"I didn't mean to tell it," she explained in conclusion, "for I don't want nobody to know where I came from, an' I hope you won't tell." How near she came to disclosing what was of far more importance to herself and these people than old Tomah's superstition she never knew, or that all that saved her was her reference to Old Cy by that name only. More than that, and like Old Cy standing over the cave where her heritage lay hid, she had no suspicion that this kindly old man, so much like him in looks and speech, was his brother. With the coming of September, however, a visitor was announced. "Aunt Abby's comin' to stay with us a spell," Uncle Jud said that day; "she's Mandy's sister, Abigail Bemis, an' she lives at Christmas Cove. It's a shore town, 'bout a hundred miles from here. She ain't much like Mandy," he added confidentially to Chip; "she's more book-larned, so you'll have to mind your _p_'s and _q_'s. If ye like, ye can go with me to the station to meet her." And so it came to pass that a few days later, Chip, dressed in her best, rode to the station with Uncle Jud in the old carryall, and there met this visitor. She was not a welcome guest, so far as Chip was concerned, wonted as she had now become to Uncle Jud and Aunt Mandy, whose speech, like her own, was not "book-larned," and for this reason, Chip felt afraid of her. So much so, in fact, that for a few days she scarce dared speak at all. Her timidity wore away in due time, for Aunt Abby--a counterpart of her sister--was in no wise awe-inspiring. She saw Chip as she was, and soon felt an interest in her and her peculiar history, or what was known of it. She also noted Chip's interest in books, and guessing more than she had been told, was not long in forming correct conclusions. "What do you intend to do with this runaway girl?" she said one day to her sister, "keep her here and let her grow up in ignorance, or what?" "Wal, we ain't thought much about that," responded Mandy, "at least not yet. She ain't got no relations to look arter her, so far ez we kin larn. She's company for us, 'n' willin'. Uncle Jud sets lots of store by her. She is with him from morn till night, and handy at all sorts o' work. This is how 'tis with us here, an' now what do you say?" For a moment Aunt Abby meditated. "You ought to do your duty by her," she said at last, "and she certainly needs more schooling." "We can send her down to the Corners when school begins, if you think we orter," returned her sister, timidly; "but we hate to lose her now. We've kinder took to her, you see."