"I was born close to the wilderness," she said, "and my mother died when I was about eight years old. Then my father took me into the woods, where I worked at a kind of a boarding house for lumbermen. I ran away from that when I was about sixteen. I had to; the reasons I don't want to tell. I found some people camping in the woods when I'd been gone three days and 'most starved. They felt pity for me, I guess, and took care of me. I stayed at their camp that summer, and then they fetched me home with them and I was sent to school. Somebody said something to me there, somebody who hated me. She had been pestering me all the time, and I ran away. Uncle Jud found me and took care of me until you came, and that's all I want to tell. I could tell a lot more, but I don't ever want these people to find me or take me back where they live, and that's why I don't tell where I came from. Then I felt I was so dependent on them--I was twitted of it--that it's another reason why I ran away. I wouldn't have stayed with Uncle Jud more than over night except I had a chance to work and earn my board." "But wasn't it unkind of you--isn't it now--not to let these people know you are alive?" answered Aunt Abby. "They were certainly good to you." "I know that they were," returned Chip, somewhat contritely; "but I couldn't stand being dependent on them any longer. If they found where I was, they'd come and fetch me back; and I'd feel so ashamed I couldn't look 'em in the face. I'd rather they'd think I was dead."