Much more in connection with the wild, harsh life Chip had led for eight years was now told by her. Old Tomah's superstition and belief in hobgoblins were enlarged upon. Life at Tim's Place, with all its filth, brutality, and nearly animal existence, was described in full; for Chip's tongue, once loosened, ran on and on, while Ray, spellbound by this description, was scarce conscious he was wielding a paddle. Never before had he heard such a tale, so unusual and so pathetic. Naturally of chivalrous and manly nature, it appealed to him as naught else could. Then the girl herself, with her big, pleading eyes, her queer belief in those woodsy, spectral forms she called spites, and her free and easy confidence in him, and his sympathy also, surprised Ray. Her speech was coarse and crude--the vernacular of Tim's Place. Now and then a profane word crept in; yet it was absolute truth, and forceful from its very simplicity. But another influence, more potent than her wrongs, was now appealing to Chip--her sense of joy at her rescue, and with it a positive faith that the spites had been the means of her escape. "I know they did it," she said time and again, "an' I know mother was one on 'em. I wished I cud do suthin' to show 'em how thankful I am 'n' how happy I am now." And Ray, astonished that so keen-witted and courageous a girl should have such a fantastic belief, made no comment. A more serious subject was under discussion in the other canoe, meantime, as to the future disposition of Chip herself. "I feel it my duty to take care of her," Angie said, after relating her conversation with Chip and that morning's incident. "She is a homeless, outcast waif, needing education and everything else to Christianize her. We must bring her to the settlement, but to turn her adrift might mean leaving her to a life of vice, even if she escapes her brutal father and this worse half-breed. Then, again, I am not sure that her parentage will bear inspection. She has told me something about her earlier life, and about her mother, who evidently loved her. One course only seems plain to me,--to take care of and educate this unfortunate." "I am willing, my dear," responded Martin, who, like all new husbands, was ready to concede anything, "only I suggest that you go a little slow. You can't tell yet what this girl will develop into. She has had the worst possible parentage, without doubt. Her life at Tim's Place, and contact with lumbermen or worse, has been no benefit. She is grossly ignorant, and may be ill-tempered, and once given to understand that you have practically adopted her, you can't--or won't--have the heart to turn her off. Now we are to return to the lake and remain a month, as you know, and in the meantime, what will you do with this girl?" This was reducing Angie's philanthropic impulses to a focus, as it were, and it set her thinking. Something more of this discussion followed, and finally Angie announced her decision.