With September came Aunt Abby's annual visit to Peaceful Valley. A few days before their departure, Chip received a letter which was so unexpected and so vital to her feelings that it must be quoted. It was dated at the little village of Grindstone, directed to Vera McGuire, care of Judson Walker, by whom it was forwarded to Christmas Cove. "My dear Chip," it began. "I feel that you will not care to hear from me, and yet I must write. I know I am more to blame than any one for the way you left Greenvale, and that you must consider me a foolish boy, without much courage, which I have been, and I realize it only too well now, when it is too late. But I am more of a man to-day, I hope, and sometime I shall come and try to obtain your forgiveness for being so blind. No one ever has been, and I know no one ever will be, what you are to me. As Old Cy says, 'Blessings brighten as they vanish,' and now, after this long separation, one word and one smile from dear little Chip would seem priceless to me, and I shall come and try to win it before many months. "I am here with Uncle Martin's old guide, Levi. We are going into the woods to-morrow to gather gum and trap until spring. I have hired two other men to help, and hope to do well and make some money. I think you will be glad to know that Old Cy was here this summer and was well. He does not know that you have been found, and is still hunting for you. Levi told me that the people here are much interested in you, that they have fixed up the yard where your mother is buried, and he put up a small stone. "I wish I could hear from you, but there is no chance now. Please try to forgive a foolish boy for being stupid, and think of me as you did during those happy days by the lake. "Good-bye, "Ray." How every word of this half-boyish, half-manly letter was read and re-read by Chip; how it woke the old memories of the wilderness and of herself, a ragged waif there; and how, somehow, in spite of pride and anger, a little thrill of happiness crept into her heart, needs no explanation. But she was not quite ready yet to forgive him, and what he failed to say when he might, still rankled in her feelings. But Old Cy, that kindly soul, so like a father! Almost did she feel that to meet him would be worth more than to see any one else in the world. And to think he was still hunting for her, far and near! And now, quite unlike most young ladies, who deem their love missives sacred, Chip showed hers to Aunt Abby. "It's from Raymond Stetson," she said, rather bashfully, "a boy who was in the woods with those people who were kind to me, and we became very good friends." Aunt Abby smiled as she perused its contents.