness and Old Cy,–all about the trap-setting, gum-gathering, and the deep snows she knew so much about. Maybe he would bring his banjo now and then and play and sing the darky songs she had hummed so many times. Possibly he might come and meet her occasionally on the way home from school; and when vacation came, how many long rambles they would take in the dear old woods, with no such ogre as the half-breed to spoil them. It had all been a rosy-hued dream with her, while she waited his coming. And now he was here!