But the days, weeks, and months swept by, and Old Cy came not. Neither did any message come to Chip from Greenvale. At first, rebelling at Ray's treatment of her, Chip felt that she never wanted to see him again. She had been so tender and loving toward him at the lake, had striven so hard to learn and to be more like him, had waited and watched, counting the days until his return, only to be told what she could not forget and to find him so neglectful, so cool to her, when her girlish heart was so full of love, that her feelings had changed almost in one instant, and pride had made her bitter. Hannah had told an unpleasant truth, as Chip knew well enough; but truth and confiding love mixed illy, and Ray's conduct, leaving her as he did with scarce a word or promise, was an episode that had chilled and almost killed Chip's budding affection. As is always the case, such a feeling fades and flares like all others. There would now be a brief space when Chip hoped and longed for Ray's coming, and then days when no thought of him came. It was perhaps fortunate for him that Christmas Cove contained no serious admirer of Chip the while, else his cause and all memory of him would have been swept away. But that quaint village was peopled chiefly by old folk, those of the male persuasion being quite young, with a few girls of Chip's age. Few young men remained there to make their way, and so no added interest came to vary Chip's life. The coming of summer, however, brought the annual influx of city boarders once more. First came elderly ladies, more anxious about suitable rooms and food than aught else, and then came the younger ones, whose gowns and their display appeared the only motive for existence. A few young men followed in their wake. Now and then a small yacht anchored in the mouth of the cove. The long wharf became a rendezvous for promenaders, tennis courts were established, and gay costumes, bright parasols, and astounding hats were in evidence. It was all a new and fascinating panorama for Chip. Never before had she seen such butterflies of fashion, who glanced at her and her more modest raiment almost with scorn, and scarce conscious of them, she looked on with awe and admiration. The old mill, the quaint house where she dwelt, and especially the long pond, now sprinkled thickly with lilies, became a Mecca for these newcomers, and not a pleasant day passed but from two to a dozen of them came trooping about and around it. They peered into the mill, exclaimed over the great dripping wheel, and almost shouted at the sight of the white blossoms on the pond.