"I never had nothin' but work 'n' cussin'," Chip responded, when Ray asked if she never had any time she could call her own. "Tim thinked I couldn't get tired, I guess. He'd roust me up fust of all 'n' larrup me if he caught me shirkin'. Once I had a little posey bed back o' the pig-pen. I fixed it after dark an' mornin's when I ketched the chance. He ketched me thar one mornin' a-weedin' it 'n' knocked me sprawlin' an' then stomped all over the posies. That night I went out into the woods 'n' begged the spites to git him killed somehow. 'Nother time I forgot to put up the bars, an' the cows got into the taters. That night he tied me to a stump clus to the bars, an' left me thar all night. I used to be more skeered o' my dad 'n I was o' Tim, tho'. He'd look at me like he hated me, an' say, 'Shut up,' if I said a word, an' I 'most believed he'd kill me, just fer nothin'. Once he said he'd take me out into the woods at night 'n' bait a bear trap with me if he heerd I didn't mind Tim. I told Old Tomah that, an' he said if he did, he'd shoot him; but Old Tomah wasn't round only winters. I hated dad so I'd 'a' shot him myself, I guess, if I cud 'a' got hold o' a gun when he wa'n't watchin'." "It's awful to have to feel that way toward your own father," interrupted Ray, "for he was your father." "I s'pose 'twas," admitted Chip, candidly, "but I never felt much different. I've seen him slap mother when she was on her knees a-bawlin', an' the way he would cuss her was awful." "But you had some friendship from this old Indian," queried Ray, who began to realize what a pitiful life the girl had led; "he was good to you, wasn't he?" "He was, sartin," returned Chip, eagerly; "he used to tell me the spites 'ud fix dad 'fore long, so he'd never show up agin, 'n' when I got big 'nuff he'd sneak me off some night 'n' take me to the settlement, whar I could arn a livin'. Old Tomah was the only one who cared a cuss fer me. I used to bawl when he went away every spring, an' beg him to take me 'long 'n' help him camp 'n' cook. I'd 'a' done 'most anything fer Old Tomah. I didn't mind havin' to work all the time fer Tim. I didn't mind wearin' clothes made out o' old duds 'n' bein' cussed fer not workin' hard 'nuff. What I did mind was not havin' nobody who cared whether I lived or died, or said a good word to me. Sometimes I got so lonesome, I used to go out in the woods nights when 'twas moonlight 'n' beg the spites to help me. I used to think mother might be one on 'em 'n' she'd keer fer me. I think she was, an' 'twas her as kept me goin' till I found you folks's camp. I got awful skeered them nights I was runnin' away, an' when 'twas so dark I couldn't see no more, an' I heerd wildcats yowlin', I'd git on my knees 'n' beg mother to keep 'em away. I think she did, an' allus shall."