It had all been a beacon of hope to her in the uphill road toward the temple of learning; and how hard she had studied, and how patiently she had tried to correct her own speech, not even her teacher guessed. Few of us can see ourselves as others see us, and yet Chip, mature of mind as one just entering womanhood, realized somewhat her own condition. Perhaps, also, she was conscious in some degree as to why she was not more popular, but that was a matter of scant interest to her. All she wished and all she strove for was to learn what others knew, speak as others spoke, and act as they acted; and all for one end and purpose--to win favor in the eyes of Ray. And so no one, not even Hannah, whose prying eyes saw all things, guessed her secret. A little of gall and bitterness was now and then meted out to Hannah in return for all her sneers, for Chip's teacher occasionally spent an evening at Aunt Comfort's, and every word of praise she let fall for her pupil was a thorn to Hannah. But she revenged herself, as might be expected. "I think that Injun gal's a witch," she said once to her bosom friend after one of these unpleasant evenings, "the way she pulls wool over Miss Phinney's eyes by pretending she's so anxious to learn. You'd think to hear her go on that learnin' was all she was livin' for, and her teacher almost an angel. I think Angie must 'a' ben spellbound the same way when she fetched her here to crowd out her betters." But Chip, fortunately, was still unconscious of the extent and injury of Hannah's malice. With the coming of springtime and green grass, life for Chip assumed a more smiling face, for now she could fly to the hillsides, and for the time being imagine herself at the lake once more. Somehow Greenvale as a whole had impressed her as cold and unloving, and to escape it was a relief. Her teacher was dear to her, Aunt Comfort a kindly mother, Angie a good friend; but none were kin to her and never could be, as she more and more realized. Then, too, poor Chip, in spite of Tim's Place, was growing homesick for the wilderness again; or, to be more accurate, for the little lake where her heart had been touched by the wand of love. With some insight into books and a developing mind came a keener sensitiveness, and what people thought of her and how they felt toward her became of more consequence. Her life was simple. She rose early, assisted as a housemaid in Aunt Comfort's home, departed at a set time for school with its six hours of almost unbroken study, and, most prized of all, a few moments' companionship with her teacher. To her Chip had confided all her joys and sorrows and most of her history as well. And be it said to Miss Phinney's credit, she had discretion and honor enough not to betray Chip's confidence.