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diff --git a/36397-0.txt b/36397-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9bc378f --- /dev/null +++ b/36397-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6303 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Ruth Fielding At Sunrise Farm, by Alice B. Emerson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Ruth Fielding At Sunrise Farm + What Became of the Raby Orphans + +Author: Alice B. Emerson + +Release Date: June 12, 2011 [EBook #36397] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RUTH FIELDING AT SUNRISE FARM *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank, David Edwards and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + +[Illustration: “WHY, SADIE RABY! WHO’D EVER EXPECT TO SEE YOU HERE?”] + + + + + Ruth Fielding + At Sunrise Farm + + OR + + WHAT BECAME OF THE RABY ORPHANS + + BY + + ALICE B. EMERSON + + Author of “Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill,” “Ruth + Fielding at Snow Camp,” Etc. + + _ILLUSTRATED_ + + + NEW YORK + CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY + PUBLISHERS + + + + + Books for Girls + BY ALICE B. EMERSON + + RUTH FIELDING SERIES + + 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. + + RUTH FIELDING OF THE RED MILL + Or, Jasper Parloe’s Secret. + + RUTH FIELDING AT BRIARWOOD HALL + Or, Solving the Campus Mystery. + + RUTH FIELDING AT SNOW CAMP + Or, Lost in the Backwoods. + + RUTH FIELDING AT LIGHTHOUSE POINT + Or, Nita, the Girl Castaway. + + RUTH FIELDING AT SILVER RANCH + Or, Schoolgirls Among the Cowboys. + + RUTH FIELDING ON CLIFF ISLAND + Or, The Old Hunter’s Treasure Box. + + RUTH FIELDING AT SUNRISE FARM + Or, What Became of the Raby Orphans. + + RUTH FIELDING AND THE GYPSIES + Or, The Missing Pearl Necklace. + + Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York. + + Copyright, 1915, by + Cupples & Leon Company + + Ruth Fielding Homeward Bound + + Printed in U. S. A. + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAPTER PAGE + I. Sweet Briars and Sour Pickles 1 + II. The Wild Girl 12 + III. Sadie Raby’s Story 23 + IV. “Them Perkinses” 34 + V. “The Tramping Girl” 45 + VI. Seeking the Trail 53 + VII. What Tom Cameron Saw 61 + VIII. Traveling Toward Sunrise Farm 68 + IX. The Sunrise Coach 77 + X. “Touch and Go” 85 + XI. Tobogganing in June 91 + XII. A Number of Introductions 100 + XIII. The Terrible Twins 108 + XIV. “Why! Of Course!” 114 + XV. The Tempest 120 + XVI. The Runaway 128 + XVII. The Black Douglass 135 + XVIII. Sundry Plans 143 + XIX. A Safe and Sane Fourth? 151 + XX. The Raby Romance 158 + XXI. A Very Busy Time 166 + XXII. The Terrible Twins on the Rampage 173 + XXIII. Lost 180 + XXIV. “So That’s All Right” 189 + XXV. The Orphans’ Fortune 198 + + + + +RUTH FIELDING AT SUNRISE FARM + + + + +CHAPTER I—SWEET BRIARS AND SOUR PICKLES + + +The single gas jet burning at the end of the corridor was so dim and +made so flickering a light that it added more to the shadows of the +passage than it provided illumination. It was hard to discover which +were realities and which shadows in the long gallery. + +Not a ray of light appeared at any of the transoms over the dormitory +doors; yet that might not mean that there were no lights burning within +the duo and quartette rooms in the East Dormitory of Briarwood Hall. +There were ways of shrouding the telltale transoms and—without doubt—the +members of the advanced junior classes had learned such little tricks of +the trade of being a schoolgirl. + +At one door—and it was the portal of the largest “quartette” room on the +floor—a tall figure kept guard. At first this figure was so silent and +motionless that it seemed like a shadow only. But when another shadow +crept toward it, rustling along the wall on tiptoe, the guard demanded, +hissingly: + +“S-s-stop! who goes there?” + +“Oh-oo! How you startled me, Madge Steele!” + +“Sh!” commanded the guard. “Who goes there?” + +“Why—why—— It’s _I_.” + +“Give the password instantly. Answer!” commanded the guard again, and +with some vexation. “‘I’ isn’t anybody.” + +“Oh, indeed? Let me tell you that _this_ ‘I’ is somebody—according to +the gym. scales. I gained three pounds over the Easter holidays,” said +“Heavy” Jennie Stone, who had begun her reply with a giggle, but ended +it with a sigh. + +“Password, Miss!” snapped the guard, grimly. + +“Oh! of course!” Then the fat girl whispered shrilly: +“‘Sincerity—befriend.’ That is what ‘S. B.’ stands for, I s’pose. +Sweetbriars! and I have a big bag of sour pickles to offset the cloying +sweetness of the Sweetbriars,” chuckled Heavy. “Besides, they say that +vinegar pickles will make you thin——” + +“I don’t need them for that purpose,” admitted the guard at the door, +still in a whisper, but accepting the large, “warty” pickle Heavy thrust +into her hand. + +“Will make _me_ thin, then,” agreed the other. “Let me in, Madge.” + +The guard, sucking the pickle convulsively the while, opened the door +just a little way. A blanket had been hung on a frame inside in such a +manner that scarcely a gleam of lamplight reached the corridor when the +door was open. + +“Pass the Sweetbriar!” choked Madge, with her mouth full and the tears +running down her cheeks. “My goodness, Jennie Stone! these pickles are +right out of vitriol!” + +“Sour, aren’t they?” chuckled Heavy. “I handed you a real one for fair, +that time, didn’t I, Madge?” + +Then she tried to sidle through the narrow opening, got stuck, and was +urged on by Madge pushing her. With a bang—punctuated by a chorus of +muffled exclamations from the girls already assembled—she tore away the +frame and the blanket and got through. + +“Shut the door, quick, guard!” exclaimed Helen Cameron. + +“Of course, that would be Heavy—entering like a female Samson and +tearing down the pillars of the temple,” snapped Mercy Curtis, the lame +girl, in her sharp way. + +“Please repair the damage, Helen,” said Ruth Fielding, who presided at +the far end of the room, sitting cross-legged on one of the beds. + +The other girls were arranged on the chairs, or upon the floor before +her. There was a goodly number of them, and they now included most of +the members of the secret society known at Briarwood Hall as the +“S. B.’s.” + +Ruth herself was a bright, brown-haired girl who, without possessing +many pretensions to real beauty of feature, still was quite good to look +at and proved particularly charming when one grew to know her well. + +She was rather plump, happy of disposition, and with the kindest heart +in the world. She made both friends and enemies. No person of real +character can escape being disliked, now and then, by those of envious +disposition. + +Ruth Fielding succeeded, usually, in winning to her those who at first +disliked her. And this, I claim, is a better gift than that of being +universally popular from the start. + +Ruth had come from her old home in Darrowtown, where her parents died, +two years before, to the Red Mill on the Lumano River, where her +great-uncle, Jabez Potter, the miller, was inclined at first to shelter +her only as an object of his grudging charity. In the first volume of +this series, however, entitled “Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill; Or, +Jasper Parloe’s Secret,” the girl found her way—in a measure, at +least—to the uncle’s crabbed heart. + +Uncle Jabez was a just man, and he considered it his duty, when Helen +Cameron, Ruth’s dearest friend, was sent to Briarwood Hall to school, to +send Ruth to the same institution. In the second volume, “Ruth Fielding +at Briarwood Hall; Or, Solving the Campus Mystery,” was related the +adventures, friendships, rivalries, and fun of Ruth’s and Helen’s first +term at the old school. + +In “Ruth Fielding at Snow Camp; Or, Lost in the Backwoods,” was told the +adventures of Ruth and her friends at the Camerons’ winter camp during +the Christmas holidays. At the end of the first year of school, they all +went to the seaside, to experience many adventures in “Ruth Fielding at +Lighthouse Point; Or, Nita, the Girl Castaway,” the fourth volume of the +series. + +A part of that eventful summer was spent by Ruth and her chums in +Montana, and the girl of the Red Mill was enabled to do old Uncle Jabez +such a favor that he willingly agreed to pay her expenses at Briarwood +Hall for another year. This is all told in “Ruth Fielding at Silver +Ranch; Or, Schoolgirls Among the Cowboys.” + +The girls returned to Briarwood Hall and in the sixth volume of the +series, entitled “Ruth Fielding on Cliff Island; Or, The Old Hunter’s +Treasure Box,” Ruth was privileged to help Jerry Sheming and his +unfortunate old uncle in the recovery of their title to Cliff Island in +Lake Tallahaska, while she and her friends had some thrilling and many +funny adventures during the mid-winter vacation. + +The second half of this school year was now old. The Easter recess was +past and the girls were looking forward to the usual break-up in the +middle of June. The hardest of the work for the year was over. Those +girls who had been faithful in their studies prior to Easter could now +take something of a breathing spell, and the S. B.’s were determined to +initiate such candidates as had been on the waiting list for reception +into the secrets of the most popular society in the school. + +The shrouded door of the quartette room occupied by Ruth, Helen, Mercy, +and Jane Ann Hicks, from Montana, was opened carefully again and again +until the outer guard, Madge Steele, had admitted all the candidates and +most of the members of the S. B. order who were expected. + +Each girl was presented with at least half a big sour pickle from +Heavy’s store; but really, the pickles had nothing to do with the +initiation of the neophytes. + +There was a serious and helpful side to the society of the S. B.’s—as +witness the password. Ruth, who was the most active member of the +institution, realized, however, that the girls were so full of fun that +they must have some way of expressing themselves out of the ordinary. +Perhaps she had asked Mademoiselle Picolet, the French teacher, whose +room was in this dormitory, and Miss Scrimp, the matron, to overlook +this present infraction of the rules, for it must be admitted that the +retiring bell had rung half an hour before the gathering in this +particular room. + +“All here!” breathed Ruth, at last, and Madge was called in. The +candidates were placed in the middle of the floor. Ann Hicks, the girl +from Silver Ranch, was one of these. Ann had proved her character and +made herself popular in the school against considerable odds, as related +in the preceding volume. Now, the honor of being admitted into the +secret society was added to the other marks of the school’s approval. + +“Candidates,” said Ruth, addressing in most solemn tones the group of +girls before her, “you are about to be initiated into the degree of the +Marble Harp. As Infants, when you first entered the school, you were all +made acquainted with the legend of the Marble Harp. + +“The figure of _Harmony_, presiding over the fountain in the middle of +the campus, was modeled by the sculptor from the only daughter of the +man who originally owned Briarwood Park before it became a school. Said +sculptor and daughter—in the most approved fashion of the present day +school of romanticist authors—ran away with each other, were married +without the father’s approval, and both are supposed to have died +miserably in a studio-garret. + +“The heart-broken father naturally left his cur-r-r-se upon the +fountain, and it is said—mind you, this is hearsay,” added Ruth, +solemnly, “that whenever anything of moment is about to transpire at +Briarwood Hall, or any calamity befall, the strings of the marble harp +held in the hands of _Harmony_, are heard to twang. + +“Of course, as has been pointed out before, the fact that the harp is in +the shape of a _lyre_, must be considered, too, if one is to accept this +legend. But, however, and nevertheless,” pursued Ruth, “it has been +decided that the candidates here assembled must join in the Mackintosh +March, and, in procession, led by our Outer Guard and followed—not to +say _herded_—by our Rear Guard, must proceed once around the campus, +down into the garden, and circle the fountain, chanting, as you have +been instructed, the marching song. + +“All ready! You all have your mackintoshes, as instructed? Into them at +once,” commanded Ruth. “Into line—one after the other. Now, Outer +Guard!” + +The lights were extinguished; the blanket at the door was removed; Madge +Steele led the way and Heavy, as the Rear Guard, was last in the line. +Shrouded in the hoods of the mackintoshes, scarcely one of the girls +would have been recognized by any curious teacher or matron. + +Ruth hopped down from the bed, and the remaining Sweetbriars ran +giggling to the windows. It was a drizzly, dark night. The paths about +the campus glistened, and the lamps upon the posts flickered dimly. + +Out of the front door filed the procession; when they were far enough +away from the buildings which surrounded the campus, they began the +chant, based upon Tom Moore’s famous old song: + + “The harp that once through Briarwood Hall + The soul of music shed, + Now hangs as mute o’er the campus fount + As though that soul were dead.” + +Madge Steele, with her strong voice, led the chant. The girls, crowded +at the open windows, began to giggle, for they could hear Heavy, at the +end of the procession, sing out a very different verse. + +“That rascal ought to be fined for that,” murmured The Fox, the +sandy-haired girl next to Ruth. + +“But, isn’t she funny?” gasped Helen, on the other side of the Chief of +the S. B.’s. + +“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Belle Tingley. “I hope Sarah Fish got there ahead +of them. _Won’t_ they be surprised when they get a baptism of a glass of +water each from the fountain, as they go by?” + +“They’ll think the statue has come to life, sure enough, if it doesn’t +twang the lyre,” quoth Helen. + +“They’ll get an unexpected ducking,” giggled Lluella Fairfax. + +“It won’t hurt them,” Ruth said, placidly. “That’s why I insisted upon +the mackintoshes.” + +“It’s just as dark down there by the fountain as it can be,” spoke +Helen, with a little shiver. “D’you remember, Ruthie, how they hazed us +there when we were Infants?” + +“Don’t I!” agreed her chum. + +“If Sarah is careful, she can stand right up there against the statue +and never be seen, while she can reach the water to throw it at the +girls easily. There!” cried Belle. “They’re turning down the walk to the +steps. I can see them.” + +They all could see them—dimly. Like shadows the procession descended to +the marble fountain, still chanting softly the refrain of the marching +song. Suddenly a shriek—a very vigorous and startling sound—rang out +across the campus. + +“It’s begun!” giggled Belle. + +But the sound was repeated—then in a thrilling chorus. Ruth was +startled. She exclaimed: + +“That wasn’t either of the candidates. It was Sarah who screamed. There! +It is Sarah again. Something has happened!” + +Something certainly had happened. There had been an unexpected fault +somewhere in the initiation. The procession burst like a bombshell, and +the girls scattered through the wet campus, utterly terrified, and +screaming as they ran. + + + + +CHAPTER II—THE WILD GIRL + + +“Something awful must have occurred!” cried Helen Cameron. + +Ruth did not remain at the window for more than a moment after seeing +the girls engaged in the initiation disperse, and hearing their screams. +She drew back from the crowding group and darted out of the room. +Fortunately neither the French teacher, nor the matron, had yet been +aroused. If the girls came noisily into the dormitory building, Ruth +knew very well that “the powers that be” must of necessity take +cognizance of the infraction of the rules. + +The girl from the Red Mill sped down the broad stairway and out of the +house. Some of the fastest runners among the frightened girls were +already panting at the steps. + +“Hush! hush!” commanded Ruth. “What is the matter? What has happened?” + +“Oh! it’s the ghost!” declared one girl. + +“So’s your grandmother’s aunt!” snapped another. “Somebody shoved Sarah +into the water. It was no ghost.” + +It was Madge Steele who last spoke, and Ruth seized upon the senior, +believing she might get something like a sensible explanation from her. + +“You girls go into the house quietly,” warned Ruth, as they scrambled up +the stone steps. “Don’t you _dare_ make a noise and get us all into +trouble.” + +Then she turned upon Madge, begging: “Do, _do_ tell me what you mean, +Madge Steele. _Who_ pushed Sarah?” + +“That’s what I can’t tell you. But I heard Sarah yelling that she was +pushed, and she did most certainly fall right into the fountain when she +climbed up there beside the statue.” + +“What a ridiculous thing!” giggled Ruth. “Somebody played a trick on +her. I guess she was fooled instead of the candidates being startled, +eh?” + +“I saw somebody—or something—drop off the other side of the fountain and +run—I saw it myself,” declared Madge. + +“Here comes Sarah,” cried Ruth, under her breath. “And I declare she +_is_ all wet!” + +Sarah Fish was actually laughing, but in a hysterical way. + +“Oh, dear me! was ever anything so ridiculous before?” she gasped. + +“Hush! Don’t get Miss Picolet after us,” begged Madge. + +“What really happened?” demanded Ruth, eagerly. + +“Why—I’ll tell you,” replied Sarah, whose gown clung to her as though it +had been pasted upon her figure. “See? I’m just _soaked_. Talk about +sprinkling those silly lambs of candidates! Why, _I_ was immersed—you +see.” + +“But how?” + +“I slipped over there before the procession started from these steps. I +was watching the girls, and listening to them sing, and didn’t pay much +attention to anything else. + +“But when I dodged down into the little garden, I thought I heard a +footstep on the flags. I looked all around, and saw nothing. Now I know +the person must have already climbed up on the fountain and gotten into +the shadow of the statue—just as I wanted to do.” + +“Was there really somebody there?” demanded Madge. + +“How do you think I got into the fountain, if not?” snapped Sarah Fish. + +“Fell in.” + +“I did not!” cried Sarah. “I was pushed.” + +“‘Did She Fall, or Was She Pushed?’” giggled Madge. “Sounds like a +moving picture title.” + +“You can laugh,” scoffed Sarah. “I wonder what you’d have done?” + +“Got just as wet as you did, most likely,” said Ruth, calming the +troubled waters. “Do go on, Sarah. So you really _saw_ somebody?” + +“And felt somebody. When I climbed up to get a footing beside the +sitting figure, so that the girls would not see me, somebody shoved +me—with both hands—right into the fountain.” + +“That’s when you squalled?” asked Madge. + +“Yes, indeed! And I rolled out of the fountain just as the—the person +who pushed me, tumbled down off the pedestal and ran.” + +“For pity’s sake!” ejaculated Ruth. “Do tell us who it was, Sarah.” + +“Don’t you think I would if I could?” responded Sarah, trying to wring +the water out of her narrow skirt. + +Through the gloom appeared another figure—the too, too solid figure of +Jennie Stone. + +“Oh—dear—me! Oh—dear—me!” she panted. And then seeing Sarah Fish +dripping there on the walk, Heavy fell upon the steps and giggled. “Oh, +Sarah!” she gasped. “For once, your appearance fits your name, all +right. You look like a fish out of its element.” + +“Laugh——” + +“I have to,” responded Heavy. + +“Well, if it were you——” + +“I know. I’d be floundering there in the water yet.” + +“But tell me!” cried Ruth, under her breath. “Was it a girl who pushed +you into the fountain, Sarah?” + +“It wore skirts—I’m sure of that, at least,” grumbled Sarah. + +“But it ran faster than any girl I ever saw run,” vouchsafed Heavy. +“_Did_ you see her just skimming across the campus toward the main +building? Like the wind!” + +“It must be one of our girls,” declared Madge. + +“All right,” said Heavy. “But if so, it’s a girl I never saw run before. +You can’t tell me.” + +“You had better go in and get off your clothes, Sarah,” advised Ruth. +Then she looked at Madge. Madge was one of the oldest girls at +Briarwood. “Let’s go and see if we can find the girl,” Ruth suggested. + +“I’m game,” cried Madge, as the other stragglers mounted the steps and +disappeared behind the dormitory building door. + +Both girls hurried down the walk under the trees to the main building. +In one end of this Mrs. Tellingham and the Doctor had their abode. In +the other end was the dining-room, with the kitchens and other offices +in the basement. Besides, Tony Foyle, who was chief man-of-all-work +about the Hall, and his wife, who was cook, had their living rooms in +the basement of this building. + +Ruth and Madge hoped to investigate the matter of the mysterious +marauder without arousing the little old Irishman, but already they saw +his lantern behind the grated window in the front basement, and, as the +two girls came nearer, they heard him grumblingly unchain the door. + +“Bad ‘cess to ’em! I seen ’em cavortin’ across the campus, I tell ye, +Mary Ann! There’s wan of thim down here in the airy——” + +It was evident that the old couple had been aroused, and that Tony was +talking to his wife, who remained in the bedchamber. Ruth seized Madge’s +wrist and whispered in her ear: + +“You run around one way, and I’ll go the other. There must be _somebody_ +about, for Tony saw her——” + +“If it _is_ a girl.” + +“Both Sarah and Heavy say it is. I’m not afraid,” declared Ruth, and she +started off alone at once. + +Madge disappeared around the corner. Ruth had darted into the heavily +shaded space between the end of the main building and the next brick +structure. There were no lights here, but there was a gas lamp on a post +beyond the far corner, and before she was half way to it, she saw a +shadow flit across the illuminated space about this post, and disappear +behind a clump of snowball bushes. + +Ruth ran swiftly forward, dodged around the other end of the clump of +thick bushes, and suddenly collided with somebody who uttered a muffled +scream. Ruth grabbed the girl by both shoulders and held on. + +It was like trying to hold a wildcat. The girl, who was considerably +smaller, and far slighter than Ruth, struggled madly to escape. She did +not say a word at first, only straining to get away from Ruth’s strong +grip. + +“Now stop! now wait!” panted Ruth. “I want to know who you are——” + +The other tugged her best, but the girl of the Red Mill was very strong +for her age, and she held on. + +“Stop!” panted Ruth again. “If you make a noise, you’ll bring old Tony +here—and then you _will_ be in trouble. I want to know who you are and +what you were doing down there at the fountain—and why you pushed Sarah +into the water?” + +“And I’d like to push _you_ in!” ejaculated the other girl, suddenly. +“You let go of me, or I’ll scratch you!” + +“You can’t,” replied Ruth, firmly. “I’m holding you too tight.” + +“Then I’ll bite you!” vowed the other. + +“Why—you’re a regular wild girl,” exclaimed Ruth. “You stop struggling, +or I’ll shout for help, and then Tony will come running.” + +“D—don’t give me away,” gasped the strange girl, suddenly ceasing her +struggles. + +“Do you belong here?” demanded Ruth. + +“Belong here? Naw! I don’t belong nowheres. An’ you better lemme go, +Miss.” + +“Why—you _are_ a strange girl,” said Ruth, greatly amazed. “You can’t be +one of us Briarwoods.” + +“That ain’t my name a-tall,” whispered the frightened girl. “My name’s +Raby.” + +“But what were you doing over there at the fountain?” + +“Gettin’ a drink. Was _that_ any harm?” demanded the girl, sharply. “I’d +found some dry pieces of bread the cook had put on top of a box there by +the back door. I reckoned she didn’t want the bread, and _I_ did.” + +“Oh, dear me!” whispered Ruth. + +“And dry bread’s dry eatin’,” said the strange girl. “I had ter have a +drink o’ water to wash it down. And jest as I got down into that little +place where I seed the fountain this afternoon——” + +“Oh, my, dear!” gasped Ruth. “Have you been lurking about the school all +that time and never came and asked good old Mary Ann for something +decent to eat?” + +“Huh! mebbe she’d a drove me off. Or mebbe she’d done worse to me,” said +the other, quickly. “They beat me again day ’fore yesterday——” + +“Who beat you?” demanded Ruth. + +“Them Perkinses. Now! don’t you go for to tell I said that. I don’t want +to go back to ’em—and their house ain’t such a fur ways from here. If +that cook—or any other grown folk—seen me, they’d want to send me back. +I know ’em!” exclaimed the girl, bitterly. “But mebbe you’ll be decent +about it, and keep your mouth shut.” + +“Oh! I won’t tell a soul,” murmured Ruth. “But I’m so sorry. Only dry +bread and water—” + +“Huh! it’ll keep a feller alive,” said this strangely spoken girl. “I +ain’t no softie. Now, you lemme go, will yer? My! but you _are_ strong.” + +“I’ll let you go. But I do want to help you. I want to know more about +you—_all_ about you. But if Tony comes——” + +“That’s his lantern. I see it. He’s a-comin’,” gasped the other, trying +to wriggle free. + +“Where will you stay to-night?” asked Ruth, anxiously. + +“I gotter place. It’s warm and dry. I stayed there las’ night. Come! you +lemme go.” + +“But I want to help you——” + +“‘Twon’t help me none to git me cotched.” + +“Oh, I know it! Wait! Meet me somewhere near here to-morrow morning—will +you? I’ll bring some money with me. I’ll help you.” + +“Say! ain’t you foolin’?” demanded the other, seemingly startled by the +fact that Ruth wished to help her. + +“No. I speak the truth. I will help you.” + +“Then I’ll meet you—but you won’t tell nobody?” + +“Not a soul?” + +“Cross yer heart?” + +“I don’t do such foolish things,” said Ruth. “If I say I’ll do a thing, +I will do it.” + +“All right. What time’ll I see you?” + +“Ten o’clock.” + +“Aw-right,” agreed the strange girl. “I’ll be across the road from that +path that’s bordered by them cedar trees——” + +“The Cedar Walk?” + +“Guess so.” + +“I shall be there. And will you?” + +“Huh! I kin keep my word as well as you kin,” said the girl, sharply. +Then she suddenly broke away from Ruth and ran. Tony Foyle came +blundering around the corner of the house and Ruth, much excited, +slipped away from the brush clump and ran as fast as she could to meet +Madge Steele. + +“Oh! is that you, Ruth?” exclaimed the senior, when Ruth ran into her +arms. “Tony’s out. We had better go back to bed, or he’ll report us to +Mrs. Tellingham in the morning. I don’t know where the strange girl +could have gone.” + +Ruth did not say a word. Madge did not ask her, and the girl of the Red +Mill allowed her friend to think that her own search had been quite as +unsuccessful. But, as Ruth looked at it, it was not _her_ secret. + + + + +CHAPTER III—SADIE RABY’S STORY + + +Ruth did not sleep at all well that night. Luckily, Helen had nothing on +_her_ mind or conscience, or she must have been disturbed by Ruth’s +tossing and wakefulness. The other two girls in the big quartette +room—Mercy Curtis and Ann Hicks—were likewise unaware of Ruth’s +restlessness. + +The girl of the Red Mill felt that she could take nobody into her +confidence regarding the strange girl who said her name was Raby. +Perhaps Ruth had no right to aid the girl if she was a runaway; yet +there must be some very strong reason for making a girl prefer practical +starvation to the shelter of “them Perkinses.” + +Bread and water! The thought of the child being so hungry that she had +eaten discarded, dry bread, washed down with water from the fountain in +the campus, brought tears to Ruth’s eyes. + +“Oh! I wish I knew what was best to do for her,” thought Ruth. “Should I +tell Mrs. Tellingham? Or, mightn’t I get some of the girls interested in +her? Dear Helen has plenty of money, and she is just as tender-hearted +as she can be.” + +Yet Ruth had given her promise to take nobody into her confidence about +the half-wild girl; and, with Ruth Fielding, “a promise was a promise!” + +In the morning, there was soon a buzz of excitement all over the school +regarding the strange happening at the fountain on the campus. One girl +whispered it to another, and the tale spread like wildfire. However, the +teachers and the principal did not hear of the affair. + +Ruth’s lips, she decided, were sealed for the present regarding the +mysterious girl who had pushed Sarah Fish into what Heavy declared was +“her proper element.” The wildest and most improbable stories and +suspicions were circulated before assembly hour, regarding the Unknown. + +There was so much said, and so many questions asked, in the quartette +room where Ruth was located, that she felt like running away herself. +But at mail time Madge Steele burst into the dormitory “charged to the +muzzle,” as The Fox expressed it, with a new topic of conversation. + +“What do you think, girls? Oh! what do you think?” she cried. “We’re +going to live at Sunrise Farm.” + +“Ha! you ask us a question and answer it in the same breath,” said +Mercy, with a snap. “Now you’ve spilled the beans and we don’t care +anything about it at all.” + +“You _do_ care,” declared Madge. “I ask _you_ first of all, Mercy. I +invite every one of you for the last week in June and the first two +weeks of July at Sunrise Farm——” + +“Oh, wait!” exclaimed Mary Cox, otherwise “The Fox.” “Do begin at the +beginning. I, for one, never heard of Sunrise Farm before.” + +“I—I believe _I_ have,” said Ruth slowly. “But I don’t suppose it can be +the same farm Madge means. It is a big stock farm and it’s not many +miles from Darrowtown where I—I used to live once. _That_ farm belonged +to a family named Benson——” + +“And a family named Steele owns it now,” put in Madge, promptly. “It’s +the very same farm. It’s a big place—five hundred acres. It’s on a big, +flat-topped hill. Father has been negotiating for the other farms around +about, and has gotten options on most of them, too. He’s been doing it +very quietly. + +“Now he says that the old house on the main farm is in good enough shape +for us to live there this summer, while he builds a bigger house. And +you shall all come with us—all you eight girls—the Brilliant Octette of +Briarwood Hall. + +“And Bob will get Helen’s brother, and Busy Izzy; and Belle shall invite +her brothers if she likes, and——” + +“Say! are you figuring on having a standing army there?” demanded Mercy. + +“That’s all right. There is room. The old garret has been made over into +two great dormitories——” + +“And you’ve been keeping all this to yourself, Madge Steele?” cried +Helen. “What a nice girl you are. It sounds lovely.” + +“And your mother and father will wish we had never arrived, after we’ve +been there two days,” declared Heavy. “By the way, do they know I eat +three square meals each day?” + +“Yes. And that if you are hungry, you get up in your sleep and find the +pantry,” giggled The Fox. + +“Might as well have all the important details understood right at the +start,” said Heavy, firmly. + +“If you’ll all say you’ll come,” said Madge, smiling broadly, “we’ll +just have the lov-li-est time!” + +“But we’ll have to write home for permission,” Lluella Fairfax ventured. + +“Of course we shall,” chimed in Helen. + +“Then do so at once,” commanded the senior. “You see, this will be my +graduation party. No more Briarwood for me after this June, and I don’t +know what I shall do when I go to Poughkeepsie next fall and leave all +you ‘Infants’ behind here——” + +“_Infants!_ Listen to her!” shouted Belle Tingley. “Get out of here!” +and under a shower of sofa pillows Madge Steele had to retire from the +room. + +Ruth slipped away easily after that, for the other girls were gabbling +so fast over the invitation for the early summer vacation, that they did +not notice her departure. + +This was the hour she had promised to meet the strange girl in whom she +had taken such a great interest the night before—it was between the two +morning recitation hours. + +She ran down past the end of the dormitory building into the head of the +long serpentine path, known as the Cedar Walk. The lines of closely +growing cedars sheltered her from observation from any of the girls’ +windows. + +The great bell in the clock tower boomed out ten strokes as Ruth reached +the muddy road at the end of the walk. Nobody was in sight. Ruth looked +up and down. Then she walked a little way in both directions to see if +the girl she had come to meet was approaching. + +“I—I am afraid she isn’t going to keep her word,” thought Ruth. “And +yet—somehow—she seemed so frank and honest——” + +She heard a shrill, but low whistle, and the sound made her start and +turn. She faced a thicket of scrubby bushes across the road. Suddenly +she saw a face appear from behind this screen—a girl’s face. + +“Oh! Is it you?” cried Ruth, starting in that direction. + +“Cheese it! don’t yell it out. Somebody’ll hear you,” said the girl, +hoarsely. + +“Oh, dear me! you have a dreadful cold,” urged Ruth, darting around the +clump of brush and coming face to face with the strange girl. + +“Oh, _that_ don’t give me so much worry,” said the Raby girl. “Aw—My +goodness! Is that for _me_?” + +Ruth had unfolded a paper covered parcel she carried. There were +sandwiches, two apples, a piece of cake, and half a box of chocolate +candies. Ruth had obtained these supplies with some difficulty. + +“I didn’t suppose you would have any breakfast,” said Ruth, softly. “You +sit right down on that dry log and eat. Don’t mind me. I—I was awake +most all night worrying about you being out here, hungry and alone.” + +The girl had begun to eat ravenously, and now, with her mouth full, she +gazed up at her new friend’s face with a suddenness that made Ruth +pause. + +“Say!” said the girl, with difficulty. “You’re all right. I seen you +come down the path alone, but reckoned I’d better wait and see if you +didn’t have somebody follerin’ on behind. Ye might have give me away.” + +“Why! I told you I would tell nobody.” + +“Aw, yes—I know. Mebbe I’d oughter have believed ye; but I dunno. Lots +of folks has fooled me. Them Perkinses was as soft as butter when they +came to take me away from the orphanage. But now they treat me as mean +as dirt—yes, they do!” + +“Oh, dear me! So you haven’t any mother or father?” + +“Not a one,” confessed the other. “Didn’t I tell you I was took from an +orphanage? Willie and Dickie was taken away by other folks. I wisht +somebody would ha’ taken us all three together; but I’m mighty glad them +Perkinses didn’t git the kids.” + +She sighed with present contentment, and wiped her fingers on her skirt. +For some moments Ruth had remained silent, listening to her. Now she had +for the first time the opportunity of examining the strange girl. + +It had been too dark for her to see much of her the night before. Now +the light of day revealed a very unkempt and not at all attractive +figure. She might have been twelve—possibly fourteen. She was slight for +her age, but she might be stronger than she appeared to Ruth. Certainly +she was vigorous enough. + +She had black hair which was in a dreadful tangle. Her complexion was +naturally dark, and she had a deep layer of tan, and over that quite a +thick layer of dirt. Her hands and wrists were stained and dirty, too. + +She wore no hat, raw as the weather was. Her ragged dress was an old +faded gingham; over it she wore a three-quarter length coat of some +indeterminate, shoddy material, much soiled, and shapeless as a +mealsack. Her shoes and stockings were in keeping with the rest of her +outfit. + +Altogether her appearance touched Ruth Fielding deeply. This Raby girl +was an orphan. Ruth remembered keenly the time when the loss of her own +parents was still a fresh wound. Supposing no kind friends had been +raised up for her? Suppose there had been no Red Mill for her to go to? +She might have been much the same sort of castaway as this. + +“Tell me who you are—tell me all about yourself—do!” begged the girl of +the Red Mill, sitting down beside the other on the log. “I am an orphan +as well as you, my dear. Really, I am.” + +“Was you in the orphanage?” demanded the Raby girl, quickly. + +“Oh, no. I had friends——” + +“You warn’t never a reg’lar orphan, then,” was the sharp response. + +“Tell me about it,” urged Ruth. + +“Me an’ the kids was taken to the orphanage just as soon as Mom died,” +said the girl, in quite a matter-of-fact manner. “Pa died two months +before. It was sudden. But Mom had been sickly for a long time—I can +remember. I was six.” + +“And how old are you now?” asked Ruth. + +“Twelve and a half. They puts us out to work at twelve anyhow, so them +Perkinses got me,” explained the child. “I was pretty sharp and foxy +when we went to the orphanage. The kids was only two and a half——” + +“Both of them?” cried Ruth. + +“Yep. They’re twins, Willie and Dickie is. An’ awful smart—an’ pretty +before they lopped off their curls at the orphanage. I was glad Mom was +dead then,” said the girl, nodding. “She’d been heart-broke to see ’em +at first without their long curls. + +“I dunno now—not rightly—just what’s become of ’em,” went on the girl. +“Mebbe they come back to the orphanage. The folks that took ’em was nice +enough, I guess, but the man thought two boys would be too much for his +wife to take care of. She was a weakly lookin’ critter. + +“But the matron always said they shouldn’t go away for keeps, unless +they went together. My goodness me! they’d never be happy apart,” said +the strange girl, wagging her head confidentially. “And they’re only +nine now. There’s three years yet for the matron to find them a good +home. Ye see, folks take young orphans on trial. I wisht them Perkinses +had taken _me_ on trial and then had sent me back. Or, I wisht they’d +let the orphans take folks on trial instead of the other way ’round.” + +“Oh, it must be very hard!” murmured Ruth. “And you and your little +brothers had to be separated?’ + +“Yep. And Willie and Dickie liked their sister Sade a heap,” and the +girl suddenly “knuckled” her eyes with her dirty hand to wipe away the +tears. “Huh! I’m a big baby, ain’t I? Well! that’s how it is.” + +“And you really have run away from the people that took you from the +orphanage, Sadie?” + +“Betcher! So would you. Mis’ Perkins is awful cross, an’ he’s crosser! I +got enough——” + +“Wouldn’t they take you back at the orphanage?” + +“Nope. No runaways there. I’ve seen other girls come back and they made +’em go right away again with the same folks. You see, there’s a Board, +or sumpin’; an’ the Board finds out all about the folks that take away +the orphans in the first place. Then they won’t never own up that they +was fooled, that Board won’t. They allus say it’s the kids’ fault if +they ain’t suited.” + +Suddenly the girl jumped up and peered through the bushes. Ruth had +heard the thumping of horses’ hoofs on the wet road. + +“My goodness!” gasped Sadie Raby. “Here’s ol’ Perkins hisself. He’s come +clean over this road to look for me. Don’t you tell him——” + +She seized Ruth’s wrist with her claw-like little hand. + +“Don’t you be afraid,” said Ruth. “And take this.” She thrust a +closely-folded dollar bill into the girl’s grimy fingers. “I wish it was +more. I’ll come here again to-morrow——” + +The other had darted into the woods ere she had ceased speaking. +Somebody shouted “Whoa!” in a very harsh voice, and then a heavy pair of +cowhide boots landed solidly in the road. + +“I see ye, ye little witch!” exclaimed the harsh voice. “Come out o’ +there before I tan ye with this whip!” and the whip in question snapped +viciously as the speaker pounded violently through the clump of bushes, +right upon the startled Ruth. + + + + +CHAPTER IV—“THEM PERKINSES” + + +It was a fact that Ruth crouched back behind the log, fearful of the +wrathful farmer. He was a big, coarse, high-booted, red-faced man, and +he swung and snapped the blacksnake whip he carried as though he really +intended using the cruel instrument upon the tender body of the girl, +whose figure he had evidently seen dimly through the bushes. + +“Come out ’o that!” he bawled, striding toward the log, and making the +whiplash whistle once more in the air. + +Ruth leaped up, screaming with fear. “Don’t you touch me, sir! Don’t you +dare!” she cried, and ran around the bushes out in to the road. + +The blundering farmer followed her, still snapping the whip. Perhaps he +had been drinking; at least, it was certain he was too angry to see the +girl very well until they were both in the road. + +Then he halted, and added: + +“I’ll be whipsawed if that’s the gal!” + +“I am _not_ the girl—not the girl you want—poor thing!” gasped Ruth. +“Oh! you are horrid—terrible——” + +“Shut up, ye little fool!” exclaimed the man, harshly. “You know where +Sade is, then, I’ll be bound.” + +“How do you know——?” + +“Ha! ye jest the same as told me,” he returned, grinning suddenly and +again snapping the whip. “You can tell me where that runaway’s gone.” + +“I don’t know. Even if I did, I would not tell you, sir,” declared Ruth, +recovering some of her natural courage now. + +“Don’t ye sass me—nor don’t ye lie to me,” and this time he swung the +cruel whip, until the long lash whipped around her skirts about at a +level with her knees. It did not hurt her, but Ruth cringed and shrieked +aloud again. + +“Stop yer howling!” commanded Perkins. “Tell me about Sade Raby. Where’s +she gone?” + +“I don’t know.” + +“Warn’t she right there in them bushes with you?” + +“I shan’t tell you anything more,” declared Ruth. + +“Ye won’t?” + +The brute swung the blacksnake—this time in earnest. It cracked, and +then the snapper laid along the girl’s forearm as though it were seared +with a hot iron. + +Ruth shrieked again. The pain was more than she could bear in silence. +She turned to flee up the Cedar Walk, but Perkins shouted at her to +stand. + +“You try ter run, my beauty, and I’ll cut ye worse than that,” he +promised. “You tell me about Sade Raby.” + +Suddenly there came a hail, and Ruth turned in hope of assistance. Old +Dolliver’s stage came tearing along the road, his bony horses at a +hand-gallop. The old man, whom the girls of Briarwood Hall called “Uncle +Noah,” brought his horses—and the Ark—to a sudden halt. + +“What yer doin’ to that gal, Sim Perkins?” the old man demanded. + +“What’s that to you, Dolliver?” + +“You’ll find out mighty quick. Git out o’ here or you’ll git into +trouble. Did he hurt you, Miss Ruth?” + +“No-o—not much,” stammered Ruth, who desired nothing so much as to get +way from the awful Mr. Perkins. Poor Sadie Raby! No wonder she had been +forced to run away from “them Perkinses.” + +“I’ll see you jailed yet, Sim, for some of your meanness,” said the old +stage driver. “And you’ll git there quick if you bother Mis’ +Tellingham’s gals——” + +“I didn’t know she was one ‘o them tony school gals,” growled Perkins, +getting aboard his wagon again. + +“Well, she is—an’ one ‘o the best of the lot,” said Dolliver, and he +smiled comfortably at Ruth. + +“Huh! whad-she wanter be in comp’ny of that brat ’o mine, then?” +demanded Perkins, gathering up his reins. + +“Oh! are you hunting that orphanage gal ye took to raise? I heard she +couldn’t stand you and Ma Perkins no longer,” Dolliver said, with +sarcasm. + +“Never you mind. I’ll git her,” said Perkins, and whipped up his horses. + +“Oh, dear, me!” cried Ruth, when he had gone. “What a terrible man, Mr. +Dolliver.” + +“Yah!” scoffed the old driver. “Jest a bag of wind. Mean as can be, but +a big coward. Meanes’ folks around here, them Perkinses air.” + +“But why were they allowed to have that poor girl, then?” demanded Ruth. + +“They went a-fur off to git her. Clean to Harburg. Nobody knowed ’em +there, I s’pose. Why, Ma Perkins kin act like butter wouldn’t melt in +her mouth, if she wants to. But I sartainly am sorry for that poor +little Sade Raby, as they call her.” + +“Oh! I do pity her so,” said Ruth, sadly. + +The old man’s eyes twinkled. Old Dolliver was sly! “Then ye _do_ know +suthin’ about Sade—jes’ as Perkins said?” + +“She was here just now. I gave her something to eat—and a little money. +You won’t tell, Mr. Dolliver?” + +“Huh! No. But dunno’s ye’d oughter helped a runaway. That’s agin’ the +law, ye see.” + +“Would the law give that poor girl back to those ugly people?” + +“I s’pect so,” said Dolliver, scratching his head. “Ye see, Sim Perkins +an’ his wife air folks ye can’t really go agin’—not _much_. Sim owns a +good farm, an’ pays his taxes, an’ ain’t a bad neighbor. But they’ve had +trouble before naow with orphans. But before, ’twas boys.” + +“I just hope they all ran away!” cried Ruth, with emphasis. + +“Wal—they did, by golly!” ejaculated the stage driver, preparing to +drive on. + +“And if you see this poor girl, you won’t tell anybody, will you, Mr. +Dolliver?” pleaded Ruth. + +“I jes’ sha’n’t see her,” said the man, his little eyes twinkling. “But +you take my advice, Miss Fielding—don’t _you_ see her, nuther!” + +Ruth ran back to the school then—it was time. She could not think of her +lessons properly because of her pity for Sadie Raby. Suppose that horrid +man should find the poor girl! + +Every time Ruth saw the red welt on her arm, where the whiplash had +touched her, she wondered how many times Perkins had lashed Sadie when +he was angry. It was a dreadful thought. + +Although she had promised Sadie to keep her secret, Ruth wondered if she +might not do the girl some good by telling Mrs. Tellingham about her. +Ruth was not afraid of the dignified principal of Briarwood Hall—she +knew too well Mrs. Grace Tellingham’s good heart. + +She determined at least that if Sadie appeared at the end of the Cedar +Walk the next day she would try to get the runaway girl to go with her +to the principal’s office. Surely the girl should not run wild in the +woods and live any way and how she could—especially so early in the +season, for there was still frost at night. + +When Ruth ran down the long walk between the cedar trees the next +forenoon at ten, there was nobody peering through the bushes where Sadie +Raby had watched the day before. Ruth went up and down the road, into +the woods a little way, too—and called, and called. No reply. Nothing +answered but a chattering squirrel and a jay who seemed to object to any +human being disturbing the usual tenor of the woods’ life thereabout. + +“Perhaps she’ll come this afternoon,” thought Ruth, and she hid the +package of food she had brought, and went back to her classes. + +In the afternoon she had no better luck. The runaway did not appear. The +food had not been touched. Ruth left the packet, hoping sadly that the +girl might find it. + +The next morning she went again. She even got up an hour earlier than +usual and slipped out ahead of the other girls. The food had been +disturbed—oh, yes! But by a dog or some “varmint.” Sadie had not been to +the rendezvous. + +Hoping against hope, Ruth Fielding tacked a note in an envelope to the +log on which she and Sadie had sat side by side. That was all she could +do, save to go each day for a time to see if the strange girl had found +the note. + +There came a rain and the letter was turned to pulp. Then Ruth Fielding +gave up hope of ever seeing Sadie Raby again. Old Dolliver told her that +the orphan had never returned to “them Perkinses.” For this Ruth might +be thankful, if for nothing more. + +The busy days and weeks passed. All the girls of Ruth’s clique were +writing back and forth to their homes to arrange for the visit they +expected to make to Madge Steele’s summer home—Sunrise Farm. The senior +was forever singing the praises of her father’s new acquisition. Mr. +Steele had closed contracts to buy several of the neighboring farms, so +that, altogether, he hoped to have more than a thousand acres in his +estate. + +“And, don’t you _dare_ disappoint me, Ruthie Fielding,” cried Madge, +shaking her playfully. “We won’t have any good time without you, and you +haven’t said you’d go yet!” + +“But I can’t say so until I know myself,” Ruth told her. “Uncle Jabez——” + +“That uncle of yours must be a regular ogre, just as Helen says.” + +“What does Mercy say about him?” asked Ruth, with a quiet smile. “Mercy +knows him fully as well, and she has a sharp tongue.” + +“Humph! that’s odd, too. She doesn’t seem to think your Uncle Jabez is a +very harsh man. She calls him ‘Dusty Miller,’ I know.” + +“Uncle Jabez has a prickly rind, I guess,” said Ruth. “But the meat +inside is sweet. Only he’s old-fashioned and he can’t get used to +new-fashioned ways. He doesn’t see any reason for my ‘traipsing around’ +so much. I ought to be at the mill between schooltimes, helping Aunt +Alvirah—so he says. And I am afraid he is right. I feel condemned——” + +“You’re too tender-hearted. Helen says he’s as rich as can be and might +hire a dozen girls to help ‘Aunt Alviry’.” + +“He might, but he wouldn’t,” returned Ruth, smiling. “I can’t tell you +yet for sure that I can go to Sunrise Farm. I’d love to. I’ve always +heard ’twas a beautiful place.” + +“And it is, indeed! It’s going to be the finest gentleman’s estate in +that section, when father gets through with it. He’s going to make it a +great, big, paying farm—so he says. If it wasn’t for that man Caslon, +we’d own the whole hill all the way around, as well as the top of it.” + +“Who’s that?” asked Ruth, surprised that Madge should speak so sharply +about the unknown Caslon. + +“Why, he owns one of the farms adjoining. Father’s bought all the +neighbors up but Caslon. _He_ won’t sell. But I reckon father will find +a way to make him, before he gets through. Father usually carries his +point,” added Madge, with much pride in Mr. Steele’s business acumen. + +Uncle Jabez had not yet said Ruth could go with the crowd to the +Steeles’ summer home; Aunt Alvirah wrote that he was “studyin’ about +it.” But there was so much to do at Briarwood as the end of the school +year approached, that the girl of the Red Mill had little time to worry +about the subject. + +Although Ruth and Helen Cameron were far from graduation themselves, +they both had parts of some prominence in the exercises which were to +close the year at Briarwood Hall. Ruth was in a quartette selected from +the Glee Club for some special music, and Helen had a small violin solo +part in one of the orchestral numbers. + +Not many of the juniors, unless they belonged to either the school +orchestra or the Glee Club, would appear to much advantage at +graduation. The upper senior class was in the limelight—and Madge Steele +was the only one of Ruth’s close friends who was to receive her diploma. + +“We who aren’t seniors have to sit around like bumps on a log,” growled +Heavy. “Might as well go home for good the day before.” + +“You should have learned to play, or sing, or something,” advised one of +the other girls, laughing at Heavy’s apparently woebegone face. + +“Did you ever hear me try to sing, Lluella?” demanded the plump young +lady. “I like music myself—I’m very fond of it, no matter how it sounds! +But I can’t even stand my own chest-tones.” + +Preparations for the great day went on apace. There was to be a +professional director for the augmented orchestra and he insisted, +because of the acoustics of the hall, upon building an elevated +extension to the stage, upon which to stand to conduct the music. + +“Gee!” gasped Heavy, when she saw it the first time. “What’s the +diving-board for?” + +“That’s not a diving-board,” snapped Mercy Curtis. “It’s the lookout +station for the captain to watch the high C’s.” + +The bustle and confusion of departure punctuated the final day of the +term, too. There were so many girls to say good-bye to for the summer; +and some, of course, would never come back to Briarwood Hall again—as +scholars, at least. + +In the midst of the excitement Ruth received a letter in the crabbed +hand of dear old Aunt Alvirah. The old lady enclosed a small money +order, fearing that Ruth might not have all the money she needed for her +home-coming. But the best item in the letter beside the expression of +Aunt Alvirah’s love, was the statement that “Your Uncle Jabe, he’s come +round to agreeing you should go to that Sunrise Farm place with your +young friends. I made him let me hire a tramping girl that came by, and +we got the house all rid up, so when you come home, my pretty, all you +got to do is to visit.” + +“And I _will_ visit with her—the unselfish old dear!” Ruth told herself. +“Dear me! how very, very good everybody is to me. But I am afraid poor +Uncle Jabez wouldn’t be so kind if he wasn’t influenced by Aunt +Alvirah.” + + + + +CHAPTER V—“THE TRAMPING GAL” + + +The old clock that had hung in the Red Mill kitchen from the time of +Uncle Jabez Potter’s grandfather—and that was early time on the Lumano, +indeed!—hesitatingly tolled the hour of four. + +Daybreak was just behind the eastern hills. A light mist swathed the +silent current of the river. Here and there, along the water’s edge, a +tall tree seemed floating in the air, its bole and roots cut off by the +drifting mist. + +“Oh, it is very, very beautiful here!” sighed Ruth Fielding, kneeling at +the open window and looking out upon the awakening world—as she had done +many and many another early morning since first she was given this +little gable-windowed room for her very own. + +The sweet, clean, cool air breathed in upon her bare throat and +shoulders, revealed through the lace trimming of her night robe. Ruth +loved linen like other girls, and although Uncle Jabez gave her spending +money with a rather niggardly hand, she and Aunt Alvirah knew how to +make the pennies “go a long way” in purchasing and making her gowns and +undergarments. + +There lay over a chair, too, a pretty, light blue, silk trimmed +crepe-cloth kimona, with warm, fur-edged slippers to match, on the +floor. The moment she heard Uncle Jabez rattle the stove-shaker in the +kitchen, Ruth slipped into this robe, and thrust her bare feet into the +slippers. Her braids she drew over her shoulders—one on either side—as +she hurried out of the little chamber and down the back stairs. + +She had arrived home from Briarwood the night before. For more than +eight months she had seen neither Uncle Jabez nor Aunt Alvirah; and she +had been so tired and sleepy on her arrival that she had quickly gone to +bed. She felt as though she had scarcely greeted the two old people. + +Uncle Jabez was bending over the kitchen stove. He always looked gray of +face, and dusty. The mill-dust seemed ground into both his clothes and +his complexion. + +The first the old man knew of her presence, the arms of Ruth were around +his neck. + +“Ugh-huh?” questioned the old man, raising up stiffly as the fire began +to chatter, the flames flashing under the lids, and turned to face the +girl who held him so lovingly. “What’s wanted, Niece Ruth?” he added, +looking at her grimly under his bristling brows. + +Ruth was not afraid of his grimness. She had learned long since that +Uncle Jabez was much softer under the surface than he appeared. He +claimed to be only just to her; but Ruth knew that his “justice” often +leaned toward the side of mercy. + +Her mother, Mary Potter, had been the miller’s favorite niece; when she +had married Ruth’s father, Uncle Jabez had been angry, and for years the +family had been separated. But when Uncle Jabez had taken Ruth in “just +out of charity,” old Aunt Alvirah had assured the heartsick girl that +the miller was kinder at heart than he wished people to suppose. + +“He don’t never let his right hand know what his left hand doeth,” +declared the loyal little old woman who had been so long housekeeper for +the miller. “He saved me from the poorhouse—yes, he did!—jest to git all +the work out o’ me he could—to hear him tell it! + +“But it ain’t so,” quoth Aunt Alvirah, shaking her head. “He saw a lone +ol’ woman turned out o’ what she’d thought would be her home till she +come to death’s door. An’ so he opened his house and his hand to her. +An’ he’s opened his house and hand to _you_, my pretty; and who knows? +mebbe ’twill open wide his heart, too.” + +Ruth had been hoping the old man’s heart _was_ open, not only to her, +but to the whole world. She knew that, in secret, Uncle Jabez was +helping to pay Mercy Curtis’s tuition at Briarwood. He still loved +money; he always would love it, in all probability. But he had learned +to “loosen up,” as Tom Cameron expressed it, in a most astonishing way. +One could not honestly call Uncle Jabez a miser nowadays. + +He was miserly in the outward expression of any affection, however. And +that apparent coldness Ruth Fielding longed to break down. + +Now the girl, all flushed from her deep sleep, and smiling, lifted her +rosy lips to be kissed. “I didn’t scarcely say ‘how-do’ to you last +night, Uncle,” she said. “Do tell me you’re glad to see me back.” + +“Ha! Ye ain’t minded to stay long, it seems.” + +“I won’t go to Sunrise Farm if you want me here, Uncle Jabez,” declared +Ruth, still clinging to him, and with the same smiling light in her +eyes. + +“Ha! ye don’t mean that,” he grunted. + +He knew she did. His wrinkled, hard old face finally began to change. +His eyes tried to escape her gaze. + +“I just _love_ you, Uncle,” she breathed, softly. “Won’t—won’t you let +me?” + +“There, there, child!” He tried for a moment to break her firm hold; +then he stooped shamefacedly and touched her fresh lips with his own. + +Ruth nestled against his big, strong body, and clung a moment longer. +His rough hand smoothed her sleek head almost timidly. + +“There, there!” he grumbled. “You’re gittin’ to be a big gal, I swow! +And what good’s so much schoolin’ goin’ ter do ye? Other gals like you +air helpin’ in their mothers’ kitchens—or goin’ to work in the mills at +Cheslow. Seems like a wicked waste of time and money.” + +But he did not say it so harshly as had been his wont in the old times. +Ruth smiled up at him again. + +“Trust me, Uncle,” she said. “The time’ll come when I’ll prove to you +the worth of it. Give me the education I crave, and I’ll support myself +and pay you all back—with interest! You see if I don’t.” + +“Well, well! It’s new-fashioned, I s’pose,” growled the old man, +starting for the mill. “Gals, as well as boys, is lots more expense now +than they used ter be to raise. The ‘three R’s’ was enough for us when I +was young. + +“But I won’t stop yer fun. I promised yer Aunt Alviry I wouldn’t,” he +added, with his hand upon the door-latch. “You kin go to that Sunrise +place for a while, if ye want. Yer Aunt Alviry got a trampin’ gal that +came along, ter help her clean house.” + +“Oh! and isn’t the girl here now?” asked Ruth, preparing to run back to +dress. + +“Nope. She’s gone on. Couldn’t keep her no longer. And my! how that +young ’un could eat! Never saw the beat of her,” added Uncle Jabez as he +clumped out in his heavy boots. + +Ruth heard more about “that trampin’ girl” when Aunt Alvirah appeared. +Before that happened, however, the newly returned schoolgirl proved she +had not forgotten how to make a country breakfast. + +The sliced corned ham was frying nicely; the potatoes were browning +delightfully in another pan. Fluffy biscuits were ready to take out of +the oven, and the cream was already whipped for the berries and the +coffee. + +“Gracious me! child alive!” exclaimed the little old woman, coming +haltingly into the room. “You an’ Jabez air in a conspiracy to spile +me—right from the start. Oh, my back! and oh, my bones!” and she lowered +herself carefully into a chair. + +“I did sartain sure oversleep this day. Ben done the chores? An’ ye air +all ready, my pretty? Jest blow the horn, then, and yer uncle will come +in. My! what a smart leetle housekeeper you be, Ruth. School ain’t +spiled ye a mite.” + +“Uncle is still afraid it will,” laughed Ruth, kissing the old woman +fondly. + +“He only _says_ that,” whispered Aunt Alvirah, with twinkling eyes. +“He’s as proud of ye as he can stick—I know!” + +“It—it would be nice, if he said so once in a while,” admitted the girl. + +After the hearty breakfast was disposed of and the miller and his hired +man had tramped out again, the old housekeeper and Ruth became more +confidential. + +“It sartain sure did please me,” said Aunt Alvirah, “when Jabez let me +take in that trampin’ gal for a week an’ more. He paid her without a +whimper, too. But, she _did_ eat!” + +“So he said,” chuckled Ruth. + +“Yes. More’n a hired hand in thrashin’ time. I never seen her beat. But +I reckon the poor little thing was plumb starved. They never feed ’em +ha’f enough in them orphan ‘sylums, I don’t s’pect.” + +“From an orphanage?” cried Ruth, with sudden interest born of her +remembrance of the mysterious Sadie Raby. + +“So I believe. She’d run away, I s’pect. I hadn’t the heart to blame +her. An’ she was close-mouthed as a clam,” declared Aunt Alvirah. + +“How did you come to get her?” queried the interested Ruth. + +“She walked right up to the door. She’d been travelin’ far—ye could see +that by her shoes, if ye could call ’em shoes. I made her take ’em off +by the fire, an’ then I picked ’em up with the tongs—they was just +pulp—and I pitched ’em onto the ash-heap. + +“Well, she stayed that night, o’ course. It was rainin’. Your Uncle +Jabez wouldn’t ha’ turned a dog out in sech weather. But he made me put +her to bed on chairs here. + +“It was plain she was delighted to have somebody to talk to—and as that +somebody was ‘her pretty,’ the dear old soul was all the more joyful. + +“So, one thing led to another,” pursued Aunt Alvirah, “and I got him to +let me keep her to help rid the house up. You know, you wrote me to wait +till you come home for house-cleanin’. But I worked Jabez Potter +_right_; I know how to manage him,” said she, nodding and smiling. + +“And you didn’t know who the girl was?” asked Ruth, still curious. +“Nothing about her at all?” + +“Not much. She was short-tongued, I tell ye. But I gathered she had been +an orphan a long time and had lived at an institution.” + +“Not even her name?” asked Ruth, at last. + +“Oh, yes. She told her name—and it was her true one, I reckon,” Aunt +Alviry said. “It was Sadie Raby.” + + + + +CHAPTER VI—SEEKING THE TRAIL + + +“I might have known that! I might have known it!” Ruth exclaimed when +she heard this. “And if I’d only written you or Uncle Jabez about her, +maybe you would have kept her till I came. I wanted to help that girl,” +and Ruth all but shed tears. + +“Deary, deary me!” cried Aunt Alvirah. “Tell me all about it, my +pretty.” + +So Ruth related all she knew about the half-wild girl whose acquaintance +she had made at Briarwood Hall under such peculiar circumstances. And +she told just how Sadie looked and all about her. + +“Yes,” agreed Aunt Alvirah. “That was the trampin’ gal sure enough. She +was honest, jest as you say. But your uncle had his doubts. However, she +looked better when she went away from here.” + +“I’m glad of that,” Ruth said, heartily. + +“You know one o’ them old dresses of yours you wore to Miss Cramp’s +school—the one Helen give you?” said old Aunt Alvirah, hesitatingly. + +“Yes, indeed!” said Ruth. “And how badly I felt when the girls found out +they were ‘hand-me-downs.’ I’ll never forget them.” + +“One of them I fitted to that poor child,” said Aunt Alvirah. “The poor, +skinny little thing. I wisht I could ha’ kep’ her long enough to put +some flesh on her bones.” + +Ruth hugged the little old woman. “You’re a dear, Aunty! I bet you fixed +her up nice before she went away.” + +“Wal, she didn’t look quite sech a tatterdemalion,” granted Aunt +Alvirah. “But I was sorry for her. I am allus sorry for any young thing +that’s strayin’ about without a home or a mother. But natcherly Jabez +wouldn’t hear to keepin’ her after the cleanin’ was done. It’s his +_nearness_, Ruthie; he can’t help it. Some men chew tobacco, and your +Uncle Jabez is _close_. It’s their nater. I’d ruther have a stingy man +about, than a tobacco chewin’ man—yes, indeed I had!” + +Ruth laughed and agreed with her. Yet she was very sorry that Sadie +Raby, “the tramping girl,” had been allowed to move on without those at +the Red Mill, who had sheltered her, discovering her destination. + +She learned that Sadie had gone to Cheslow—at least, in that +direction—and when Helen came spinning along in one of her father’s cars +from Outlook that afternoon, and wanted to take Ruth for a drive, the +latter begged to ride “Cheslowward.” + +“Besides, we both want to see Dr. Davison—and there’s Mercy’s mother. +And Miss Cramp will be glad to see me, I know; we’ll wait till her +school is out,” Ruth suggested. + +“You’re boss,” declared her chum. “And paying calls ‘all by our +lonesomes’ will be fun enough. Tom’s deserted me. He’s gone tramping +with Reno over toward the Wilkins Corner road—you know, that place where +he was hurt that time, and you and Reno found him,” Helen concluded. + +This was “harking back” to the very first night Ruth had arrived at +Cheslow from her old home at Darrowtown. But she was not likely to +forget it, for through that accident of Master Tom Cameron’s, she had +met this very dear friend beside her now in the automobile. + +“Oh, dear me! and the fun we used to have when we were little +girls—‘member, Ruthie?” demanded Helen, laughing. “My! isn’t it warm? Is +my face shiny?” + +“Just a little,” admitted Ruth. + +“Never can keep the shine off,” said Helen, bitterly. “Here! you take +the wheel and let me find my powder-paper. Tom says he believes I smoke +cigarettes and roll them myself,” and Helen giggled. + +Ruth carefully changed seats with her chum, who immediately produced the +booklet of slips from her vanity case and rubbed the offending nose +vigorously. + +“Have a care, Helen! you’ll make it all red,” urged Ruth, laughing. “You +_do_ go at everything so excitedly. Anybody would think you were grating +a nutmeg.” + +“Horrid thing! My nose doesn’t look at all like a nutmeg.” + +“But it will—if you don’t look out,” laughed Ruth. “Oh, dear, me! here +comes a big wagon. Do you suppose I can get by it safely?” + +“If he gives you any room. There! he has begun to turn out. Now, just +skim around him.” + +Ruth was careful and slowed down. This did not suit the fly-away Helen. +“Come on!” she urged. “We’ll never even get to the old doctor’s house if +you don’t hurry.” + +She began to manipulate the levers herself and soon they were shooting +along the Cheslow road at a speed that made Ruth’s eyes water. + +They came safely to the house with the green lamps before it, and ran in +gaily to see their friend, Dr. Davison. For the moment the good old +gentleman chanced to be busy and waved them into the back office to wait +until he was free. + +Old Mammy, who presided over the doctor’s old-fashioned establishment, +had spied the girls and almost immediately the tinkling of ice in a +pitcher announced the approach of one of Mammy’s pickaninny +grandchildren with a supply of her famous lemonade and a plate of cakes. + +“Mammy said you done git hungery waitin’,” declared the grinning, +kinky-haired child who presented herself with the refreshments. “An’ a +drink on one o’ dese yere dusty days is allus welcome, misses.” + +Then she giggled, and darted away to the lower regions of the house, +leaving the two chums to enjoy the goodies. Helen was cheerfully +curious, and had to go looking about the big office, peeking into the +bookcases, looking at the “specimens” in bottles along the shelf, trying +to spell out and understand the Latin labels on the jars of drugs. + +“Miss Nosey!” whispered Ruth, admonishingly. + +“There you go! hitting my nose again,” sighed Helen. And then she jumped +back and almost screamed. For in fooling with the knob of a narrow +closet door, it had snapped open, the door swung outward, and Helen +found herself facing an articulated skeleton! + +“Goodness gracious me!” exclaimed Helen. + +“Oh, no,” giggled Ruth. “It’s not you at all. It’s somebody else.” + +“Funny!” scoffed Helen. Then she laughed, too. “It’s somebody the +doctor’s awfully choice of. Do you suppose it was his first patient?” + +“Hush! Suppose he heard you?” + +“He’d laugh,” returned Helen, knowing the kindly old physician too well +to be afraid of him in any case. “Now, behave! Don’t say a word. I’m +going to dress him up.” + +“What?” gasped Ruth. + +“You’ll see,” said the daring Helen, and she seized an old hat of the +doctor’s from the top of the bookcase and set it jauntily upon the +grinning skull. + +“My goodness! doesn’t he look terrible that way? Oh! I’ll shut the door. +He wiggles all over—_just as though he were alive_!” + +Just then they heard the doctor bidding his caller good-bye, or Helen +might have done some other ridiculous thing. The old gentleman came in, +rubbing his hands, and with his eyes twinkling. He was a man who had +never really grown old, and he liked to hear the girls tell of their +school experiences, chuckling over their scrapes and antics with much +delight. + +“And how has my Goody Two-sticks gotten along this year?” he asked, for +he was much interested in Mercy Curtis and her improvement, both +physically and mentally. Had it not been for the doctor, Mercy might +never have gotten out of her wheelchair, or gone to Briarwood Hall. + +“She’s going to beat us all,” Helen declared, with enthusiasm. “Isn’t +she, Ruth?” + +“She will if we don’t work pretty hard,” admitted the girl of the Red +Mill, who was hoping herself to be finally among the first few members +of her class at the Hall. “But I would rather see Mercy win first place, +I believe, than anybody else—unless it is you, Helen.” + +“Don’t you fret,” laughed Helen. “You’ll never see little me at the head +of the class—and you know it.” + +The two friends did not bore the physician by staying too long, but +after he bade them good-bye at the door, Helen ran down the path +giggling. + +“What do you suppose he’ll say when he finds that hat on the skeleton?” +she demanded, her eyes dancing. + +“He’ll say, ‘That Helen Cameron was in here—that explains it!’ You can’t +fool Dr. Davison,” laughed Ruth. + +Ruth had taken Helen into her confidence ere this about the strange +runaway, Sadie Raby, and during their call at the doctor’s, she had +asked that gentleman if he had seen the tramping girl, after the latter +had left the Red Mill. But he had not. Oddly enough, however, Ruth found +some trace of Sadie at Mercy’s house, where the girls in the automobile +next went to call. + +Mercy’s mother had taken the girl in for a night, and fed her. The +latter had asked Mr. Curtis about the trains going west, but he had sold +Sadie no ticket. + +“She was very reticent,” Mrs. Curtis told Ruth. “She was so independent +and capable-acting, in spite of her tender years, that I did not feel as +though it was my place to try to stop her. She seemed to have some +destination in view, but she would not tell me what it was.” + +“I wonder if that wasn’t what Aunt Alvirah meant?” queried Ruth, +thoughtfully, as she and Helen drove away. “That Sadie is awfully +independent. I wish you had seen her.” + +“Maybe she’s going to find her twin brothers that she told you about,” +suggested Helen. “I wish I _had_ seen her.” + +“And maybe you’ve guessed it!” cried Ruth. “But that doesn’t help us +find _her_, for she didn’t say where Willie and Dickie had been taken +when they were removed from the orphanage.” + +“Gracious, Ruthie!” exclaimed her chum, laughing. “You’re always +worrying over somebody else’s troubles.” + + + + +CHAPTER VII—WHAT TOM CAMERON SAW + + +Of course, Ruth was not at all sure that she could do anything for Sadie +Raby if she found her. Perhaps, as Helen said, she was fond of +shouldering other people’s burdens. + +It did seem to the girl of the Red Mill as though it were a very +dreadful thing for Sadie to be wandering about the country all alone, +and without means to feed herself, or get anything like proper shelter. + +In her secret heart Ruth was thinking that _she_ might have been as wild +and neglected if Uncle Jabez, with all his crankiness, had not taken her +in and given her a home at the Red Mill. + +They stopped and saw Ruth’s old school teacher and then, it being past +mid-afternoon, Helen turned the headlights of the car toward home again. +As the machine slid so smoothly along the road toward the Lumano and the +Red Mill, Ruth suddenly uttered a cry and pointed ahead. A huge dog had +leaped out of a side road and stood, barring their way and barking. + +“Reno! dear old fellow!” Ruth said, as Helen shut off the power. “He +knows us.” + +“Tom must be near, then. That’s the Wilkins Corner road,” Helen +observed. + +As the car came to a halt and the big mastiff tried to jump in and +caress the girls with his tongue—poor fellow! he knew no better, though +Helen scolded him—Ruth stood up and shouted for her friend’s twin +brother. + +“Tom! Tom! A rescue! a rescue! We’re being eaten up by a great +four-legged beast—get down, Reno! Oh, don’t!” + +She fell back in her seat, laughing merrily, and keeping the big dog off +with both hands. A cheery whistle came from the wood. Reno started and +turned to look. He had had his master back for only a day, but Tom’s +word was always law to the big mastiff. + +“Down, sir!” sang out Tom Cameron, and then he burst into view. + +“Oh, Tom! what a sight you are!” gasped Ruth. + +“My goodness me!” exclaimed his sister. “Have you been in a fight?” + +“Down, Reno!” commanded her brother again. He came striding toward them. +If he had not been so disheveled, anybody could have seen that, dressed +in his sister’s clothes, and she in his, one could scarcely have told +them apart. A boy and a girl never could look more alike than Tom and +Helen Cameron. + +“What has happened to you?” demanded Ruth, quite as anxious as Tom’s own +sister. + +“Look like I’d been monkeying with the buzz-saw—eh?” he demanded, but a +little ruefully. “Say! I’ve had a time. If it hadn’t been for Reno——” + +“Why, Reno has hurt himself, too!” exclaimed Ruth, hopping out of the +car and for the first time noticing that there was a cake of partially +dried blood on the dog’s shoulder. + +“He isn’t hurt much. And neither am I. Only my clothes torn——” + +“And your face scratched!” ejaculated Helen. + +“Oh—well—_that’s_ nothing. That was an accident. She didn’t mean to do +it.” + +“_Who_ didn’t mean to do it? What _are_ you talking about?” screamed his +sister, at last fully aroused. “You’ve been in some terrible danger, Tom +Cameron.” + +“No, I haven’t,” returned Tom, beginning to grin again. “Just been +playing the chivalrous knight.” + +“And got his face scratched!” tittered Ruth. + +“Aw—well—— Now wait! let me tell you,” he began. + +“Now he’s going to make excuses,” cried Helen. “You have gotten into +trouble, you reckless boy, and want to make light of it.” + +“Gee! I’d like to see _you_ make light of it,” exclaimed Tom, with some +vexation. “If you can make head or tail of it—— And that girl!” + +“There he goes again,” said Ruth. “He has got to tell us. It is about a +girl,” and she laughed, teasingly. + +“Say! I don’t know which one of you is the worse,” said Tom, ruefully. +“Listen, will you?” + +“Go ahead,” said Helen, solemnly. + +“Well, Reno and I were hiking along the Wilkins Corner road yonder. It +was just about where your Uncle Jabe’s wagon, Ruth, knocked me down into +the gully that time—remember?” + +Ruth nodded. + +“Well, I heard somebody scream. It was a girl. Reno began to growl and I +held him back till I located the trouble. There was a campfire down +under that bank and the scream came from that direction. + +“‘Go to it, old boy!’ I says, and let Reno go. I had no reason to +believe there was real trouble,” Tom said, wagging his head. “But I +followed him down the bank just the same, for although Reno wouldn’t +bite anybody unless he had to, he does look ugly—to strangers. + +“Well, what do you think? There were a couple of tramps at the fire, and +Reno was holding them off from a girl. He showed his teeth all right, +and one of them had his knife out. _He_ was an ugly looking customer.” + +“My goodness! a girl?” gasped his sister. “What sort of a looking girl?” + +“She wasn’t bad looking,” Tom said. “Younger than us—mebbe twelve, or +so. But she’d been sleeping out in her clothes—you could see she had. +And her face and hands were dirty. + +“‘What were they trying to do to you?’ I asked her. + +“‘Trying to get my money,’ says she. ‘I ain’t got much, but you bet I +want that little.’ + +“‘I guess you can keep it,’ I said. ‘But if I were you, I’d hike out of +this.’ + +“‘I’m going to,’ says she. ‘I’m going just as fast as I can to the +railroad and jump a train. These fellers have been bothering me all day. +I’m glad you came along. Thanks.’ + +“And with that she started to move off. But the tramps were real ugly, +and one of them jumped for her. I tripped him up,” said Tom, grinning +again now in remembrance of the row, “and then there certainly _was_ a +fuss.” + +“Oh, Tom!” murmured Helen. + +“Well, I had Reno, didn’t I? The man I tripped fell into the fire, but +was more scared than hurt. But the other fellow—the one with the +knife—slashed at Reno, and cut him. + +“Well! you never saw such a girl as that tramping girl was——” + +“What’s _that_?” gasped Ruth. “Oh, Helen!” + +“It might be Sadie Raby—eh?” queried her chum. + +“Hel-lo!” exclaimed Master Tom, turning curious. “What do you girls know +about her? Sadie Raby—that’s what she said her name was.” + +“My goodness me! What do you think of that?” cried his sister. + +“And where is she now?” demanded Ruth. + +“Aw, wait till I tell you all about it,” complained Tom. “You girls take +the wind all out of my sails.” + +“All right. Go ahead,” begged his sister. + +“So, that Sadie girl, she came back to my help, and when one of the +fellows had me down, and Reno was holding the other by the wrist, she +started to dig into the face of the rascal who held me. And once she +scratched me by mistake,” added Tom, laughing. + +“But between us—mostly through Reno’s help—we frightened them off. They +hobbled away through the bushes. Then I took her to the railroad, and +waited at the tank till a train came along and stopped.” + +“And put her aboard, Tom!” cried Ruth. + +“Yes. It was a freight. I bribed the conductor with two dollars to let +her ride as far as Campton. I knew those two tramps would never catch +her there. Why! what’s the matter?” + +“Goodness me!” exclaimed Helen, with disgust. “Doesn’t it take a boy to +spoil everything?” + +“Why—what?” began Tom. + +“And her name was Sadie Raby?” demanded Ruth. + +“That’s what she said.” + +“We just wanted to see her, that’s all,” said his sister. “Ruth did, +anyway. And I’d have been glad to help her.” + +“Well, I helped her, didn’t I?” demanded Tom, rather doggedly. + +“Yes. Just like a boy. What do you suppose is to become of a girl like +her traveling around the country?” + +“She seemed to want to get to Campton real bad. I reckon she has folks +there,” said Tom, slowly. + +“She’s got no folks—if her story is true,” said Ruth, quietly, “save two +little brothers.” + +“And they’re twins, like us, Tom,” said Helen, eagerly. “Oh, dear! it’s +too bad Ruth and I didn’t come across Sadie, instead of you.” + +Tom began to laugh at that. “You’d have had a fine time getting her away +from those tramps,” he scoffed. “She didn’t have but a little money, and +they would have stolen that from her if it hadn’t been for Reno and me.” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII—TRAVELING TOWARD SUNRISE FARM + + +Tom Cameron thought a great deal of Ruth, and for that reason alone was +sorry he had not stayed the departure of the runaway girl, Sadie Raby, +from the vicinity of Cheslow. Then, as he thought of it more, and heard +the girls talk about the tramping girl’s circumstances as _they_ knew +them, Tom was even more disturbed. + +He and Reno had gotten into the tonneau of the car, which rolled away +toward the Red Mill at a slower pace. He leaned his arms on the back of +the front seat and listened to Ruth’s story of her meeting with Sadie +Raby, and her experience with Sim Perkins, and of her surprise at +finding that Sadie had worked for a while at the Red Mill. + +“If we had only been a few days earlier in getting home from school, +there she would have been,” finished Ruth, with a sigh. + +“That’s so,” agreed her chum. “And she even stayed night before last +with Mercy’s mother. My! but she’s as elusive as a will-o’-the-wisp.” + +“We could telegraph to Campton and have her stopped,” suggested Tom. + +“By the police?” demanded his sister. + +“Oh! what for?” asked Ruth. + +“There! nothing _I_ suggest is any good,” said the boy. + +“Not unless you suggest something better than that,” laughed Ruth. “The +poor thing doesn’t need to be arrested. And she might refuse any help we +could give her. She’s very independent.” + +“She sure is,” admitted Tom, ruefully. + +“And we don’t know _why_ she wanted to go to Campton,” his sister +remarked. + +“Nor if she got there safely,” added Ruth. + +“Pshaw! if that’s worrying you two, I’ll find out for sure to-morrow,” +quoth Master Tom. + +He knew the conductor of the freight train with whom he had entrusted +the strange girl. The next day he went over to the tank at the right +hour and met the conductor again. + +“Sure, I got her on to Campton—poor kid,” said the man. “She’s a smart +one, too. When the boys wanted to know who she was, I said she was my +niece, and she nodded and agreed to it. We had a big feed back here in +the hack while she was aboard, and she had her share.” + +“But where was she going?” asked Tom. + +“Didn’t get much out of her,” admitted the conductor. “But she’d lived +in Harburg, and I reckon she had folks in or near Campton. But I’m not +sure at all.” + +This was rather unsatisfactory; but whatever point the strange girl was +journeying to, she had arrived safely at Campton. This Tom told Ruth and +the latter had to be content with this information. + +The incident of the runaway girl was two or three days old when Ruth +received a letter from Madge Steele urging them all to come on soon—that +Sunrise Farm was ready for them, and that she was writing all the girls +to start on Monday. + +The train would take them to Darrowtown. There a conveyance would meet +and transport the visitors fifteen miles through the country to Mr. +Steele’s big estate. + +Mercy Curtis joined the Camerons and Ruth at the Cheslow Station, and on +the train they boarded were Heavy Stone and The Fox. The girls greeted +each other as though they had been separated for a year. + +“Never was such a clatter of tongues,” declared the plump girl, “since +the workmen struck on the tower of Babel. Here we are—off for the +sunrise—and traveling due west. How do you make that out?” + +“That’s easy—anybody could see it with half an eye,” said The Fox. + +“Half an eye, eh?” demanded Heavy. “And Cyclops had a whole one. Say! +did you hear about the boy in school who was asked by his teacher (he +must have been in Tommy’s class) ‘Who was Cyclops?’ He was a bright boy. +He answered: ‘The man who wrote the encyclopædia.’ The association of +ideas was something fierce—eh?” + +“Dear me, Jennie,” admonished The Fox, “you are getting slangier every +day.” + +“Never mind; I’m not losing flesh over it. Don’t you,” returned the +careless “heavyweight.” + +It was a long, but not a tedious, ride to Darrowtown. The young folk had +left Cheslow just before dark, and their sleeper was sidetracked at the +end of the journey, some time in the very early morning. When Ruth first +opened her eyes she could scarcely—for the moment—think where she was. + +Then she peered out of the narrow window above her berth and saw a +section of the railroad yard and one side of Railroad Avenue beyond. The +right of way split Darrowtown in two halves and there were grade +crossings at the intersections of the principal cross streets. + +Long as she had been away from the place, the girl recognized the houses +and the stores, and every other landmark she could see. No further sleep +for her, although it was scarcely dawn. + +She hopped softly out of the berth, disturbed none of her companions or +even the porter nodding in his corner, and dressed hurriedly. She made +her toilette and then went into the vestibule and from thence climbed +down to the cinder path. + +There was an opening in the picket fence, and she slipped through in a +moment. Dear old Darrowtown! Ruth’s heart throbbed exultantly and she +smiled, although there were tears in her eyes. + +There was the Brick Church on the corner. The pastor and his wife had +been so kind to her! And up this next street was the way to the quiet +cemetery where her father and mother were buried. Ruth turned her steps +in that direction first of all. + +The sun came up, red and jovial; the birds twittered and sang in the +great maples along the way; even in the graveyard a great flock of +blackbirds “pumped” and squeaked in noisy, joyous chorus. + +The dew sparkled on leaf and bush, the flowers were fragrant, the cool +breeze fanned her cheek, and the bird chorus rose higher and higher. How +could one be sad long on such a beautiful, God-made morning? + +Impossible! Ruth plucked a spray of a flowering shrub for both graves, +and laid them on the mounds tenderly, with a little prayer. Here slept +the dead peacefully, and God had raised her up many, many friends! + +The early chimneys were smoking in the suburbs of the town. A +screen-door slammed now and then. One man whom she knew slightly, but +who did not remember her, was currying his horse in an alley by his +stable. Mrs. Barnsworth, notably the smartest housewife in Darrowtown, +was starting already with her basket for market—and woe be to the grocer +or marketman if the shops were not open when she arrived! + +Stray cats ran along the back fences. A dog ran out of a yard to bark at +Ruth, but then thought better of it and came to be patted instead. + +And then, suddenly, she came in sight of the back garden of Miss True +Pettis! + +It was with that kind-hearted but peculiar spinster lady that Ruth had +lived previous to being sent to the Red Mill. Miss Pettis was the +neighborhood seamstress and, as she often had told Ruth, she worked hard +“with both tongue and needle” for every dollar she earned. + +For Miss True Pettis had something more than dressmaking to do when she +went out “by the day” to cut and fit and run the sewing machine. +Darrowtown folk expected that the seamstress should have all the latest +gossip at her tongue’s end when she came to sew! + +Now, Miss True Pettis often laid down the law. “There’s two kinds of +gossip. One the Bible calls the seventh abomination, an’ I guess that’s +right. But for shut-in folks like most housekeepers in Darrowtown, a +dish of harmless gossip is more inspiritin’ than a bowl of boneset tea! + +“Lemme have somethin’ new to tell folks about folks—that’s all. But it +must be somethin’ kind,” Miss Pettis declared. “No backbitin’, or church +scandal, or neighborhood rows. If Si Lumpkin’s cat has scratched +Amoskeag Lanfell’s dog, let the cat and the dog fight it out, I say; no +need for Si and Amoskeag, who have been friends and neighbors for years +an’ years, gettin’ into a ruction over it. + +“I never take sides in any controversy—no, ma’am! If ye can’t say a good +word for a neighbor, don’t say nothin’ to _me_. That’s what I tell ’em. +But if ye know anythin’ good about ’em, or they’ve had any streak o’ +good luck, or the like, tell me. For the folks in this town—‘specially +the wimmen folks that don’t git out much—is just a-honin’ for news, and +True Pettis, when she goes out by the day, has gotter have a full and +plenty supply of it.” + +Ruth, smiling quietly to herself, remembered how the thin, sallow, quick +spoken lady looked when she said all this. Miss Pettis’s eyes were black +and snapping; her nose was a beak; she bit off threads as though her +temper was biting, too. But Ruth knew better. A kinder-hearted mortal +never lived than the little old seamstress. + +Now the visitor ran across the garden—neatly bedded and with graveled +paths in which the tiniest weed dared not show its head—and reached the +kitchen porch. Miss Pettis was always an early riser, and the smoke of +her chimney was now only a faint blue column rising into the clear air. + +Yes! there was a rattle of dishes in the kitchen. Ruth tiptoed up the +steps. Then she—to her amazement—heard somebody groan. The sound was +repeated, and then the seamstress’s voice murmured: + +“Oh, dear, oh, dear! Oh, dear, oh, dear! whatever shall I do——” + +Ruth, who had intended opening the door softly and announcing that she +had come to breakfast, forgot all about the little surprise she was bent +on giving Miss Pettis. Now she peered fearfully in at the nearest +window. + +Miss Pettis was just sitting down in her rocker, and she rocked to and +fro, holding one hand with the other, continuing to groan. + +“Oh, dear, me!” cried Ruth, bursting in at the door. “What in the world +is the matter, my dear?” + +“It’s that dratted felon—— Why, Ruthie Fielding! Did you drop from the +sky, or pop up out o’ the ground? I never!” + +The dressmaker got up quickly, but struck her hand against the +chair-arm. Instantly she fell back with a scream, and Ruth feared she +had fainted. A felon is a terribly painful thing! + +Ruth ran for a glass of water, but before she could sprinkle any of it +on Miss Pettis’ pale face the lady’s eyes opened and she exclaimed: + +“Don’t drop any of that on my dress, child—it’ll spot. I’m all right +now. My mercy! how that hurt.” + +“A felon, Miss Pettis? How very dreadful,” cried Ruth, setting down the +glass of water. + +“And I ain’t been able to use my needle for a week, and the +dishwashin’—well, it jest about kills me to put my hands in water. You +can see—the sight this kitchen is.” + +“Now, isn’t it lucky that I came this morning—and came so early, too?” +cried Ruth. “I was going to take breakfast with you. Now I’ll get the +breakfast myself and fix up the house—— Oh, yes, I shall! I’ll send word +down to the hotel to my friends—they’ll take breakfast there—and we can +have a nice visit, Miss True,” and Ruth very carefully hugged the thin +shoulders of the seamstress, so as not to even jar the felon on her +right fore-finger. + + + + +CHAPTER IX—THE SUNRISE COACH + + +Ruth was determined to have her way, and really, after one has suffered +with a felon for a week, one is in no shape to combat the determination +of as strong a character as that of the girl of the Red Mill! + +At least, so Miss True Pettis found. She bowed to Ruth’s mandate, and +sat meekly in the rocking chair while that young lady bustled about, +made the toast, poached eggs, made a pot of the kind of tea the spinster +liked, and just as she liked it—— Oh, Ruth had not forgotten all her +little ways, although she had been gone so long from the seamstress’s +tiny cottage here in Darrowtown. + +All the time, she was as cheerful as a bluebird—and just as chatty as +one, too! She ran out and caught a neighbor’s boy, and sent him +scurrying down to the sidetracked sleeping car with a note to Helen. The +rest of the crowd expected at Sunrise Farm would arrive on an early +morning train on the other road, and both parties were to meet for +breakfast at the Darrowtown Inn. + +The vehicle to transport them to the farm, however, was not expected +until ten o’clock. + +Therefore, Ruth insisted, she had plenty of time to fix up the house for +Miss Pettis. This she proceeded to do. + +“I allus _did_ say you was the handiest youngun that ever was born in +Darrowtown,” said the seamstress, with a sigh of relief, as Ruth, +enveloped in a big apron, set to work. + +Ruth did more than wash dishes, and sweep, and clean, and scrub. All the +time she told Miss Pettis about her life at the Red Mill, and her life +at the boarding school, and of many and various things that had happened +to her since, two years before, she had gone away from Darrowtown to +take up her new life with Uncle Jabez. + +Not that she had not frequently written to Miss Pettis; but one cannot +write the particulars that can be told when two folks are “gossiping.” +Miss True Pettis had not enjoyed herself—felon and all!—so much for ages +as she did that forenoon. + +And she would have a long and interesting story to tell regarding “Mary +Fielding’s little girl” when again she took up her work of going out by +the day and bringing both her nimble needle and her nimble tongue into +the homes of the busy Darrowtown housewives. + +On the other hand, Miss Pettis told Ruth all the news of her old home; +and although the girl from the Red Mill had no time then to call upon +any other of her one-time friends—not even Patsy Hope—she finally went +away feeling just as though she had met them all again. For little of +value escaped Miss Pettis, and she had told it all. + +The Brick Church clock was striking ten when Ruth ran around the corner +and came in sight of the Darrowtown Inn. There was a crowd of girls and +boys on the porch, and before it stood a great, shiny yellow coach, +drawn by four sleek horses. + +“Bobbins” himself—Madge Steele’s big, white-haired brother, who attended +the military academy with Tom Cameron, was already on the coachman’s +seat, holding the reins in most approved style. Beside him sat a man in +livery, it was true; but Bob himself was going to drive the +four-in-hand. + +“Isn’t that scrumptious, Ruth?” demanded Belle Tingley, one of those who +had arrived on the other railroad. “Where have you been all the time? +Helen was worried for fear you wouldn’t get here.” + +“And here’s Ralph!” exclaimed Ruth, heartily shaking hands with one of +Belle’s brothers. “I’m all right. I used to live here in Darrowtown, you +know, and I was making calls. And here is Isadore!” + +“Oh, I say, Ruth!” exclaimed the chap in knickerbockers, who was so +sharp and curious that he was always called “Busy Izzy” Phelps. “Where +have you been all the time? We were going to send a searching party +after you.” + +“You needn’t mind, sir. I can find my way around a bit yet,” laughed +Ruth. + +“All ready, now!” exclaimed Bob, importantly, from the high seat. “Can’t +keep these horses standing much longer.” + +“All right, little boy,” said his sister, marshaling the girls down the +steps of the hotel. “Don’t you be impatient.” + +“It’s the horses,” he complained. “See that nigh leader beginning to +dance?” + +“Tangoing, I suppose?—or is it the hesitation?” laughed Lluella Fairfax. +“May anybody sit up there beside you, Mr. Bob?” + +“I’m afraid not. But there’s room on top of the coach for all of you, if +you’ll crowd a bit.” + +“Me behind with the horn!” cried Tom, swinging himself up into the +little seat over the luggage rack. + +“Now, girls, there are some steep places on the road,” said Madge. “If +any of you feel nervous, I advise you to come inside with me.” + +“Ha!” ejaculated Heavy. “It’s not my nerves that keep me from climbing +up on that thing—don’t think it. But I’ll willingly join you, Madge,” +and the springs creaked, while the girls laughed, as Heavy entered the +coach. + +They were all quickly seated—the boys of course riding on the roof. +Ruth, Helen, Lluella and Belle occupied the seat directly behind the +driver. Jane Ann Hicks, who had been spending the intervening week since +school closed with Heavy, and would return to Montana after their +sojourn at Sunrise Farm, was the only other girl who ventured to ride +a-top the coach. + +“All ready?” sang out Bobbins, with a backward glance. + +Tom put the long silver horn to his lips and blew a blast that startled +the Darrowtown echoes, and made the frisky nigh leader prance again. Bob +curled the long lash of the yellow whip over the horses’ ears, and at +the crack of it all four plunged forward. + +There was a crowd to see the party off. Darrowtown had not become +familiar with the Steeles’ yellow coach. In fact, there were not many +wealthy men’s estates around the town as yet, and such “goings-on” as +this coaching party of girls and boys was rather startling to the staid +inhabitants of Darrowtown. + +The road through the town proper was very good, and the heavy coach +wheels rolled over it smoothly. As soon as they reached the suburbs, +however, the way was rough, and the horses began to climb, for +Darrowtown was right at the foot of the hills, on the very highest of +which Sunrise Farm lay. + +There were farms here and there along the way, but there was a great +deal of rough country, too. Although it was a warm day, those on top of +the coach were soon well shaded by the trees. The road wound through a +thick piece of wood, where the broad-branched trees overhung the way +and—sometimes—almost brushed the girls from their seats. + +“Low bridge!” called Bobbins, now and again, and they would all squeal +and stoop while the leafy branches brushed above them. + +Bobbins had been practicing a good deal, so as to have the honor of +driving his friends home from Darrowtown, and they all praised him for +being so capable. + +As for Tom, he grew red in the face blowing that horn to warn the foxes +in the hills and the rabbits in the bushes that they were coming. + +“You look out, Tommy!” advised Madge from below. “You’ll blow yourself +all away tooting so much, and goodness knows, we don’t want any accident +before luncheon. Mother is expecting all manner of things to happen to +us after we get to the farm; but I promised faithfully I’d bring you all +home to one o’clock luncheon in perfect order.” + +“A whole lot you’ve got to do with it,” grunted Busy Izzy, ungallantly. +“It’s Bobbins that’s doing the chief work.” + +Three hours to Sunrise Farm, yet it was only fifteen miles. The way was +not always uphill, but the descents were as hard to get over as the +rising ground, and the coach rolled and shook a good deal over the +rougher places. + +Bye and bye they began to look down into the valleys from the steeps the +horses climbed. At one place was a great horseshoe curve, around which +the four steeds rattled at a smart pace, skirting a precipice, the depth +of which made the girls shriek again. + +“I never did see such a road,” complained Lluella. + +“We saw worse at Silver Ranch—didn’t we, Ann?” demanded Ruth of the +Montana girl. + +“Well, this is bad enough, I should hope,” said Belle Tingley. “Lucky +there is a good brake on this coach. Where’d we be——?” + +As it chanced, the coach had just pitched over the brow of another +ridge. Bob had been about to point out proudly the white walls of the +house at Sunrise Farm which surmounted the next hill. + +But there had been a rain within a week, and a hard one. Right here +there was a small washout in the road, and Bob overlooked it. He did not +swerve the trotting horses quickly enough, and the nigh fore-wheel +dropping into this deep, deep rut. + +It is true Bob became a little excited. He yelled “Whoa!” and yanked +back on the lines, for the nigh leader had jumped. The girls screamed as +the coach came to an abrupt stop. + +The four horses were jerked back by the sudden stoppage; then, +frightened, they all leaped forward together. + +“Whoa, there!” yelled Bob again, trying to hold them in. Something broke +and the nigh leader swung around until he was at right angles with his +team-mate. + +The leader had snapped a tug; he forced his mate over toward the far +side of the road; and there the ground broke away, abruptly and steeply, +for many, many yards to the bottom of the hill. + +There was neither fence, nor ditch, to guard passengers on the road from +catastrophe. + + + + +CHAPTER X—“TOUCH AND GO” + + +As it chanced, Mr. Steele’s groom, who had been sent with the coach and +who sat beside Bob, was on the wrong side to give any assistance at this +crucial moment. To have jumped from the seat threatened to send him +plunging down the undefended hillside—perhaps with the coach rolling +after him! + +For some seconds it did seem as though the horses would go down in a +tangle and drag the coach and its occupants after them. + +Bob was doing his best with the reins, but the frisky nigh leader was +dancing and plunging, and forcing his mate off the firm footing of the +road. Indeed, the latter animal was already slipping over the brink. + +“Get him!” yelled Bob, meaning the horse that had broken the trace and +had stirred up all the trouble. + +But who was to “get him”? That was the difficulty. The groom could not +climb over the young driver to reach the ground. + +There was at least one quick-witted person aboard the Sunrise coach in +this “touch and go” emergency. Ruth was not afraid of horses. She had +not been used to them, like Ann Hicks, all her life, but she was the +person now in the best position to help Bob. + +To reach the ground on the nigh side of the coach Ann Hicks would have +to climb over a couple of boys. Ruth was on that end of the seat and she +swung herself off smartly, and landed firmly on the road. + +“Look out, Ruth!” shrieked her chum, “you’ll be killed!” + +Ruth had no intention of getting near the heels of the horse that had +broken its harness. She darted around to his head and seized his bridle. +His mate was already scattering gravel down the hillside as he plunged. + +Ruth, paying no attention to the shrieks of the girls or the commands of +the groom and the boys, jerked the nigh horse’s head around, and so gave +his mate a chance to obtain firm footing again. She instantly led both +horses toward the inside of the road. + +Tom was off his perch by now and had dashed forward to her aid. Amid the +gabble of the others, they seemed the only two cool persons in the +party. + +“Oh! hold them tight, Tom!” cried his sister. “Don’t let them run.” + +“Pshaw! they don’t want to run,” growled Bobbins. + +The groom climbed carefully over him and leaped down into the road. Tom +was looking at Ruth with shining eyes. + +“You’re the girl for me, Ruthie,” he whispered in a sudden burst of +enthusiasm. “I never saw one like you. You always have your wits about +you.” + +Ruth smiled and blushed. A word of approbation from Tom Cameron was +sweeter to her than the praise of any other of her young friends. She +gave him a grateful look, and then turned back to the coach, where the +girls were still as excited as a swarm of bees. + +They all wanted to get down into the road, until Madge positively +forbade it, and Ruth swung herself up to her seat again. + +“You can’t do any good down there, and you’d only be in the way,” Madge +said. “And the danger’s over now.” + +“Thanks to Ruthie!” added Helen, squeezing her chum. + +“Oh, you make too much fuss about it,” said Ruth. “I just grabbed the +bridle.” + +“Yes,” said Mercy, from inside. “I thought I’d need my aeroplanes to fly +with, when that horse began to back over the edge of the hill. You’re a +good child, Ruthie. I always said so.” + +The others had more or less to say about Ruth’s action and she was glad +to turn the conversation to some other subject. + +Meanwhile the groom had mended the harness, and now he and Tom led the +leaders to straighten out the team, and the four horses threw themselves +into their collars and jerked the coach-wheel out of the gutter. + +The trouble had delayed them but slightly, and soon Tom was cheerfully +winding the horn, and the horses were rattling down a more gentle +descent into the last valley. + +From this to the top of the hill on which the Steele home stood was a +steady ascent and the horses could not go rapidly. Bob and Madge pointed +out the objects of interest as they rolled along—the farmhouses that +were to be torn down, the fences already straightened, and the dykes and +walls on which Mr. Steele’s men were at work. + +“When this whole hill is father’s, you’ll see some farm,” crowed +Bobbins. + +“But whose place is _that?_” demanded one of the girls, behind him, +suddenly. + +The coach had swung around a turn in the road where a great, bald rock +and a border of trees on the right hand, hid all that lay beyond on this +gentle slope. The other girls cried out at the beauty of the scene. + +A gable-roofed farmhouse, dazzlingly white, with green blinds, stood end +to the road. There were great, wide-branched oaks all about it. The sod +was clipped close and looked like velvet. Yet the surroundings of the +homestead were rather wild, as though Nature had scarcely been disturbed +by the hand of man since the original clearing was made here in the +hillside forest. + +There were porches, and modern buildings and “ells” added to the great +old house, but the two huge chimneys, one at either end, pronounced the +building to be of the architecture of the earliest settlers in this +section of the State. + +There were beds of old-fashioned flowers; there was a summerhouse on the +lawn, covered with vines; altogether it was a most beautiful and “homey” +looking place. + +“Whose place is it?” repeated the questioner. + +“Oh, that? Caslon’s,” grunted Bob. “He’s the chap who won’t sell out to +father. Mean old thing.” + +“Why, it’s a love of an old place!” exclaimed Helen. + +“Yes. It is the one house father was going to let stand on the hill +beside our own. You see, we wanted to put our superintendent in it.” + +Just then an old gentleman came out of the summer house. He was a +portly, gray mustached, bald-headed man, in clean linen trousers and a +white shirt with a short, starched bosom. He wore no collar or necktie, +but looked clean and comfortable. He smiled at the young people on the +coach jovially. + +Behind him stood a motherly lady some years his junior. She was buxom +and smiling, too. + +Bobbins jerked his head around and snapped his whip over the leaders’ +ears. “These are the people,” he said. + +“Who?” asked Belle Tingley. + +“The Caslons.” + +“But they’re real nice looking people,” Helen exclaimed, in wonder. + +“Well, they’re a thorn—or a pair of thorns—in my father’s flesh. You’d +better not boost them before him.” + +“And they don’t want to sell their old home?” queried Ruth, softly. Then +to herself, she whispered: “And who could blame them? I wouldn’t sell +it, either, if it were mine.” + + + + +CHAPTER XI—TOBOGGANING IN JUNE + + +The four horses climbed briskly after that and brought the yellow coach +to an old stone gateway. At the end of the Caslon farm the stone wall +had begun, and now it stretched ahead, up over the rise, as far as +anything was to be seen. Indeed, it seemed to melt right into the sky. + +Bobbins turned the leaders’ noses in at the gateway. Already it was +shown that the new owner had begun to improve the estate. The driveway +was an example of what road-making should be—entirely different from the +hap-hazard work done on the country roads. + +There were beautiful pastures on either hand, all fenced in with +wire—“horse high, bull strong, and pig tight,” as Bobbins explained, +proudly. There were horses in one pasture and a herd of cows in another. +Beyond, sheep dotted a rocky bit of the hillside, and the thin, sweet +“baa-as” of the lambs came to their ears as the coach rolled on. + +The visitors were delighted. Every minute they saw something to exclaim +over. A pair of beautifully spotted coach dogs raced down the drive, and +cavorted about the coach, eagerly welcoming them. + +When they finally topped the hill and came out upon the tableland on +which the house and the main buildings of Sunrise Farm stood, they +received a welcome indeed. + +There was a big farm bell hung to a creaking arm in the water-tower +beside the old colonial dwelling. The instant the leaders’ ears topped +the rise, and while yet the coach was a long way off, several youngsters +swung themselves on the bell-rope, and the alarm reverberated across the +hills and valleys in no uncertain tone. + +Beside this, a cannon that was something bigger than a toy, “spoke” +loudly on the front lawn, and a flag was run up the pole set here in a +prominent place before the house. Mr. and Mrs. Steele stood on the broad +veranda, between the main pillars, to receive them, and when the coach +drew up with a flourish, the horde of younger Steeles—Madge’s and Bob’s +brothers and sisters, whom the big sister called “steel filings”—charged +around from the bell-tower. There were four or five of the younger +children, all seemingly about of an age, and they made as much confusion +as an army. + +“Welcome to Sunrise, girls and boys,” said Mr. Steele, who was a short, +brisk, chubby man, with an abrupt manner, but with an unmistakably kind +heart, or he would not have sanctioned the descent of this horde of +young folk upon the place. “Welcome to Sunrise! We want you all to have +a good time here. The place is open to you, and all Mother Steele begs +is that you will not break your necks or get into any other serious +trouble.” + +Mrs. Steele was much taller than her husband; it was positive that Madge +and Bobbins got their height from her side of the family. All the +younger Steele seemed chubby and round like their father. + +Everybody seemed so jolly and kind that it was quite surprising to see +how the faces of both Mother and Father Steele, as well as their +children, changed at the long lunch table, half an hour later, when the +name of Caslon, the neighboring farmer, was mentioned. + +“What d’ye think they have been telling me at the stables, Pa?” cried +Bobbins, when there was a lull in the conversation so that he could be +heard from his end of the table to his father’s seat. + +“I can’t say. What?” responded Mr. Steele. + +“About those Caslons. What do you suppose they’re going to do now?” + +“Ha!” exclaimed the gentleman, his face darkening. “Nothing you have +heard could surprise me.” + +“I bet this does,” chuckled Bob. “They are going to take a whole raft of +fresh air kids to board. What do you know about that? Little ragamuffins +from some school, or asylum, or hospital, or something. Won’t they make +a mess all over this hill?” + +“Ha! he’s done that to spite me,” exclaimed Mr. Steele. “But I’ll post +my line next to his, and if those young ones trespass, I’ll see what my +lawyer in Darrowtown can do about it.” + +“It shows what kind of people those Caslons are,” said Mrs. Steele, with +a sigh. “Of course, they know such a crowd of children will be very +annoying to the neighbors.” + +“And we’re the only neighbors,” added Bob. + +“Seems to me,” said Madge, slowly, “that I have heard the Caslons always +_do_ take a bunch of fresh air children in the summer.” + +“Oh, I fancy he is doing it this year just to spite us,” said her +father, shortly. “But I’ll show him——” + +He became gloomy, and a cloud seemed to fall upon the whole table for +the remainder of the meal. It was evident that nothing the neighboring +farmer could do would be looked upon with favorable eyes by the Steeles. + +Ruth did not comment upon the situation, as some of the other girls did +out of hearing of their hosts. It _did_ seem too bad that the Steeles +should drag this trouble with a neighbor into the public eye so much. + +The girl of the Red Mill could not help but remember the jovial looking +old farmer and his placid wife, and she felt sure they were not people +who would deliberately annoy their neighbors. Yet, the Steeles had taken +such a dislike to the Caslons it was evident they could see no good in +the old farmer and his wife. + +The Steeles had come directly from the city and had brought most of +their servants with them from their city home. They had hired very few +local men, even on the farm. Therefore they were not at all in touch +with their neighbors, or with any of the “natives.” + +Mr. Steele was a city man, through and through. He had not even lived in +the country when he was a boy. His own children knew much more about +out-of-doors than he, or his wife. + +The host was a very successful business man, had made money of late +years, and wished to spend some of his gains now in laying out the +finest “gentleman’s farm” in that quarter of the State. To be balked +right at the start by what he called “a cowhide-booted old Rube” was a +cross that Mr. Steele could not bear with composure. + +The young folks, naturally (save Ruth), were not much interested in the +controversy between their hosts and the neighboring farmer. There was +too much fun going on for both girls and boys to think of much beside. + +That afternoon they overran the house and stables, numbered the sheep, +watched the tiny pigs and their mothers in the clover-lot, were +delighted with the colts that ran with their mothers in the paddock, +played with the calves, and got acquainted in general with the livestock +of Sunrise Farm. + +“Only we haven’t goats,” said Bobbins. “I’ve been trying to get father +to buy some Angoras. Old Caslon has the best stock anywhere around, and +father says he won’t try to buy of _him_. I’d like to send off for a +good big billy-goat and turn him into Caslon’s back pasture. I bet +there’d be a fight, for Caslon’s got a billy that’ll chase you just as +soon as he’d wink.” + +“We’d better keep out of _that_ pasture, then,” laughed one of the +girls. + +“Oh, father’s forbidden us trespassing on Caslon’s land. We’d like to +catch him on _our_ side of the line, that’s all!” + +“Who—Mr. Caslon, or the billy?” asked Tom, chuckling. + +“Either one,” said Bob, shaking his head threateningly. + +Everyone was in bed early that night, for all were tired; but the boys +had a whispered colloquy before they went to sleep in their own big room +at the top of the house, and Bob tied a cord to his big toe and weighted +the other end so that it would drop out of the window and hang just +about head-high above the grass. + +The first stableman up about the place ran over from the barns and gave +Master Bob’s cord a yank, according to instructions, and pretty nearly +hauled that ingenious chap out of bed before the eastern sky was even +streaked with light. + +“Gee! have we got to get up now?” demanded Busy Izzy, aroused, as were +the other boys, by Bobbins dancing about the floor and rubbing his toe. +“Somebody has been foolin’ you—it’s nowheres near morning.” + +“Bet a dog jumped up and bit that string you hung out of the window,” +chuckled Tom Cameron. + +He looked at his watch and saw that it really was after four o’clock. + +“Come on, then!” Tom added, rolling Ralph Tingley out of bed. “We must +do as we said, and surprise the girls.” + +“Sh!” commanded Bobbins. “No noise. We want to slide out easy.” + +With much muffled giggling and wrestling, they dressed and made their +way downstairs. The maids were just astir. + +The boys had something particular to do, and they went to work at it +very promptly, under Tom Cameron’s leadership. Behind one of the farther +barns was a sharp, but smooth slope, well sodded, which descended to the +line of the farm that adjoined Mr. Caslon’s. There, at the bottom, the +land sloped up again to the stone wall that divided the two estates. + +It was a fine place for a slide in winter, somebody had said; but Tom’s +quick wit suggested that it would be a good place for a slide in summer, +too! And the boys had laid their plans for this early morning job +accordingly. + +Before breakfast they had built a dozen barrel-stave toboggans—each long +enough to hold two persons, if it was so desired. + +Tom and Bobbins tried them first and showed the crowd how fine a slide +it really was down the long, grassy bank. The most timid girl in the +crowd finally was convinced that it was safe, and for several hours, the +shrieks of delight and laughter from that hillside proved that a sport +out of season was all the better appreciated because it was novel. + +Over the broad stone wall was the pasture in which Caslon kept his flock +of goats. Beautiful, long-haired creatures they were, but the solemn old +leader of the flock stamped his feet at the curious girls and boys who +looked over the wall, and shook his horns. + +Somewhere, along by the boundary of the two estates, Bob said there was +a spring, and Ruth and Helen slipped off by themselves to find it. A +wild bit of brush pasture soon hid them from the view of their friends, +and as they went over a small ridge and down into the deeper valley, the +laughter and shouting of those at the slide gradually died away behind +them. + +The girls had to cross the stone wall to get at the spring, and they did +not remember that in doing so they were “out of bounds.” Bob had said +nothing about the spring being on the Caslon side of the boundary. + +Once beside the brook, Helen must needs explore farther. There were +lovely trees and flowering bushes, and wild strawberries in a small +meadow that lured the two girls on. They were a long way from the stone +fence when, of a sudden, a crashing in the bushes behind them brought +both Ruth and Helen to their feet. + +“My! what’s that?” demanded Helen. + +“Sounds like some animal.” + +Ruth’s remark was not finished. + +“The goat! it’s the old billy!” sang out Helen, and turned to run as the +horned head of the bewhiskered leader of the Angora herd came suddenly +into view. + + + + +CHAPTER XII—A NUMBER OF INTRODUCTIONS + + +“We must run, Ruthie!” Helen declared, instantly. “Now, there’s no use +in our trying to face down that goat. Discretion is the better part of +valor—— Oh!” + +The goat just then shook his horns and charged. Ruth was not much behind +her chum. She saw before Helen, however, that they were running right +away from the Steele premises. + +“We’re getting deeper and deeper into trouble, Helen,” she panted. +“Don’t you _see?_” + +“I can’t see much. Oh! there’s a tree we can both climb, I am sure.” + +“But I don’t want to climb a tree,” objected Ruth. + +“All right. You stay down and play tag with Mr. Billy Goat. Me for the +high and lofty!” and she sprang up as she spoke and clutched the low +limb of a widely branching cedar. + +“I’ll never leave my pal!” Ruth declared, giggling, and jumping for +another limb. + +Both girls had practiced on the ladders in the school gymnasium and they +quickly swung themselves up into the tree. The goat arrived almost on +the instant, too. At once he leaped up with his fore-feet against the +bole of the tree. + +“My goodness me!” gasped Helen. “He’s going to climb it, too.” + +“You know goats _can_ climb. They’re very sure-footed,” said her chum. + +“I know all that,” admitted Helen. “But I didn’t suppose they could +climb trees.” + +The goat gave up _that_ attempt, however, very soon. He had no idea, it +seemed, of going away and leaving his treed victims in peace. + +He paced around and around the cedar, casting wicked glances at the +girls’ dangling feet, and shaking his horns in a most threatening way. +What he would do to them if he got a chance would “be a-plenty,” Helen +declared. + +“Don’t you suppose he’ll get tired, bye and bye?” queried her chum, +despondently. + +“He doesn’t look as though he ever got wearied,” returned Helen. “What a +savage looking beast he is! And such whiskers!” + +“I wouldn’t make fun of him,” advised Ruth, timidly. “I believe he +understands—and it makes him madder! Oh! see him!” + +Mr. Goat, impatient of the delay, suddenly charged the tree and banged +against it with his horns in a desperate attempt to jar down the girls +perched above. + +“Oh, the foolish billy!” cooed Helen. “We’re not ripe enough to drop off +so easily. But he thinks we are.” + +“You can laugh,” complained Ruth. “But I don’t think this is much fun.” + +“Not for the goat, anyway. He is getting so angry that he may have +apoplexy. Let’s shout. Maybe the boys will hear us.” + +“Not ‘way down here, I fear,” returned Ruth. “We can’t hear a sound from +_them_. But let’s try.” + +They raised their voices in unison, again and again. But there came no +reply, save that a number of Mr. Billy Goat’s lady friends came trooping +through the brush and looked up at the girls perched so high above them. + +“Bla-a-a-t! bla-a-a-at!” quoth the chorus of nannies. + +“The same to you, and many of them!” replied Helen, bowing politely. + +“Look out! you’ll fall from the limb,” advised Ruth, much worried. + +“And what a fall would then be there, my countrymen!” sighed Helen. +“Say, Ruth! did you ever notice before what an expressive countenance a +goat has? Now, Mr. Billy, here, looks just like a selectman of a country +school board—long whiskers and all.” + +“You stop making fun of him,” declared Ruth, shaking her head. “I tell +you it makes him mad.” + + “Goaty, goaty, go away, + Come again some other day, + Ruthie and Helen want to get down and play!” + +sang Helen Cameron, with a most ridiculous expression. + +“We’ll never get down unless somebody comes to drive that beast away,” +cried Ruth, in disgust. + +“And I bet nobody comes over to this end of the farm for days at a +time.” + +“That’s it! keep on! make it just as bad as you can,” groaned Ruth. “Do +you know it will soon be luncheon time, Helen?” + +“But that won’t bother Mr. Goat. He hopes to lunch off us, I guess.” + +“But we can’t stay here, Helen!” cried Ruth, in despair. + +“You have my permission to hop right down, my dear, and make the closer +acquaintance of Sir Capricornus, and all the harem. Ex-cuse me! I think +after due consideration I will retain my lofty perch—— Ugh!” + +“You came pretty near slipping off that time!” exclaimed Ruth. “I +wouldn’t be too funny, if I were you.” + +“Maybe you are right,” agreed her friend, in a more subdued tone. “Dear +me! let us call again, Ruth!” + +So both girls again raised their voices. This time there was a response, +but not from the direction of the stone wall they had crossed to reach +the spring. + +“Hello!” called a jovial sounding voice. “Hello up there!” + +“Hello yourself!” shouted Helen. “Oh, do, _do_ come and drive away these +awful goats.” + +There was a hearty laugh at this reply, and then a man appeared. Ruth +had guessed his identity before ever he came in view. It was the portly +Mr. Caslon. + +“Well, well, my dears! how long have you been roosting up there?” he +demanded, laughing frankly at them. “Get out, you rascal!” + +This he said to the big goat, who started for him with head lowered. Mr. +Caslon leaped nimbly to one side and whacked the goat savagely across +the back with his knobby stick. The goat kept right on down the +hillside, evidently having had enough of _that_ play, and the nannies +followed, bleating. + +“You can come down now, young ladies,” said the farmer. “But I wouldn’t +come over into this pasture to play much. The goats don’t like +strangers.” + +“We had no business to come here at all, but we forgot,” explained Ruth, +when both she and her chum had descended from the tree. “We were warned +not to come over on this side of the line.” + +“Oh, indeed? you’re from up on the hill-top?” he asked. + +“We are visiting Madge Steele—yes,” said Helen, looking at him +curiously. + +“Ah! I saw all you young folk going by yesterday. You should have a fine +time about here,” said the farmer, smiling broadly. “And, aside from the +temper of the goats, I don’t mind you all coming over here on my land if +you like.” + +The girls thanked him warmly for rescuing them from their predicament, +and then ran up the hill to put the stone wall between them and the +goats before there was more trouble. + +“I like him,” said Helen, referring to Mr. Caslon. + +“So do I,” agreed Ruth. “And it’s too bad that Mr. Steele and he do not +understand each other.” + +Although their escapade with the goats was a good joke—and a joke worth +telling to the crowd—Ruth decided that it would be just as well to say +nothing about it, and she told Helen so. + +“I expect you are right,” admitted her chum. “It will only cause comment +because we went out of bounds, and became acquainted with Mr. Caslon. +But I’m glad the old goat introduced us,” and she laughed and tossed her +head. + +So they joined their friends, who had gotten tired by this time of +tobogganing in June, and they all trooped up the hill again to the +house. It was growing warm, and the hammocks and lounging chairs in the +shade of the verandas attracted them until noon. + +After luncheon there was tennis and croquet on the lawns, and toward +evening everybody went driving, although not in the yellow coach this +time. + +The plans for the following day included a long drive by coach to a lake +beyond Darrowtown, where they had a picnic lunch, and boated and fished +and had a glorious time in general. + +Bobbins drove as before, but there were two men with the party to do the +work and look after the horses, and Mrs. Steele herself was present to +have an oversight of the young folk. + +Bob Steele was very proud of his ability to drive the four-in-hand, and +when they swung through Darrowtown on the return trip, with the whip +cracking and Tom tooting the horn, many people stopped to observe the +passing of the turnout. + +Every other team got out of their way—even the few automobiles they +passed. But when they got over the first ridge beyond the town and the +four horses broke into a canter, Mrs. Steele, who sat up behind her son +on this journey, suddenly put a hand upon his shoulder and called his +attention to something ahead in the road. + +“Do have a care, my son,” she said. “There has been an accident +there—yes? Don’t drive too fast——” + +“By jiminy!” ejaculated Ralph Tingley. “That’s a breakdown, sure +enough.” + +“A farm wagon. There’s a wheel off,” cried Ann Hicks, leaning out from +the other end of the seat the better to see. + +“And who are all those children in blue?” demanded Mercy Curtis, looking +out from below. “There’s such a lot of them! One, two, three, four, +five—— Goodness me! they jump about so like fleas that I can’t count +them!” + +“Why, I bet I know what it is,” drawled Bobbins, at last. “It’s old +Caslon and his load of fresh airs. He was going to town to meet them +to-day, I believe. And he’s broken down before he’s half way home with +them—and serves him good and right!” + + + + +CHAPTER XIII—“THE TERRIBLE TWINS” + + +Ruth heard Bob’s last expression, despite the rattling of the harness +and the chattering of the girls on, and in, the coach, and she was +sorry. Yet, could he be blamed so much, when similar feelings were +expressed daily by his own father regarding the Caslons? + +Mrs. Steele was shocked as well. “My dear son!” she exclaimed, in a low +voice, leaning over his shoulder. “Be careful of your tongue. Don’t say +things for which you might be sorry—indeed, for which I am sure you +_are_ sorry when you stop to think.” + +“Huh! Isn’t that old Caslon as mean as he can be?” demanded Bobbins. + +“I am sure,” the good lady sighed, “that I wish he would agree to sell +his place to your father, and so have an end of all this talk and +worriment. But I am not at all sure that he hasn’t a right to do as he +pleases with his own property.” + +“Well—now—Mother——” + +But she stopped him with: “At any rate, you must halt and offer him +help. And those children—I hope none of them has been hurt.” + +“Pooh! you couldn’t hurt kids like those,” declared Bob. + +But he brought the horses down to a walk and the yellow coach approached +the scene of the accident at a temperate pace. + +The big farm-wagon, the body of which had been filled with straw for the +youngsters to ride in, had been pulled to the side of the road out of +the way of passing vehicles. It was clear that the smashed wheel was +past repair by any amateur means, for several spokes were broken, and +the hub was split. + +The youngsters whom Mr. Caslon had taken aboard at the railway station +in Darrowtown were dancing about and yelling like wild Indians. As the +coach came nearer, the excited party upon it could more carefully count +the blue-clad figures, and it was proved that there were twelve. + +Six girls were in blue gingham frocks, all alike, and all made “skimpy” +and awkward looking. The six boys were in new blue overalls and cotton +shirts. The overalls seemed all of one size, although the boys were not. +They must have been purchased at the store of one size, and whether a +boy was six, or twelve, he wore the same number. + +Each of the children, too, carried a more or less neatly made up parcel, +the outer covering of which was a blue and white bandanna, and the +contents of which was the change of clothing the institution allowed +them. + +“What a terrible noise they make!” sighed Mrs. Steele. “And they are +perfect little terrors, I suppose. But they _are_ clean.” + +They had not been out of the sight of the institution nurse long enough +to be otherwise, for she had come as far as Darrowtown with them. But +they _were_ noisy, sure enough, for each one was trying to tell his or +her mates how he or she felt when the wheel crashed and the wagon went +over. + +“I reckon I oughtn’t to have risked that wheel, after all,” said Mr. +Caslon, doffing his hat to Mrs. Steele, but smiling broadly as he looked +up from his examination of the wheel. + +“Whoa, Charlie! Don’t get too near them heels, youngsters. Charlie an’ +Ned are both old duffers like me; but you can’t fool around a horse’s +legs without making him nervous. + +“And don’t pull them reins. I don’t want ’em to start right now.... Yes, +ma’am. I’ll haf ter lead the horses home, and that I don’t mind. But +these young ones—— Now, let that whip lay right where it is, young man! +That’s right. + +“You see, ma’am,” he proceeded, quite calmly despite all that was going +on about him, and addressing himself to Mrs. Steele, “it’s too long a +walk for the little ones, and I couldn’t tote ’em all on the backs of +the horses—— + +“Now, you two curly heads there—what do you call ’em?” + +“The Terrible Twins!” quoth two or three of the other orphans, in +chorus. + +“I believe ye! I believe ye! They jest bile over, _they_ do. Now, you +two boys,” he added, addressing two youngsters, very much alike, about +of a height, and both with short, light curly hair, “never mind tryin’ +to unharness Charlie and Ned. _I’ll_ do that. + +“Ye see, ma’am, if you could take some of the little ones aboard——” he +suggested to Mrs. Steele. + +The coach was well filled, yet it was not crowded. The girls began to +call to the little folks to get aboard even before Mrs. Steele could +speak. + +“There’s lots of room up here,” cried Ruth, leaning from her end of the +seat and offering her hand. The twins ran at once to climb up and fought +for “first lift” by Ruth. + +“Oh, yes! they can get aboard,” said Mrs. Steele. “All there is room +for.” + +And the twelve “fresh airs” proved very quickly that there was room for +them all. Ruth had the “terrible twins” on the seat with her in half a +minute, and the others swarmed into, or on top of, the coach almost as +quickly. + +“There now! that’s a big lift, I do declare,” said the farmer, hanging +the chains of the horses’ traces upon the hames, and preparing to lead +the pair along the road. + +“My wife will be some surprised, I bet,” and he laughed jovially. “I’m +certain sure obleeged to ye, Mis’ Steele. Neighbors ought to be +neighborly, an’ you air doin’ me a good turn this time—yes, ma’am!” + +“Now, you see,” growled Bob, as the four coach horses trotted on, “he’ll +take advantage of this. We’ve noticed him once, and he’ll always be +fresh.” + +“Hush, my son!” whispered Mrs. Steele. “Little pitchers have big ears.” + +“Huh!” exclaimed one of the wriggling twins, looking up at the lady +sideways like a bird. “I know what _that_ means. _We’re_ little +pitchers—Dickie an’ me. We’ve heard that before—ain’t we, Dickie?” + +“Yep,” announced his brother, nodding wisely. + +These two were certainly wise little scamps! Willie did most of the +talking, but whatever he said his brother agreed to. Dickie being so +chary with speech, possibly his brother felt that he must exercise his +own tongue the more, for he chattered away like a veritable magpie, +turning now and then to demand: + +“Ain’t that so, Dickie?” + +“Yep,” vouchsafed the echo, and, thus championed, Willie would rattle on +again. + +Yes. They was all from the same asylum. There were lots more of boys and +girls in that same place. But only twelve could get to go to this place +where they were going. They knew boys that went to Mr. Caslon’s last +year. + +“Don’t we, Dickie?” + +“Yep.” + +No. They didn’t have a mama or papa. Never had had any. But they had a +sister. She was a big girl and had gone away from the asylum. Some time, +when they were big enough, they were going to run away from the asylum +and find her. + +“Ain’t we, Dickie?” + +“Yep.” + +Whether the other ten “fresh airs” were as funny and cute as the +“terrible twins,” or not, Ruth Fielding did not know, but both she and +Mrs. Steele were vastly amused by them, and continued to be so all the +way to the old homestead under the hill where the children had come to +spend a part of the summer with Mr. and Mrs. Caslon. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV—“WHY! OF COURSE!” + + +“I hope you told that Caslon woman, Mother, to keep those brats from +boiling over upon our premises,” said Mr. Steele, cheerfully, at dinner +that evening, when the story of the day’s adventures was pretty well +told. + +“Really, John, I had no time. _Such_ a crowd of eels—— Well! whatever +she may deserve,” said Mrs. Steele, shaking her head, “I am sure she +does not deserve the trouble those fresh air children will bring her. +And she—she seems like such a nice old lady.” + +“Who’s a nice old lady?” demanded her husband, from the other end of the +long table, rather sharply. + +“Farmer Caslon’s wife.” + +“Humph! I don’t know what she is; I know what _he_ is, however. No doubt +of that. He’s the most unreasonable——” + +“Well, they’ll have their hands full with all those young ones,” laughed +Madge Steele, breaking in upon her father, perhaps because she did not +wish him to reveal any further to her guests his ideas upon this topic. + +“What under the sun can they do it for?” demanded Lluella Fairfax. + +“Just think of troubling one’s self with a parcel of ill-bred children +like those orphanage kids,” added Belle Tingley. + +“Oh, they do it just to bother the neighbors, of course,” growled +Bobbins, who naturally believed all his father said, or thought, to be +just right. + +“They take a world of trouble on themselves, then, to spite their +neighbors,” laughed Mercy Curtis, in her sharp way. “That’s cutting +one’s nose off to spite one’s face, sure enough!” + +“Goodness only knows _why_ they do it,” began Madge, when Ruth, who +could keep in no longer, now the topic had become generally discussed +among the young people, exclaimed: + +“Both the farmer and his wife look to be very kindly and jolly sort of +people. I am sure they have no idea of troubling other folk with the +children they take to board. They must be, I think, very charitable, as +well as very fond of children.” + +“Trust Ruth for seeing the best side of it,” laughed Heavy. + +“And the right side, too, I bet,” murmured Tom Cameron. + +“We’ll hope so,” said Mr. Steele, rather grimly. “But if Caslon lets +them trespass on my land, he’ll hear about it, sharp and plenty!” + +Now, it so happened, that not twenty-four hours had passed before the +presence of the “fresh air kids” was felt upon the sacred premises of +Sunrise Farm. It was very hot that next day, and the girls remained in +the shade, or played a desultory game of tennis, or two, or knocked the +croquet balls around a bit, refusing to go tramping through the woods +with the boys to a pond where it was said the fish would bite. + +“So do the mosquitoes—I know them,” said Mercy Curtis, when the boys +started. “Be honest about it, now; I bet you get ten mosquito bites to +every fish-bite. Tell us when you get back.” + +Late in the afternoon the rural mail carrier was due and Ruth, Helen, +Madge and Heavy started for the gate on the main road where the Steeles +had their letter box. + +A little woolly dog ran after Madge—her mother’s pet. “Come on, +Toodles!” she said, and then all four girls started to race with Toodles +down to the gate. + +Suddenly Toodles spied something more entertaining to bark at and caper +about than the girls’ skirts. A cat was slipping through the bushes +beside the wall, evidently on the trail of some unconscious bird. +Toodles, uttering a glad “yap, yap, yap!” started for the cat. + +Two tousled, curly heads appeared at the gateway. Below the uncapped +heads were two thin bodies just of a size, clothed in shirts and +overalls of blue. + +“Hello, kiddies!” said Heavy. “How did you get here?” + +“On our feet—didn’t we, Dickie?” responded Master Willie. + +“Yep,” said Dickie. + +“Oh, dear me! Toodles will hurt that cat!” cried Madge. “One of you boys +run and save her—save kitty!” she begged. + +But as the youngsters started off as per direction, the cat turned +savagely upon Toodles. She snarled like a wildcat, leaped for his +fur-covered back, and laid in with her claws in a way that made the pup +yell with fright and pain. + +“Oh, never mind the cat! Help Toodles! Help Toodles!” wailed Madge, +seeing her pet in such dire trouble. + +The youngsters stopped with disgust, as Toodles went kiting up the hill, +yelping. + +“Pshaw!” exclaimed Willie. “Toodles don’t need helpin’. Did’ye ever see +such a dog? What he needs is a nurse—don’t he, Dickie?” + +“Yep,” declared the oracular Dickie, with emphasis. + +Heavy dropped down on the grass and rolled. As the cat had quickly +returned from the chase, Madge and Helen joined her. It was too funny. +The “terrible twins” were just slipping out of the gate, when Ruth +called to them. + +“Don’t go yet, boys. Are you having a good time?” + +“We ain’t allowed in here,” said Willie. + +“Who told you so?” + +“The short, fat man with the squinty eyes and the cane,” declared +Willie, in a matter of fact way. + +“Short—fat—squinty—— My goodness! I wonder if he can mean my father?” +exclaimed Madge, inclined to be offended. + +“But you can stand there and talk with us,” said Ruth, strolling toward +the boys. “So you are having a nice time at Mr. Caslon’s?” + +“Bully—ain’t we, Dickie?” + +“Yep,” agreed the echo. + +“And you won’t be glad to go back to the orphanage when you have to +leave here?” + +“Say, who ever was glad to go to a ’sylum?” demanded Willie, with scorn. + +“And you can’t remember any other home, either of you?” asked Ruth, with +pity. + +“Huh! we ’member just the same things. Our ages is just alike, they be,” +said Willie, with scorn. + +“They have you there, Ruth,” chuckled Heavy. + +Ruth Fielding was really interested in the two youngsters. “And you are +all alone in the world?” she pursued. + +“Nope. We gotter sister.” + +“Oh! so you said.” + +“And it’s so, too. She used ter be at the ’sylum,” explained Willie. +“But they sent her off to live with somebody. And we was tried out by a +lady and a gentleman, too; but we was too much work for the lady. We +made too much extry washin’,” said Willie, solemnly. + +“My goodness me!” exclaimed Ruth, suddenly. “What are your names?” + +“I’m Willie; he’s Dickie.” + +“But Willie and Dickie _what_?” demanded the startled Ruth. + +“No, ma’am. It ain’t that. It’s Raby,” declared the youngster, coolly. +“And our sister, _she’s_ Sadie Raby. She’s awful smart and some day, she +told us, she’s goin’ to come an’ steal us from the ‘sylum, and then +we’ll all live together and keep house.” + +“Will you hear this, Helen?” demanded Ruth, eagerly, to her chum who had +run to her. + +“Why, of course! we might have known as much, if we had been smart. +These are the twins Sadie told you about. And we never guessed!” + + + + +CHAPTER XV—THE TEMPEST + + +Ruth was much interested in the fresh air children, and so was Helen. +They found time to walk down to the Caslon farm and become acquainted +with the entire twelve. Naturally, the “terrible twins” held their +attention more than the others, for it _did_ seem so strange that the +little brothers of Sadie Raby should come across Ruth’s path in just +this way. + +Of course, in getting so well acquainted with the children, Ruth and her +chum were bound to know the farmer and his wife better. They were very +plain, “homey” sort of people, just as Ruth had guessed, and it appeared +that they were not blessed with an over-abundance of ready money. Few +farmers in Mr. Caslon’s circumstances are. + +What means they had, they joyfully divided with the youngsters they had +taken to board. The Caslons had no living children; indeed, the two they +had had, years ago, died while they were yet babies. This Mrs. Caslon +confided to Ruth. + +“It left an empty place in our hearts,” she said, softly, “that nothing +but other little children can fill. John has missed them fully as much +as I have. Yes; he lets these little harum-scarums pull him around, and +climb all over him, and interfere with his work, and take up his time a +good deal. Yes, I know the place looks a sight, inside the house and +out, when they go away. + +“But for a few weeks every year we have a host of young things about us, +and it keeps our hearts young. The bother of ’em, and the trouble of +’em, is nothing to the good they do us both. Ah, yes! + +“Yes, I’ve often thought of keeping one or two of them for good. There’s +a-many pretty ones, or cunning ones, we’d like to have had. But +then—think of the disappointment of the rest of the darlings! + +“And it would have narrowed down our sympathy—mine and John’s,” +proceeded Mrs. Caslon, shaking her head gently. “We’d have centered all +our love and longin’ into them we took for keeps, just as we centered +all our interest in the two little ones God lent us for a little while, +long ago. + +“Havin’ a number of ’em each year, and almost always different ones, has +been better, I guess—better for all hands. It keeps John and me +interested more, and we try to make them so happy here that each poor, +unfortunate orphan will go away and remember his or her summer here for +the rest of their lives. + +“And they _do_ have so little to be happy over, these orphans—and it +takes so very little to make them happy. + +“If I had money—much money,” continued the farmer’s wife, clasping her +hands, fervently, “I’d move many orphan asylums, and such like, out of +the close, hot cities, where the little ones are cramped for room and +air, and put each of them on a farm—a great, big farm. City’s no place +for children to grow up—’specially those that have no fathers and +mothers. + +“You can’t tell me but that these young ones miss their parents less +here on this farm than they do back in the brick building they live in +most of the year,” concluded the good woman, earnestly. + +Ruth quite fell in love with the old lady—who did not appear so very +old, after all. Perhaps she had kept her heart young in serving these +“fresh air” orphans, year after year. And Mr. Caslon seemed a very +happy, jolly sort of man, too. + +The two girls stole away quite frequently to watch the youngsters play, +or to teach them new means of entertaining themselves, or to talk with +the farmer’s wife. But they did not wish the other girls, and the +Steeles, to know where they went on these occasions. + +Their host, who was the nicest kind of a man in every other way, seemed +determined to look upon Caslon as his enemy; and Mr. Steele was ready to +do anything he could to oust the old couple from their home. + +“Pshaw! a man like Caslon can make a good living anywhere,” Mr. Steele +declared. “His crops just _grow_ for him. He’s an A-1 farmer—I’d like to +find as good a one before next year, to superintend my whole place. He’s +just holding out for a big price for his farm, that’s all he’s doing. +These hayseeds are money-mad, anyway. I haven’t offered him enough for +his old farm, that’s all.” + +Ruth doubted if this were true. The Caslon place was one of the oldest +homesteads in that part of the State, and the house had been built by a +Caslon. Mr. Steele could not appreciate the fact that there was a +sentiment attached to the farmer’s occupancy of his old home. + +The Caslons had taken root here on this side-hill. The farmer and his +wife were the last of the name; they had nobody to will it to. But they +loved every acre of the farm, and the city man’s money did not look good +enough to them. + +Ruth Fielding hungered to straighten out the tangle. She wished she +might make Mr. Steele understand the old farmer’s attitude. Was there +not, too, some way of settling the controversy in a way satisfactory to +both parties? + +Meanwhile the merry party of young folk at Sunrise Farm was busy every +waking hour. There were picnics, and fishing parties, and games, and +walks, and of course riding galore, for Mr. Steele had plenty of horses. + +Ruth and Helen privately worked up some interest among the girls and +boys visiting the farm, in a celebration on the Fourth for the fresh air +children. Ruth had learned that the farmer had purchased some cheap +fireworks and the like for the entertainment of the orphans; but Ruth +and her chum wanted to add to his modest preparations. + +Ten dollars was raised, and Tom Cameron took charge of the fund. He was +to ride into town the afternoon before the Fourth to make the purchases, +but just about as he was to start, a thunderstorm came up. + +Mr. Steele, who was a nervous man, forbade any riding or driving with +that threatening cloud advancing over the hills. The lightning played +sharply along the edges of the cloud and the thunder rolled ominously. + +“You youngsters don’t know what a tempest is like here in the hills,” +said Mr. Steele. “Into the house—all of you. Take that horse and cart +back to the stables, Jackson. If Tom wants to go to town, he’ll have to +wait until the shower is over—or go to-morrow.” + +“All right, sir,” agreed young Cameron, cheerfully. “Just as you say.” + +“Are all those girls inside?” sharply demanded Mr. Steele. “I thought I +saw the flutter of a petticoat in the shrubbery yonder.” + +“I’ll see,” said Tom, running indoors. + +Nervous Mr. Steele thought he saw somebody there behind the bushes, +before he heard from Tom. It had already begun to rain in big drops, and +suddenly there was a flash of lightning and a report seemingly right +overhead. + +The host turned up his coat collar, thrust his cap over his ears, and +ran out across the lawn toward the path behind the shrubbery. It led to +a summer house on the side lawn, but this was a frail shelter from such +a tempest as this that was breaking over the hill. + +Mr. Steele saw the flutter of a skirt ahead, and dashed along the path, +the rain pelting him as he ran. + +“Come back here! Come to the house, you foolish girl!” he cried, and +popped into the summer house just as the clouds seemed to open above and +the rain descend in a flood. + +It was so dark, and Mr. Steele was so blinded for a moment, that he +could scarcely see the figure of whom he was in search. Then he beheld a +girl crouching in a corner, with her hands over her ears to shut out the +roar of the thunder and her eyes tightly closed to shut out the +lightning. + +“For mercy’s sake! get up and come into the house. This place will be +all a-flood in a minute,” he gasped. + +Suddenly, as he dragged the girl to her feet by one shoulder, he saw +that she was not one of the house party at all. She was a frail, +shrinking girl, in very dirty clothing, and her face and hands were +scratched and dirty, too. A regular ragamuffin she appeared. + +“Why—why, where did _you_ come from?” demanded Mr. Steele. + +The girl only stuttered and stammered, looking at him fearfully. + +“Come on! never mind who you are,” he sputtered. “This is no place for +you in this tempest. Come into the house!” + +He set out on a run again for the front veranda, dragging her after him. +The girl did not cry, although she was certainly badly frightened by the +storm. + +They reached the door of the big house, saturated. Here Mr. Steele +turned to her again. + +“Who are you? What are you doing around here, anyway?” he demanded. + +“Ain’t—ain’t this the place where they got a bunch of fresh air kids?” +asked the girl. + +“What?” gasped Mr. Steele. “I should say not! Are you one of those young +ones Caslon has taken to board to the annoyance of the whole +neighborhood? Ha! what were you doing trespassing on my land?” + +“I ain’t neither!” returned the girl, pulling away her hand. “You lemme +be.” + +“I forbade any of you to come up here——” + +“I ain’t neither,” reiterated the girl. “An’ I don’t know what you mean. +I jest got there. And I’m lookin’ for the place where the fresh air kids +stay.” + +In the midst of this the door was drawn open and Mrs. Steele and some of +the girls appeared. + +“Do come in, Father,” she cried. “Why! you’re soaking wet. And that +child! bring her in, whoever she is. Oh!” + +Another flash of lightning made them all cower—all but Ruth Fielding, +who had crept forward to look over Mrs. Steele’s shoulder. Now she +dashed out and seized the bedrabbled looking stranger by the hand. + +“Why, Sadie Raby! who’d ever expect to see you here? Come in! do let her +come in out of the storm, Mrs. Steele. I know who she is,” begged Ruth. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI—THE RUNAWAY + + +Madge said, in something like perplexity: “You _do_ pick up the +strangest acquaintances, Ruth Fielding. She really does, Ma. But that +has always been Ruth’s way.” + +Mrs. Steele was first disturbed over her husband’s condition. “Go right +away and change into dry garments—do, Father,” she urged. “You will get +your death of cold standing there. And shut the door. Oh! that +lightning!” + +They had to wait for the thunder to roll away before they could hear her +again, although Mr. Steele hurried upstairs without another glance at +the bedrabbled child he had brought in out of the storm. + +“This—this girl must go somewhere and dry herself,” hesitated Mrs. +Steele, when next she spoke. “My! isn’t she a sight? Call one of the +maids, someone——” + +“Oh, dear Mrs. Steele!” exclaimed Ruth, eagerly, “let me take Sadie +upstairs and look after her. I am sure I have something she can put on.” + +“So have I, if you haven’t,” interposed Helen. “And my clothes will come +nearer fitting her than Ruth’s. Ruth is getting almost as fat as Heavy!” + +“There is no need of either of you sacrificing your clothes,” said Mrs. +Steele, slowly. “Of course, I have plenty of outgrown garments of my own +daughters’ put away. Yes. You take care of her if you wish, Ruth, and I +will hunt out the things.” + +Here the strange girl interposed. She had been darting quick, shrewd +glances about the hall at the girls and boys there gathered, and now she +said: + +“Ye don’t hafter do nothing for me. A little rainwater won’t hurt me—I +ain’t neither sugar nor salt. All I wants to know is where them fresh +air kids is stayin’. I ain’t afraid of the rain—it’s the thunder and +lightning that scares me.” + +“Goodness knows,” laughed Madge, “I guess the water wouldn’t hurt you. +But we’ll fix you up a little better, I guess.” + +“Let Ruth do it,” said Mrs. Steele, sharply. “She says she knows the +girl.” + +“She’s a friend of mine,” said the girl of the Red Mill, frankly. “You +surely remember me, Sadie Raby?” + +“Oh, I remember ye, Miss,” returned the runaway. “You was kind to me, +too.” + +“Come on, then,” said Ruth, briskly. “I’m only going to be kind to you +again—and so is Mrs. Steele going to be kind. Come on!” + +An hour later an entirely different looking girl appeared with Ruth in +the big room at the top of the house which the visiting girls occupied. +Some of them had come upstairs, for the tempest was over now, and were +making ready for dinner by slow stages, it still being some time off, +and there was nothing else to do. + +“This is Sadie Raby, girls,” explained Ruth, quietly. “She is the sister +of those cute little twins that are staying at the Caslons’ place. She +has had a hard time getting here, and because she hasn’t seen Willie and +Dickie for eight months, or more, she is very anxious to see them. They +are all she has in the world.” + +“And I reckon they’re a handful,” laughed Heavy. “Come on! tell us all +about it, Sadie.” + +It was because of the “terrible twins” that Ruth had gotten Sadie to +talk at all. The girl, since leaving “them Perkinses,” near Briarwood, +had had a most distressful time in many ways, and she was reticent about +her adventures. + +But she warmed toward Ruth and the others when she found that they +really were sincerely interested in her trials, and were, likewise, +interested in the twins. + +“Them kids must ha’ growed lots since I seen ’em,” she said, wistfully. +“I wrote a letter to a girl that works right near the orphanage. She +wrote back that the twins was coming out here for a while. So I throwed +up my job at Campton and hiked over here.” + +“Dear me! all that way?” cried Helen, pityingly. + +“I walked farther than that after I left them Perkinses,” declared +Sadie, promptly. “I walked clean from Lumberton to Cheslow—followed the +railroad most of the way. Then I struck off through the fields and went +to a mill on the river, and worked there for a week, for an old lady. +She was nice——” + +“I guess she is!” cried Ruth, quickly. “Didn’t you know that was _my_ +home you went to? And you worked for Aunt Alvirah and Uncle Jabez.” + +No, Sadie had not known that. The little old woman had spoken of there +being a girl at the Red Mill sometimes, but Sadie had not suspected the +identity of that girl. + +“And then, when you were still near Cheslow, my brother Tom, and his +dog, rescued you from the tramps,” cried Helen. + +“Was that your brother, Miss?” responded Sadie. “Well! he’s a nice +feller. He got me a ride clear to Campton. I’ve been workin’ there and +earnin’ my board and keep. But I couldn’t save much, and it’s all gone +now.” + +“But what do you really expect to do here?” asked Madge Steele, +curiously. + +“I gotter see them kids,” declared Sadie, doggedly. “Seems to me, +sometimes, as though something would bust right inside of me here,” and +she clutched her dress at its bosom, “if I don’t see Willie and Dickie. +I thought this big house was likely where the fresh airs was.” + +“I should say not!” murmured Madge. + +“They’re all right—don’t you be afraid,” said Ruth, softly. + +“I thought mebbe the folks that was keepin’ the kids would let me work +for them,” said Sadie, presently. “For kids is a lot of trouble, and I’m +used to ’em. The matron at the home said I had a way with young’uns.” + +She told them a good deal more about her adventures within the next half +hour, but Madge had left the room just after making her last speech. +While the girls were still listening to the runaway, a maid rapped at +the door. + +“Mr. Steele will see this—this strange girl in the library,” announced +the servant. + +Sadie looked a little scared for a moment, and glanced wildly around the +big room for some way of escape. + +“Gee! I ain’t got to talk with that man, have I?” she whispered. + +“He won’t bite you,” laughed Heavy. + +“He’s just as kind as kind can be,” declared Helen. + +“I’ll go down with you,” said Ruth, decisively. “You have plenty of +friends now, Sadie. You mustn’t be expecting to run away all the time.” + +Sadie Raby went with Ruth doubtfully. The latter was somewhat disturbed +herself when she saw Mr. Steele’s serious visage. + +“You’ll excuse me, Mr. Steele?” suggested Ruth, timidly. “But she is all +alone—and I thought it would encourage her to have me here——” + +“That is like your kind heart, Ruth,” said the gentleman, nodding. “I +don’t mind. Madge has told me her story. It seems that the child is +rather wild—er—flighty, as it were. I suppose she wants to run away from +us, too?” + +“I ain’t figurin’ to stay here,” said Sadie, doggedly. “I’m obleeged to +you, but this ain’t the house I was aimin’ for.” + +“Humph! no. But I am not sure at all that you would be in good hands +down there at Caslon’s.” + +Ruth was sorry to hear him say this. But Sadie broke in with: “I don’t +keer how they treat me as long as I’m with my brothers. And _they_ are +down there, this Ruth girl says.” + +“Yes. I quite understand that. But we all have our duty to perform in +this world,” said Mr. Steele, gravely. “I wonder that you have fallen in +with nobody before who has seen the enormity of letting you run wild +throughout the country. It is preposterous—wrong—impossible! I never +heard of the like before—a child of your age tramping in the open.” + +“I didn’t do no harm,” began Sadie, half fearful of him again. + +“Of course it is not your fault,” said Mr. Steele, quickly. “But you +were put in the hands of people who are responsible to the institution +you came from for their treatment of you——” + +“Them Perkinses?” exclaimed Sadie, fearfully. “I won’t never go back to +them—not while I’m alive I won’t! I don’t care! I jest won’t!” + +She spoke wildly. She turned to run from the room and would have done +so, had not Ruth been there to stop her and hold her in her arms. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII—THE BLACK DOUGLASS + + +“Oh, don’t frighten her, Mr. Steele!” begged Ruth, still holding the +half wild girl. “You would not send her back to those awful people?” + +“Tut, tut! I am no ogre, I hope,” exclaimed the gentleman, rather put +out of countenance at this outburst. “I only mean the child well. +Doesn’t she understand?” + +“I won’t go back to them Perkinses, I tell you!” cried Sadie, with a +stamp of her foot. + +“It is not my intention to send you back. I mean to look up your record +and the record of the people you were placed with—Perkins, is it? The +authorities of the institution that had the care of you, should be made +to be more careful in their selection of homes for their charges. + +“No. I will keep you here till I have had the matter sifted. If +those—those Perkinses, as you call them, are unfit to care for you, you +shall certainly not go back to them, my girl.” + +Sadie looked at him shrewdly. “But I don’t want to stay here, Mister,” +she blurted out. + +“My girl, you are not of an age when you should be allowed to choose for +yourself. Others, older and wiser, must choose for you. I would not feel +that I was doing right in allowing you to run wild again——” + +“I gotter see the twins—I jest _gotter_ see ’em,” said Sadie, faintly. + +“And whether that Caslon is fit to have charge of you,” bitterly added +Mr. Steele, “I have my doubts.” + +“Oh, surely, you will let her see her little brothers?” cried Ruth, +pleadingly. + +“We will arrange about that—ahem!” said Mr. Steele. “But I will +communicate at once—by long distance telephone—with the matron of the +institution from which she came, and they can send a representative here +to talk with me——” + +“And take me back there?” exclaimed Sadie. “No, I sha’n’t! I sha’n’t go! +So there!” + +“Hoity-toity, Miss! Let’s have no more of it, if you please,” said the +gentleman, sternly. “You will stay here for the present. Don’t you try +to run away from me, for if you do, I’ll soon have you brought back. We +intend to treat you kindly here, but you must not abuse our kindness.” + +It was perhaps somewhat puzzling to Sadie Raby—this attitude of the very +severe gentleman. She had not been used to much kindness in her life, +and the sort that is forced on one is not generally appreciated by the +wisest of us. Therefore it is not strange if Sadie failed to understand +that Mr. Steele really meant to be her friend. + +“Come away, Sadie,” whispered Ruth, quite troubled herself by the turn +affairs had taken. “I am so sorry—but it will all come right in the +end——” + +“If by comin’ right, Miss, you means that I am goin’ to see them twins, +you can jest _bet_ it will all come right,” returned Sadie, gruffly, +when they were out in the hall. “For see ’em I will, an’ _him_, nor +nobody else, won’t stop me. As for goin’ back to them Perkinses, or to +the orphanage, we’ll see ‘bout that,” added Sadie, to herself, and +grimly. + +Ruth feared very much that Mr. Steele would not have been quite so stern +and positive with the runaway, had it not been for his dislike for the +Caslons. Had Sadie’s brothers been stopping with some other neighbor, +would Mr. Steele have delayed letting the runaway girl go to see them? + +“Oh, dear, me! If folks would only be good-natured and stop being so +hateful to each other,” thought the girl of the Red Mill. “I just _know_ +that Mr. Steele would like Mr. Caslon a whole lot, if they really once +got acquainted!” + +The rain had ceased falling by this time. The tempest had rolled away +into the east. A great rainbow had appeared and many of the household +were on the verandas to watch the bow of promise. + +It was too wet, however, to venture upon the grass. The paths and +driveway glistened with pools of water. And under a big tree not far +from the front of the house, it was discovered that a multitude of +little toads had appeared—tiny little fellows no larger than one’s +thumbnail. + +“It’s just been rainin’ toads!” cried one of the younger Steele +children—Bennie by name. “Come on out, Ruthie, and see the toads that +comed down with the rainstorm.” + +Tom Cameron had already come up to speak with Sadie. He shook hands with +the runaway girl and spoke to her as politely as he would have to any of +his sister’s friends. And Sadie, remembering how kind he had been to her +on the occasion when the tramps attacked her near Cheslow, responded to +his advances with less reluctance than she had to those of some of the +girls. + +For it must be confessed that many of the young people looked upon the +runaway askance. She was so different from themselves! + +Now that she was clean, and her hair brushed and tied with one of Ruth’s +own ribbons, and she was dressed neatly, Sadie Raby did not _look_ much +different from the girls about her on the wide porch; but when she +spoke, her voice was hoarse, and her language uncouth. + +Had she been plumper, she would have been a pretty girl. She was tanned +very darkly, and her skin was coarse. Nevertheless, given half the care +these other girls had been used to most of their lives, and Sadie Raby +would have been the equal of any. + +Ruth came strolling back to the veranda, leaving Bennie watching the +toads—which remained a mystery to him. He was a lively little fellow of +six and the pet of the whole family. + +As it chanced, he was alone out there on the drive, and the others were +now strolling farther and farther away from him along the veranda. The +boy ran out farther from the house, and danced up and down, looking at +the rainbow overhead. + +Thus he was—a pretty sight in the glow of the setting sun—when a sudden +chorus of shouts and frightened cries arose from the rear of the house. + +Men and maids were screaming. Then came the pounding of heavy hoofs. + +Around the curve of the drive charged a great black horse, a frayed and +broken lead-rope hanging from his arching neck, his eyes red and +glowing, and his sleek black body all a-quiver with the joy of his +escape. + +“The Black Douglass!” ejaculated Tom Cameron, in horror, for the great +horse was charging straight for the dancing child in the driveway. + +It was the most dangerous beast upon Sunrise Farm—indeed, almost the +only savage creature Mr. Steele had retained when he bought out the +former owner of the stock farm and his stud of horses. + +The Black Douglass was a big creature, with an uncertain temper, and was +handled only by the most careful men in Mr. Steele’s employ. Somehow, on +this occasion, the brute had been allowed to escape. + +Spurring the gravel with his iron shod hoofs, the horse galloped +straight at little Bennie. The child, suddenly made aware of his peril +by the screams of his brothers and sisters, turned blindly, staggered a +few steps, and fell upon his hands and knees. + +Mr. Steele rushed from the house, but he was too far away. The men +chasing the released animal were at a distance, too. Tom Cameron started +down the steps, but Helen shrieked for him to return. Who was there to +face the snorting, prancing beast? + +There was a flash of a slight figure down the steps and across the sod. +Like an arrow from a strong bow, Sadie Raby darted before the fallen +child. Nor was she helpless. The runaway knew what she was about. + +As she ran from the veranda, she had seized a parasol that was leaning +against one of the pillars. Holding this in both hands, she presented it +to the charging horse, opening and shutting it rapidly as she advanced. + +She leaped across Bennie and confronted the Black Douglass. The flighty +animal, seeing something before him that he did not at all understand, +changed his course with a frightened snort, and dashed off across the +lawn, cutting out great clods as he ran, and so around the house again +and out of sight. + +Mr. and Mrs. Steele were both running to the spot. The gentleman picked +up the frightened Bennie, but handed him at once to his mother. Then he +turned and seized the girl by her thin shoulders. + +“My dear girl! My dear girl!” he said, rather brokenly, turning her so +as to face him. “That was a brave thing to do. We can’t thank you +enough. You can’t understand——” + +“Aw, it warn’t anything. I knowed that horse wouldn’t jump at us when he +seen the umbrel’. Horses is fools that way,” said Sadie Raby, rather +shamefacedly. + +But when Mrs. Steele knelt right down in the damp gravel beside her, and +with one arm around Bennie, put the other around the runaway and hugged +her—hugged her _tight_—Sadie was quite overcome, herself. + +Madge Steele was crying frankly. Bobbins came rushing upon the scene, +and there was a general riot of exclamation and explanation. + +“Say! you goin’ to let me see my brothers now?” demanded the runaway, +who had a practical mind, if nothing more. + +“Bob,” said his father, quickly, “you have the pony put in the cart and +drive down there to Caslon’s and bring those babies up here.” + +“Aw, Father! what’ll I tell Caslon?” demanded the big fellow, +hesitatingly. + +“Tell him—tell him——” For a moment, it was true, that Mr. Steele was +rather put to it for a reply. He found Ruth beside him, plucking his +sleeve. + +“Let me go with Bobbins, sir,” whispered the girl of the Red Mill. “I’ll +know what to say to Mr. and Mrs. Caslon.” + +“I guess you will, Ruth. That’s right. You bring the twins up here to +see their sister.” Then he turned and smiled down at Sadie, and there +were tears behind his eyeglasses. “If I have my way, young lady, your +coming here to Sunrise Farm will be the best thing—for you and the +twins—that ever happened in your young lives!” + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII—SUNDRY PLANS + + +Perhaps Sadie Raby would have been just as well pleased had Mr. Steele +allowed her to go to the Caslons’ to see her brothers, instead of having +them brought up the hill to Sunrise Farm. The gentleman, however, did +not do this because he disliked Caslon; Sadie had saved Bennie from what +might have been certain death, and the wealthy Mr. Steele was quite as +grateful as he was obstinate. + +He was determined to show his gratitude to the friendless girl in a +practical manner. And the object of his gratitude would include her two +little brothers, as well. Oh, yes! Mr. Steele proposed to make Sadie +Raby glad that she had saved Bennie from the runaway horse. + +The other girls and boys, beside the members of the Steele family, were +anxious now to show their approval of Sadie’s brave deed. The wanderer +was quite bewildered at first by all the attention she received. + +She was such a different looking girl, too, as has been already pointed +out, from the miserable little creature who had been found by Mr. Steele +in the shrubbery, that it was not hard to develop an interest in Sadie +Raby. + +Encircled by the family and their young visitors on the veranda, Sadie +again related the particulars of her life and experience—and it was a +particularly sympathetic audience that listened to her. Mr. Steele drew +out a new detail that had escaped Ruth, even, in her confidences with +the strange child. + +Although the “terrible twins” were unable to remember either father or +mother—orphan asylums are not calculated to encourage such remembrances +in infant minds—Sadie, as she had once said to Ruth, could clearly +remember both her parents. + +And although they had died in distant Harburg, where the children had +been put into the orphanage, Sadie remembered that the family had +removed to that city, soon after the twins were born, from no less a +place than Darrowtown! + +“Me, I got it in my head that mebbe somebody would remember pa and mom +in Darrowtown, and would give me a chance. That’s another reason I come +hiking clear over here,” said Sadie. + +“We’ll hunt your friends up—if there are any,” Mr. Steele assured her. + +Sadie looked at him shrewdly. “Say!” said she, “you treat me a whole lot +nicer than you did a while ago. Do folks have to do somethin’ for your +family before you forget to be cross with them?” + +It certainly was a facer! Mr. Steele flushed a little and scarcely knew +what to say in reply to this frank criticism. But at that moment the +two-wheel cart came into sight with the pony on the trot, and Ruth and +the twins waving their hands and shouting. + +The meeting of the little chaps with their runaway sister was touching. +The three Raby orphans were very popular indeed at Sunrise Farm just +then. + +Mr. Steele frankly admitted that this might be a case where custom could +be over-ridden, and the orphanage authorities ignored. + +“Whether those Perkins people she was farmed out to, were as harsh as +she says——” he began, when Ruth interrupted eagerly: + +“Oh, sir! I can vouch for _that_. The man was an awful brute. He struck +_me_ with his whip, and I don’t believe Sadie told a story when she says +he beat her.” + +“I wish I’d been there,” ejaculated Tom Cameron, in a low voice, “when +the scoundrel struck you, Ruth. I would have done something to him!” + +“However,” pursued Mr. Steele, “the girl is here now and near to +Darrowtown, which she says is her old home. We may find somebody there +who knew the Rabys. At any rate, they shall be cared for—I promise you.” + +“I know!” cried Ruth, suddenly. “If anybody will remember them, it’s +Miss Pettis.” + +“Another of your queer friends, Ruth?” asked Madge, laughing. + +“Why—Miss True Pettis isn’t queer. But she knows about everybody who +lives in Darrowtown, or who ever did live there—and their histories from +away back!” + +“A human encyclopedia,” exclaimed Heavy. + +“She’s a lovely lady,” said Ruth, quietly, “and she’ll do anything to +help these unfortunate Rabys—be sure of that.” + +The late dinner was announced, and by that time the twins, as well as +Sadie, had become a little more used to their surroundings. Willie and +Dickie had been put into “spandy clean” overalls and shirts before Mrs. +Caslon would let them out of her hands. They were really pretty +children, in a delicate way, like their sister. + +With so many about the long dining table, the meals at the Steele home +at this time were like a continuous picnic. There was so much talking +and laughter that Mr. and Mrs. Steele had to communicate with signs, for +the most part, from their stations at either end of the table, or else +they must send messages back and forth by one of the waitresses. + +The twins and Sadie were down at Mrs. Steele’s end of the table on this +occasion, with the girls all about them. Ruth and the others took a lot +more interest in keeping the orphans supplied with good things than they +did in their own plates. + +That is, all but Heavy; of course _she_ wasted no time in heaping her +own plate. The twins were a little bashful at first; but it was plain +that Willie and Dickie had been taught some of the refinements of life +at the orphanage, as both had very good table manners. + +They had to be tempted to eat, however, and finally Heavy offered to run +a race with them, declaring that she could eat as much as both of the +boys put together. + +Dickie was just as silent in his sister’s presence as usual, his +communications being generally in the form of monosyllables. But he was +faithful in echoing Willie’s sentiments on any and every +occasion—noticeably at chicken time. The little fellows ate the +fricassee with appetite, but they refused the nice, rich gravy, in which +the cook had put macaroni. Mrs. Steele urged them to take gravy once or +twice, and finally Sadie considered that she should come to the rescue. + +“What’s the matter with you kids?” she demanded, hoarsely, in an attempt +to communicate with them aside. “Ye was glad ’nough to git chicken gravy +on Thanksgivin’ at the orphanage—warn’t ye?” + +“Yes, I know, Sadie,” returned Willie, wistfully. “But they never left +the windpipes in it—did they, Dickie?” + +“Nope,” responded Dickie, feelingly, likewise gazing at the macaroni +askance. + +It set the table in a roar and finally Willie and Dickie were encouraged +to try some of the gravy, “windpipes” and all! + +“They’re all right,” laughed Busy Izzy, greatly delighted. “They’re +one—or two—of the seven wonders of the world——” + +“Pooh!” interrupted Heavy, witheringly, “You don’t even know what the +seven wonders of the world are.” + +“I can tell you one thing they’re _not_,” grinned Busy Izzy. “They’re +not a baseball team, for there’s not enough of them. Now will you be +good?” + +Madge turned her head suddenly and ran right into Belle Tingley’s elbow, +as Belle was reaching up to settle her hair-ribbon. + +“Oh, oh! My eye! I believe you poked it out, Belle. You have _such_ +sharp elbows,” wailed Madge. + +“You’ll have to see Doc. Blodgett at Lumberton,” advised Heavy, “and get +your eye tended to. He’s a great old doctor——” + +“Why, I didn’t know he was an eye doctor,” exclaimed Madge. “I thought +he was a chiropodist.” + +“He used to be,” Heavy returned, with perfect seriousness. “He began at +the foot and worked up, you see.” + +Amid all the fun and hilarity, Mr. Steele called them to order. This was +at the dessert stage, and there were tall cones of parti-colored ice +cream before them, with great, heaping plates of cake. + +“Can you give me a moment’s attention, girls and boys?” asked their +host. “I want to speak about to-morrow.” + +“The ‘great and glorious,’” murmured Heavy. + +“We’ve all promised to be good, sir,” said Tom. “No pistols, or +explosives, on the place.” + +“Only the cannon,” interposed Bobbins. “You’re going to let us salute +with _that_; eh, Pa?” + +“I’m not sure that I shall,” returned his father, “if you do not give me +your attention, and keep silent. We are determined to have a safe and +sane Fourth on Sunrise Farm. But at night we will set off a splendid lot +of fireworks that I bought last week——” + +“Oh, fine, Pa! I do love fireworks,” cried Madge. + +“The girls are as bad as the boys, Mother,” said Mr. Steele, shaking his +head. “What I wanted to say,” he added, raising his voice, “was that we +ought to invite these little chaps—these brothers of Sadie Raby—to come +up at night to see our show.” + +“Oh, let’s have all the fresh airs, Pa!” cried Madge, eagerly. “_What_ a +good time they’d have.” + +“I—don’t—know,” said her father, soberly, looking at his wife. “I am +afraid that will be too much for your mother.” + +“Mr. Caslon has some fireworks for the children,” broke in Ruth, +timidly. “I happen to know that. And Tom was going down to buy ten +dollar’s worth more to put with what Mr. Caslon has.” + +“Humph!” said Mr. Steele. + +“You see, some of us thought we’d give the little folk a good time down +there, and it wouldn’t bother you and Mrs. Steele, sir,” Ruth hastened +to explain. + +“Well, well!” exclaimed the gentleman, not very sharply after all, “if +those Caslons can stand the racket, I guess mother and I can—eh, +mother?” + +“We need not have them in the house,” said Mrs. Steele. “We can put +tables on the veranda, and give them ice cream and cake after the +fireworks. Get the men to hang Chinese lanterns, and so forth.” + +“Bully!” cried the younger Steeles, in chorus, and the visitors to +Sunrise Farm were quite delighted, too, with this suggestion. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX—A SAFE AND SANE FOURTH? + + +Of course, somebody had to go to the Caslons and explain all this, and +that duty devolved upon Ruth. Naturally, permission had to be sought of +the farmer and his wife before the “fresh air kids” could be carried off +bodily to Sunrise Farm. + +It was decided that the ten dollars, of which Tom had taken charge, +should be spent for extra bunting and lanterns to decorate with, and to +buy little gifts for each of the fresh airs to find next his or her +plate on the evening of the Fourth. + +Therefore, Tom started again for Darrowtown right after breakfast, and +Ruth rode with him in the high, two-wheeled cart. + +Ruth had two important errands. One was in Darrowtown. But the first +stop, at Mr. Caslon’s, troubled her a little. + +How would the farmer and his wife take the idea of the Steeles suddenly +patronizing the fresh air children? Were the Caslons anything like Mr. +Steele himself, in temperament, Ruth’s errand would not be a pleasant +one, she knew. + +The orphans ran out shrieking a welcome when Tom drove into the yard of +the house under the hill. Where were the “terrible twins”? Had their +sister really come to see them? Were Willie and Dickie coming back to +the orphanage at all? + +These and a dozen other questions were hurled at Ruth. Some of the +bigger girls remembered Sadie Raby and asked a multitude of questions +about her. So the girl of the Red Mill contented herself at first with +trying to reply to all these queries. + +Then Mrs. Caslon appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands of +dish-water, and the old farmer himself came from the stables. Their +friendly greeting and smiling faces opened the way for Ruth’s task. She +threw herself, figuratively speaking, into their arms. + +“I know you are both just as kind as you can be,” said Ruth, eagerly, +“and you won’t mind if I ask you to change your program a little to-day +for the youngsters? They want to give them all a good time up at Sunrise +Farm.” + +“Good land!” exclaimed Mrs. Caslon. “Not _all_ of them?” + +“Yes, ma’am,” said Ruth, and she sketched briefly the idea of the +celebration on the hill-top, including the presents she and Tom were to +buy in Darrowtown for the kiddies. + +“My soul and body!” exclaimed the farmer’s wife. “That lady, Mis’ +Steele, don’t know what she’s runnin’ into, does she, Father?” + +“I reckon not,” chuckled Mr. Caslon, wagging his head. + +“But you won’t mind? You’ll let us have the children?” asked Ruth, +anxiously. + +“Why——” Mrs. Caslon looked at the old gentleman. But he was shaking all +over with inward mirth. + +“Do ’em good, Mother—do ’em good,” he chuckled—and he did not mean the +fresh air children, either. Ruth could see that. + +“It’ll be a mortal shame,” began Mrs. Caslon, again, but once more her +husband interrupted: + +“Don’t you fuss about other folks, Mother,” he said, gravely. “It’ll do +’em good—mebbe—as I say. Nothin’ like tryin’ a game once by the way. And +I bet twelve little tykes like these ’uns will keep that Steele man +hoppin’ for a while.” + +“But his poor wife——” + +“Don’t you worry, Mrs. Caslon,” Ruth urged, but wishing to laugh, too. +“We girls will take care of the kiddies, and Mrs. Steele sha’n’t be +bothered too much.” + +“Besides,” drawled Mr. Caslon, “the woman’s got a good sized family of +her own—there’s six or seven of ’em, ain’t there?” he demanded of Ruth. + +“Eight, sir.” + +“But that don’t make a speck of difference,” the farmer’s wife +interposed. “She’s always had plenty of maids and the like to look out +for them. She don’t know——” + +“Let her learn a little, then,” said Mr. Caslon, good naturedly enough. +“It’ll do both him and her good. And it’ll give you a rest for a few +hours, Mother. + +“Besides,” added Mr. Caslon, with another deep chuckle, “I hear Steele +has been rantin’ around about takin’ the kids to board just for the sake +of spitin’ the neighbors. Now, if he thinks boardin’ a dozen young’uns +like these is all fun——” + +“Don’t be harsh, John,” urged Mrs. Caslon. + +“I ain’t! I ain’t!” cried the farmer, laughing again. “But they’re +bitin’ off a big chaw, and it tickles me to see ’em do it.” + +It was arranged, therefore, that the orphans should be ready to go up to +Sunrise Farm that afternoon. Then Ruth and Tom drove to Darrowtown. They +had a fast horse, and got over the rough road at a very good pace. + +Tom drove first around into the side street where Miss True Pettis’s +little cottage was situated. + +“You dear child!” was the little spinster’s greeting. “Are you having a +nice time with your rich friends at Sunrise Farm? Tell me all about +them—and the farm. Everybody in Darrowtown is that curious!” + +Tom had driven away to attend to the errands he could do alone, so Ruth +could afford the time to visit a bit with her old friend. The felon was +better, and that fact being assured, Ruth considered it better to +satisfy Miss Pettis regarding the Sunrise Farm folk before getting to +the Raby orphans. + +And that was the way to get to them, too. For the story of the tempest +the day before, and the appearance of Sadie Raby, the runaway, and her +reunion with the twins, naturally came into the tale Ruth had to tell—a +tale that was eagerly listened to and as greatly enjoyed by the +Darrowtown seamstress, as one can well imagine. + +“Just like a book—or a movie,” sighed Miss Pettis, shaking her head. +“It’s really wonderful, Ruthie Fielding, what’s happened to you since +you left us here in Darrowtown. But, I always said, this town is dead +and nothing really happens _here_!” + +“But it’s lovely in Darrowtown,” declared Ruth. “And just to think! +Those Raby children lived here once.” + +“No?” + +“Yes they did. Sadie was six or seven years old, I guess, when they left +here. Tom Raby was her father. He was a mason’s helper——” + +“Don’t you tell me another thing about ’em!” cried Miss Pettis, starting +up suddenly. “Now you remind me. I remember them well. Mis’ Raby was as +nice a woman as ever stepped—but weakly. And Tom Raby—— + +“Why, how could I forget it? And after that man from Canady came to +trace ’em, too, only three years ago. Didn’t you ever hear of it, Ruth?” + +“What man?” asked Ruth, quite bewildered now. “Are—are you sure it was +the same family? And _who_ would want to trace them?” + +“Lemme see. Listen!” commanded Miss Pettis. “You answer me about these +poor children.” + +And under the seamstress’s skillful questioning Ruth related every +detail she knew about the Raby orphans—and Mr. Steele, in her presence, +had cross-questioned Sadie exhaustively the evening before. The story +lost nothing in Ruth’s telling, for she had a retentive memory. + +“My goodness me, Ruthie!” ejaculated the spinster, excitedly. “It’s the +same folks—sure. Why, do you know, they came from Quebec, and there’s +some property they’ve fell heir to—property from their mother’s side—Oh, +let me tell you! Funny you never heard us talkin’ about that Canady +lawyer while you was livin’ here with me. My!” + + + + +CHAPTER XX—THE RABY ROMANCE + + +Miss True Pettis thrilled with the joy of telling the romance. The +little seamstress had been all her life entertaining people with the dry +details of unimportant neighborhood happenings. It was only once in a +long while that a story like that of the Rabys’ came within her ken. + +“Why, do you believe me!” she said to Ruth, “that Mis’ Raby came of +quite a nice family in Quebec. Not to say Tom Raby wasn’t a fine man, +for he was, but he warn’t educated much and his trade didn’t bring ’em +more’n a livin’. But her folks had school teachers, and doctors, and +even ministers in their family—yes, indeed! + +“And it seems like, so the Canady lawyer said, that a minister in the +family what was an uncle of Mis’ Raby’s, left her and her children some +property. It was in what he called ‘the fun’s’—that’s like stocks an’ +bonds, I reckon. But them Canadians talk different from us. + +“Well, I can remember that man—tall, lean man he was, with a yaller +mustache. He had traced the Rabys to Darrowtown, and he saw the +minister, and Deacon Giles, and Amoskeag Lanfell, askin’ did they know +where the Rabys went when they moved away from here. + +“I was workin’ for Amoskeag’s wife that day, so I heard all the talk,” +pursued Miss Pettis. “He said—this Canady lawyer did—that the property +amounted to several thousand dollars. It was left by the minister (who +had no family of his own) to his niece, Mis’ Raby, or to her children if +she was dead. + +“Course they asked me if _I_ knowed what became of the family,” said the +spinster, with some pride. “It bein’ well known here in Darrowtown that +I’m most as good as a parish register—and why wouldn’t I be? Everybody +expects me to know all the news. But if I ever _did_ know where them +Rabys went, I’d forgot, and I told the lawyer man so. + +“But he give me his card and axed me to write to him if I ever heard +anything further from ’em, or about ’em. And I certain sure would have +done so,” declared Miss Pettis, “if it had ever come to my mind.” + +“Have you the gentleman’s card now, Miss True?” asked Ruth, eagerly. + +“I s’pect so.” + +“Will you find it? I know Mr. Steele is interested in the Rabys, and he +can communicate with this Canadian lawyer——” + +“Now! ain’t you a bright girl?” cried the spinster. “Of course!” + +She at once began to hustle about, turning things out of her bureau +drawers, searching the cubby holes of an old maple “secretary” that had +set in the corner of the kitchen since her father’s time, discovering +things which she had mislaid for years—and forgotten—but not coming upon +the card in question right away. + +“Of course I’ve got it,” she declared. “I never lose anything—I never +throw a scrap of anything away that might come of use——” + +And still she rummaged. Tom came back with the cart and Ruth had to go +shopping. “But do look, Miss Pettis,” she begged, “and we’ll stop again +before we go back to the farm.” + +Tom and she were some time selecting a dozen timely, funny, and +attractive nicknacks for the fresh airs. But they succeeded at last, and +Ruth was sure the girls would be pleased with their selections. + +“So much better than spending the money for noise and a powder smell,” +added Ruth. + +“Humph! the kids would like the noise all right,” sniffed Tom. “I heard +those little chaps begging Mr. Caslon for punk and firecrackers. That +old farmer was a boy himself once, and I bet he got something for them +that will smell of powder, beside the little tad of fireworks he showed +me.” + +“Oh! I hope they won’t any of them get burned.” + +“Kind of put a damper on the ‘safe and sane Fourth’ Mr. Steele spoke +about, eh?” chuckled Tom. + +Miss Pettis was looking out of the window and smiling at them when they +arrived back at the cottage. She held in her hand a yellowed bit of +pasteboard, which she passed to the eager Ruth. + +“Where do you suppose I found it, Ruthie?” she demanded. + +“I couldn’t guess.” + +“Why, stuck right into the corner of my lookin’-glass in my bedroom. I +s’pose I have handled it every day I’ve dusted that glass for three +year, an’ then couldn’t remember where it was. Ain’t that the +beatenes’?” + +Ruth and Tom drove off in high excitement. She had already told Master +Tom all about the Raby romance—such details as he did not already +know—and now they both looked at the yellowed business card before Ruth +put it safely away in her pocket: + + Mr. Angus MacDorough + _Solicitor_ + 13, King Crescent, Quebec + +“Mr. Steele will go right ahead with this, I know,” said Tom, nodding. +“He’s taken a fancy to those kids——” + +“Well! he ought to, to Sadie!” cried Ruth. + +“Sure. And he’s a generous man, after all. Too bad he’s taken such a +dislike to old Caslon.” + +“Oh, dear, Tom! we ought to fix that,” sighed Ruth. + +“Crickey! you’d tackle any job in the world, I believe, Ruthie, if you +thought you could help folks.” + +“Nonsense! But both of them—both Mr. Steele and Mr. Caslon—are such +awfully nice people——” + +“Well! there’s not much hope, I guess. Mr. Steele’s lawyer is trying to +find a flaw in Caslon’s title. It seems that, way back, a long time ago, +some of the Caslons got poor, or careless, and the farm was sold for +taxes. It was never properly straightened out—on the county records, +anyway—and the lawyer is trying to see if he can’t buy up the interest +of whoever bought the farm in at that time—or their heirs—and so have +some kind of a basis for a suit against old Caslon.” + +“Goodness! that’s not very clear,” said Ruth, staring. + +“No. It’s pretty muddy. But you know how some lawyers are. And Mr. +Steele is willing to hire the shyster to do it. He thinks it’s all +right. It’s business.” + +“_Your_ father wouldn’t do such a thing, Tom!” cried Ruth. + +“No. I hope he wouldn’t, anyway,” said Master Tom, wagging his head. +“But I couldn’t say that to Bobbins when he told me about it, could I?” + +“No call to. But, oh, dear! I hope Mr. Steele won’t be successful. I do +hope he won’t be.” + +“Same here,” grunted Tom. “Just the same, he’s a nice man, and I like +him.” + +“Yes—so do I,” admitted Ruth. “But I’d like him so much more, if he +wouldn’t try to get the best of an old man like Mr. Caslon.” + +The Raby matter, however, was a more pleasant topic of conversation for +the two friends. The big bay horse got over the ground rapidly—Tom said +the creature did not know a hill when he saw one!—and it still lacked +half an hour of noon when they came in sight of Caslon’s house. + +The orphans were all in force in the front yard. Mr. Caslon appeared, +too. + +That yard was untidy for the first time since Ruth had seen it. And most +of the untidiness was caused by telltale bits of red, yellow, and green +paper. Even before the cart came to the gate, Ruth smelled the tang of +powder smoke. + +“Oh, Tom! they _have_ got firecrackers,” she exclaimed. + +“So have I—a whole box full—under the front seat,” chuckled Tom. “What’s +the Fourth without a weeny bit of noise? Bobbins and I are going to let +them off in a big hogshead he’s found behind the stable.” + +“You boys are rascals!” breathed Ruth. “Why! there are the twins!” + +Sadie’s young brothers ran out to the cart. Mr. Caslon appeared with a +good-sized box in his arms, too. + +“Just take this—and the youngsters—aboard, will you, young fellow?” said +the farmer. “Might as well have all the rockets and such up there on the +hill. They’ll show off better. And the twins was down for the clean +clo’es mother promised them.” + +It was a two-seated cart and there was plenty of room for the two boys +on the back seat. Mr. Caslon carefully placed the open box in the bottom +of the cart, between the seats. The fireworks he had purchased had been +taken out of their wrappings and were placed loosely in the box. + +“There ye are,” said the farmer, jovially. “Hop up here, youngsters!” + +He seized Willie and hoisted him into the seat. But Dickie had run +around to the other side of the cart and clambered up like a monkey, to +join his brother. + +“All right, sir,” said Tom, wheeling the eager bay horse. It was nearing +time for the latter’s oats, and he smelled them! “Out of the way, kids. +They’ll send a wagon down for you, all right, after luncheon, I reckon.” + +Just then Ruth happened to notice something smoking in Dickie’s hand. + +“What have you there, child?” she demanded. “Not a nasty cigarette?” + +He held out, solemnly, and as usual wordlessly, a smoking bit of punk. + +“Where did you get that? Oh! drop it!” cried Ruth, fearing for the +fireworks and the explosives under the front seat. She meant for Dickie +to throw it out of the wagon, but the youngster took the command +literally. + +He dropped it. He dropped it right into the box of fireworks. Then +things began to happen! + + + + +CHAPTER XXI—A VERY BUSY TIME + + +“Oh, Tom!” shrieked Ruth, and seized the boy’s arm. The bay horse was +just plunging ahead, eager to be off for the stable and his manger. The +high cart was whirled through the gateway as the first explosion came! + +Pop,pop,pop! sputter—BANG! + +It seemed as though the horse leaped more than his own length, and +yanked all four wheels of the cart off the ground. There was a chorus of +screams in the Caslons’ dooryard, but after that first cry, Ruth kept +silent. + +The rockets shot out of the box amidships with a shower of sparks. The +Roman candles sprayed their varied colored balls—dimmed now by +daylight—all about the cart. + +Tom hung to the lines desperately, but the scared horse had taken the +bit in his teeth and was galloping up the road toward Sunrise Farm, +quite out of hand. + +After that first grab at Tom’s arm, Ruth did not interfere with him. She +turned about, knelt on the seat-cushion, and, one after the other, swept +the twins across the sputtering, shooting bunch of fireworks, and into +the space between her and Tom and the dashboard. + +Providentially the shooting rockets headed into the air, and to the +rear. As the big horse dashed up the hill, swinging the light vehicle +from side to side behind him, there was left behind a trail of smoke and +fire that (had it been night-time) would have been a brilliant +spectacle. + +Mr. Caslon and the orphans started after the amazing thing tearing up +the road—but to no purpose. Nothing could be done to stop the explosion +now. The sparks flew all about. Although Mr. Caslon had bought a wealth +of small rockets, candles, mines, flower-pots, and the like, never had +so many pieces been discharged in so short a time! + +It was sputter, sputter, bang, bang, the cart vomiting flame and smoke, +while the horse became a perfectly frenzied creature, urged on by the +noise behind him. Tom could only cling to the reins, Ruth clung to the +twins, and all by good providence were saved from an overturn. + +All the time—and, of course, the half-mile or more from Caslons’ to the +entrance to the Steele estate, was covered in a very few moments—all the +time Ruth was praying that the fire-crackers Tom had bought and hidden +under the front seat would not be ignited. + +The reports of the rockets, and the like, became desultory. Some set +pieces and triangles went off with the hissing of snakes. Was the +explosion over? + +So it seemed, and the maddened horse turned in at the gateway. The cart +went in on two wheels, but it did not overturn. + +The race had begun to tell on the bay. He was covered with foam and his +pace was slackening. Perhaps the peril was over—Ruth drew a long breath +for the first time since the horse had made its initial jump. + +And then—with startling suddenness—there was a sputter and bang! Off +went the firecrackers, package after package. A spark had burned through +the paper wrapper and soon there was such a popping under that front +seat as shamed the former explosions! + +Had the horse been able to run any faster, undoubtedly he would have +done so; but as the cart went tearing up the drive toward the front of +the big house, the display of fireworks, etc., behind the front seat, +and the display of alarm on the part of the four on the seat, advertised +to all beholders that the occasion was not, to say the least, a common +one. + +The cart itself was scorched and was afire in places, the sputtering of +the fire-crackers continued while the horse tore up the hill. Tom had +bought a generous supply and it took some time for them all to explode. + +Fortunately the front drop of the seat was a solid panel of deal, or +Ruth’s skirt might have caught on fire—or perhaps the legs of the twins +would have been burned. + +As for the two little fellows, they never even squealed! Their eyes +shone, they had lost their caps in the back of the cart, their short +curls blew out straight in the wind, and their cheeks glowed. When the +runaway appeared over the crest of the hill and the crowd at Sunrise +Farm beheld them, it was evident that Willie and Dickie were enjoying +themselves to the full! + +Poor Tom, on whose young shoulders the responsibility of the whole +affair rested, was braced back, with his feet against the footboard, the +lines wrapped around his wrists, and holding the maddened horse in to +the best of his ability. + +Bobbins on one side, and Ralph Tingley on the other, ran into the +roadway and caught the runaway by the bridle. The bay was, perhaps, +quite willing to halt by this time. Mr. Steele ran out, and his first +exclamation was: + +“My goodness, Tom Cameron! you’ve finished that horse!” + +“I hope not, sir,” panted Tom, rather pale. “But I thought he’d finish +us before he got through.” + +By this time the explosions had ceased. Everything of an explosive +nature—saving the twins themselves—in the cart seemed to have gone off. +And now Willie ejaculated: + +“Gee! I never rode so fast before. Wasn’t it great, Dickie?” + +“Yep,” agreed Master Dickie, with rather more emphasis than usual. + +Sister Sadie appeared from the rear premises, vastly excited, too, but +when she lifted the twins down and found not a scratch upon them, she +turned to Ruth with a delighted face. + +“You took care of them just like you loved ’em, Miss,” she whispered, as +Ruth tumbled out of the cart, too, into her arms. “Oh, dear! don’t you +dare get sick—you ain’t hurt, are you?” + +“No, no!” exclaimed Ruth, having hard work to crowd back the tears. “But +I’m almost scared to death. That—that young one!” and she grabbed at +Dickie. “What did you drop that punk into the fireworks for?” + +“Huh?” questioned the imperturbable Dickie. + +“Why didn’t you throw that lighted punk away?” and Ruth was tempted to +shake the little rascal. + +But instantly the voluble Willie shouldered his way to the front. “Gee, +Miss! he thought you wanted him to drop it right there. You said so. +An’—an’—— Well, he didn’t know the things in the box would go off of +themselves. Did you Dickie?” + +“Nope,” responded his twin. + +“Do forgive ’em, Miss Ruth,” whispered Sadie Raby. “I wouldn’t want Mr. +Steele to get after ’em. You know—he can be sumpin’ fierce!” + +“Well,” sighed Ruth Fielding, “they’re the ‘terrible twins’ right +enough. Oh, Tom!” she added, as young Cameron came to her to shake +hands. + +“You’re getting better and better,” said Tom, grinning. “I’d rather be +in a wreck with you, Ruthie—of almost any kind—than with anybody else I +know. Those kids don’t even know what you saved them from, when you +dragged ’em over the back of that seat.” + +“Sh!” she begged, softly. + +“And it’s a wonder we weren’t all blown to glory!” + +“It was a mercy we were not seriously hurt,” agreed Ruth. + +But then there was too much bustle and general talk for them to discuss +the incident quietly. The horse was led away to the stable and there +attended to. Fortunately he was not really injured, but the cart would +have to go to the painter’s. + +“A fine beginning for this celebration we have on hand,” declared Mr. +Steele, looking ruefully at his wife. “If all that can happen with only +two of those fresh air kids, as Bob calls them, on hand, what do you +suppose will happen to-night when we have a dozen at Sunrise Farm?” + +“Mercy!” gasped the lady. “I am trembling in my shoes—I am, indeed. But +we have agreed to do it, Father, and we must carry it through.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXII—THE TERRIBLE TWINS ON THE RAMPAGE + + +The girls who had come to Sunrise Farm to visit at Madge Steele’s +invitation, felt no little responsibility when it came to the +entertainment for the fresh air orphans. As The Fox said, with her usual +decision: + +“Now that we’ve put Madge and her folks into this business, we’ll just +have to back up their play, and make sure that the fresh airs don’t tear +the place down. And that Sadie will have to keep an eye on the ‘terrible +twins.’ Is that right?” + +“I’ve spoken to poor Sadie,” said Ruth, with a sigh. “I am afraid that +Mrs. Steele is very much worried over what may occur to-night, while the +children are here. We’ll have to be on the watch all the time.” + +“I should say!” exclaimed Heavy Stone. “Let’s suggest to Mr. Steele that +he rope off a place out front where he is going to have the fireworks. +Some of those little rascals will want to help celebrate, the way Willie +and Dickie did,” and the plump girl giggled ecstatically. + +“’Twas no laughing matter, Jennie,” complained Ruth, shaking her head. + +“Well, that’s all right,” Lluella broke in. “If Tom hadn’t bought the +fire-crackers—and that was right against Mr. Steele’s advice——” + +“Oh, here now!” interrupted Helen, loyal to her twin. “Tom wasn’t any +more to blame than Bobbins. They were just bought for a joke.” + +“It was a joke all right,” Belle said, laughing. “Who’s going to pay for +the damage to the cart?” + +“Now, let’s not get to bickering,” urged Ruth. “What’s done, is done. We +must plan now to make the celebration this afternoon and evening as easy +for Mrs. Steele as possible.” + +This conversation went on after luncheon, while Bob and Tom had driven +down the hill with a big wagon to bring up the ten remaining orphans +from Mr. Caslon’s place. + +The gaily decorated wagon came in sight just about this time. +Fortunately the decorations Tom and Ruth had purchased that forenoon in +Darrowtown had not been destroyed when the fireworks went off in the +cart. + +The girls from Briarwood Hall welcomed the fresh airs cheerfully and +took entire charge of the six little girls. The little boys did not wish +to play “girls’ games” on the lawn, and therefore Bob and his chums +agreed to keep an eye on the youngsters, including the “terrible twins.” + +Sadie had been drafted to assist Madge and her mother, and some of the +maids, in preparing for the evening collation. Therefore the visitors +were divided for the time into two bands. + +The girls from the orphanage were quiet enough and well behaved when +separated from their boy friends. Indeed, on the lawn and under the big +tent Mr. Steele had had erected, the celebration of a “safe and sane” +Fourth went on in a most commendable way. + +It was a very hot afternoon, and after indulging in a ball game in the +field behind the stables, Bobbins, in a thoughtless moment, suggested a +swim. Half a mile away there was a pond in a hollow. The boys had been +there almost every day for a dip, and Bob’s suggestion was hailed—even +by the usually thoughtful Tom Cameron—with satisfaction. + +“What about the kids?” demanded Ralph Tingley. + +“Let them come along,” said Bobbins. + +“Sure,” urged Busy Izzy. “What harm can come to them? We’ll keep our +eyes on them.” + +The twins and their small chums from the orphanage were eager to go to +the pond, too, and so expressed themselves. The half-mile walk through +the hot sun did not make them quail. They were proud to be allowed to +accompany the bigger boys to the swimming hole. + +The little fellows raced along in their bare feet behind the bigger boys +and were pleased enough, until they reached the pond and learned that +they would only be allowed to go in wading, while the others slipped +into their bathing trunks and “went in all over.” + +“No! you can’t go in,” declared Bobbins, who put his foot down with +decision, having his own small brothers in mind. (They had been left +behind, by the way, to be dressed for the evening.) + +“Say! the water won’t wet us no more’n it does you—will it, Dickie?” +demanded the talkative twin. + +“Nope,” agreed his brother. + +“Now, you kids keep your clothes on,” said Bob, threateningly. “And +don’t wade more than to your knees. If you get your overalls wet, you’ll +hear about it. You know Mrs. Caslon fixed you all up for the afternoon +and told you to keep clean.” + +The smaller chaps were unhappy. That was plain. They paddled their dusty +feet in the water for a while, but the sight of the older lads diving +and swimming and having such a good time in the pond was a continual +temptation. The active minds of the terrible twins were soon at work. +Willie began to whisper to Dickie, and the latter nodded his head +solemnly. + +“Say!” blurted out Willie, finally, as Bob and Tom were racing past them +in a boisterous game of “tag.” “We wanter go back. This ain’t no fun—is +it, Dickie?” + +“Nope,” said his twin. + +“Go on back, if you want to. You know the path,” said Bobbins, +breathlessly. + +“We’re goin’, too,” said one of the other fresh airs. + +“We’d rather play with the girls than stay here. Hadn’t we, Dickie?” +proposed Willie Raby. + +“Yep,” agreed Master Dickie, with due solemnity. + +“Go on!” cried Bob. “And see you go straight back to the house. My!” he +added to Tom, “but those kids are a nuisance.” + +“Think we ought to let them go alone?” queried Tom, with some faint +doubt on the subject. “You reckon they’ll be all right, Bobbins?” + +“Great Scott! they sure know the way to the house,” said Bob. “It’s a +straight path.” + +But, as it happened, the twins had no idea of going straight to the +house. The pond was fed by a stream that ran in from the east. The +little fellows had seen this, and Willie’s idea was to circle around +through the woods and find that stream. There they could go in bathing +like the bigger boys, “and nobody would ever know.” + +“Our heads will be wet,” objected one of the orphans. + +“Gee!” said Willie Raby, “don’t let’s wet our heads. We ain’t got +to—have we?” + +“Nope,” said his brother, promptly. + +There was some doubt, still, in the minds of the other boys. + +“What you goin’ to say to those folks up to the big house?” demanded one +of the fresh airs. + +“Ain’t goin’ to say nothin’,” declared the bold Willie. “Cause why? they +ain’t goin’ to know—‘nless you fellers snitch.” + +“Aw, who’s goin’ to snitch?” cried the objector, angered at once by the +accusation of the worst crime in all the category of boyhood. “We ain’t +no tattle-tales—are we, Jim?” + +“Naw. We’re as safe to hold our tongues as you an’ yer brother are, +Willie Raby—so now!” + +“Sure we are!” agreed the other orphans. + +“Then come along,” urged the talkative twin. “Nobody’s got to know.” + +“Suppose yer sister finds it out?” sneered one. + +“Aw—well—she jes’ ain’t go’n’ ter,” cried Willie, exasperated. “An’ what +if she does? She runned away herself—didn’t she?” + +The spirit of restlessness was strong in the Raby nature, it was +evident. Willie was a born leader. The others trailed after him when he +left the pathway that led directly back to Sunrise Farm, and pushed into +the thicker wood in the direction he believed the stream lay. + +The juvenile leader of the party did not know (how should he?) that just +above the pond the stream which fed it made a sharp turn. Its waters +came out of a deep gorge, lying in an entirely different direction from +that toward which the “terrible twins” and their chums were aiming. + +The little fellows plodded on for a long time, and the sun dropped +suddenly behind the hills to the westward, and there they were—quite +surprisingly to themselves—in a strange and fast-darkening forest. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII—LOST + + +The girl visitors from Briarwood Hall did all they could to help the +mistress of Sunrise Farm and Madge prepare for the evening festivities, +and not alone in employing the attention of the six little girls from +the orphanage. + +There were the decorations to arrange, and the paper lanterns to hang, +and the long tables on the porch to prepare for the supper. Twelve +extra, hungry little mouths to feed was, of itself, a fact of no small +importance. + +When the wagon had come up from Caslon’s with the orphans, Mrs. Steele +had thought it rather a liberty on the part of the farmer’s wife because +she had, with the children, sent a great hamper of cakes, which she +(Mrs. Caslon) herself had baked the day before. + +But the cakes were so good, and already the children were so hungry, +that the worried mistress of the big farm was thankful that these +supplies were in her pantry. + +“When the boys come back from the pond, I expect they will be ravenous, +too,” sighed the good lady. “_Do_ you think, Madge, that there will be +enough ham and tongue sandwiches for supper? I am sure of the cream and +cake—thanks to that good old woman (though I hope your father won’t hear +me say it). But that is to be served after the fireworks. They will want +something hearty at suppertime—and goodness me, Madge! It is five +o’clock now. Those boys should be back from their swim.” + +As for Mr. Steele, he was immensely satisfied with the celebration of +the day so far. To tell the truth, he had very little to do with the +work of getting ready for the orphans’ entertainment. Aside from the +explosion of the fireworks in the cart, the occasion had been a +perfectly “safe and sane” celebration of a holiday that he usually +looked forward to with no little dread. + +Before anybody really began to worry over their delay, the boys came +into view. They had had a refreshing swim and announced the state of +their appetites the moment they joined the girls at the big tent. + +“Yes, yes,” said Madge, “we know all about that, Bobbie dear. But his +little tootie-wootsums must wait till hims gets his bib put on, an’ let +sister see if his hannies is nice and clean. Can’t sit down to eat if +hims a dirty boy,” and she rumpled her big brother’s hair, while he +looked foolish enough over her “baby talk.” + +“Don’t be ridiculous, Madge,” said Helen, briskly. “Of course they are +hungry—— But where’s the rest of them?” + +“The rest of what?” demanded Busy Izzy. “I guess we’re all here.” + +“Say! you _must_ be hungry,” chuckled Heavy. “Did you eat the kids?” + +“What kids?” snapped Tom, in sudden alarm. + +“The fresh airs, of course. The ‘terrible twins’ and their mates. My +goodness!” cried Ann Hicks, “you didn’t forget and leave them down there +at the pond, did you?” + +The boys looked at each other for a moment. “What’s the joke?” Bobbins +finally drawled. + +“It’s no joke,” Ruth said, quickly. “You don’t mean to say that you +forgot those little boys?” + +“Now, stop that, Ruth Fielding!” cried Isadore Phelps, very red in the +face. “A joke’s a joke; but don’t push it too far. You know very well +those kids came back up here more’n an hour ago.” + +“They didn’t do any such thing,” cried Sadie, having heard the +discussion, and now running out to the tent. “They haven’t been near the +house since you big boys took them to the pond. Now, say! what d’ye know +about it?” + +“They’re playing a trick on us,” declared Tom, gloomily. + +“Let’s hunt out in the stables, and around,” suggested Ralph Tingley, +feebly. + +“Maybe they went back to Caslon’s,” Isadore said, hopefully. + +“We’ll find out about that pretty quick,” said Madge. “I’ll tell father +and he’ll send somebody down to see if they went there.” + +“Come on, boys!” exclaimed Tom, starting for the rear of the house. +“Those little scamps are fooling us.” + +“Suppose they _have_ wandered away into the woods?” breathed Ruth to +Helen. “Whatever shall we do?” + +Sadie could not wait. She was unable to remain idle, when it was +possible that the twin brothers she had so lately rejoined, were in +danger. She flashed after the boys and hunted the stables, too. + +Nobody there had seen the “fresh airs” since they had followed the +bigger boys to the pond. + +“And ye sure didn’t leave ’em down there?” demanded Sadie Raby of Tom. + +“Goodness me! No!” exclaimed Tom. “They couldn’t go in swimming as we +did, and so they got mad and wouldn’t stay. But they started right up +this way, and we thought they were all right.” + +“They might have slanted off and gone across the fields to Caslon’s,” +said Bobbins, doubtfully. + +“That would have taken them into the back pasture where Caslon keeps his +Angoras—wouldn’t it?” demanded the much-worried young man. + +“Well, you can go look for ’em with the goats,” snapped Sadie, starting +off. “But me for that Caslon place. If they didn’t go there, then they +are in the woods somewhere.” + +She started down the hill, fleet-footed as a dog. Before Mr. Steele had +stopped sputtering over the catastrophe, and bethought him to start +somebody for the Caslon premises to make inquiries, Sadie came in view +again, with the old, gray-mustached farmer in tow. + +The serious look on Mr. Caslon’s face was enough for all those waiting +at Sunrise Farm to realize that the absent children were actually lost. +Tom and Bobbins had come up from the goat pasture without having seen, +or heard, the six little fellows. + +“I forgot to tell ye,” said Caslon, seriously, “that ye had to keep one +eye at least on them ‘terrible twins’ all the time. We locked ’em into +their bedroom at night. No knowin’ when or where they’re likely to break +out. But I reckoned this here sister of theirs would keep ’em close to +her——” + +“Well!” snapped Sadie Raby, eyeing Tom and Bobbins with much disfavor, +“I thought that a bunch of big fellers like them could look after half a +dozen little mites.” + +Mr. Steele had come forward slowly; the fact that the six orphan boys +really seemed to be lost, was an occasion to break down even _his_ +barrier of dislike for the neighbor. Besides, Mr. Caslon ignored any +difference there might be between them in a most generous manner. + +“I blame myself, Neighbor Steele—I sure do,” Mr. Caslon said, before the +owner of Sunrise Farm could speak. “I’d ought to warned you about them +twins. They got bit by the runaway bug bad—that’s right.” + +“Humph! a family trait—is it?” demanded Mr. Steele, rather grimly eyeing +the sister of the runaways. + +“I couldn’t say about that,” chuckled the farmer. “But Willie and Dickie +started off twice from our place, trailin’ most of the other kids with +’em. But I caught ’em in time. Now, their sister tells me, they’ve got +at least an hour and a half’s start.” + +“It is getting dark—or it will soon be,” said Mr. Steele, nervously. “If +they are not found before night, I shall be greatly disturbed. I feel as +though I were responsible. My oldest boy, here——” + +“Now, it ain’t nobody’s fault, like enough,” interrupted Mr. Caslon, +cheerfully, and seeing Bobbins’s woebegone face. “We’ll start right out +and hunt for them.” + +“But if it grows dark——” + +“Let me have what men you can spare, and all the lanterns around the +place,” said Caslon, briskly, taking charge of the matter on the +instant. “These bigger boys can help.” + +“I—I can go with you, sir,” began Mr. Steele, but the farmer waved him +back. + +“No. You ain’t used to the woods—nor to trampin’—like I be. And it won’t +hurt your boys. You leave it to us—we’ll find ’em.” + +Mrs. Steele had retired to the tent on the lawn in tears, and most of +the girls were gathered about her. Sadie Raby clung to Farmer Caslon’s +side, and nobody tried to call her back. + +Since returning from Darrowtown that morning, Ruth Fielding had divulged +to Mr. Steele all she had discovered through Miss True Pettis regarding +the Raby family, and about the Canadian lawyer who had once searched for +Mrs. Raby and her children. + +The gentleman had expressed deep interest in the matter, and while the +fresh air children were being entertained during the afternoon, Mr. +Steele had already set in motion an effort to learn the whereabouts of +Mr. Angus MacDorough and to discover just what the property was that had +been willed to the mother of the Raby orphans. + +Sadie had been told nothing about this wonderful discovery as yet. +Indeed, there had been no time. Sadie had been busy, with Mrs. Steele +and the others, in preparing for that “safe and sane” celebration with +which Mr. Steele had desired to entertain the “terrible twins” and their +little companions at Sunrise Farm. + +Now this sudden catastrophe had occurred. The loss of the six little +boys was no small trouble. It threatened to be a tragedy. + +Down there beyond the pond the mountainside was heavily timbered, and +there were many dangerous ravines and sudden precipices over which a +careless foot might stray. + +Dusk was coming on. In the wood it would already be dark. And if the +frightened children went plunging about, seeking, in terror, to escape, +they might at any moment be cast into some pit where the searchers would +possibly never find them. + +Mr. Steele felt his responsibility gravely. He was, at best, a nervous +man, and this happening assumed the very gravest outlines in his anxious +mind. + +“Never ought to have let them out of my own sight,” he sputtered, having +Ruth for a confidant. “I might have known something extraordinary would +happen. It was a crazy thing to have all those children up here, +anyway.” + +“Oh, dear, Mr. Steele!” cried Ruth, much worried, “_that_ is partly my +fault. I was one of those who suggested it.” + +“Nonsense! nonsense, child! Nobody blames you,” returned the gentleman. +“I should have put my foot down and said ‘No.’ Nobody influenced me at +all. Why—why, I _wanted_ to give the poor little kiddies a nice time. +And now—see what has come of it?” + +“Oh, it may be that they will be found almost at once,” cried Ruth, +hopefully. “I am sure Mr. Caslon will do what he can——” + +“Caslon’s an eminently practical man—yes, indeed,” admitted Mr. Steele, +and not grudgingly. “If anybody can find them, he will, I have no +doubt.” + +And this commendation of the neighbor whom he so disliked struck Ruth +completely silent for the time being. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV—“SO THAT’S ALL RIGHT” + + +“And here it is ‘ong past suppertime,” groaned Heavy; “it’s getting +darker every minute, and the fireworks ought to be set off, and we can’t +do a thing!” + +“Who’d have the heart to eat, with those children wandering out there in +the woods?” snapped Mercy Curtis. + +“What’s _heart_ got to do with eating?” grumbled the plump girl. “And I +was thinking quite as much of the little girls here as I was of myself. +Why! here is one of the poor kiddies asleep, I do declare.” + +The party in the big tent was pretty solemn. Even the six little girls +from the orphanage could not play, or laugh, under the present +circumstances. And, in addition, it looked as though all the fun for the +evening would be spoiled. + +The searching party had been gone an hour. Those remaining behind had +seen the twinkling lanterns trail away over the edge of the hill and +disappear. Now all they could see from the tent were the stars, and the +fireflies, with now and then a rocket soaring heavenward from some +distant farm, or hamlet, where the Glorious Fourth was being fittingly +celebrated. + +Madge and Helen came out with a hamper of sandwiches and there was +lemonade, but not even the little folk ate with an appetite. The day +which, at Sunrise Farm, was planned to be so memorable, threatened now +to be remembered for a very unhappy cause. + +Down in the wood lot that extended from below some of Mr. Steele’s +hayfields clear into the next township, the little party of searchers, +led by old Mr. Caslon, had separated into parties of two each, to comb +the wilderness. + +None of the men knew the wood as did Mr. Caslon, and of course the boys +and Sadie (who had refused to go back) were quite unfamiliar with it. + +“Don’t go out of sight of the flash of each other’s lanterns,” advised +the farmer. + +And by sticking to this rule it was not likely that any of the sorely +troubled searchers would, themselves, be lost. As they floundered +through the thick undergrowth, they shouted, now and then, as loudly as +they could. But nothing but the echoes, and the startled nightbirds, +replied. + +Again and again they called for the lost boys by name. Sadie’s shrill +voice carried as far as anybody’s, without doubt, and her crying for +“Willie” and “Dickie” should have brought those delinquents to light, +had they heard her. + +Sadie stuck close to Mr. Caslon, as he told her to. But the way through +the brush was harder for the girl than for the rest of them. Thick mats +of greenbriars halted them. They were torn, and scratched, and stung by +the vegetable pests; yet Sadie made no complaint. + +As for the mosquitoes and other stinging insects—well, they were out on +this night, it seemed, in full force. They buzzed around the heads of +the searchers in clouds, attracted by the lanterns. Above, in the trees, +complaining owls hooted their objections to the searchers’ presence in +the forest. The whip-poor-wills reiterated their determination from dead +limbs or rotting fence posts. And in the wet places the deep-voiced +frogs gave tongue in many minor keys. + +“Oh, dear!” sighed Sadie to the farmer, “the little fellers will be +scared half to death when they hear all these critters.” + +“And how about you?” he asked. + +“Oh, I’m used to ’em. Why, I’ve slept out in places as bad as this +more’n one night. But Willie and Dickie ain’t used to it.” + +One end of the line of searchers touched the pond. They shouted that +information to the others, and then they all pushed on. It was in the +mind of all that, perhaps, the children had circled back to the pond. + +But their shouts brought no hoped-for reply, although they echoed across +the open water, and were answered eerily from the farther shore. + +There were six couples; therefore the line extended for a long way into +the wood, and swept a wide area. They marched on, bursting through the +vines and climbers, searching thick patches of jungle, and often +shouting in chorus till the wood rang again. + +Tom and one of the stablemen, who were at the lower end of the line, +finally came to the mouth of that gorge out of which the brook sprang. +To the east of this opening lay a considerable valley and it was decided +to search this vale thoroughly before following the stream higher. + +It was well they did so, for half a mile farther on, Tom and his +companion made a discovery. They came upon the tall, blasted trunk of a +huge old tree that had a great hollow at its foot. This hollow was +blinded by a growth of vines and brush, yet as Tom flashed his lantern +upon it, it seemed to him as though the vines had been disturbed. + +“It may be the lair of some animal, sir,” suggested the stableman, as +Tom attempted to peer in. + +“Nothing much more dangerous than foxes in these woods now, I am told,” +returned the boy. “And this is not a fox’s burrow—hello!” + +His sudden, delighted shriek rang through the wood and up the hillside. + +“I’ve found them! I’ve found them!” the boy repeated, and dived into the +hollow tree. + +His lantern showed him and the stableman the six wanderers rolled up +like kittens in a nest. They opened their eyes sleepily, yawning and +blinking. One began to snivel, but Willie Raby at once delivered a sharp +punch to that one, saying, in grand disgust: + +“Baby! Didn’t I tell you they’d come for us? They was sure to—wasn’t +they, Dickie?” + +“Yep,” responded that youngster, quite as cool about it as his brother. + +Tom’s shouts brought the rest of the party in a hurry. Mr. Caslon hauled +each “fresh air” out by the collar and stood him on his feet. When he +had counted them twice over to make sure, he said: + +“Well, sir! of all the young scamps that ever were born—Willie Raby! +weren’t you scared?” + +“Nope,” declared Willie. “Some of these other kids begun ter snivel when +it got dark; but Dickie an’ me would ha’ licked ’em if they’d kep’ that +up. Then we found that good place to sleep——” + +“But suppose it had been the bed of some animal?” asked Bobbins, +chuckling. + +“Nope,” said Willie, shaking his head. “There was spider webs all over +the hole we went in at, so we knowed nobody had been there much lately. +And it was a pretty good place to sleep. Only it was too warm in there +at first. I couldn’t get to sleep right away.” + +“But you didn’t hear us shouting for you?” queried one of the other +searchers. + +“Nope. I got to sleep. You see, I thought about bears an’ burglars an’ +goblins, an’ all those sort o’ things, an’ that made me shiver, so I +went to sleep,” declared the earnest twin. + +A shout of laughter greeted this statement. The searchers picked up the +little fellows and carried them down to the edge of the pond, where the +way was much clearer, and so on to the plain path to Sunrise Farm. + +So delighted were they to have found the six youngsters without a +scratch upon them, that nobody—not even Mr. Caslon—thought to ask the +runaways how they had come to wander so far from Sunrise Farm. + +It was ten o’clock when the party arrived at the big house on the hill. +Isadore had run ahead to tell the good news and everybody was +aroused—even to the six fellow-orphans of the runaways—to welcome the +wanderers. + +“My goodness! let’s have the fireworks and celebrate their return,” +exclaimed Madge. + +But Mr. Steele quickly put his foot down on that. + +“I am afraid that Willie and Dickie, and Jim and the rest of them, ought +really to be punished for their escapade, and the trouble and fright +they have given us,” declared the proprietor of Sunrise Farm. + +“However, perhaps going without their supper and postponing the rest of +the celebration until to-morrow night, will be punishment enough. But +don’t you let me hear of you six boys trying to run away again, while +you remain with Mr. and Mrs. Caslon,” and he shook a threatening finger +at the wanderers. + +“Now Mr. and Mrs. Caslon will take you home,” for the big wagon had been +driven around from the stables while he was speaking. Mrs. Caslon, too +worried to remain in doubt about the fresh airs, had trudged away up the +hill to Sunrise Farm, while the party was out in search of the lost +ones. + +Mrs. Steele and the girls bade a cordial good-night to the farmer’s +wife, as she climbed up to the front seat of the vehicle on one side. On +the other, Mr. Steele stopped Mr. Caslon before he could climb up. + +“The women folks have arranged for you and your wife to come to-morrow +evening and help take care of these little mischiefs, while we finish +the celebration,” said the rich man, with a detaining hand upon Mr. +Caslon’s shoulder. “We need you.” + +“I reckon so, neighbor,” said the farmer, chuckling. “We’re a little +more used to them lively young eels than you be.” + +“And—and we want you and your wife to come for your own sakes,” added +Mr. Steele, in some confusion. “We haven’t even been acquainted before, +sir. I consider that I am at fault, Caslon. I hope you’ll overlook it +and—and—as you say yourself—_be neighborly_.” + +“Sure! Of course!” exclaimed the old man, heartily. “Ain’t no need of +two neighbors bein’ at outs, Mr. Steele. You’ll find that soft words +butter more parsnips than any other kind. If you an’ I ain’t jest agreed +on ev’ry p’int, let’s get together an’ settle it ourselves. No need of +lawyers’ work in it,” and the old farmer climbed nimbly to the high +seat, and the wagon load of cheering, laughing youngsters started down +the hill. + +“And so _that’s_ all right,” exclaimed the delighted Ruth, who had heard +the conversation between the two men, and could scarcely hide her +delight in it. + +“I feel like dancing,” she said to Helen. “I just _know_ Mr. Steele and +Mr. Caslon will understand each other after this, and that there will be +no quarrel between them over the farms.” + +Which later results proved to be true. Not many months afterward, Madge +wrote to Ruth that her father and the old farmer had come to a very +satisfactory agreement. Mr. Caslon had agreed to sell the old homestead +to Mr. Steele for a certain price, retaining a life occupancy of it for +himself and wife, and, in addition, the farmer was to take over the +general superintendency of Sunrise Farm for Mr. Steele, on a yearly +salary. + +“So much for the work of the ‘terrible twins’!” Ruth declared when she +heard this, for the girl of the Red Mill did not realize how much she, +herself, had to do with bringing about Mr. Steele’s change of attitude +toward his neighbor. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV—THE ORPHANS’ FORTUNE + + +A great deal happened at Sunrise Farm before these later occurrences +which so delighted Ruth Fielding. The excitement of the loss of the six +“fresh airs” was not easily forgotten. Whenever any of the orphans was +on the Sunrise premises again, they had a bodyguard of older girls or +boys who kept a bright lookout that nothing unusual happened to them. + +As for the twins, Sadie took them in hand with a reformatory spirit that +amazed Willie and Dickie. Those two youngsters were kept at Sunrise Farm +and put in special charge of Sadie. Thus Mr. Steele had the three Raby +orphans under his own eye until he could hear from Canada, and from the +orphanage, and learn all the particulars of the fortune that might be in +store for them. + +After a bit Willie and Dickie found the watchfulness of their sister +somewhat irksome. + +“Say!” the talkative twin observed, “you ain’t got no reason to be so +sharp on us, Sadie Raby. _You_ run away your ownself—didn’t she, +Dickie?” + +“Yep,” agreed the oracular one. + +“An’ we don’t want no gal follerin’ us around and tellin’ us to ‘stop’ +all the time—do we, Dickie?” + +“Nope.” + +“We’re big boys now,” declared Willie, strutting like the young bantam +he was. “There ain’t nothin’ goin’ to hurt us. We’re too big——” + +“What’s that on your finger—— No! the other one?” snapped Sadie, eyeing +Willie sharply. + +“Scratch,” announced the boy. + +“Where’d you get it?” + +“I—I cut it on the cat,” admitted Willie, with less bombast. + +“Humph! you’re a big boy—ain’t you? Don’t even know enough to let the +cat alone—and I hope her claw done you some good. Come here an’ let me +borrer Miss Ruth’s peroxide bottle and put some on it. Cat’s claws is +poison,” said Sadie. “You ain’t so fit to get along without somebody +watchin’ you as ye think, kid. Remember that, now.” + +“We don’t want no gal trailin’ after us all the time!” cried Willie, +angrily. “An’ we ain’t goin’ to stand it,” and he kicked his bare toe +into the sand to express the emphasis that his voice would not vent. + +“Humph!” said Sadie, eyeing him sideways, meanwhile trimming carefully a +stout branch she had broken from the lilac bush. “So you want to be your +own boss, do you, Willie Raby?” + +“We _be_ our own boss—ain’t we, Dickie?” + +For the first time, the echo of Dickie’s agreement failed to +materialize. Dickie was eyeing that lilac sprout—and looked from that to +his sister’s determined face. He backed away several feet and put his +hands behind him. + +“And so you ain’t goin’ to mind me—nor Miss Ruth—nor Mr. Steele—nor Mr. +Caslon—nor nobody?” proceeded Sadie, more earnestness apparent in each +section of her query. + +Her hand reached out suddenly and gripped Willie by the shoulder of his +shirt. He tried to writhe out of her grasp, but his sister’s muscles +were hardened, and she was twice as strong as Willie had believed. The +lilac sprout was raised. + +“So you’re too big to mind anybody, heh?” she queried. + +“Yes, we be!” snarled the writhing Willie. “Ain’t we, Dickie?” + +“No, we’re not!” screamed his twin, suddenly, refusing to echo Willie’s +declaration. “Don’t hit him, Sade! Oh, don’t!” and he cast himself upon +his sister and held her tight about the waist. “We—we’ll be good,” he +sobbed. + +“How about it, Willie Raby?” demanded the stern sister, without lowering +the stick. “Are you goin’ to mind and be good?” + +Willie stared, tried to writhe away, saw it was no use, and capitulated. +“Aw—yes—if _he’s_ goin’ to cry about it,” he grumbled. He said it with +an air intimating that Dickie was, after all, quite a millstone about +his neck and would always be holding him back from deeds of valor which +Willie, himself, knew he could perform. + +However, the twins behaved pretty well after that. They remained with +Sadie at Sunrise Farm, for the whole Steele family had become interested +in them. + +The inquiries Mr. Steele set afoot resulted, in a short time, in +information of surprising moment to the three Raby orphans. The old +inquiry which had brought the lawyer, Mr. Angus MacDorough, to +Darrowtown three years before, was ferreted out by another lawyer +engaged by Mr. Steele. + +It was found that Mr. MacDorough had, soon after his visit to the States +in the matter of the Raby fortune, been stricken ill and, after a long +sickness, had died. His affairs had never been straightened out, and his +business was still in a chaotic state. + +However, it was found beyond a doubt that Mr. MacDorough had been +engaged to search out the whereabouts of Mrs. Tom Raby and her children +by the administrators of the estate of Mrs. Raby’s elderly relative, now +some time deceased. + +Nearly two thousand dollars in American money had been left as a legacy +to the Rabys. In time this property was put into Mr. Steele’s care to +hold in trust for the three orphans—and it was enough to promise them +all an education and a start in life. + +Had it not been so, Mr. and Mrs. Steele would have felt sufficiently in +Sadie’s debt, because of her having saved little Bennie Steele from the +hoofs of the Black Douglass, to have made the girl’s way—and that of the +twins—plain before them, until they were grown. + +How much Ruth Fielding and her chum, Helen, were delighted by all this +can be imagined. Sadie held an almost worshipful attitude toward Ruth; +Ruth had been her first real friend when she ran away from “them +Perkinses.” + +That Ruth and her chum bore the affairs of the Raby orphans in mind, and +continued to have many other and varied interests, as well as a +multitude of adventures during the summer, will be explained in the next +volume of our series, to be entitled: “Ruth Fielding and the Gypsies; +Or, The Missing Pearl Necklace.” + +Meanwhile, the visit to Sunrise Farm came to a glorious close. The +belated Fourth of July was celebrated on the evening of the fifth, in a +perfectly “safe and sane” manner by the burning of the wealth of +fireworks that Mr. Steele had supplied. + +The days that followed to the end of the stay of the girls of Briarwood +Hall and their brothers, were filled with delightful incidents. Picnics, +fishing parties, tramps over the hills, rides, games on the lawn, and +many other activities occupied the delightful hours at Sunrise Farm. + +“This surely is the nicest place I ever was at,” Busy Izzy admitted, on +the closing day of the party. “If I have as good a time the rest of the +summer, I won’t mind going back to school and suffering for eight months +in the year.” + +“Hear! hear!” cried Heavy Jennie Stone. “And the eats!” + +“And the rides,” said Mercy Curtis, the lame girl. “Such beautiful rides +through the hills!” + +“And such a fine time watching those fresh airs to see that they didn’t +kill themselves,” added Tom Cameron, with a grimace. + +“Don’t say a word against the poor little dears, Tommy,” urged his +sister. “Suppose _you_ had to live in an for orphanage all but four +weeks in the year?” + +“Tom is only fooling,” Ruth said, quietly. “I know him. He enjoyed +seeing the children have a good time, too.” + +“Oh! if you say so, Miss Fielding,” said Tom, laughing and bowing to +her, “it must be so.” + +The big yellow coach, with the four prancing horses, came around to the +door. Bobbins mounted to the driver’s seat and gathered up the ribbons. +The visitors climbed aboard. + +Ruth stood up and waved her hand to the rest of the Steele family, and +Sadie and the twins gathered on the porch. + +“We’ve had the finest time ever!” she cried. “We love you all for giving +us such a nice vacation. And we’re going to cheer you——” + +And cheer they did. At the noise, the leaders sprang forward and the +yellow coach rolled away. Ruth, laughing, sat down suddenly beside her +chum, and Helen hugged her tight. + +“We always have a dandy time when we go anywhere with _you_, Ruth,” she +declared. “For you always take your ‘good times’ with you.” + +And perhaps Helen Cameron had made a very important discovery. + + + THE END + + + + +THE RUTH FIELDING SERIES + +By ALICE B. EMERSON + +12mo. Illustrated. Jacket in full colors. + +Price 50 cents per volume. Postage 10 cents additional. + +Ruth Fielding was an orphan and came to live with her miserly uncle. Her +adventures and travels make stories that will hold the interest of every +reader. + +Ruth Fielding is a character that will live in juvenile fiction. + + 1. RUTH FIELDING OF THE RED MILL + 2. RUTH FIELDING AT BRIARWOOD HALL + 3. RUTH FIELDING AT SNOW CAMP + 4. RUTH FIELDING AT LIGHTHOUSE POINT + 5. RUTH FIELDING AT SILVER RANCH + 6. RUTH FIELDING ON CLIFF ISLAND + 7. RUTH FIELDING AT SUNRISE FARM + 8. RUTH FIELDING AND THE GYPSIES + 9. RUTH FIELDING IN MOVING PICTURES + 10. RUTH FIELDING DOWN IN DIXIE + 11. RUTH FIELDING AT COLLEGE + 12. RUTH FIELDING IN THE SADDLE + 13. RUTH FIELDING IN THE RED CROSS + 14. RUTH FIELDING AT THE WAR FRONT + 15. RUTH FIELDING HOMEWARD BOUND + 16. RUTH FIELDING DOWN EAST + 17. RUTH FIELDING IN THE GREAT NORTHWEST + 18. RUTH FIELDING ON THE ST. LAWRENCE + 19. RUTH FIELDING TREASURE HUNTING + 20. RUTH FIELDING IN THE FAR NORTH + 21. RUTH FIELDING AT GOLDEN PASS + 22. RUTH FIELDING IN ALASKA + 23. RUTH FIELDING AND HER GREAT SCENARIO + 24. RUTH FIELDING AT CAMERON HALL + 25. RUTH FIELDING CLEARING HER NAME + +CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers NEW YORK + + + + +THE BARTON BOOKS FOR GIRLS + +By MAY HOLLIS BARTON + +12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. With colored jacket. + +Price 50 cents per volume. + +Postage 10 cents additional. + +May Hollis Barton is a new writer for girls who is bound to win instant +popularity. Her style is somewhat of a reminder of that of Louisa M. +Alcott, but thoroughly up-to-date in plot and action. Clean tales that +all the girls will enjoy reading. + +1. THE GIRL FROM THE COUNTRY or Laura Mayford’s City Experiences + +2. THREE GIRL CHUMS AT LAUREL HALL or The Mystery of the School by the +Lake + +3. NELL GRAYSON’S RANCHING DAYS or A City Girl in the Great West + +4. FOUR LITTLE WOMEN OF ROXBY or The Queer Old Lady Who Lost Her Way + +5. PLAIN JANE AND PRETTY BETTY or The Girl Who Won Out + +6. LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE or The Old Bachelor’s Ward + +7. HAZEL HOOD’S STRANGE DISCOVERY or The Old Scientist’s Treasure Box + +8. TWO GIRLS AND A MYSTERY or The Old House in the Glen + +9. THE GIRLS OF LIGHTHOUSE ISLAND or The Strange Sea Chest + +10. KATE MARTIN’S PROBLEM or Facing the Wide World + +Send for Our Free Illustrated Catalogue + +CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers NEW YORK + + + + +THE BETTY GORDON SERIES + +By ALICE B. EMERSON + +12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in full colors. + +Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid + +1. BETTY GORDON AT BRAMBLE FARM or The Mystery of a Nobody + + At twelve Betty is left an orphan. + +2. BETTY GORDON IN WASHINGTON or Strange Adventures in a Great City + + Betty goes to the National Capitol to find her uncle and has several + unusual adventures. + +3. BETTY GORDON IN THE LAND OF OIL or The Farm That Was Worth a Fortune + + From Washington the scene is shifted to the great oil fields of our + country. A splendid picture of the oil field operations of to-day. + +4. BETTY GORDON AT BOARDING SCHOOL or The Treasure of Indian Chasm + + Seeking treasures of Indian Chasm makes interesting reading. + +5. BETTY GORDON AT MOUNTAIN CAMP or The Mystery of Ida Bellethorne + + At Mountain Camp Betty found herself in the midst of a mystery. + +6. BETTY GORDON AT OCEAN PARK or School Chums on the Boardwalk + + A glorious outing that Betty and her chums never forgot. + +7. BETTY GORDON AND HER SCHOOL CHUMS or Bringing the Rebels to Terms + + Rebellious students, disliked teachers and mysterious robberies. + +8. BETTY GORDON AT RAINBOW RANCH or Cowboy Joe’s Secret + + Betty and her chums have a grand time in the saddle. + +9. BETTY GORDON IN MEXICAN WILDS or The Secret of the Mountains + + Betty receives a fake telegram and finds both Bob and herself held for + ransom in a mountain cave. + +10. BETTY GORDON AND THE LOST PEARLS or A Mystery of The Seaside + + Betty and her chums go to the ocean shore for a vacation and Betty + becomes involved in the disappearance of a string of pearls. + +11. BETTY GORDON ON THE CAMPUS or The Secret of the Trunk Room + + An up-to-date college story with a strange mystery that is bound to + fascinate any girl reader. + +Send for Our Free Illustrated Catalogue + +CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers NEW YORK + + + + +BILLIE BRADLEY SERIES + +By JANET D. WHEELER + +12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in full colors. + +Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid + +1. BILLIE BRADLEY AND HER INHERITANCE or The Queer Homestead at Cherry +Corners + +Billie Bradley fell heir to an old homestead that was unoccupied and +located far away in a lonely section of the country. How Billie went +there, accompanied by some of her chums, and what queer things happened, +go to make up a story no girl will want to miss. + +2. BILLIE BRADLEY AT THREE-TOWERS HALL or Leading a Needed Rebellion + +Three-Towers Hall was a boarding school for girls. For a short time +after Billie arrived there all went well. But then the head of the +school had to go on a long journey and she left the girls in charge of +two teachers, sisters, who believed in severe discipline and in very, +very plain food and little of it—and then there was a row! + +3. BILLIE BRADLEY ON LIGHTHOUSE ISLAND or The Mystery of the Wreck + +One of Billie’s friends owned a summer bungalow on Lighthouse Island, +near the coast. The school girls made up a party and visited the Island. +There was a storm and a wreck, and three little children were washed +ashore. + +4. BILLIE BRADLEY AND HER CLASSMATES or The Secret of the Locked Tower + +Billie and her chums come to the rescue of several little children who +had broken through the ice. There is the mystery of a lost invention, +and also the dreaded mystery of the locked school tower. + +5. BILLIE BRADLEY AT TWIN LAKES or Jolly Schoolgirls Afloat and Ashore + +A tale of outdoor adventure in which Billie and her chums have a great +variety of adventures. They visit an artists’ colony and there fall in +with a strange girl living with an old boatman who abuses her +constantly. + +6. BILLIE BRADLEY AT TREASURE COVE or The Old Sailor’s Secret + +A lively story of school girl doings. How Billie heard of the treasure +and how she and her chums went in quest of the same is told in a +peculiarly absorbing manner. + +Send for Our Free Illustrated Catalogue + +CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers NEW YORK + + + + +THE LINGER-NOT SERIES + +By AGNES MILLER + +12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in full colors. + +Price per volume, 50 cents. Postage 10 cents additional. + +This new series of girls’ books is in a new style of story writing. The +interest is in knowing the girls and seeing them solve the problems that +develop their character. Incidentally, a great deal of historical +information is imparted. + +1. THE LINGER-NOTS AND THE MYSTERY HOUSE or The Story of Nine +Adventurous Girls + +How the Linger-Not girls met and formed their club seems commonplace, +but this writer makes it fascinating, and how they made their club serve +a great purpose continues the interest to the end, and introduces a new +type of girlhood. + +2. THE LINGER-NOTS AND THE VALLEY FEUD or the Great West Point Chain + +The Linger-Not girls had no thought of becoming mixed up with feuds or +mysteries, but their habit of being useful soon entangled them in some +surprising adventures that turned out happily for all, and made the +valley better because of their visit. + +3. THE LINGER-NOTS AND THEIR GOLDEN QUEST or The Log of the Ocean +Monarch + +For a club of girls to become involved in a mystery leading back into +the times of the California gold-rush, seems unnatural until the reader +sees how it happened, and how the girls helped one of their friends to +come into her rightful name and inheritance, forms a fine story. + +4. THE LINGER-NOTS AND THE WHISPERING CHARM or The Secret from Old +Alaska + +Whether engrossed in thrilling adventures in the Far North or occupied +with quiet home duties, the Linger-Not girls could work unitedly to +solve a colorful mystery in a way that interpreted American freedom to a +sad young stranger, and brought happiness to her and to themselves. + +Send for Our Free Illustrated Catalogue + +CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers NEW YORK + + + + +THE GIRL SCOUT SERIES + +By LILIAN GARIS + +12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in full colors. + +Price per volume, 50 cents. Postage 10 cents additional. + +The highest ideals of girlhood as advocated by the foremost +organizations of America form the background for these stories and while +unobtrusive there is a message in every volume. + +1. THE GIRL SCOUT PIONEERS or Winning the First B. C. + +A story of the True Tred Troop in a Pennsylvania town. Two runaway +girls, who want to see the city, are reclaimed through troop influence. +The story is correct in scout detail. + +2. THE GIRL SCOUTS AT BELLAIRE or Maid Mary’s Awakening + +The story of a timid little maid who is afraid to take part in other +girls’ activities, while working nobly alone for high ideals. How she +was discovered by the Bellaire Troop and came into her own as “Maid +Mary” makes a fascinating story. + +3. THE GIRL SCOUTS AT SEA CREST or the Wig Wag Rescue + +Luna Land, a little island by the sea, is wrapt in a mysterious +seclusion, and Kitty Scuttle, a grotesque figure, succeeds in keeping +all others at bay until the Girl Scouts come. + +4. THE GIRL SCOUTS AT CAMP COMALONG or Peg of Tamarack Hills + +The girls of Bobolink Troop spend their summer on the shores of Lake +Hocomo. Their discovery of Peg, the mysterious rider, and the clearing +up of her remarkable adventures afford a vigorous plot. + +5. THE GIRL SCOUTS AT ROCKY LEDGE or Nora’s Real Vacation + +Nora Blair is the pampered daughter of a frivolous mother. Her dislike +for the rugged life of Girl Scouts is eventually changed to +appreciation, when the rescue of little Lucia, a woodland waif, becomes +a problem for the girls to solve. + +Send for Our Free Illustrated Catalogue + +CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers NEW YORK + + + + +THE RADIO GIRLS SERIES + +By MARGARET PENROSE + +12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in full colors. + +Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid. + +A new and up-to-date series, taking in the activities of several bright +girls who become interested in radio. The stories tell of thrilling +exploits, outdoor life and the great part the Radio plays in the +adventures of the girls and in solving their mysteries. Fascinating +books that girls of all ages will want to read. + +1. THE RADIO GIRLS OF ROSELAWN or A Strange Message from the Air + +Showing how Jessie Norwood and her chums became interested in +radiophoning, how they gave a concert for a worthy local charity, and +how they received a sudden and unexpected call for help out of the air. +A girl wanted as witness in a celebrated law case disappears, and the +radio girls go to the rescue. + +2. THE RADIO GIRLS ON THE PROGRAM or Singing and Reciting at the Sending +Station + +When listening in on a thrilling recitation or a superb concert number +who of us has not longed to “look behind the scenes” to see how it was +done? The girls had made the acquaintance of a sending station manager +and in this volume are permitted to get on the program, much to their +delight. A tale full of action and fun. + +3. The RADIO GIRLS ON STATION ISLAND or The Wireless from the Steam +Yacht + +In this volume the girls travel to the seashore and put in a vacation on +an island where is located a big radio sending station. The big brother +of one of the girls owns a steam yacht and while out with a pleasure +party those on the island receive word by radio that the yacht is on +fire. A tale thrilling to the last page. + +4. THE RADIO GIRLS AT FOREST LODGE or The Strange Hut in the Swamp + +The Radio Girls spend several weeks on the shores of a beautiful lake +and with their radio get news of a great forest fire. It also aids them +in rounding up some undesirable folks who occupy the strange hut in the +swamp. + +Send for Our Free Illustrated Catalogue + +CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers NEW YORK + + + + +THE RUBY AND RUTHY SERIES + +By MINNIE E. PAULL + +12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid. + +Four bright and entertaining stories told in Mrs. Paull’s happiest +manner are among the best stories ever written for young girls, and +cannot fail to interest any between the ages of eight and fifteen years. + +RUBY AND RUTHY + +Ruby and Ruthie were not old enough to go to school, but they certainly +were lively enough to have many exciting adventures, that taught many +useful lessons needed to be learned by little girls. + +RUBY’S UPS AND DOWNS + +There were troubles enough for a dozen grown-ups, but Ruby got ahead of +them all, and, in spite of them, became a favorite in the lively times +at school. + +RUBY AT SCHOOL + +Ruby had many surprises when she went to the impossible place she heard +called a boarding school, but every experience helped to make her a +stronger-minded girl. + +RUBY’S VACATION + +This volume shows how a little girl improves by having varieties of +experience both happy and unhappy, provided she thinks, and is able to +use her good sense. Ruby lives and learns. + +Send for Our Free Illustrated Catalogue + +CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY, Publishers NEW YORK + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Ruth Fielding At Sunrise Farm, by Alice B. 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