Ray looked at her in wide-eyed astonishment. And well he might, for only two short days since she had met him, an eager, simple girl, and now she spoke like a woman. No word, no hint of his neglect, escaped her; but a cool indifference was apparent.
“Tell me about the woods and Old Cy,” she said, not waiting for him to speak again, “and how is the hermit? I want to know all about them.”
“Oh, I left ’em all right,” answered Ray, sullenly, for like a boy he wanted to be coaxed. And then, urged a little by Chip, he told his winter’s experience.
One episode interested her most of all–the strange trapper’s doings, his theft of their game, their pursuit of him and discovery of his hiding spot.
“I know who that was,” she said, when it was all described. “It was my father, and if he had caught you spying upon him, I guess he’d shot you both. He always used to go somewhere trapping every fall; but nobody could ever find where.”
This return to the memories of the wilderness wore away something of Chip’s cool reserve, and when the house was reached her eyes had grown tender.
“I shall be glad to see you often–as–as your folks will let you come,” she said, somewhat timidly when they parted; and scarce understanding this speech, Ray left her.
“Chip has changed a whole lot,” he said to his aunt a little later, “and I wish she hadn’t; she don’t seem the same any more.”
“I’m glad of it if she has,” answered Angie, smiling at him. “There was need enough of it.”