CHAPTER XXIV
Old Cy had builded wiser than he realized when he coaxed Ray to spend a winter in the woods.
The long tramps through the vast wilderness; the keen hunt for signs of mink, fisher, otter, and wildcat, with constant guard against danger; the unremitting though zestful labor of gum-gathering; the far-sighted need for winter preparation; and last but not least Old Cy’s cheerful philosophy, had broadened the lad and developed both muscle and mind.
His success, too, had encouraged him. He was eager to try another season there, and planned for hiring men to gather gum, and saw in this vocation possible future.
But the change in Chip puzzled him. He had returned, expecting to find her the same timid, yet courageous little girl, ready to be his companion at all times and to kiss him when he chose–a somewhat better-educated girl, of course, using more refined language, but otherwise the same confiding child, as it were.
She was all this the day of his return; and then, presto! like a sudden blast of cold air came a change. Too loyal to her to question any one, he could only wonder why this change.
He called again soon after that first, unsatisfying walk home with her, to find her the same cool, collected young lady. She was nice to him, induced him to talk of the woods once more and his own plans; but it was not the Chip of old who listened, but quite another person.
“I am going back to the lake with uncle and aunt,” he said at last, “and I mean to coax them to take you along. You have been shut up in school so long, it will do you good.”
“Please don’t say a word to them about it,” she urged, in hurt tone, “for it will do no good. I wouldn’t go, anyway.”
“Not go to the woods if you could,” he exclaimed in astonishment; “why, what do you mean?”