How utterly wrong she was in this conclusion, and how little she understood the broad charity of Uncle Jud, need not be explained. She was only a child as yet in all but stature. The one most bitter sneer of malicious Hannah still rankled and poisoned her common sense. Its effect upon Chip had been as usual on her nature and belief, and this waif of the wilderness, this gnome child, must not be judged by ordinary standards. Like reflections from grotesque mirrors, so had her ideas of right and duty been distorted by eerie influences and weird surroundings. There was first the unspeakable brutality of her father; then the menial years at Tim's Place, with no more consideration than a horse or pig received, her only education being the uncanny teachings of Old Tomah. Under this baleful tuition, coupled with the ever present menace and mystery of a vast wilderness, she passed from childhood into womanhood, with the fixed belief that human kind were no better than brutes; that the forest was peopled by a nether world of spites, the shadowy forms of both man and beast; and worse than this, that all thought and action here must be the selfish ones of personal gain and personal protection. Like a dog forever expecting a blow, like any dumb brute ever on guard against superior force, so had Chip grown to maturity, a cringing, helpless, almost hopeless creature, and yet one whose inborn impulses and desires revolted at her surroundings. Once removed from these, however, and in a purer atmosphere, she was like one born again. Her past impressions still remained, her queer belief of present and future conditions was still a motive force, and the cringing, blow-expecting nature was yet hers. For this reason, and because this new world and these new people were so unaccountable and quite beyond her ken in tender influence and loving care, what they had done and for what purpose seemed all the more impressive. But it was in no wise wasted; instead, it was like God-given sunshine to a flower that has never known aught except the chilling shadow of a dense forest. And now ensued an almost pathetic play of interest, for Chip set herself about the duty of giving instead of obtaining pleasure. She became what she was at Tim's Place,--a menial, so far as they would let her,--and from early morning until bedtime, some step, some duty, some kindly care for her benefactors, was assumed by her. She worked and weeded in the garden, she drove and milked the cows, she followed Uncle Jud to the hay-field, insisting that she must help, until at last he protested.