"I don't blame her a mite," Old Cy answered quickly, "an' no need o' yer thinkin' so. I don't blame no woman fer makin' the best shift they kin. They've got to hev a home 'n' pertecter, bless 'em, or be nobody in this world. Comin' here and findin' how things are, sorter makes me realize how much I've missed in life, though, an' how much sorrer I've had to outgrow. I don't lay up nothin' 'gainst Abby, not fer a minit. Only I hated to hev ye tell me what I knew ye'd hev to, that fust night." "But you're goin' to see her, ain't ye, Cyrus?" Aunt Mandy asked anxiously. "Ye won't shame her by not goin', will ye?" "Wal, mebbe," he answered slowly, and after a long pause. "I wouldn't want to hurt her knowin'ly. I callate I've done more grievin'n she has, though, ten times over, an' seein' her now's a good deal like openin' an old tomb--a sorter invitin' ghosts o' old heartaches to step out. Abby's outgrowed the old times, 'n' I'm sartin, too, won't be the happier by seein' me ag'in. I may be wrong, but I've a notion she'll sorter hate to see me. 'Twas to keep her from feelin' 'shamed 'n' miserable 'n' spoilin' her life, I've never let her nor nobody that knew her find out I was alive. I'm doubtin' I would now if she hadn't larned it from Chip." He relented a little from this strange and almost cruel whim a week later, and after visiting the Riggsville store and obtaining what really amounted to a disguise in new garments, he announced his plans. "I've got to see Chip," he said, "an' see how she 'n' Ray's gittin' on. I've got to see Abby, I s'pose. I want to, an' I don't want to, both in one. Then ag'in, these two young folks--Chip 'n' the boy--hev sorter got tangled up in my feelin's, 'n' I can't rest content till I've seen 'em settled in life. I'm goin' to Christmas Cove fer a day. Then back here till they hitch up, 'n' then--wal, then mebbe I'd better go to the woods ag'in. I ain't fitted by natur fer dressed-up folks." No opposition to this unseemly outcome was made by Uncle Jud or Aunt Mandy. They knew, or hoped, the leaven of bygone memories and association would change the hermit-like impulse of Old Cy, and all in good time a better ending of his life would seem possible to him. To argue it now was apparently useless. A man so set in his ideas as to remain a homeless wanderer for almost a lifetime, was not to be changed in a month, or perhaps in a year. Neither did Old Cy seem in a hurry to visit Christmas Cove.