illustration: "halt!" was the sudden command.] ruth fielding at the war front or the hunt for the lost soldier by alice b. emerson author of "ruth fielding of the red mill," "ruth fielding in the saddle," etc. _illustrated_ new york cupples & leon company publishers copyright, 1918, by cupples & leon company ruth fielding at the war front contents chapter i. to get acquainted ii. at the chateau iii. a perilous project iv. under fire v. mother gervaise vi. the mystery vii. where is tom cameron? viii. the chocolate peddler ix. cot 24--hut h x. devouring suspicion xi. the flying man xii. aunt abelard xiii. an unexpected meeting xiv. more sacrifices than one xv. bubu xvi. the hollow tooth xvii. the worst is told xviii. bearing the burden xix. adventure xx. on the raw edge of no man's land xxi. a night to be remembered xxii. through the german lines xxiii. the gardener's cot xxiv. capt. von brenner's sister xxv. back again ruth fielding at the war front chapter i to get acquainted it was a midwinter day, yet the air was balmy. the trees were bare-limbed but with a haze clothing them in the distance that seemed almost that of returning verdure. the grass, even in mid-winter, showed green. a bird sang lustily in the hedge. up the grassy lane walked a girl in the costume of the active red cross worker--an intelligent looking girl with a face that, although perhaps not perfect in form, was possessed of an expression that was alluring. neither observant man nor woman would have passed her, even in a crowd, without a second glance. there was a cheerful light in her eye and a humorous curve to her not too-full lips that promised an uplifting spirit within her even in serious mood. it seemed as though this day--and its apparent peace--must breed happiness, although it was but a respite in the middle of winter. the balmy air, the chirrup of the bird, the far-flung reaches of the valley which she could see from this mounting lane, all delighted the senses and soothed the spirit. suddenly, with an unexpectedness that was shocking, there was a tremor in the air and the echo of a rumbling sound beneath the girl's feet. the crack of a distant explosion followed. then another, and another, until the sound became a continual grumble of angry explosions, resonant and threatening. the girl did not stop, but the expression of her face lost its cheerfulness. the song of the bird was cut off sharply. it seemed as though the sun itself began drawing a veil over his face. the peaceful mood of nature was shattered. the girl kept on her way, but she no longer stepped lightly and springily. those muttering guns had brought a somber cloak for her feelings--to her very soul. somewhere a motor began to hum. the sound came nearer with great rapidity. it was a powerful engine. it was several seconds before the girl looked up instead of along the road in search of the seat of this whirring sound. there shot into view overhead, and flying low, an aeroplane that looked like a huge flying insect--an enormous armored grasshopper. only its head was somewhat pointed and there, fixed in the front, was the ugly muzzle of a machine gun. the airplane flew so low that she could see the details. there were two masked men in it, one at the wheel, the other at the machine gun. the aeroplane swooped just above her head, descending almost to the treetops, the roaring of it deafening the girl in the red cross uniform. there was the red, white and blue shield of the united states painted upon the underside of the car. then it was gone, mounting higher and higher, until, as she stood to watch it, it became a painted speck against the sky. that is the lure of the flying machine. the wonder of it--and the terror--attracts the eye and shakes the spirit of the beholder. with a sigh the girl went on up the lane, mounting the hill steadily, on the apex of which, among giant forest trees, loomed the turrets and towers of a large chateau. again the buzzing of a motor broke the near-by stillness, while the great guns boomed in the distance. the sudden activity on the front must portend some important movement, or why should so many flying machines be drawn toward this sector? but in a minute she realized that this was not an aeroplane she heard. debouching into sight from the fringing thickets came a powerful motor car, its forefront armored. she could barely see the head and shoulders of the man behind the steering wheel. down the hill plunged the car, and the girl quickly stepped to the side of the lane and waited for it to pass. the roar of its muffler was deafening. in a moment she saw that the tonneau of the gray car was filled with uniformed men. they were officers in khaki, the insignia of their several grades scarcely distinguishable against the dull color of their clothing. how different from the gay uniforms of the french army corps, which, until of late, the girl of the red cross had been used to seeing in this locality. their faces were different, too. gray, lean, hard-bitten faces, their eyebrows so light and sparse that it seemed their eyes were hard stones which never seemed to shift their straight-ahead gaze. yet each man in the tonneau and the orderly beside the driver on the front seat saluted the red cross girl as she stood by the laneside. in another half-minute the car had turned at the bottom of the hill and was out of sight. she sighed again as she plodded on. now, indeed, was the spring gone from her limbs and her expression was weary with a sadness that, although not personal, was heavy upon her. her thought was with the aeroplane and the motor car and with the thundering guns at the battle front, not many miles away. yet she hastened her steps up this grassy lane toward the chateau, in quite the opposite direction. the sudden stir of the military life of this sector portended something unusual. an advance of the enemy or an attempt to make a drive upon the allies' works. in any case, down in the little, low-lying town behind her, there might be increased need of hospital workers. she must, before long, be once more at the hospital to meet the first ambulances rolling in from the field hospitals or from the dressing stations at the very front. she reached the summit of the ridge, over which the lane passed to the valley on the west side of the hill. the high arch of the gateway of the chateau was in sight. coming from that direction, walking easily, yet quickly, was the lean military figure of a young man who switched the roadside weed stalks with a light cane. he looked up quickly as the girl approached, and his rather somber face lighted as though the sight of her gave him pleasure. yet his gaze was respectful. he was handsome, keenly intelligent looking and not typically french, although he was dressed in the uniform of a branch of the french service, wearing a major's chevrons. as the red cross girl came nearer, he put his heels together smartly, removed his kepi, and bowed stiffly from the waist. it was not a frenchman's bow. the girl responded with a quiet bend of her head, but she passed him by without giving him any chance to speak. he followed her only with his eyes--and that but for a moment; then he went on down the lane, his stride growing momentarily longer until he passed from view. a cry from the direction of the broad gateway ahead next aroused the attention of the girl in the red cross uniform. she looked up to see another girl running to meet her. this was a short, rather plump french girl, whose eyes shone with excitement, and who ran with hands outstretched to meet those of the red cross girl. the latter was some years the older. "oh, mademoiselle ruth! mademoiselle ruth fielding!" cried the french girl eagerly. "did you meet him? ah-h!" ruth fielding laughed as she watched the mobile face of her friend. the latter's cheeks were flushed with excitement, her eyes rolled. she was all aquiver with the emotion that possessed her. "did you see him?" she repeated, as their hands met and ruth stooped to press her lips to the full ones of her friend. "did i see whom, you funny henriette?" asked ruth. "am i fon-nay?" demanded henriette dupay, in an english which she evidently struggled to make clear. "then am i not nice?" "you are both funny and nice," declared ruth fielding, hugging the girl's plump body close to her own, as they walked on slowly to the chateau gate. "tell me. who was i supposed to see? a motor full of officers passed me, and an aeroplane over my head----" "oh, non! non!" cried henriette. then, in awe: "major marchand." "oh! is that major marchand?" "but yes, mademoiselle ruth. ah-h! such a man--such a figure! he is madame the countess' younger son." "so i understand," ruth said. "he is safely engaged in paris, is he not?" and her tone implied much. "ye-es. so it is said. he--he must be a ve-ry important man, mademoiselle, or his duty would not keep him there." "unless the boches succeed in raiding paris from the air he is not likely to get hurt at all--this major marchand?" "oh!" pouted henriette. "you are so critical. but he is--what you say?--so-o beautiful!" "not in my eyes," said ruth grimly. "i don't like dolly soldiers." "oh, mademoiselle ruth!" murmured the french girl. "do not let madame the countess suspect your feelings toward her younger son. he is all she has now, you know." "indeed? has the older son fallen in battle?" "the young count has disappeared," whispered henriette, her lips close to ruth's ear. "we heard of it only lately. but it seems he disappeared some months ago. nobody knows what has become of him." "he, at least, was on the battle front?" asked the american girl. "he is missing? probably a prisoner of the germans?" "no-o. he was not at the front," confessed the other girl. "he, too, was engaged in paris, it is understood. but hush! we are at the gate. i will ring. don't, mademoiselle ruth, let the dear countess suspect that you do not highly approve of her remaining son." the red cross girl smiled rather grimly, but she gave the promise. chapter ii at the chateau the two girls, arm in arm, approached the postern gate beside the wide iron grille that was never opened save for the passage of horses or a motor car. there was a little round shutter in the postern at the height of a man's head; for aforetime the main gateway had been of massive oak, bolt-studded and impervious to anything less than cannon shot. the wall of masonry that surrounded the chateau was both high and thick, built four hundred years or so before for defence. an old-fashioned rope-pull hung beside the postern. henriette dragged on this sharply, but the girls could not hear the tongue of the bell, for it struck far back in the so-called offices of the chateau, where the serving people had had their quarters before these war times had come upon the earth. now there were but few servants remaining at the chateau. for the most part the elderly countess marchand lived alone and used but few of the rooms. as the girls waited an answer to their summons, henriette said, in reference to what had already passed in conversation between them: "it hurts me, dear friend, that anybody should doubt the loyalty of our countess whom _we_ know to be so good. why! there are people even wicked enough to connect her with that--that awful thing we know of," and the girl dropped her voice and looked suddenly around her, as though she feared an unseen presence. "as though she were a werwolf," she added, with a shudder. "pooh!" and ruth fielding laughed. "nobody in their senses would connect madame la countess with such tales, having once seen her." she thought now, as they waited, of her first visit to the chateau, and of the appearance of the countess marchand in her bare library. whatever her sons might be--the young count who was missing, or this major whom she had just met in the grassy lane--ruth fielding was confident that the lady of the chateau was a loyal subject of france, and that she was trusted by the government. ruth had called here herself on that occasion with a secret agent, monsieur lafrane, to clear up the mystery of a trio of criminals who had come from america to prey upon the red cross. these crooks had succeeded in robbing the supply department of the red cross, in which ruth herself was engaged. but in the end they had fallen into the toils of the french secret service and ruth had aided in their overthrow. all this is told in the volume of this series immediately preceding our present story, entitled: "ruth fielding in the red cross; or, doing her best for uncle sam." this was the thirteenth volume of the ruth fielding series. of the twelve books that have gone before that only a brief mention can be made while ruth and the young french girl are waiting for an answer to the bell. at first we meet ruth fielding as she approaches cheslow and the red mill beside the lumano river, where uncle jabez, the miserly miller, awaits her coming in no pleasant frame of mind. he is her only living relative and he considers little ruth fielding a "charity child." she is made to feel this by his treatment and by the way in which the girls in the district school talk of her. ruth makes three friends from the start, however, who, in their several ways, help her to endure her troubles. one is aunt alvirah boggs, who is nobody's relation but everybody's aunt, and whom jabez potter, the miller, has taken from the poorhouse to keep his home tidy and comfortable. aunt alvirah sees the good underlying miserly uncle jabez's character when nobody else can. she lavishes upon the little orphan girl all the love and affection that she would have given to her own children had she been blessed with any. ruth's other two close friends were the cameron twins, helen and tom, the children of a wealthy storekeeper who lived not far from the red mill. the early adventures of these three are all related in the first book of the series, "ruth fielding of the red mill." one virtue of uncle jabez's, which shines as brightly in his rather gloomy character as a candle in the dark, is that he always pays his debts. if he considers he owes anybody anything he is not satisfied until he pays it. therefore, when ruth recovers some money which had been stolen from him, he is convinced that it is only right for him to pay her tuition for at least a year at briarwood hall, where she goes to school with helen cameron, while tom goes to a boy's boarding school called seven oaks. the girls and tom and his friends often got together for good times during their school years, and, in successive volumes, we meet them in winter adventures in the northern woods at snow camp; in the summer at lighthouse point; in wyoming at silver ranch; in lakeside and woodsy adventures on cliff island; enjoying most exciting weeks at sunrise farm, where ruth wins a reward of five thousand dollars in aiding in the recovery of a pearl necklace stolen by the gypsies. there are volumes, too, telling of the serious loss by fire of a dormitory building at briarwood and how ruth fielding rebuilt it by the production of a moving picture; of her vacation down in dixie; of her first year at ardmore college, which she and helen and several of her briarwood chums entered; then of ruth fielding in the saddle when she went west again, this time for the production of a great picture entitled: "the forty-niners." with the entrance into the war of the united states, tom cameron enlisted and went to france as a second lieutenant with the first expeditionary force. ruth and helen went into red cross work, leaving college before the end of their sophomore year for that purpose. ruth could not go as a nurse, but in the supply department she gained commendation and when a supply unit of the red cross was sent to france she went with it, while helen went over with her father, who was on a commission to the front. once there, the black-eyed girl found work to do in paris while ruth was enabled to be of use much nearer the front. indeed, at the opening of the present story the girl of the red mill is at work in the evacuation hospital at clair, right behind a sector of the battle line that had been taken over by general pershing's forces. tom cameron is with his regiment not many miles away. indeed, his company might be engaged in this very activity that had suddenly broken out within sound, if not in sight, of clair and the chateau marchand. there was reason for ruth fielding's gravity of countenance--and grave it was, despite its natural cheerfulness of expression--for her interest in tom cameron and his interest in her had long been marked by their friends. tom was in peril daily--hourly. it was no wonder that she revealed the ravages of war upon her mind. "sh!" whispered henriette. "here comes dolge, the gardener. now that bessie is gone he is the oldest person madame la countess has in her employ." "i wonder what became of bessie. monsieur lafrane told me she was not apprehended with those men who helped her get away from the chateau." "it is a mystery. she had served madame so many years. and then--at the last--they say she was a spy for _les boches_!" dolge appeared, with his toothless grin, at the round opening in the postern. "the little hetty and _mademoiselle l'americaine_," he mumbled. "madame la countess expects you." he unchained the door and let them pass through. then he shut and chained the door again just as though the chateau was besieged. the girls did not wait for him. they walked up the curved avenue to the wide entrance to the great pile of masonry. the chateau was as large as a good-sized hotel. before the war there had been many comforts, ruth understood, that now the countess was doing without. for instance, electric lights and some kind of expensive heating arrangement. now the lady of the chateau burned oil, or candles, like the peasants, and the chateau doors were wide open that the sun and air of this grateful day might help dry the tomb-like atmosphere of the reception hall. "_ma foi_!" said henriette, commenting on this in a low voice, "even the beautiful old armor--the suits of mail that the ancient marchands wore in the times of the crusades--is rusty. see you! madame has not servants enough now to _begin_ to care for the place." "i suppose she has stored away the rugs and the books from the library shelves," began ruth; but henriette quickly said: "_non_! _non_! you do not understand, mademoiselle, what our good lady has done. the wonderful rugs she has sold--that off the library floor, which, they say, the old count himself brought from bagdad. and the books--all her library--have gone to the convalescent hospitals, or to the poilus in the trenches. for they, poor men, need the distraction of reading." "and some of your neighbors suspect her," repeated ruth thoughtfully. "it is because of that awful thing--the werwolf!" hissed henriette. then there was time for no further speech. a middle-aged woman appeared, asked the girls in, and led the way to the library. a table was set near the huge open fireplace in which a cheerful fire crackled. on the table was a silver tea service and some delicate porcelain cups and saucers. the kettle bubbled on the hob. chairs were drawn close before the blaze, for, despite the "springiness" in the air without, the atmosphere in the vast library of the chateau was damp and chill. as the girls waited before the fire a curtain at the end of the room swayed, parted, and the tall and plainly robed figure of the countess entered. she had the air of a woman who had been strikingly beautiful in her younger days. indeed, she was beautiful still. her snowy hair was dressed becomingly; her checks were naturally pink and quite smooth, despite the countless wrinkles that netted her throat. the old lace at the neck of her gown softened her ivory-hued skin and made its texture less noticeable. her gown was perfectly plain, cut in long, sweeping lines. nor did she wear a single jewel. she swept forward, smiling, and holding out her hand to ruth. "here is our little hetty," she said, nodding to the french girl, who blushed and bridled. "and mademoiselle fielding!" giving the latter a warm handclasp and then patting henriette's cheek. "welcome!" she put them at their ease at once. the few family portraits on the walls were all the decorations of the room. the book cases themselves were empty. madame la countess made the tea. on the table were thin slices of war bread. there was no butter, no sugar, and no milk. "we are learning much these days," laughed the countess. "i am even learning to like my chocolate without milk or cream." "oh!" and henriette whipped from the pocket of her underskirt something that had been making her dress sag on that side. when she removed the wrappings she produced a small jar of thick yellow cream. "my child! it is a luxury!" cried the countess. "i shall feel wicked." "perhaps it will be nice to feel wicked for once," ruth said, feeling a little choke in her throat. she drew from concealment her own contribution to the "feast"--several lumps of sugar. "do not fear," she added, smiling. "none of the poor poilus are deprived. this is from my own private store. i wish there was more of it, but i can't resist giving a lump now and then to the village children. they are so hungry for it. they call me 'mam'zelle sucre'." "and i would bring you cream often, madame," henriette hastened to add, "but our good old lally died, you know, and the little cow does not give much milk as yet, and it is not as rich. oh! if that werwolf had not appeared to us! you remember, mademoiselle ruth? then old lally died at once," and the french girl nodded her head vigorously, being fully convinced of the truth of the old superstition. the countess flushed and then paled, but nobody but ruth noticed this. the american girl watched her hostess covertly. the bare mention of a superstition that had the whole countryside by the throat, disturbed much the countess' self-control. the next moment there was a step in the hall and then the door opened to admit the same young officer ruth fielding had met in the lane--major henri marchand. "pardon, maman," he said, bowing, and speaking to his mother quite like a little boy. "do i offend?" "do come in and have a cup of tea, henri. there is sugar and real cream--thanks to our two young friends here. you remember our petite hetty, of course? and this is our very brave mademoiselle ruth fielding, of the american red cross. my younger son, monsieur henri," the countess said easily. major marchand advanced into the room promptly. to henriette he bowed with a smile. ruth put out her hand impulsively, and he bowed low above it and touched his lips to her fingers. the girl started a little and glowed. the manner of his address rather shocked her, for she was unused to the european form of greeting. henri's deep, purple eyes looked long into her own brown ones as he lingeringly released her hand. "mademoiselle!" he murmured. "i am charmed." ruth did not know whether she was altogether charmed or not! she felt that there was something rather overpowering in such a greeting, and she rather doubted the sincerity of it. she could understand, however, little henriette's sentimental worship of the young major. henri marchand was the type of man to hold the interest of most girls. his eyes were wonderful; his cheek as clear and almost as soft as a woman's; he wore his uniform with an air scarcely to be expressed in ordinary words. henriette immediately became tongue-tied. ruth's experience had, however, given her ease in any company. the wonderful major marchand made little impression upon her. it was plain that he wished to interest the americaine mademoiselle. the little tea party was interrupted by the appearance of dolge at the library door. "a young american in an ambulance inquires for mademoiselle fielding at the gate," said dolge, cap in hand. "she is needed in haste, below there at the hospital." chapter iii a perilous project "that can be no other than charlie bragg," announced ruth, getting up in haste, and naming a young friend of hers from the states who had been an ambulance driver for some months. "something must have happened." "i fear something is happening," major marchand said softly. "the sudden activity along this front must be significant, don't you think, mademoiselle fielding?" ruth's lips were pressed together for a moment in thought, and she eyed the major shrewdly. "i really could not say," she observed coldly. then she turned from him to take the hand of the countess. "i'm sorry our little tea must be broken in upon," the american girl said. she could not help loving the countess, no matter what some of the neighbors believed regarding her. but ruth had her doubts about this son who was always in paris and never at the front. henriette was too bashful to remain longer than ruth, so she rose to go as well. the countess kissed her little neighbor and sent her favor to the girl's father and mother. major marchand accompanied the two visitors out of the chateau and toward the entrance gate, which dolge had not opened. "i sincerely hope we may meet again, mademoiselle fielding," the major said softly. "that is not likely," she responded with soberness. "no? do you expect to leave clair soon?" "no," she said, and there was sharpness in her voice. "but i am much engaged in our hospital work--and you are not likely to be brought there, are you?" evidently he felt the bite in her question. he flushed and dropped his gaze. her intimation was not to be mistaken. he seemed unlikely to be brought wounded to the hospital. before he could recover himself they were at the gate. dolge opened the postern and the two girls stepped through, followed by the french officer. the young fellow in the american ambulance immediately hailed ruth. "oh, i say, miss ruth!" he cried, "sorry to hunt you out this way, but you are needed down at the hospital." "so i presume, or you would not have come for me, charlie," she told him, smiling. "what is it?" "supplies needed for one of the field hospitals," he said. "and i tell you straight, miss ruth, they're in bad shape there. not half enough help. the supply room of that station is all shot away--terrible thing." "oh, dear!" gasped ruth. "do you mean that the germans have bombed it?" "it wasn't an air raid. yet it must have been done deliberately. they dropped a jack johnson right on that end of the hospital. two orderlies hurt and the girl who ran the supply room killed. they want somebody to come right up there and arrange a new room and new stock." "oh! you won't go, mademoiselle ruth?" shrieked henriette. "it would be extremely dangerous," major marchand said. "another shell might drop in the same place." "oh, we settled that battery. they tell me it's torn all to pieces. when our doughboys heard the red cross girl was killed they were wild. the gunners smashed the german position to smithereens. but it was awful for her, poor thing. "the station needs supplies dreadfully, just the same," added charlie bragg. "and somebody who knows about 'em. i told the _mã©dicin-chef_ i'd speak to you myself, miss ruth----" "i'll go with you. they can get along at clair without me for a few days, i am sure." "good," returned charlie, and moved over a little to make room on the seat for her. major marchand said: "there must be something big going on over there. is it a general advance, monsieur?" ruth flashed him a look and laid her fingers gently on charlie bragg's arm. the ambulance driver was by no means dull. "i can't say what is on foot," he said to the french officer. "i should think you might know more about it than i do," he added. his engine began to rattle the somewhat infirm car. charlie winked openly at henriette, who laughed at him. the car began to move. major marchand stood beside the road and bowed profoundly again to ruth--that bow from the hips. it was german, that bow; it proved that his military education had not been wholly gained in france. she could not help doubting the loyalty of major henri marchand as well as that of his older brother, the present count. their mother might be the loveliest lady in the world, but there was something wrong with her sons. here the younger one was idling away his time about the chateau, or in paris, so it was said, while the count had suddenly disappeared and was not to be found at all! neither had been engaged in any dangerous work on the battle front. it was all very strange. the bouncing ambulance was swiftly out of sight of the chateau gate. ruth sighed. "say! isn't there anybody at all who can go with those supplies they're in need of but you, miss ruth?" inquired charlie bragg, looking sideways at her. "no. i am alone at clair, you know quite well, charlie. the supplies are entirely under my care. i can teach somebody else over there at the bombed hospital in a short time how to handle the things. meanwhile, the matron--or somebody else--can do my work here. it would not do to send a greenhorn to such a busy hospital as this must be to which you are taking me." "busy! you said it!" observed the driver. "you'll see a lot of rough stuff, miss ruth; and you haven't been used to that. what'll tom cameron say?" and he grinned suddenly. ruth laughed a little. "every tub must stand on its own bottom, aunt alvirah says. i must do my duty." "it'll be a mighty dangerous trip. i'm not fooling you. there are places on the road--- well! the boches are all stirred up and they are likely to drop a shell or two almost anywhere, you know." "you came through it, didn't you?" she demanded pluckily. "by the skin of my teeth," he returned. "you're trying to scare me." "honest to goodness i'm not. they sent me over for the supplies and somebody to attend to them." "well?" she said inquiringly, as charlie ceased to speak. "but i didn't think you'd have to make the trip. isn't there anybody else, miss ruth?" and the young fellow was quite earnest now. "nobody," she said firmly. "no use telling me anything more, charlie. for the very reason the trip is dangerous, you wouldn't want me to put it off on somebody else, would you?" he said no more. the car rattled down into the little town, with its crooked, paved streets and its countless smells. clair was the center of a farming community, and, in some cases, the human inhabitants and the dumb beasts lived very close together. the hospital sprawled over considerable ground. it was but two stories in height, save at the back, where a third story was run up for the "cells" of the nurses and the other women engaged in the work. ruth ran up at once to her own tiny room to pack her handbag before she did anything else. the matron met her at the supply-room door when she came down. she was a voluble, if not volatile, frenchwoman of certain age. "i dread having you go, mademoiselle ruth," she said, with her arm about the girl. "i feel as though you were particularly in my care. if anything should happen to you----" "you surely would not be blamed," said ruth, smiling. "somebody must go and why not i? please send two orderlies to carry out these boxes. this list calls for a lot of supplies. surely the ambulance will be filled." which was, indeed, the case. when she finally went downstairs, turning the key of her store-room over to the matron, the ambulance body was crowded with cases. the stretchers had been taken out before charlie bragg drove in. ruth must occupy the seat beside him in front. she did not keep him waiting, but ran down with her bag and crept in under the torn hood beside him. several of the nurses stood in the door to call good-bye after her. the sentinel in the courtyard stood at attention as the car rolled out of the gate. "well," remarked charlie bragg, "i hope to thunder nothing busts, that's all. you've never been to the front, have you?" "no nearer than this," she confessed. "humph! you don't know anything about it." "but is the hospital you are taking me to exactly at the front?" "about five miles behind the first dressing station in this sector. it's under the protection of a hill and is well camouflaged. but almost any time the boches may get its range, and then--good-night!" with which remark he became silent, giving his strict attention to the car and the road. chapter iv under fire the day was fading into evening as the car went over the first ridge and dropped out of sight of clair and the sprawling hospital in which ruth fielding had worked so many weeks. she felt that she had grown old--and grown old rapidly--since coming to her present work in france. she was the only american in that hospital, for the united states expeditionary forces had only of late taken over this sector of the battle line and no changes had been made in the unity of the workers at clair. they all loved ruth there, from the matron and the surgeon-in-chief down to the last orderly and porter. although her work was supposed to be entirely in the supply department, she gave much of her time to the patients themselves. those who could not write, or could not read, were aided by the american girl. if there was extra work in the wards (and that happened whenever the opposing forces on the front became active) ruth was called on to help the nurses. thus far no american wounded had been brought into the clair hospital--a fact easily understood, as the entire force save ruth was french. it would not be long, however, before the american red cross would take over that hospital and the french wounded would be sent to the base hospital at lyse, where ruth had first worked on coming to france. up to this very moment--and not an unexciting moment it was--ruth fielding had never been so far away from clair in this direction. in the distance, as they mounted another ridge, she saw the flaring lights which she had long since learned marked the battle front. the guns still muttered. now and again they passed cavities where the great shells had burst. but most of these were ancient marmite holes and the grass was again growing in them, or water stood slimy and knee-deep, and, on the edges of these pools, frogs croaked their evensong. there were not many farmhouses in this direction. indeed, this part of france was "old-fashioned" in that the agricultural people lived in little villages for the most part and went daily to their fields to work, gathering at night for self-protection as they had done since feudal times. now and again the ambulance passed within sight of a ruined chateau. the germans had left none intact when they had advanced first into this part of the country. they rolled through two tiny villages which remained merely battered heaps of ruins. orchards were razed; even the shade trees beside the pleasant roads had been scored with the ax and now stood gaunt and dead. some were splintered freshly by german shells. as the light faded and the road grew dim, ruth fielding saw many ugly objects which marked the "frightfulness" of the usurpers. it all had a depressing effect on the girl's spirits. "are you hungry, miss ruth?" charlie bragg asked her at last. "i expect i shall be, charlie," she replied. "our tea at the chateau was almost a fantom tea." "gosh! isn't it so?" he said slangily. "what these french folks live on would starve me to death. mighty glad to have regular yankee rations. but," he added, "we'll be too late to get chow when we come to the hospital, i am afraid. we'll try mother gervaise." "who is mother gervaise?" asked ruth, glad to have some topic of conversation with the ambulance driver. "she's an old woman who used to be cook at one of these chateaux here, they say. she'll feed us well for four francs each." "four francs!" "sure. price has gone up," said charlie dryly. "these french folk are bound to think that every american is a millionaire. and i don't know but it is worth it," and he grinned. "think of being looked on as a john d. rockefeller everywhere you go! i'd never rise to such a height in the states." "no, i presume not," ruth admitted with a laugh. "but how is it that this mother gervaise, as you call her, is not afraid to stay here?" "she stays to watch the gold grow in her stocking," charlie replied, shrugging his shoulders almost as significantly as a frenchman. "oh! is she that much of a miser?" "you've said it. she stayed when the germans first came and fed them. when they retreated she stayed and met the advancing british (the french did not come first) with hot soup, and changed her price from pfennigs to shillings. get her to tell you about it. it is worth listening to--her experience." charlie bragg stopped the car suddenly and got out. ruth looked ahead with curiosity. the road seemed rather smooth and quite unoccupied. there was a group of trees, tortured by gunfire, which hid a turn in the track and what lay beyond. charlie was tinkering with the engine of the machine. "what is the matter?" ruth ventured to ask. "nothing--yet," he returned. "but we've got to get around that next turn in a hurry." "why?" "it's a wicked corner," said charlie. "i might as well tell you--then you won't squeal if anything happens." "oh! do you think i am a squealer?" she demanded rather tartly. "i don't know," and he grinned again. he was an imp of mischief, this charlie bragg, and she did not know how to take him. "you're not 'spoofing me,' as our british brothers put it?" "it's an honest-to-goodness bad corner--especially at night," charlie returned quite seriously now. "boches know we fellows have to use it----" "you mean the ambulances?" "yep. they spot us. we run without lights, you know; but every once in a while they drop a shell there. they have the range perfectly. they caught one of my bunkies there only a week ago." "oh, charlie! an american?" "no. scotch. only scotty in this section, and a mighty nice fellow. well, he'll never drive that boat again." "oh!" gasped ruth. "was he killed?" "shucks! no!" scoffed charlie. "but his ambulance was smashed to bits. luckily he hadn't any load with him at the time. but it would have been all one to the boches." bragg got in beside the girl again, tried out his levers, and suddenly shot the car ahead. "hang on!" cried charlie bragg under his breath. the ambulance shot down to the corner. it was all black shadow there, and, as charlie intimated, he dared use no lights. if there was an obstruction they would crash into it! the dusk had fallen suddenly. the sky was overcast, so not a star flecked the firmament. through the gloom the ambulance raced, the young fellow stooping low over the steering wheel, trying to peer ahead. how many hundreds of times had he made similar runs? ruth had never before appreciated just what it meant to be driving an ambulance through these roads so near the battle front. for five minutes a heavy gun had not spoken. suddenly the horizon ahead lit up with a broad white flare. there came the resonant report of a huge gun--so distant that ruth knew it could be nothing but a german bertha. almost instantly the whine of a shell was audible--coming nearer and nearer! ruth fielding, cowering on the seat of the automobile, felt as though the awful missile must be aimed directly at her! the car shot around the curve where the broken trees stood. with a yell like that of a lost soul--a demon from the pit--the shell went over their heads and exploded in the grove. the ambulance was spattered with a hail that might have been shrapnel, or stones and gravel--ruth did not know. the hood sheltered her. she was on the far side of the seat, anyway. and then, with a shout of warning, charlie shut down and tried to stop the car within its own length. ruth saw a hole yawning before them--a pit in the very middle of the road. "they've dropped one here since i came along!" yelled the young man, just as the ambulance pitched, nose first, into the cavity. they were stalled. suppose the boches sent another shell hurtling to this spot? they were likely to be wiped out in a breath. chapter v mother gervaise neither ruth nor the driver was thrown out of the stalled ambulance. but charlie jumped out in a hurry and held out his hand to the girl. "you got to beat it away from here, miss ruth," he urged. "another of those shells is likely to drop any minute. hurry!" ruth had no desire to stay at that perilous corner of the road; but when she started away from the stalled car she found that she was alone. "aren't you coming, charlie bragg?" she demanded, turning back. "go on! go on!" he urged her. "i've got to get this old flivver out of the mud. keep right on to a little house you'll see on the left under the bank. don't go past it in the dark. that's mother gervaise's cottage. it's out of reach of the boches' shells." "but you'll be killed, charlie bragg!" wailed the girl, suddenly realizing all the peril of their situation. "haven't ever been killed yet," he returned. "i tell you i've got to get this flivver out of the hole. these supplies have got to be taken to that field hospital. they're needed. i can't leave 'em here and run." "but you expect me to run!" burst out ruth, in sudden indignation. "you can't help here. no use your taking a chance. you'll be in enough danger later. now, you go on, miss ruth. scoot! here comes another!" they heard the whine of the flying shell almost on top of the thud of the distant gun. charlie seized her hand and they ran up the road for several yards. then he stopped short, as the shell burst--this time far to the left of the stalled ambulance. "gosh!" he exclaimed. "you've got me rattled, too. here! i'll go along to mother gervaise with you. some of the fellows may be there and i can get help. come on." "oh, charlie!" murmured the girl. "i'm afraid for you." "trying to make me a quitter, are you?" he demanded. "don't you know that if the boches get you, they get you, and that's all there is to it? and one way or another that fliver's got to be got out of that hole." ruth was silenced. this young fellow--"boy" he called him in her own mind--had a quality of courage that shamed her. it was just the kind of bravery needed for the work he was doing in the war--a measure of recklessness that keeps one from counting the cost too exactly. charlie bragg had a philosophy of his own that kept him cheerful in the face of peril and was eminently practical at just this time. he hurried her along the road, his hand under her elbow, seemingly able to see in the dark like a cat. but it was all black before ruth's eyes, and she stumbled more than once. her knees felt weak. "i--i _am_ scared, charlie," she confessed, almost in a whisper. "yep. so was i, at first. but you know a fellow can't give in to it. if he does he'll never get to be a first-class ambulance driver. i bet some of the boys will be here at mother gervaise's and i can get help." another moment, and they seemed to turn a corner in the road and ruth saw a small patch of light at the left of the roadway. she made it out to be an open window--the swinging shutter flung back against the wall. there was no glass in the opening. "there it is," charlie said. "you might have passed it right by, alone. you see, the house is close up against the high bank, and the hill is between us and the front. the boches can't drop a shell here. it's a regular wayfarer's rest. there's a car--and another. we'll be all right now." ruth saw the outlines of the two cars parked beside the road. the young fellow led her directly toward the patch of yellow lamplight. she saw finally a broad, thatched cottage, the eaves of the high-peaked roof almost within reach as they came to the door. charlie bragg knocked, then, without waiting for a summons to enter, lifted the wooden latch and shoved the sagging door open. "hello, folks!" he said. "got shelter for a couple of babes in the woods? i got stalled down there at the devil's corner, and--- let me introduce miss fielding. she's real folks like ourselves." he had pushed ruth in and entered behind her. two young men--plainly americans--rose from the table where they were eating. a squarely built woman bent over the fire at the end of the room. she did not look around from her culinary task. "hello, bragg!" was the response from the other ambulance drivers. "cub holdness and mr. francis dwyer," said charlie, introducing the two. "i've got stalled, fellows." he swiftly told of the accident and the two young men left the table. the frenchwoman turned and waddled toward the table, stirring spoon in hand and volubly objecting. "_non, non_!" she cried. "you would spoil the so-good ragout. if you do not eat it while it is hot----" "the ragout can be heated over," put in charlie. "but if the boches get my car with a shell--good-night! come on, fellows. and bring a rope. i believe we three can pull the old girl out." the boys tramped out of the cottage. mother gervaise turned to ruth and stared at her with very bright, black eyes. she was a broad-faced woman, brown and hearty-looking, and with a more intelligent appearance than many of the peasants ruth had seen. she wore sabots with her skirt tucked up to clear her bare ankles. her teeth were broad and strong and white, and she showed them well as she smiled. "the mademoiselle is _americaine_?" she said. "like these _ambulanciers_? ah! brave boys, these. and mademoiselle is of the _croix rouge_, is it not?" "i am working in the hospital at clair," ruth told her. "i am on my way with supplies to a station nearer the front." "_ma foi_!" exclaimed mother gervaise. "this has been a bad business. you will sup, mademoiselle, yes?" "i will, indeed. the accident has not taken away my appetite." "isn't it so? we must eat, no matter what next happens," said the woman. "me, now! i am alone. my whole family have been destroyed. my husband and his brother--both have been killed. i had no children. now i think it is as well, for children are not going to have much chance in france for years to come. all my neighbors have scattered, too." "then you have always lived here? even before the war?" ruth asked. "_oui, mademoiselle_. always. i was born right in that corner yonder, on a straw pallet. the best bed my mother had. we have grown rich since those days," and she shrugged her shoulders. "i was an only child and the farm and cot came to me. of course, i had plenty of the young men come to make love to me and my farm. i would have none of that kind. some said i went through the wood and picked up a crooked stick after all. but pierre and me--_ma foi_! we were happy, even if the old father and pierre's brother must come here to live, too. "the old father he die before the germans come. i thank _le bon dieu_ for that. pierre and his brother were mobilized and gone before the horde of _les boches_ come along this road. i am here alone, then. i begin making coffee and soup for them. well, yes! they are men, too, and become hungry and exhausted. i please them and they treat me well. i learn what it means to make money--cash-money; and so i stay. money is good, mademoiselle. "i might have wished poison into their soup; but that would not have killed them. and had i doctored it myself i would have been hung, and been no better off. so i made friends," and she smiled grimly. "but i learned how boastful men could be--especially germans. one--he was a major and one of the nobility--stayed here overnight. he promised to take me back to germany when the war was over--which would be in a few weeks. they were to be in paris in a few days then. "he promised i would be proud when i became all german. france, he said, would never be a separate country again. for most of the people--my people--he said, were weaklings. they would emigrate to america and the remaining would intermarry with germans. so all france would become germany. "when he was awake, he was full of bombast, that major! when he was asleep he snored outrageously. ugh! for the first time in my life i hate anybody," declared mother gervaise, shuddering. "but he paid me well for his lodging. and his men paid me for the soup. they marched past steadily for two days. then they were gone and the country all about was peaceful for a week. at the end of that time they come back." here mother gervaise smiled, but it was a victorious smile. her face lighted up and her eyes shone again. "pellmell back they came," she repeated. "it was a retreat. many had lost their guns and their packs. i had no soup for them. i said i had lost my poulets and all. but it was not so. i had them hidden. "the orderly of my major came in here, threw up his hands, and shouted: 'no paris! no paris!' and then he tramped on with his fellows. they chopped the trees and blew up many houses. but mine was marked, as the boches did in those first days: 'these are good people. let them be.' so i was not molested," finished mother gervaise. "now, sit you down, mademoiselle, at the table. here where i have spread a napkin. the ragout---"bless us and save us!" she added, as a sudden roar of voices sounded outside the cot and the throaty rattle of a motor engine. "whom have we here?" she went to the door and flung it open. ruth hesitated at the chair in which she had been about to be seated. outside she saw bunched several uniformed men. they were hilariously pushing into the cottage, thrusting the excited mother gervaise aside. chapter vi the mystery ruth fielding's rising fear was quenched when she saw the faces of the newcomers more clearly. they were those of young men belonging to the american expeditionary forces, as their uniforms betrayed. and they were teasing mother gervaise in the free and easy way of american youth. nor was she anywhere near as angry as she assumed. they pushed her into the cottage and crowded in themselves before they saw ruth standing at the end of the long table. then, quite suddenly, their voices fell. not so mother gervaise. she fetched one of her tormentors a sharp smack with the palm of her hand. "_un vaurien_!" she cried, meaning, in the slang of the day, "good-for-nothing." "you would take my house by storm! do you think it is a boche dugout you charge when you come to mother gervaise?" the silence of the rough and careless fellows was becoming marked. already the frenchwoman was noticing it. she turned, saw their eyes fixed upon ruth, and remarked: "ha! it's well they respect the mademoiselle. come in, wicked ones, and shut the door." ruth, relieved, saw that all were young commissioned officers--a very, very young captain, two first lieutenants, and several subalterns. they bowed rather bashfully to ruth, and could not take their eyes off her. one finally said: "you must be the lady at the clair hospital--miss fielding? you're the only american girl at that station." "i am miss fielding," ruth returned. her eyes shone, her tone grew softer. she saw that he belonged to tom cameron's regiment. "i have a friend in your regiment--mr. cameron. lieutenant thomas cameron. is he on duty with you?" their respectful silence when they tumbled in and saw her was marked. but the utter dumbness that followed this question was so impressive that ruth could almost hear her own heart beat. "what--- he is not _hurt_?" she cried, looking from one to the other. "i believe not, miss fielding," the captain said. "he is not on duty with us. i can tell you nothing about lieutenant cameron." the decision with which he spoke and the expression upon the faces of the others, appalled the girl. she could not find breath to ask another question. mother gervaise bustled forward to set upon the napkin she had spread a plate of the ragout for ruth. the latter sank into the chair. the young officers gathered upon the other side of the hearth. they were hopelessly dumb. there was a noise outside--the chugging of a car. it was a welcome relief. the door opened again and charlie bragg and the other two boys entered. "well, the boches didn't get us that time," said charlie, with satisfaction. "nor the old fliver, either. hello! here's general haig and all his staff. or is it general disorder? hurry up with the mulligan, mother gervaise--we've got to gobble and go." he slipped into the seat next to ruth, smiling at her. he was just a hungry, slangy boy. but those others---ruth could scarcely force the food down; but she determined to make a meal for her body's sake. she did not know what was before her--how much work, or how hard it would be, before she obtained another meal. she managed to ask: "is the car all right again, charlie?" "you can't bust it!" he declared enthusiastically. "the britishers make all manner of fun of 'em. call 'em 'mechanical fleas' and all that. but with a hammer, a monkey-wrench, and some bale-wire, a fellow can perform major and minor operations on a fliver in the middle of a garageless wilderness and come through all right when better cars are left for the junk department to gather up and salvage." the other two ambulance drivers to whom ruth had been introduced came to the table and finished their suppers, mother gervaise grumblingly dishing up more hot stew for them. "it is for you and such as you i slave and slave," she said. "and what thanks do i get?" "for _la zozotte_ do you work, mother," said one, laughing. "and who would want better thanks than money?" but ruth kissed the woman when she rose to depart. she believed mother gervaise was "tender under her rough skin," as is the saying. the young officers had not come to the table while ruth remained; nor did charlie pay much attention to them. at least, he did not try to introduce them, and ruth was glad of that. there was something wrong. there was a mystery. why should tom cameron's own associates act so oddly when his name was mentioned? she merely bowed to the officers, but shook hands with charlie's brother _ambulanciers_. there seemed to her something very wholesome and fine about these youths who drove the ambulances. they had--most of them--come to france and enlisted in their present employment before the united states got into the war at all. she suspected that many of them were of that class known about their home neighborhoods as "that boy of jones'," or "that jackson kid." in other words, their overflow of animal spirits, or ambition, or whatever it was, had probably made them something of a trial to their neighbors, if not to their families. ruth began to see them in a sort of golden glow of heroism. they were the truer heroes because they denied this designation. charlie grew red and gruff if she as much as suggested that he was doing anything out of the ordinary. yet she knew he had written a book about his first year's experiences and his brother had found a publisher for it in new york. his share of the proceeds from that book was going to the red cross. into the ambulance they climbed, and again they were rolling over the dark and rough road. ruth gathered together all her courage and asked: "do you know anything about tom cameron?" "tom cameron?" "yes," she said. "i want to know what's happened to him, charlie." "for the love of pete!" gasped the young fellow. "i didn't know anything had happened to him--again." "i must know," ruth told him, her voice quivering. "some of those officers belonged to his battalion. _all_ were of his regiment. but when i asked about him they refused to answer." "you don't mean it!" plainly charlie bragg was nonplussed. "i thought they acted funny," he said, with a sudden grin, which she sensed rather than saw. "but i thought it was girlitis. it has a terrible effect upon these fellows that haven't seen a real american girl for so long." "i am serious, charlie," she told him. "something has happened to tom--or about him. it seems to me that those officers were afraid to speak of it. as though there was something--something disgraceful about it!" "oh, say!" murmured charlie. "that's not sense, you know." "of course tom could do nothing disgraceful. but why should those men be afraid to speak of him?" cried the shaken girl. "he can't be wounded again. that can't be it. haven't you heard a word?" she suddenly realized that her companion had grown silent. he made no comment now upon her speech. she waited a full minute before bursting out again: "you _have_ heard something, charlie! something about tom!" "i--i don't know," he muttered. "i didn't know it was tom." "what is it?" she demanded with rising eagerness. "i don't know that it's about cameron _now_," he muttered. "i should hope not." "charlie bragg! do you want to drive me wild?" she demanded, clutching at his arm. "hold on! you'll have us in the ditch," he warned her. "you answer me--at once!" she commanded. "oh--- but what can i say? i don't know anything. i don't believe tom cameron would be tricky--not a bit. and as for selling out to the boches----" "what _do_ you mean?" almost shrieked the girl. "are you crazy, charlie bragg?" "there you go," he grumbled. "i told you i didn't know anything--for sure. but i heard some gossip." "about tom?" "i didn't know it was about tom. and i don't know now. but what you say about how funny those chaps acted----" "_do_ explain!" begged ruth. "come right out with it, charlie." "why, i heard a chap had been accused of giving information to the enemy. yes. one of our own chaps--an american. it's said he met a boche spy on listening post--right out there between the lines. he was seen twice." "not tom?" "no name told when i heard it. first a fellow saw him talking to a figure that stole away toward the german line. this fellow told his top sergeant, and toppy told his captain. they waited and watched. three men saw the same thing happen. they were going to have the blamed traitor up before the brass hats when all of a sudden he disappeared." "who disappeared?" gasped ruth fielding. "this chap they suspect gave information to the boches. he's gone--like that!" "captured?" questioned ruth breathlessly. "or gone over to them," returned charlie, with evident unwillingness. ruth sighed. "but that never could be tom cameron!" "you wouldn't think so," was the reply. "but that's all i can guess that those fellows had in mind when they would not answer you--good gracious, look at that!" he braked madly. the ambulance rocked and came to an abrupt standstill. across the track, scarcely two yards before the nose of the car, had dashed a white object, which, soundlessly, was gone in half a minute--swallowed up in the shadowy field beside the road. "we see it again, ruth," said charlie bragg, with a strange solemnity. "what do you mean?" she demanded, but her voice, too, shook. "the werwolf. that dog--whatever it is. ghost or despatch-bearer, whatever you call it. i got a good sight of it again, miss ruth. didn't _you_?" chapter vii where is tom cameron? that the peasants of the surrounding territory should believe in that old and wicked legend of the werwolf was not to be considered strange. there is not a country in europe where the tale of the human being who can change his form at will to that of a wolf, is not repeated. ruth fielding had come across the superstition--and for the first time in the company of charlie bragg--as she had approached the town of clair to begin her work in that hospital some months before. this same white figure which they had both now glimpsed had crossed the road, flying as it was now toward the trenches. the werwolf, as the superstitious french peasants declared it to be, crossed both to and from the battle line; for it was frequently seen. it was of this mystery henriette dupay had spoken in the library of the chateau that very afternoon. the dupays believed absolutely in the reality of the werwolf. only, they were not of those who connected the "thing" with the lady of the chateau. although ruth fielding had reason to believe that the police authorities trusted the countess marchand and were sure of her loyalty, many of the peasants about the chateau believed that the werwolf was the unfortunate countess herself in diabolical form. and even ruth could not help feeling a qualm, as she saw the fast-disappearing creature--ghost or what-not--that fled into the darkness. "gosh!" murmured the slangy charlie bragg. "enough to give a fellow heart-disease. i thought i was going to run it down." "i wonder," said ruth slowly, as he again started the car, "if it would not have been a good thing if you had run it down." "can't bust up a ghost that way, miss ruth," he returned, beginning to chuckle again. "talk sense, charlie," she urged, forgetting for the moment the subject of the suspicion resting upon tom cameron and giving her mind to this other mystery. "you know, i've an idea this foolishness about a white wolf can be easily explained." "go ahead and explain," he returned. "i'm free to confess it's got me guessing." "i believe it is the big greyhound, bubu, that belongs to the chateau marchand. it is sent on errands to and from the frontier." "canine spy?" chuckled charlie. "i don't know just what he does. but i did think that the old serving woman, bessie, that the countess brought with her from mexico so many years ago, knew all about bubu's escapades. but bessie is not at the chateau now." "oh," said charlie, "she was the woman who went off with those two crooks who helped your friend, mrs. rose mantel, rob the red cross supply department." "not _my_ friend, i should hope!" ruth said sharply, for the matter charlie touched upon was still a tender subject with the girl. her mind dwelt for a moment upon the presence of major henri marchand at the chateau. he was there, and the greyhound, bubu, was running at large again at night. was there not something significant in the two facts? but she said nothing regarding this suspicion to the ambulance driver. instead, she came back to the subject which had occupied their minds previous to the appearance of the white object that had crossed the road. "of course, it is quite ridiculous," she said, "to think of tommy cameron doing anything at all treacherous. i can imagine his doing almost anything reckless, but always on the right side." "some little hero, is he?" chuckled charlie bragg. "i think he is the stuff of which heroes are made--just like yourself, charlie bragg." "oh! i say!" he objected. "now you are getting personal." "then don't try to be funny with me," declared ruth earnestly. "i have too good an opinion of all our well-brought-up american boys--to which class both tom and you belong--to believe that any of them could be made under any conditions to betray their fellows." "oh, as to that!" he admitted. "nor any of our roughnecks, either. we've got a mighty fine army over here, rank and file. deliberately, i doubt if any of them would give information to the heinies. but they do say that when the huns capture a man, if they want information, they don't care what they do to him to get it. the old police third degree isn't a patch on what these boches do." "i am not afraid that even torture would make tom do anything mean," she said, with a little sob. "but these officers back there at that cottage must actually believe that he has gone over to the enemy." "if cameron is the fellow i heard about this morning," charlie said gloomily enough, "it is generally believed that he has been two days beyond the lines--and he didn't _have_ to go." "oh! impossible!" "i'm repeating what i heard. this flurry during the afternoon is an outcome of his disappearance. the german guns caught a train of ammunition camions and smashed things up pretty badly. many tricks like that pulled off will make us mighty short of ammunition in this sector. then heinie can come over the top and do with us just as he pleases. naturally, if the boys believe cameron is at fault, they are going to be as sore on him as a boil." "it would be utterly impossible for tom to do such a thing!" the girl declared with finality. her assurance made the matter no less terrible. ruth had no belief at all in tom's willingly giving himself up to the enemy. had there been a hundred witnesses to see him go, she would have denied the possibility of his being a traitor. but she was very silent during the rest of that wild ride. now and then they were stopped by sentinels and had to show their papers. at least, the red cross girl had to show hers. charlie was pretty well known by everybody in this part of the war zone. they would come to a dugout in the hillside, or a half-hidden hut, and be challenged by a sentinel, or by one of the military police. a pocket lamp would play upon ruth's face, then upon her passport, and the sentinel would grunt, salute, and the car would plunge on again. it seemed to ruth as though this went on for hours. all the time her brain was active with the possibilities surrounding tom cameron's disappearance. what could really have happened to him? should she write to helen in paris, or to his father in america, of the mystery? indeed, would the censor let such news pass? once she had believed tom seriously wounded, and for several days had hunted for him, expecting to find him mutilated. fortunately her expectations at that time had been unfounded. it seemed now, however, as though there could be no doubt but something very dreadful had happened to her friend. added to his peril, too, was this awful suspicion that others seemed to hold regarding tom's faithfulness. it was going to be very hard, indeed, for ruth fielding to keep her mind on her work in the red cross while this uncertainty regarding lieutenant cameron remained. chapter viii the chocolate peddler there was the flash of a lamp ahead. "here we are!" cried charlie bragg, in a tone of relief, bringing the car to a rocking stop. ruth fielding could see but little as she looked out from under the hood of the ambulance. yet she imagined there was a ridge of land behind the compound at the entrance to which they had halted. charlie got out and helped her down. a second man appeared in the gateway of the stockade beside the sentinel. the girl approached with the ambulance driver, who said: "here she is, doc. and a load of stuff she says you'll need. this is miss fielding--and she's a regular good fellow. doctor monteith, miss fielding." "i am glad to see you," the surgeon said warmly, taking the bag from ruth and seizing her cold hand in his warm clasp. "we are very busy here and very short of supplies. our stores were utterly destroyed when----" he did not finish his statement, but ushered her into the compound. there were a few twinkling lights. she saw that there were a number of huts within this enclosure, each being, of course, a ward. they left charlie bragg and an orderly to remove the supplies from the ambulance while the surgeon took ruth to the hut that was to be her own. on the way they passed a crushed and shapeless mass that might once, the girl thought, have been another hut. "is that----?" she asked, pointing. "yes. the shell dropped squarely on it. we got her out from under the wreckage after putting out the fire. she was killed instantly," said the surgeon. "you are not frightened, miss fielding?" "why--yes," she said gravely. "i have, however, been frightened before. we have had night air raids at clair. but, as charlie bragg says, 'i have not been killed yet.'" "that is the way to look at it," he said cheerfully. "it's the only way. back in all our minds is the expectation of sudden death, i suppose. only--if it _is_ sudden! that is what we pray for--if it is to come." "i know," ruth said softly. "but let us keep from thinking of it. who is this lady?" she asked a moment later. "ah!" said the gentlemanly surgeon, seeing the figure in the doorway of the new supply hut. "it is our matron, mrs. strang. a lovely lady. i will leave you to her kindness." he introduced the girl to the elderly woman, who examined ruth with frank curiosity as she entered the hut. "you are a real american, i presume," the woman said, smiling. "i hope so." "not to be frightened by what has happened here already?" "we expect such sad happenings, do we not?" "yes. we must. but this was a terrible thing. they say," the matron observed, "that it was the result of treachery." "oh! you do not mean----?" "they say a man has sold a map of this whole sector to the boches. a _man_--faugh! there are such creatures in all armies. perhaps there are more among our forces than we know of. they say many of foreign blood among the expeditionary force are secretly against the war and are friends of the enemy." "i cannot believe that!" cried ruth. "we are becoming tainted with the fears of the french. because they have found so many spies!" "we will find just as many, perhaps," said mrs. strang, bitterly. "france is a republic and the united states is a republic. does freedom breed traitors, i wonder?" "i guess," ruth said gently, "that we may have been too kind to certain classes of immigrants to the united states. unused to liberty they spell it l-i-c-e-n-s-e." "there are people other than ignorant foreigners who must be watched in these awful times," the matron said bitterly. "there are teachers in our colleges who sneer at patriotism just as they sneer at religion. whisper, miss fielding! i am told that the very man they suspect in this dreadful thing--the american who has sold a map of this sector to the germans--came from one of our foremost colleges, and is an american bred and born." ruth could not speak in answer to this. her heart throbbed painfully in her throat. to so accuse tom cameron of heartless and dastardly treachery! she could not defend him. to defend was to accuse! if everybody believed this awful thing---ruth was just as sure of tom cameron's guiltlessness as she was of her own faithfulness. but how damning the circumstantial evidence must be against him! she was thankful she heard nothing more of this thing that night. charlie and other men brought in the supplies. she could not arrange them then, for she was exhausted. she only waited to lock the door when all the supplies were placed, and then found the hut where the women of the red cross slept. she had here a narrow cot, a locker and chair, and the privacy of a movable screen. nothing else. this was real "soldiering," as she soon found. her experiences at lyse and at clair had been nothing like this. in one town she had lived at a pension, while at the latter hospital she had had her own little cell in the annex. however, the girl of the red mill never thought of complaining. if these other earnest girls and women could stand such rough experiences why not she? she slept and dreamed of home--of the red mill and uncle jabez and aunt alvirah boggs, with her murmured, "oh, my back! and oh, my bones!" she was again a child and roamed the woods and fields along the lumano river with tom cameron and helen. "i wish i were at home! i wish i were at home!" was her waking thought. it was the first time she had whispered that wish since leaving the states. but never before had her heart been so sore and her spirit so depressed. when, some weeks before, she had believed tom cameron seriously wounded, she had been frightened and anxious only. now the whole world seemed to have gone wrong. there was nobody with whom she could confer about this awful trouble. she arose, and, after making her toilet and before breakfast, went out of the hut. she beheld an entirely different looking landscape from that which she was used to about clair. through the gateway of the compound she saw a rutted road, with dun fields beyond. behind, the ridge rose abruptly between the hospital and the battle front. a red-headed young irishman in khaki stood at the gateway, or tramped up and down with his rifle on his shoulder. he could not look at the girl without grinning, and ruth smiled in return. "'tis a broth of a mornin', miss," he whispered, as she drew near. "be you the new lady charlie bra-a-agg brought over last night?" "yes. i am to take the place of the girl who--who----" she faltered and could not go on. the irish lad nodded and blinked rapidly. "bedad!" he muttered. "we'll make the boches pay for that when we go over the top. never fear." he halted abruptly, became preternaturally grave, and presented arms. the young surgeon, dr. monteith, who had met ruth the night before, tramped in from a morning walk. "good morning, miss fielding. did you sleep?" she confessed that she did. he smiled, but there was a deep crease between his eyes. "i am glad you are up betimes. we need some of your supplies. can i send the orderlies with the schedule soon?" "oh, yes! i will try to be ready in half an hour," she cried, turning quickly toward the hut, of which she carried the key. "wait! wait!" he called. "no such hurry as all that. you have not breakfasted, i imagine? well, never neglect your food. it is vital. i shall not send to you until half-past eight." he saluted and went on. ruth went to the hut in which the nurses messed. the night shift had just come in and she found them a pleasant, if serious, lot of women. and of all nationalities by blood--truly american! there was an air about the nurses in the field hospital different from those she had met in institutions farther back from the battle line. there were serious girls there, but there was always a spatter of irresponsibles as well. here the nurses were like soldiers--and soldiers in active and dangerous service. there was a marked reserve about them and an expression of countenance that reminded ruth of some of the nuns she had seen at home--a serenity that seemed to announce that they had given over worldly thoughts and that their minds were fixed upon higher things. there was a hushed way of speaking, too, that impressed ruth. it was as though they listened all the time for something. was it for the whine of the shells that sometimes came over the ridge and dropped perilously near the hospital? as the day went on, however, the girl found that there was considerably more cheerfulness and light-heartedness in and about the hospital than she supposed would be found here. having straightened out her own hut and supplied the various wards with what they needed for the day, she went about, getting acquainted. it was a large hospital and there were many huts. in each of these shelters were from two dozen to forty patients. a nurse and an orderly took care of each hut, with a night attendant. everybody was busy. there were many visitors, too--visitors of all kinds and for all imaginary reasons. people came in automobiles; these had passes from military authorities to see and bring comforts to the wounded. and there were more modest visitors who came on foot and brought baskets of jams and jellies and cakes and home-made luxuries that were eagerly welcomed by the wounded. for soldiers everywhere--whether well or ill--develop a sweet tooth. into the compound about midafternoon ruth saw a tall figure slouch with a basket on his arm. it had begun to drizzle, as it so often does during the winter in northern france, and this man wore a bedrabbled cloak--a brigandish-looking cloak--over his blue smock. she had never seen such a figure before; and yet, there was something about the man that seemed familiar to the keen-eyed girl. "who is he?" she asked a nurse standing with her at the door of a ward, and pointing to the man slouching along with his basket across the open way. "oh, that? it is nicko, the chocolate peddler," said the nurse carelessly. "a harmless fellow. not quite right--here," and she tapped her own forehead significantly. "you understand? they say he lived here when first the boches used their nasty gas, and he was caught in a cellar where a gas bomb exploded, and it affected his brain. it does that sometimes, you know," she added sadly. ruth's eyes had followed the chocolate seller intently. around a corner of a hut swung the surgeon, who was already the girl's friend. he all but ran against the slouching figure, and he spoke sharply to the man. for an instant the chocolate peddler straightened. he stood, indeed, in a very soldierly fashion. then, as the quick-tempered surgeon strode on, nicko bowed. he bowed from the hips--and ruth gasped as she saw the obeisance. only yesterday she had seen a man bow in that same way! chapter ix cot 24--hut h the guns on the battle front had been silent for twenty-four hours; but there were whispers of the yankees "getting back" at the heinies in return for the outbreak of german gunfire which had startled ruth fielding the afternoon she had taken tea at the chateau marchand. the outbreak of the new attack--this time from the american side--began about nine o'clock at night. a barrage was laid down, behind which, ruth learned, several raiding parties would go over. just the method of this advance across no man's land ruth did not understand. but all the time the guns were roaring back and forth (for, of course, the germans quickly replied) she knew the american boys were in peril all along that sector. that was a bad night for ruth. she lay in her cot awake, but with her eyes closed, breathing deeply and regularly so that those about her thought she was asleep. in the morning the matron said: "you are really quite wonderful, miss fielding, to sleep through all that. i wish i could do the same." and all night long ruth had been praying--praying for the safety of the boys that had gone over the top, not for herself. that she was in danger did not greatly trouble her. she thought of the soldiers. she thought particularly of tom cameron--wherever he might be! the flurry of gunfire was over by dawn. after breakfast ruth went down to the gate. she had heard the ambulances rolling in for hours, and now she saw the stretcher-bearers stumbling into the receiving ward with the broken men. here they were operated upon, when necessary, and sorted out--the _grands blessã©s_ sent to the more difficult wards, the less seriously wounded to others. curiosity did not bring ruth to the gate. it was in the hope of seeing charlie bragg that she went there. nor was she disappointed. his shaky old car rolled up with three men under the canvas and one with a bandaged arm sitting on the seat beside him. charlie was pale and haggard. half the top of the ambulance had been shot away since she had ridden in it, and the boy had roughly repaired the damage with a blanket. but he nodded to ruth with his old cheerful grin. nothing could entirely quench charlie bragg. "got tipped over and holed up in a marmite cave for a couple of hours during the worst of it last night," he told ruth. "never mind. it gave me another chapter for my new book. surely! i'm going to write a second one. they all do, you know. you rather get the habit." "but, charlie! is--is there any news?" she asked him, with shaking voice and eyes that told much of her anxiety. he knew well what she meant, and he looked grim enough for a minute, and nodded. "yes. a little." "oh, charlie! they--they haven't found him?" "no. maybe they'd better _not_," breathed the boy, shaking his head. "i don't think there's any hope, miss ruth." "oh, charlie! he's not _dead_?" "better be," muttered the boy. "i wouldn't ask if i were you. it looks bad for him--everybody says so." "you know him, charlie bragg!" she burst out angrily. "can _you_ believe tom cameron would do such a wicked thing as this they accuse him of?" "we-ell. i don't want to believe it," he agreed. "but, look here!" and in desperation he pulled something from his pocket. "you know that, don't you?" "why! tom's matchbox!" cried the girl, taking the silver box and seeing the initials of the lost soldier on the case. she had had it engraved herself--and helen had paid for the box. they had given it to tom when he went to harvard for his freshman course. "of course. i've seen him use it, too," charlie bragg hurried to say. "i knew it and begged it of the fellow who found it." "where did he find it?" "you know, some of our boys went across and visited the heinies last night," charlie said gently. "they got right into the german trenches and drove out the heinies. and in a german dugout--before they blew it up with bombs--this chap i talked with picked up that box." "oh, charlie!" gasped the girl. "yes. he didn't see the significance of the monogram. he didn't know mr. cameron personally, i think. he was slightly wounded and i helped him with first aid. he gave the box to me as a german souvenir," and the driver of the ambulance looked grim. "then they surely have got poor tom!" whispered ruth. "at least, it looks as though he went over that way," agreed the boy sadly. "don't speak so, charlie!" she cried. "i tell you he has been taken prisoner." "we-ell," drawled her friend again, "we can't know about that." "but we _will_ know!" she said, with added vehemence. "it will all come out in time. only--it will be too late to help poor tom, then." "gosh!" groaned charlie bragg. "it's too late to help him now--if you should ask me!" ruth had nobody to talk to about tom cameron save the young ambulance driver. and him she could see but seldom. for fear of having to explain to her chum, she could not write to helen cameron, who was in paris. just now, too, she was too busy for letter writing. mrs. strang found a girl to help ruth in the supply hut, one who was willing and able to learn all about the merchandise under ruth's care. the latter was not asked to remain at this hospital outpost for long. her place was at clair, and, until the red cross directors deliberately changed her, ruth must give her first thought to the clair supply headquarters. she saw, however, that she would be several days at this field hospital. she had been glad to come in hope of learning something about tom. now she saw that she was doomed to disappointment. this locality was the last place in which to search for news of the lost lieutenant. everybody here (everybody who spoke of the matter at all) believed that tom cameron had played the traitor and, for money or some other unexplained reason, had gone over to the enemy. "as though poor tom could even dream of such a thing!" she thought. she must keep her opinion to herself. she was too wise to start any argument on the affair. it might be, if she kept still, that she would learn something of significance that would lead to an explanation of the terrible event. what she personally could do to save tom's reputation she did not even imagine at the time. nevertheless, there might be some chance of doing him a good turn. as for his personal safety, she had lost all hope of that. she believed he had been captured by the germans, and she had heard too many stories of their treatment of prisoners to hope that he would escape injury and actual torture. it was said that the enemy would treat the first americans captured with particular harshness, in hope of "frightening the yankees." she knew that the advancing canadians had found their captured brothers crucified on barn doors in the early months of the war. why should the yankees expect better treatment from the huns? with this load of anxiety and fear upon her heart, ruth still found time for interest in what went on about her. she was an observant girl. and, as ever, her sympathies were touched in behalf of the wounded. although the american red cross had taken over this field hospital, most of the wounded were frenchmen. she was glad to see so many visitors daily bringing comforts for the men; but of all those who came she noted particularly the peculiar-looking nicko, the chocolate vender. daily he came, and ruth always observed both his comings and goings. never did he fail to go into a particular ward--one of those in which the more seriously wounded patients lay--hut h. she sometimes saw him going through the aisles at his funny, wabbling gait, offering his wares to the soldiers. the latter jeered at him, or joked with him, as their mood was. he wore an old battered hat, the brim of which flopped over his face and half masked his features. one afternoon ruth met the strange fellow at the door of hut h. she was going out as he was coming in. the man backed away from her, mumbling. she threw a coin into his basket and took a small package of chocolate. "_bien obligã©, mademoiselle_!" he was startled into saying, and bowed to her. it was not the stiff, martial bow she had before noted, but the sweeping, ingratiating bow of the frenchman. ruth walked on, but she was startled. finally she turned swiftly and went back to the door of hut h. the nurse on duty had just come from the end of the ward. over her shoulder ruth saw nicko halt beside one of the cots far down the line. "who is that nicko converses with?" ruth asked idly. "oh, his friend, the boche. didn't you know we had a german officer with us? cot 24. not a bad fellow at all. yes, nicko never fails to sell our boche friend chocolate. he is a regular customer." "cot 24--hut h," ruth repeated in her own mind. she would not forget that. and yet--did it mean anything? was there something wrong with nicko, the chocolate peddler? chapter x devouring suspicion she had been at the field hospital for a week. it seemed to ruth fielding at last as though she could not remain "holed up" like a rabbit any longer. at clair she had been used to going out of the hospital when she liked and going anywhere she pleased. here she found it was necessary to have a pass even to step out of the hospital compound. "and be careful where you walk, miss fielding," said dr. monteith, as he signed her pass. "do not go toward the battle front. if you do you may be halted." "halted!" repeated ruth, not quite understanding. "and perhaps suspected," he said, nodding gravely. "even your red cross will not save you." "oh, dear me!" exclaimed the girl. "is everybody suspected of spying? i think it has become a craze." "we do not know whom to suspect," he said. "our closest friends may be enemies. we cannot tell." "but, doctor monteith, who are in this district save our soldiers and the french inhabitants?" asked ruth. "true. but there may be a traitor among us. indeed, it is believed that there has been," and ruth winced and looked away from him. "as for our allies here--well, all of them may not be above earning german gold. and they would think it was not as though they were betraying their own countrymen. there are only united states soldiers in this sector now, as you say, miss fielding." "i cannot imagine people being so wicked," sighed the girl. "no matter how it is done, or who does it, the enemy is getting information about our troops and condition, as the last two attacks have proved. so take care where you go, miss fielding, and what you do," he added earnestly. she promised, and went away with her pass. it was late afternoon and her duties were over for the day. she would not be needed at the supply hut until morning. and, indeed, the girl she was breaking in was already mastering the details of the work. ruth could soon go back to her own work at clair. she walked nimbly out of the compound gate, making sure that she was following a road that led away from the front. nobody halted her. indeed, she was soon passing through a little valley that seemed as peaceful and quiet as though there was no such thing as war in the world. the path she followed was plainly but a farm track. it wound between narrow fields that had not been plowed the season before--not even by cannon-shot. somehow the big shells had flown over this little valley. the sun was setting, and the strip of western sky above the hills was tinged with his golden glories. already pale twilight lay in the valley. but in this latitude the twilight would long remain. she did not hasten her steps, nor did she soon turn back toward the field hospital. she saw a cottage half hidden behind a hedge of evergreens. it stood in a small square of muddy garden. there was a figure at work in this patch--the tall, stoop-shouldered figure of a man. he was digging parsnips that had been left out for the frost to sweeten. he used the mattock slowly and methodically. with the cottage as a background, and the muddy bit of garden, the picture he made was typical of the country and the people who inhabited it. suddenly she realized that she recognized the ragged blue smock and the old droop-brimmed hat he wore. it was nicko, the chocolate vender. this must be his place of abode. ruth hesitated. she had felt some shrinking from the man before; now she realized she was afraid of him. he had not seen her and she stood back and watched him. of a sudden another man appeared from around the corner of the cottage. ruth was more than glad, then, that she had not shown herself. she turned to retrace her steps. then she looked again at this new figure in the picture. she almost spoke aloud in her amazement. the newcomer was dressed exactly as nicko was dressed--the same blue and ragged smock, shapeless trousers, wooden shoes, and with a hat the twin of the one the first nicko wore. indeed, it was a second nicko who stood there in the bit of garden before the laborer's cot. but amazement and suspicion did not hold her to the spot for long. she did not wish to be discovered by the pair. she was confident now that there was something altogether wrong with nicko the chocolate peddler--and his double! out of view of the cottage she hurried her steps. through the gloaming she sped up the path in the valley toward the high-road on which faced the hospital stockade. her thoughts were in a tangle of doubt. yet one clear thread of determination she held. she must give her confidence to somebody--she must relate her suspicions to some person who was in authority. not the medical chief of staff at this field hospital. nor did she wish to go to the commanding officer of this sector, whoever he might be. indeed, she almost feared to talk with any american officer, for tom cameron seemed to be entangled in this web of deceit and treachery into which she believed she had gained a look. there was a man whom she could trust, however; one who would know exactly what to do, she felt sure. and it would be his business to examine into the mystery. the moment she returned to clair ruth would get into communication with this individual. thus thinking, she hurried on and had almost reached the highway when something made her look back. not a sound; for even the sleepy birds had stopped twittering and there was no rustle of night wind in the bare shrubbery about her. but mysteriously she was forced to turn her head. she looked down the path over which her feet had sped from the laborer's cot. there was something behind her! ruth did not scream. a form came up the track swiftly and at first she saw it so indistinctly that she had no idea what it really was. had she been spied by the men in the garden, and was one of them following her? she trembled so that she could not walk. she crouched back against the hedge, watching fearfully the on-rush of the phantom-like apparition coming so swiftly up the path. chapter xi the flying man while yet the silent figure was some rods away ruth fielding realized that it was no human being. it was not one of the men she had seen in the garden of nicko's cottage. this creature came too swiftly up the path and skimmed the ground too closely. a light-colored object--swift, silent and threatening of aspect. the girl shrank against the hedge, and the next instant--with a rush of passage that stirred the air all about her--the thing was gone! it was again that strange and incomprehensible apparition of the werwolf! if it was bubu, the greyhound she had seen at the chateau marchand, he was much lighter in color than when he appeared pacing beside his mistress on the chateau lawns. the phantom had dashed past so rapidly that, in the gathering dusk, ruth could make out little of its real appearance. headed toward the battle lines, it had disappeared within seconds. the girl, her limbs still trembling, followed in haste to the highway. already the creature had been swallowed up in the shadows. she went on toward the hospital gateway and had scarcely recovered her self-control when she arrived there. altogether, her evening's experience had been most disconcerting. the two men, dressed alike and apparently of the same height and shambling manner, whom she had seen in nicko's garden, worried her quite as much--indeed, worried her even more than the sight of the mysterious creature the peasants called the werwolf. more than ever was she determined to take into her confidence somebody who would be able to explain the mystery of it all. at least, he would be able to judge if what made her so anxious was of moment. and tom cameron's disappearance, too! ruth's worry of mind regarding her old friend propped her eyes open that night. in the morning she went over the stock shelves again with the girl she had trained, and finally announced to mrs. strang that she felt she must return to clair. after all, she had been assigned to the job there and must not desert it. an ambulance was going down to clair with its burden of wounded men, and ruth was assigned to the seat beside the driver. he chanced to be "cub" holdness, one of the ambulance drivers to whom ruth had been introduced by charlie bragg at mother gervaise's cottage the night of her trip up to the field hospital. holdness was plainly delighted to have the girl with him for the drive to clair. he was a philadelphia boy, and he confessed to having had no chance to drive a girl--even in an ambulance--since coming over. "i had one of those 'reckless roadsters' back home," he sighed. "dad said every time his telephone rang he expected it was me calling from some outlying police station for him to come and bail me out for overspeeding. "and there was a bunch of girls i knew who were just crazy to have me take 'em for a spin out around fairmount park and along the speedways. just think, miss fielding, of the difference between those times and these," and he nodded solemnly. "i should say there was a difference," laughed ruth, trying to appear in good spirits. "don't you get dreadfully tired of all these awful sights and sounds?" "no. excitement keeps us keyed up, i guess," he replied. "you know, there is almost always something doing." "i should say there was!" she saw that while he talked he did not for a moment forget that he was driving three sorely wounded men. he eased the ambulance over the rough parts of the road and around the sharp turns with infinite skill. it was actually wonderful how smoothly the ambulance ran. occasionally they were caught in a tight corner and the machine jounced so that moans of agony were wrung from the lips of the wounded behind them on the stretchers. this, however, occurred but seldom. once one of the men begged for water--water to drink and its coolness on his head. they were passing a trickling stream that looked clear and refreshing. "let me get out a moment and get him some," begged ruth. "can't do it. against orders. we're commanded not to taste water from any stream, spring, or well in this sector--let alone give it to the wounded. nobody knows when the water is poisoned." "but the germans have been gone from this district so long now!" she cried. "they may have their spies here. in fact," grumbled holdness, "we are sure they do have friends in the sector." "oh!" "you know that devil corner charlie bragg drove you past the other night? the shells have torn that all to pieces. we have to go fully two miles around by another road to get to clair. we don't pass mother gervaise's place any more." ruth looked at him sadly but questioningly. "do you believe that story they tell about one of our young officers having gone over to the enemy?" she asked. holdness flushed vividly. "i didn't know him. i've got no opinion on the matter, miss fielding," he said. "but somebody has mapped out the whole sector for the huns--and it has cost lives, and ammunition. you can't blame folks for being suspicious." the answer quenched her conversation. ruth scarcely spoke again during the remainder of the journey. they welcomed her in most friendly fashion at the clair hospital. but the first thing she did after depositing her bag in her cell was to go to the telegraph office and put before the military censor the following message addressed to the prefect of police at lyse, "will you please communicate with m. lafrane. i have something of importance to tell him." she signed her name and occupation in full to this, and was finally assured that it would be sent. m. lafrane was of the secret police, and ruth fielding had been in communication with him on a previous occasion. several days passed with no reply from her communication to the police. nor did any news reach her from the field hospital where she had been engaged, nor from her friends at the front. indeed, those working near the battle lines really know less of what is being done in this war than civilians in america, for instance. almost every night the guns thundered, and it was reported that the americans were making sorties into the german lines and bearing back both prisoners and plunder. but just what was being accomplished ruth fielding had no means of knowing. not having seen or heard from henriette dupay since her return, early in the following week ruth started out to walk briskly to the dupay farm one afternoon. of late the aeroplanes had become very numerous over this sector. they were, for the most part, american machines. but this afternoon she chanced to see one of the french nieuports at close quarters. these are the scouting, or battle planes, and carry but two men and a machine gun. she heard the motor some moments before seeing the aeroplane rise over the tree tops. she knew it must have leaped from a large field on this side of the dupay farm and not far below the gateway of the chateau marchand. ruth stopped to gaze upward at the soaring airplane. her figure stood out plainly in the country road and the two men aboard the nieuport must have immediately spied her. the machine dipped and scaled downward until she could have thrown a stone upward and hit it. one of the men--masked and helmeted as the flying men always are--leaned from his seat, and she saw him looking down upon her through the tangle of stay-wires. then he dropped a small white object that fell like a plummet at her feet! "what in the world can that be?" murmured the girl to herself. for a breath she was frightened. although the aeroplane carried the french insignia it might be an enemy machine. she, too, was obsessed with the fear of spies! but the object that fell was not an explosive bomb. it was a weighted ball of oiled silk. as the machine soared again and rapidly rose to the upper air levels, the girl picked up the strange object and burst it open. the lead pellets that weighted the globe were scattered on the ground. within there was nothing else but a strip of heavy document paper. on this was traced in a handwriting she knew well, this unsigned message: "don't believe everything you hear." it was tom cameron's handwriting--and ruth knew that the message was meant for her eye and her eye only! chapter xii aunt abelard of course nothing just like this ever happened save in a fairy story--or in real life. the paper without address, but meant only for ruth fielding, had fallen from the aeroplane. she had seen it fall at her feet and could not be mistaken. who the two men in the french nieuport were she could not know. masked and hooded as they were, she could distinguish the features of neither the pilot nor the man who had dropped the paper bomb. but--she was sure of this--they were somehow in communication with tom cameron. and tom cameron was supposed to have gone across the lines to the germans, or--as ruth believed--had been captured by them. yet, if he was a captive, how had he been able to send her this message? again, how did he know she was worried about him? he must have reason to suspect that a story was being circulated regarding his unfaithfulness. who were those two flying men? were they german spies? had tom been a prisoner in the hands of the huns, would spies have brought this word from him to her? and how--and how--and how----? her queries and surmises were utterly unanswerable. she turned the bit of paper over and over in her fingers. she could not be mistaken about tom's handwriting. he had penciled those words. it was true, any friend of tom's who knew his handwriting and might have picked up the loaded paper bomb, would have considered the written line a personal message. "don't believe everything you hear." but, then, what friends had tom in this sector of the battle front save his military associates and ruth fielding? the girl never for one moment considered that the written line might have been meant for anybody but herself. and she did with it the very wisest thing she could have done. she tore the paper into the tiniest of bits, and, as she continued her walk to the dupay farm, she dribbled the scraps along the grassy road. she began to have a faint and misty idea of what it all meant--tom's disappearance, the general belief among his comrades that he was a traitor, and this communication which had reached her hands in seemingly so wonderful a manner. tom cameron had been selected for some dangerous and secret mission. it might have occasioned his entrance through the enemy's lines. he was on secret service beyond the great bombarding german guns! if this was so he was in extreme peril! but he was doing his duty! ruth's heart throbbed to the thought--to _both_ thoughts! his dangerous work was not done yet. but it was very evident that he had means of knowing what went on upon this side of the line of battle. the men recently flying over her head in the french air machine must be comrades of tom's in the secret mission which had carried that young fellow into the enemy's country. the message she had received might be only one of several the flying men had dropped about clair, and at the request of tom cameron, the latter hoping that at least one of them would reach ruth's hands. the girl knew that american and french flying men often carried communications addressed to the german people into germany, and dropped them in similar "bombs." one of the president's addresses had been circulated through a part of germany and austria by this means. she had a feeling, too, that the man who had thrown the message to her knew her. but ruth could not imagine who he was. she might have believed it to be tom cameron himself; only she knew very well that tom had not joined the air service. the incident, however, heartened her. whatever tom was doing--no matter how perilous his situation--he had thought of her. she had an idea that the message had been written within a few hours. she went on more cheerfully toward the dupay farm. she arrived amidst a clamor of children and fowls, to find the adult members of the family gathered in the big living-room of the farmhouse instead of occupied, as usual, about the indoor and outdoor work. for the dupays were no sluggards. "oh, mademoiselle ruth!" cried henriette, and ran to meet her. the french girl's plump cheeks were tear-streaked and ruth instantly saw that not only the girl but the whole family was much disturbed. "what has happened?" the american girl asked. in these days of war almost any imaginable thing might happen. "it is poor old aunt abelard!" henriette exclaimed in her own tongue. "she must remove from her old home at nacon." ruth knew that the place was a little village (and villages can be small, indeed, in france) between clair and the field hospital where she had herself been for a week, but on another road than that by which she had traveled. "it is too near the battle line," she said to henriette. "don't you think she should have moved long ago?" "but the germans left it intact," henriette declared. "she is very comfortable there. she does not wish to leave. oh, mademoiselle ruth! could you not speak to some of your gr-r-reat, gr-r-reat, brave american officers and have it stopped?" "have _what_ stopped?" cried ruth in amazement. "aunt abelard's removal." "are the americans making her leave her home?" "it is so!" henriette declared. "it is undoubtedly necessary then," returned ruth gently. "it is not understood. if she could remain there throughout the german invasion, and was undisturbed by our own army, why should these americans plague her?" henriette spoke with some heat, and ruth saw that her mother and the grandmother were listening. their faces did not express their usual cheerful welcome with which ruth had become familiar. aunt abelard's trouble made a difference in their feeling toward the americans, that was plain. nor was this to be wondered at. the french farmer is as deeply rooted in his soil as the great trees of the french forests. that is why their treatment by the german invader and the ruin of their farms have been so great a cross for them to shoulder. ruth learned that aunt abelard--an aunt of farmer dupay, and a widow--had lived upon her little place since her marriage over half a century before. without her little garden and her small fields, and her cow and pig and chickens, she would scarcely know how to live. and to be uprooted and carried to some other place! it was unthinkable! "it is fierce!" said henriette in good american, having learned that much from charlie bragg. "i am sure there must be good reason for it," ruth said. "i will inquire. if there is any possibility of her remaining without being in danger----" "what danger?" demanded madame dupay, clicking her tongue. "do these countrymen of yours intend to let the boches overrun our country again? _our_ poilus drove them back and kept them back." ruth saw she could say nothing to appease the rising wrath of the family. she was rather sorry she had chanced to come upon this day of ill-tidings. "of course she will come here?" she asked henriette. "where else can she go?" "will your father go after her in the automobile?" "what?" gasped henriette. "that is of the devil's concoction, so thinks poor aunt abelard. she will not ride in it. and my father is busy. let the yankees bring her--and her goods--if they desire to remove her from her own abode." ruth could say nothing to soothe either her little friend nor the other members of the family. they could not understand why aunt abelard must be removed from her place; nor did ruth understand. she was convinced, however, that there must be something of importance afoot in this sector, and that aunt abelard's removal from her little cottage was a necessity. the american troops in france were not deliberately making enemies among the farming people. henriette walked for some distance toward the hospital when ruth went back; but the french girl was gloomy and had little to say to her american friend. when ruth reached the hospital and was ascending to her cell at the back, the matron came hurrying through the corridor to meet her. she was plainly excited. "mademoiselle fielding!" she cried. "you have a visitor. in the office. go to him at once, my dear. it is monsieur lafrane." chapter xiii an unexpected meeting monsieur lafrane ruth could count as one of her friends. not many months before she had enabled the secret service man to solve a criminal problem and arrest several of the criminals engaged in a conspiracy against the red cross. she had not been sure that he would so quickly respond to her telegram to the elderly prefect of police at lyse, who was likewise her friend and respectful admirer. this secret agent was a lean man of dark complexion. his manner was cordial when he rose to greet her. she knew that he was a very busy man and that he had responded personally to her appeal because he took a deeper interest in her than in most people aside from those whose acts it was his duty to investigate. they were alone in the small office of the hospital. he said crisply and in excellent english: "mademoiselle has need of me?" "i have something to tell you, monsieur--something that i think may be of importance. yet, as we americans say, i may be merely stirring up a mare's nest." "ah, i understand the reference," he said, smiling. "let me be the judge of the value of what you tell me, mademoiselle. proceed." swiftly she told him of her visit to the field hospital so much nearer the battle line than this quiet institution at clair, and, in addition, told him of nicko, the chocolate peddler, and his dual appearance. "there are two of the men. they dress exactly alike. i was suspicious of the peddler the very first time i saw him. no frenchman--not even a french soldier--bows as i saw him bow." "ha!" ejaculated the secret agent. "he bows from the hips--the bow of a german military man. i--i have seen them bow before," ruth hesitated, remembering major henri marchand. "you understand?" "but, yes, mademoiselle," said the frenchman, his eyes flashing. "then," she went on, "i saw the man--or supposedly the same man--a second time. he bowed very differently--just as an ordinary humble french peasant might bow." "could it not be that he forgot the second time you saw him?" queried m. lafrane. "i doubt it. there is something quite distinct in the air of the two men. but i understand that whichever comes to the hospital with the basket of sweets always has a word with the german officer in hut h, cot twenty-four. you can easily find out about him." "true," murmured the secret agent eagerly. then she told him of her walk in the gloaming and what she had seen in the garden of the peasant's cot--the two men dressed exactly alike. one must be the half-foolish nicko; the other must be the spy. m. lafrane nodded eagerly again, pursing his lips. "mademoiselle," he said quietly, "i will ask the good madame if you may be relieved for the day. i have a car outside--a swift car. can you show me that cottage--nicko's dwelling? i will bring you back immediately." "of a surety," she told him in his own tongue, as he had spoken. "wait. i will get my hat and coat. i may not know the nearest way to the place. but----" "i am familiar with this territory," he said dryly. "we can strike it, i have no doubt, mademoiselle. but i need you to verify the place and--perhaps--to identify the man." "not the spy?" she gasped. "nicko, the peddler." "i see. i will be with you in the courtyard at once, monsieur." when she came out he was ready to step into a two-seated roadster, hung low and painted a battleship gray. a man in uniform on the front seat drove. ruth got in, was followed by the secret agent, and they started. she had much more in her heart and mind; but she doubted the advisability of telling m. lafrane. there was what she suspected about major henri marchand. could she turn suspicion toward the son of her good friend, the countess? and his brother who, it was said, had run away? ruth felt that she had already told much that might cause the major trouble. she did not know. she only suspected. as for tom cameron's trouble--and the mystery surrounding him--she did not feel that she could speak to the secret agent about that. tom's affairs could have nothing to do with the work of this french criminal investigator. no. she hugged to her heart all her anxiety regarding tom. as soon as they left the hospital courtyard ruth found that she was traveling with a chauffeur beside whom charlie bragg's reckless driving was tame indeed. besides, charlie's lame car could not arrive at such speed as this racing type of automobile was capable of. by looking over the back of the front seat she obtained a glimpse of the speedometer, and saw the indicator traveling from sixty to seventy. after that she did not wish to look again. she did not want to know if they traveled faster. the road over which they went was strange to ruth fielding. it was by a much shorter way charlie bragg had taken her to the field hospital, and over which she had returned. they began before long to meet farmers' wagons, piled high with household goods, on which sat the strange, sad-eyed children of the war zone, or decrepit old people, often surrounded by their fowls. for even the poorest and most destitute of the french peasants manage to have "poulets." the processions of moving people amazed ruth. she remembered what the dupays had said about aunt abelard, and she began to see that there was a general exodus being forced from the country nearer the front in this sector. it was a fact that the people did not look happy. now and then one of the american military police walked beside a wagon, as though he had been sent on with the movers to make sure that they kept moving. the girl asked m. lafrane nothing about this exodus. perhaps he knew no more the reason for it than ruth did. they came to a little dale between hills at last, and in this place stood a cottage and barns--a tiny homestead, but very neat, and one that had been unmarred by the enemy. there were even fruit trees standing. there was a huge wagon before the door, and into it must go the household goods and the family as well--if there was a family. it seemed that the wagon had just arrived, and the american soldiers with it scarcely knew what to do in this case. there was nothing packed, ready for removal, and an old woman--the only person about the farmstead--was busy feeding her flock of chickens. "you must come, _vite_, tante," ruth heard the corporal in charge of the squad say to the old woman. the automobile had stopped, for the road was too narrow for it to pass the wagon. the old woman seemed to understand the american's mixture of english and french. she shook her head with emphasis. "but i cannot leave my pullets," she said, aghast. "they will starve. you will go along, you americans, and leave me alone." "you must come; tante," repeated the corporal, inflexibly. "you should have prepared for this. you were warned in time." then to his men: "go in, boys, and bring out her goods. careful, now. don't mess anything up." "you cannot take my things. your cart is already full," shrilled the old woman. "and my pullets!" the american soldiers entered the cottage. between her anger at them and her fear for the safety of her chickens, the old woman was in a pitiful state, indeed. ruth looked at m. lafrane. "oh, can we not do anything for her?" she asked. "military law knows no change--the laws of the medes and persians," he said grimly. "she must go, of course----" suddenly he sat up more stiffly beside the american girl and his hand went to his cap in salute. he even rose, and, before ruth looked around and spied the occasion for this, she knew it must foretell the approach of an officer of importance. coming along the road (he had been sheltered from her gaze before by the laden wagon) was a french officer in a very brilliant uniform. ruth gasped aloud; she knew him at a glance. it was major henri marchand, in the full panoply of a dress uniform, although he was on foot. he acknowledged m. lafrane's salute carelessly and did not see the girl at all. he walked directly into the yard surrounding the cottage. the corporal of the american squad was saying: "i am sorry for you, _ma mã¨re_. but we cannot wait now. you should have been ready for us. you have had forty-eight hours' notice." the old countrywoman was quite enraged. she began to vilify the americans most abominably. ruth suddenly heard her say that the abelards had been rooted here for generations. she refused to go for all the soldiers in the world! then she shrieked again as she saw the men bringing out her best bed. major marchand took a hand in the matter. "_tante_," he said quietly, "i am sorry for you. but these men are in the right. the high authorities have said you must go. all your neighbors are going. it is for _la patrie_. these are bitter times and we must all make sacrifices. come, now, you must depart." ruth wondered at his quiet, yet forceful, manner. the corporal stood back, thankful to have the disagreeable duty taken out of his hands. and the american girl wondered, too, at the respect monsieur lafrane had shown this french officer. had he saluted the uniform, or was major marchand a very important personage? her brain was in a whirl of doubt. chapter xiv more sacrifices than one monsieur lafrane had stepped out of the automobile, although the wagon had now been backed so that the car could have easily passed. its engine was still throbbing. ruth fielding was giving her full attention to the little scene at the hencoop. the tall, handsome major in his beautiful uniform made little impression upon the old woman. she backed away from him, pressing closer to the lathe coop. "no, no! i will not come. my pullets--they will starve," she reiterated endlessly. "but the germans may be coming," the major said patiently. "they will kill your pullets and eat them." "they did not do so before when they came," she shrieked. "i do not believe they are coming. these wicked americans want my pullets. _that_ is what it is! i will not!" "tante----" the major interposed gently. "i will not, i tell you!" she interrupted. she had backed up against the gate of the coop and had been fiddling behind her at its fastenings. now, quick as a wink, she snatched the gate open and, with wonderful celerity for one of her age, plunged into the hencoop and slammed to the door. there was a tumultuous flapping and cackling of the bewildered poultry, and the air inside the coop was immediately filled with dust and feathers. then the chaos subsided and the old woman looked out defiantly at the major and at the half-amused, half-pitying soldier boys. the major's shrug was characteristic. he turned to look at the spectators, and ruth saw that his eyes were moist. his pity for the unfortunate old woman and his kindness to her had its effect upon the american girl. she wondered what manner of man, after all, this frenchman could be. major marchand said something in a low voice to the american corporal. the latter gave an order to his men. they surrounded the coop, and suddenly, at the word, the corners were torn apart and the walls of the enclosure thrown down. aunt abelard shrieked--and so did the pullets. many of the latter were caught on the wing by the soldiers. the major put his arm about the old woman's shoulders. she was shrieking insanely, but he led her into the house and there remained while most of the pullets were decapitated swiftly and thrown aside, to be later carried to the field kitchens. but when the tearful old woman was brought out with the last of her possessions and bundled into the rear of the now loaded wagon, the american corporal came with a pair of the nicest pullets, their legs tied together, and placed them in the old woman's lap along with the bird-cage one of the boys lifted up to her. ruth, watching closely, saw major marchand draw the corporal aside and place a couple of twenty-franc notes in his hand, nodding toward the old woman. it was to recompense her for the pullets, over whose untimely fate she was still moaning. the mystery of the major--or his character and what and who he really was--disturbed ruth. she was excited. should she tell monsieur lafrane of her suspicion that this officer of the french army was the man whom she thought was nicko's double? for it was major henri marchand ruth believed she had seen enter nicko's garden and talk with him the evening before she left the field hospital to return to clair. the major walked quietly away without even seeing ruth. the chauffeur of their car, after a nod from lafrane, started again. they passed the wagon, which was already trundling down the road. this cot was the last one at which ruth saw anybody during that ride. for when they reached the hut of nicko, the chocolate peddler, his place was likewise deserted. there were no neighboring houses. lafrane got out at nicko's cottage and searched the premises. his face was grave when he came back to the car and told the chauffeur to hurry on to the hospital. here ruth was amazed to see many american soldiers at work. they were piling sandbags about the various huts and over their roofs. she understood now why the people were being entirely cleared out of this sector. a great bombardment was expected. ruth did not get out of the car. m. lafrane ran in, and, through the open gateway, she saw that he entered hut h. he had gone to take a look at the occupant of cot 24--the german officer. he was occupied within some time and when he appeared at the door of the hut dr. monteith was with him. the two stood talking for a while before the secret agent returned to the gate. he got into the car again with just a word to his chauffeur. "mademoiselle," said m. lafrane, his face serious, indeed, "there are many disappointments in life, as well as many sacrifices. we saw the old woman torn from her home--and from her pullets--just now. the pattern of life is complex for us all. "i have come from paris because you called me." ruth started and looked at him closely. "i hoped that you might have something of moment to tell me. i shall always trust in your good sense." ruth felt a sinking of the heart. "but, monsieur! have i brought you here for nothing? i warned you it might be a mare's nest." "_non, non_!" he replied eagerly. "it is not your fault. i believe you did hand me a thread of a clue that might--under more fortunate circumstances--have led to the disclosure of something momentous." "but that in reality leads nowhere, monsieur. is that what you mean?" "mademoiselle, fate tricks us! this nicko is one of those thrust out of this sector in haste because of military reasons. and the german hauptman, who lay so long ill in that hut h--well, mademoiselle, he has died!" ruth was amazed, and for a time dumb. should she bring major henri marchand into the matter? the secret agent knew him and respected him. ruth shrank from putting suspicion upon a possibly innocent person. and yet, his height, his manner of bowing, an indefinite air about him, had convinced ruth that nicko's double was henri marchand. who else could it be? could there be some person who so resembled the countess' younger son? the thought roweled her mind. there was something in it to be considered. who else could the mysterious man be? and then, of a sudden, it flashed into ruth's mind. the older son of the countess marchand was probably in appearance like his brother. count allaire marchand! and where was count allaire now? the story was that the young count had disappeared from paris. he was believed to be in the pay of the germans. he, like henri, had been educated in the prussian military schools. no matter what the secret agents thought of the countess the loyalty of her sons was questioned by the peasants living about the chateau. a determination grew in ruth fielding's mind. she would go to the chateau and see if there was a picture of count allaire in his old home. she wished to determine if he looked like major henri marchand. meanwhile they rode swiftly over another road toward clair. it was the road beside which the little inn of mother gervaise was situated. even that had been stripped of the widow's possessions and she was gone. like every other cot in all this sector, and back for ten miles from the battle front, the place was deserted. chapter xv bubu ruth arrived at clair again late in the evening and bade monsieur lafrane good-night at the hospital entrance. on the following day the girl of the red mill was permitted to go to the chateau marchand to call. the secret agent had made it plain to ruth that he held her in no fault for the seeming fiasco of their journey to the field hospital and its vicinity. the sudden death of the german officer in hut h had been an act beyond human control. the disappearance of nicko, the chocolate peddler, was an act of the military authorities. on her own part ruth was so confused regarding major henri marchand that she dared not mention his name to monsieur lafrane. matters must take their natural course--for a time, at least. nevertheless, the american girl had a particular object in mind when she set forth briskly for the chateau on this afternoon. she was free until bedtime, and during this contemplated call on the countess she was determined to learn what the young count marchand looked like. on the edge of the town she spied an automobile approaching, and soon recognized henriette dupay behind the windshield. ruth stopped and waved her hand. for a moment she thought the french girl was disinclined to stop at all. however, ruth did not propose to give henriette an opportunity to show any unfriendliness. she liked the girl and she understood that the whole matter would be smoothed over in time. the reason for aunt abelard's uprooting would become apparent to the french people, and their momentary feeling against the americans would change. henriette's face was quite flushed, however, when she stopped her car and returned briefly ruth's greeting. "how is aunt abelard?" the latter asked. she told henriette how she had chanced to be present when the old woman was forced to leave her homestead. "ah, mademoiselle, she is heart-broken!" declared henriette, quite eschewing english now. "yes, heart-broken! she arrived at our house with only two pullets. all the others were stolen by the americans," and the girl tossed her head angrily. "how about the forty francs she was given in lieu of the pullets?" ruth asked, laughing. "did she tell you about that?" "but yes," returned the french girl, rather taken aback. "but that was given to her by major henri marchand. he is so good!" "true. but it is probable that she will make application to the american officers and will be reimbursed a second time," ruth said dryly. "as far as the pullets go, henriette, i believe they are a small loss to aunt abelard." "but her house! her home!" ejaculated the french girl. "of what use would that be to her had she remained and there should come the bombardment that everybody says is coming? the german shells may tear her cottage to bits." henriette shrugged her truly french shoulders. she evidently did not believe in the threatened bombardment. the guns of the front had been quiet for two days. so she nodded to ruth rather coldly and drove on into town. but ruth went away smiling. she was quite convinced that henriette and her family would soon find out their mistake, and then they would be on friendly terms with her again. the latin nature is easily offended; but it is usually just. she saw nobody else in her walk to the chateau. there she had to wait for some minutes at the gate for dolge to answer her summons. "the mademoiselle fielding," he said, bowing. "i am sure the countess will approve my asking you in at once. she is fond of you, mademoiselle." "i am glad, dolge. i like to have people approve of me," smiled ruth. "ah, yes, mademoiselle. and the major--our henri, our cadet! i am sure _he_ approves of you, mademoiselle." the american girl flushed warmly, but managed to hide her disturbed countenance from the old serving man. "he is not at home, is he, dolge?" she quietly asked. "but, no, mademoiselle. he went hurriedly yesterday. and would you believe it?" "believe what?" "he went in one of those flying machines. _oui_! _oui_! right up into the sky, mademoiselle," went on the old man excitedly. "yonder he mounted it beyond the gates. ah, these times! it is so that soon one will take an aeroplane as one takes a taxicab in the city. is it not?" ruth listened and marveled. major marchand flying into the air from the chateau here on yesterday, when it was only yesterday that she met him, in his brave uniform, taking pity on a poor old woman who was driven out of the battle zone? suddenly her mind caught the point. the cogs slipped into juxtaposition, as it were, and everything unrolled in its proper sequence before her. it was on yesterday, as she went toward the dupay farm, that she had seen the rising aeroplane, from which had been dropped the paper bomb, wherein ruth had found the message from tom cameron. it was from just beyond the gates that dolge said the machine rose that had borne away major marchand from the chateau. "the time, dolge?" she demanded, stopping short in the walk and looking at the surprised old servant. "the time that major henri flew away?" "oh, la! it was around one of the clock. not later." that was the hour! ruth was confident she was making no mistake now. it was either the major, or the pilot of the plane, that had dropped the message to her. two hours and a half later she had seen the major at the cot of aunt abelard. he might easily have flown clear beyond the german lines and back again by that time. and he might easily have worn his major's uniform beneath his other garments. but tom's message. that was the point that puzzled her. if dropped by major marchand, how had he obtained it? what did the french officer, whose loyalty she doubted, have to do with tom cameron, whose loyalty she never for a moment doubted? ruth went on ahead of the wondering dolge, vastly troubled. at every turn she was meeting incidents or surprising discoveries that entangled her mind more and more deeply in a web of doubt and mystery. where was tom? where did the major fly to? where was he coming from when she had seen him walking down that country road where aunt abelard was having her unfortunate argument with the american soldiers? the twists and turns of this mystery were enough to drive the girl distracted. and each incident which rose seemed to be dovetailed to some other part of the mystery. now she was suddenly sorry that she had not opened her heart entirely to monsieur lafrane. she wished she had told him about tom cameron, and the fears she felt for him, and what was said about him by his comrades. he might at least have been able to advise her. she came to the chateau, therefore, in a most uncertain frame of mind. she was really in no mood for a social call. but there was the countess walking on the paved court before the main door of the chateau. it was a fine day, and she walked up and down, with a shawl about her shoulders, humming a cheerful little song. "dear mademoiselle ruth!" she said, giving the girl her hands--soft and white, with a network of blue veins on their backs. "i am charmed. if it were not for you and our little hetty i should scarcely feel i had a social life at all." she spoke to dolge as he hobbled away. "tell them to make tea," she said. "yes, madame la countess," he mumbled. she took the arm of the strong young girl and walked with her up and down the portico. "henri will be disappointed in not seeing you, mademoiselle. he went yesterday--called back to his duties." "and by aeroplane, they tell me," answered the girl. "think!" exclaimed the countess, shrugging her shoulders. "a few months ago the thought of one of my boys mounting into the air would have kept me awake all of the night. and i slept like a child!" "we grow used to almost everything, do we not?" ruth said. "war changes our outlook on life. of course, i am not assured that he safely landed yesterday----" "i can assure you of that, madame, myself," said ruth, without thinking far ahead when she said it. "_you_, mademoiselle?" "yes. i saw him--on the ground. he was all right," the girl added, dryly. "you saw him after he left here!" exclaimed the countess. "i do not understand." the girl saw she would have to go into particulars. but she did not tell the countess she had taken her trip to the field hospital with the secret agent, m. lafrane. "dear me! that was so like him," the countess observed when she had heard the story of aunt abelard and her pullets. "his brother, too----" "is count allaire like his brother?" ruth asked quietly. "yes. in many ways." "i have never seen a picture of the count, have i?" the american girl pursued. "but, yes! you have but to look at henri," laughed the countess. "a little older. perhaps a little more serious of expression. but the same tall, slim, graceful figure, both. pardon my pride in my sons, mademoiselle. they are my all now. and they are both like me, i believe," she added softly. ruth looked at her with luminous eyes. "like you in every way, madame? given so entirely to the service of their country?" "but yes! too recklessly patriotic, i fear," said the countess. then, with a start, she exclaimed: "what is this? do my eyes deceive me? is it that wicked bubu, running wild and free again?" ruth turned quickly. crossing the wide lawns she saw the greyhound pass swiftly. he was without his blanket, and it seemed to ruth as though the barrel of his body was much lighter of color than his chest and legs. like a flash he was behind the chateau. "_ma foi_!" gasped the countess. "what is--- something----" she started to follow the dog. as she still clung to ruth's arm the girl must perforce go with her. through ruth's mind was swirling a multitude of suspicious thoughts. chapter xvi the hollow tooth bubu had been running at large--and in the daytime. he had come from the north. ruth believed the dog had crossed the lines and just now had arrived at the chateau after his long and perilous journey. yet for a greyhound the fifteen or twenty kilometers between the chateau and the battle front was a mere nothing. at the rate the girl had seen the "werwolf" flying over the fields, he must have covered that distance faster than an automobile. and, too, he would take a route much more direct. the countess seemed to have forgotten ruth's presence; but the girl could not well draw her arm away and remain behind. besides, she was desperately eager to know what would be done to bubu, or with him, now that he had returned to the chateau. it was not unwillingly that the girl accompanied the countess. it was some distance around the great building to the rear. they came upon the excited dolge and the big dog, the latter lapping water out of a pan near the well house. "_non_! _non_!" cried the countess warningly. "not that, dolge. he must not be allowed too much cold water after his so-exciting run. it is not good for him." the gardener stooped to take the pan away, and the greyhound growled. "oh, la, la!" mumbled dolge. "name of a mouse! would you butcher me, you of bloody mind?" ruth noticed that the barrel of the greyhound was almost white, which assisted in giving him that ghostly appearance at night. the countess left ruth and hurried forward. she did not stoop, but with her foot she straightway overturned the pan, sending the water out on the stones. the dog looked up at her, wide-mouthed and with tongue hanging. but he did not offer to molest her. he only dropped his head again, and with his pink tongue sought to lap up the moisture from the stones. "the collar, dolge," commanded madame la countess. the old man hobbled forward with the wide leather strap attached to the chain. the strap was decorated with big brass rivet heads. she buckled it around the neck of the panting dog. he lapped her hands. "ah, naughty one," she murmured, "would you run the fields like a wild dog? the blanket, dolge. he may take cold." already the gardener was bringing the covering. they fastened it about bubu, who finally shook himself and would have lain down had not the countess said sharply: "nay, nay! all is not yet finished, bubu. open thy mouth--so!" she forced open the big dog's jaws. rather, at a touch he allowed her to hold his dripping jaws apart. "dolge!" she demanded decisively, "can you see?" "_oui, oui, madame_!" the old man chattered, shaking his head vigorously. "but not for me will he keep his jaws apart. i am not to be made into sausage-meat, i hope?" the countess laughed at him. "hold his mouth open, then. he would not desire to bite; but----" ruth, amazed, saw her white fingers fumble inside the dog's open maw. she pulled what seemed to be a white rubber cap from one of his grinders. quickly and skilfully, with a fine knitting needle, the countess ripped from this rubber casing what the girl thought looked like a twist of oiled paper. "all right, my good dolge. you may let him go," she said, hiding the twist of paper in her palm. "let him rest--poor fellow!" she patted the greyhound with the sole of her slipper and the big dog yawned; then laid his head upon his paws. he was still panting, his sides heaving heavily. his legs and feet were bedaubed with mud. "he has come a long way," the countess said coolly to ruth. "let us go in, mademoiselle. it must be that our tea is ready." she seemed to consider ruth quite worthy of her confidence. the american girl knew that she was on the verge of an important discovery. it could not be that bubu carried messages to germany to give aid and comfort to the enemy! that suspicion was put to rest. bubu was being used to bring news from french spies across the battle lines. otherwise the countess would never have allowed ruth to discover this mystery of the "werwolf." and how shrewd was the method followed in the use of the obedient dog! a hollow tooth, which would be overlooked even if the enemy shot and examined the animal. ruth wanted to ask a hundred questions; but she did not open her lips it might be that the countess supposed she was already aware of the use made of bubu, and how he was used. the american girl had been brought to the chateau by monsieur lafrane, the agent of the french secret service bureau. and the countess knew, of course, his business. as soon as they were in the library, where the tea things were laid, the countess proceeded to smooth out the bit of paper and examine it under a strong reading glass. "ah!" she cried, in a moment, her smooth cheeks flushing and her eyes brightening. "he is well! my dear boy!" her joy urged ruth to question her, yet the girl hesitated. her eyes, however, revealed to the countess her consuming curiosity. "mademoiselle!" exclaimed the old lady, "do you not _know_?" "i--i don't know what you mean, madame," stammered ruth. "it is from the count--my allaire!" "the message is from count marchand?" cried the girl, in utter amazement. "but yes. he does not forget his old mother. when able, he always sends me word of cheer. of course," she added, looking at the american girl curiously now, "there is something else upon the paper. his message to his mother is not a line. you understand, do you not? monsieur lafrane, of course----" "monsieur lafrane has never told me a word," ruth hastened to say. "i only suspected before to-day that bubu carried messages back and forth across the lines." "ah, but you are to be trusted," the countess said cheerfully. "we do what the anglais call--how is it?--'our little bit'? bubu and i. he, too, is french!" and she said it proudly. "and for years, mademoiselle, we have established this couriership of bubu's." she laughed. "do you know what the farmers say of our so-good dog?" ruth nodded. "i have heard the story of the werwolf. and, really, madame, the look of him as he runs at night would frighten anybody. he is ghostly." the countess nodded. "in that's his safety--and has been since before the war. for, know you, mademoiselle, _all_ france was not asleep during those pre-war years when the hateful hun was preparing and preparing. "my husband, mademoiselle fielding, was a loyal and a far-sighted man. he did not play politics, and seek to foment trouble for the republic as so many of our old and noble families did. now, thank heaven, they are among our most faithful workers for la patrie. "but, see you, count marchand owned a small estate near merz, which is just over the border in germany. sometimes he would go there--sometimes to drink the waters, for there are springs of note, perhaps for the hunting, for there is a great forest near. he would always take bubu with him. "and so we taught bubu to run back and forth between here and there. he carried messages around his neck in those times. quite simple and plain messages, had he been caught at the frontier and examined. "it was our henri who resorted to the hollow tooth, and that since the war began. bubu had one big tooth with a spot on it. henri knew an american dentist in paris. ah, what cannot these americans do!" and the countess laughed. "we took bubu to paris and had the decayed spot drilled out. the tooth is sound at the root. the dentist made the hole as large as possible and then we moulded the rubber caps to close it. you see how the messages are sent?" "remarkable, madame!" murmured ruth. "but?" "ah? who sends the messages from beyond the german lines? now it is count allaire himself," she hastened to explain. "in disguise he went through the lines some weeks ago. the agent who was there came under suspicion of the germans." "and he lives at the castle over there in germany--openly?" gasped ruth. "nay, nay! it is no castle at best," and the countess laughed. "it is by no means as great a place as this. it was a modest little house and is now the comfortable quarters of a fat old prussian general. "but upon the estate is the cottage of a loyal frenchman. he was gardener there in my husband's time. but as he bears a german name and his wife is german, they have never suspected him. "it is with this old gardener, brodart, my son communicates; and it is to him our good bubu goes." "but how can the dog get across no man's land?" cried ruth. "i do not understand that at all!" "there are bare and bleak places between the lines which we know nothing about," the countess said, shaking her head. "not in all places are the two armies facing each other at a distance of a few hundred yards. there is the lake and swampland of savoie, for instance. a great space divides the trenches there--all of two miles. patrols are continually passing to and fro by night there, and from both sides. a man can easily get through, let alone a dog. "hush!" she added, lowering her voice. "of course, i fear nobody here now. poor bessie--who was faithful to me for so many years--was contaminated by german gold. but she was half german at best. it was well the poor soul escaped as she did. "however, my remaining servants i can trust. yet there are things one does not speak of, mademoiselle. you understand? there are many good men and true who take their lives in their hands and go back and forth between the enemy's lines and our own. they offer their lives upon the altar of their country's need." chapter xvii the worst is told "but, major marchand? what of him?" ruth asked, deeply interested in what the countess had said. "he, too, is in the secret work," responded the countess, smiling faintly. "my older son claimed the right of undertaking the more perilous task. likewise he was the more familiar with the vicinity of our summer estate at merz, having been there often with his father." "but major henri goes back and forth, along the front, both by flying machine and in other ways?" ruth asked. "i am sure i have seen him----" she wanted to tell the countess how she had misjudged the major. but she hesitated. there was the matter of nicko, the chocolate peddler, and the man who looked like him! could that disguised man have been the major? and if so, what was his interest in the german officer who had so suddenly died in the field hospital--the occupant of cot 24, hut h? the girl's mind was still in a whirl. had she called lafrane to the front for nothing at all? had she really been stirring up a mare's nest? she listened, however, to the countess' further observations: "but yes, mademoiselle, we all do what we may. my sons are hard at work for la patrie--and brave bubu!" and she laughed. "of course your american soldiers cannot be expected to take over the scouting on this front, not altogether, for they do not know the country as do we french. yet some of your young men, henri tells me, show marvelous adaptability in the work. is it the red indian blood in them, think you, that makes them so proficient in scouting?" she added innocently. but ruth did not laugh. indeed, she felt very serious, for she was thinking of tom cameron. major henri marchand must know about tom--where he was and what he was doing. that is, if it had been the major who had dropped the message from tom at her feet the day before. she could not discuss this matter with the countess. and yet the girl was so troubled regarding tom's affairs that she felt equal to almost any reckless attempt to gain information about him. before the girl could decide to speak, however, there was a step upon the bare floor of the great entrance hall of the chateau. the ringing step came nearer, and the countess raised her head. "henri! come in! come in!" she cried as the door opened. major marchand marched into the room breezily, still in the dress uniform ruth had seen at aunt abelard's cottage. "ah, mademoiselle!" he cried, having kissed his mother's hand and suddenly beholding the girl who had shyly retired to the other side of the hearth. "may i greet you?" he came around the tea table and took her hand. she did not withdraw it abruptly this time as he pressed his lips respectfully to her fingers. but she did blush under his admiring glance. "see, henri!" his mother cried. "it is the good bubu who has brought it. in code. can you read it?" she thrust the whisp of paper, taken from the dog's hollow tooth, under his eyes before pouring his cup of tea. henri, begging ruth's indulgence with a look, sat down before the table, his sword clanking. he smoothed the paper out upon the board and drew the reading glass to him. "wait!" countess marchand said. "you have had no luncheon! you are hungry, my dear boy?" she hurried out of the room intent upon her son's comfort. ruth watched the countenance of the major as he read the code message. she saw his expression become both serious and troubled. suddenly he turned in his chair and looked at the american girl. his gaze seemed significant, and ruth began to tremble. "mademoiselle?" "yes, monsieur?" "you have questions to ask me, _hein_?" "it is true, major marchand," she murmured, struggling for self-control. "i am eaten up by curiosity." "is it only curiosity that troubles you, mademoiselle?" he said dryly. "no! no! i am seriously alarmed. i am anxious--for a friend." her voice was tense. "you received a certain message?" he asked. "oh, yes, major marchand! and that excites me," she replied, more calmly now. "was it really you who dropped the paper bomb at my feet?" his eyes danced for a moment. "that was entirely--what you call--by chance. mademoiselle, i spied you, and having the written message of your friend i inserted it in the bomb, twisted the neck of it, and let it fall at your feet. you are, of course, acquainted with lieutenant cameron?" "he is the twin brother of my dearest friend," ruth replied. "helen is in paris--helping make soup for french orphans," and she smiled. "something that i have heard has worried me vastly about tom." her smile disappeared and her gaze at the french major was pleading. his own countenance again fell into serious lines, and he tapped the table thoughtfully. ruth clasped her hands as she waited. she felt that something untoward was about to be made known to her. there was something about tom which would shock her. "i am sorry, mademoiselle," murmured the major. "here is something said about lieutenant cameron." "in that message bubu brought?" she asked slowly. "yes. it is from my brother. did you know that lieutenant cameron was working with the count marchand in germany?" "oh, i did not know it until--until lately! there are such stories afloat!" "ah!" he smiled and nodded understandingly. "do not let those idle tales annoy you. lieutenant cameron is a very able and a very honorable young man. he volunteered for the dangerous service. of course, his comrades could not be told the truth. and it chanced he was observed speaking to one of our agents who came from the german side. "at once it was decided that he would do well in the area of merz, where count marchand is in command. you understand? lieutenant cameron's comrades were given the wrong impression. otherwise, knowledge that he was a scout might have been easily discovered by german spies in this sector. your friend speaks perfect german." "oh, yes," ruth said. "he began to prattle to babette, his german-swiss nurse when he was a child." "so he has been of much help to us near merz. but my brother informs me now that a serious difficulty has arisen." "what is it, major marchand?" asked the girl, with tightening lips. "lieutenant cameron has been arrested. he is suspected by the germans at merz. he was furnished the papers and uniform of a bavarian captain. the authorities are making an investigation. it may--i am desolated to say it, mademoiselle!--become fatal for lieutenant cameron." chapter xviii bearing the burden it was dusk before ruth fielding arrived at the clair hospital after her exciting call at the chateau marchand. she had refused to allow major marchand to accompany her to the village, for she learned he must be off for the front lines later in the evening, and would in any case have but a few hours with his mother. ruth had conceived a plan. she had been in serious conference with major marchand and the countess. neither, of course, knew the particulars of tom cameron's arrest at merz, beyond the german lines. however, they sympathized with her and applauded her desire to help tom. for there was a chance for ruth to aid the young american lieutenant. the major admitted it, and the countess admired ruth's courage in suggesting it. the brief announcement of tom's arrest sent by count marchand by bubu, the greyhound, together with facts that the major knew, aided ruth in gaining a pretty clear understanding of tom cameron's situation. he had volunteered for this dangerous service and had been assigned to work with the french secret agents on both sides of the battle line. after his own comrades' suspicion was fixed on him, it was decided, tom agreeing, that he would be able to do better work in germany. major marchand had himself guided the american lieutenant to merz, and introduced him to count allaire marchand. "and we both consider him, mademoiselle," said the major generously, "a most promising recruit. we arranged for him to enter merz in the guise of a wealthy bavarian hauptman on leave. merz, you must understand, was quite a famous health resort before the war. many foreigners, as well as germans, went there to drink the waters. that is why we had a summer estate on the outskirts of merz." in addition, the major told of tom's early successes in getting acquainted with the chief men of the town--particularly with the gouty old prussian general, who was the military governor of the district. information which tom had gained, the major whispered, had spurred the american authorities in this sector to remove the civilian population for several miles back of the trenches. there was soon to be a "surprise" attack upon the americans, and the huge guns being brought up for the bombardment before the infantry advance might utterly wreck the open country immediately back of the american trenches. tom cameron, posing as captain von brenner, was apparently awaiting at merz's best hotel the appearance of his sister, who, he declared, would join him before the conclusion of his furlough. at first the old general and the other authorities had accepted the american at his face value. somehow, suspicion must have been aroused within the last twenty-four hours. the message that had come by bubu stated that tom was under arrest as a suspicious person, but that he was detained only in the general's quarters. it was something that might blow over. finesse was required. ruth had suggested a plan, which, although applauded by the major and his mother, they could not advise her to carry out. for, if it failed, her own peril would be as great as tom cameron's. in fact, the result of failure would be that both of them would be shot! but the american girl was inspired for the task. so, urged by the countess, her son had agreed to assist ruth in an attempt which he could but approve. had count allaire marchand, or any of his french operatives in and near merz, attempted to assist in tom cameron's escape out of germany, they would merely lay themselves open to suspicion, and possibly to arrest. ruth saw a code message written to the count, who was hiding on what had been the marchand estate before the war, and then saw bubu called into the library and the twist of oiled paper secreted in the dog's mouth. when the greyhound was released for his return journey to merz, ruth, likewise, left the chateau. a short time later, as has been said, she arrived safely at the hospital in the village. just as she was about to enter the gateway, a heavy touring car rumbled up the road from the south. it stopped before the hospital gate. there was a uniformed officer on the seat beside the chauffeur; but the only occupants of the tonneau were two women. "we wish to see miss fielding," said one of these women, rising and speaking hastily to the sentinel who had presented arms before the gateway. "i shall have to call somebody from inside, mademoiselle," said the old territorial who was on guard duty. "there is such a name here, i believe." "never mind calling anybody!" ruth suddenly exclaimed, springing forward. "miss fielding is here to answer the call. will you girls tell me what under the sun you have come here for? i thought you would know enough to remain safely in paris!" "ruthie!" shrieked helen cameron, fairly throwing herself from the automobile into ruth's arms. "it is she! it is her! it is her owniest, owniest self!" "hold on," said the second occupant of the automobile tonneau, alighting more heavily. "leave a bit for me to fall on, nell." "don't you dare, heavy stone!" cried ruth. "if you fell upon my frailness----" "hush! tell it not in gath," cried jennie sepulchrally. "i have lost flesh--positively." "yes," agreed helen, quite dramatically. "she barked her knuckle. every little bit counts with heavy, you know." ruth welcomed the plump girl quite as warmly as she did her own particular chum. immediately the military automobile rolled away. the visitors both carried handbags. "how did you come to get here--and where under the sun will you stay?" ruth demanded again. "now, never mind worrying about us, martha," jennie stone returned. "we will get along very well. isn't there a hotel?" "a hotel? in clair?" gasped the girl of the red mill. "i--should--say--not!" "very well, dear; we'll put up wherever you say," said helen airily. "we know you are always a favorite wherever you go, and you must have loads of friends here by this time." "the unqualified nerve of you!" gasped ruth. "but come in. i'll speak to _madame la directrice_ and see what can be done. but how did you ever get permission to come here?" she repeated. "it is our furlough. we have earned it. haven't _you_ earned a furlough yet?" helen demanded, making big eyes at her chum. "it never crossed my mind to ask for one," admitted the girl of the red mill. "but merely your having a furlough would not have won you a visit so near the front." "really?" asked jennie. "do you mean to say this _is_ near the battle line?" "you'd think so at times," returned ruth. "but answer me! how did you get your passports visã©ed for such a distance from paris?" "forget not," said jennie, "that mr. cameron was over here on government business. helen can do almost anything she likes with these french officials." "humph!" was all that came from ruth in answer to this. "you don't seem glad to see us at all, ruthie fielding!" cried helen, as they crossed the courtyard and mounted the steps to the hospital. but ruth was frankly considering how she could make the best use of her two college chums, now that they were here. in less than twenty-four hours she expected to leave clair for an extended absence. she had been troubled regarding her duty to the red cross. circumstances had played into her hands. she could trust helen and jennie to do her work here at the clair hospital while she was absent. she found the matron and took her aside before introducing her to the newcomers. she did not explain her reason for wishing to absent herself from duty for some days, nor did the tactful frenchwoman ask after she was told that the countess marchand approved. but she told the matron about her two girl friends who had arrived so unexpectedly. "they are good girls, and capable girls, and i can show them very briefly my ordinary duties, madame." "it is well, mademoiselle fielding," the woman said with cordiality. "let me now greet your friends." so helen and jennie were introduced, and the matron said she would find two rooms in the nurses' quarters for the visitors. but first the three girls must go to ruth's little cell and have tea while they talked. "first of all," helen began. "how is tommy-boy?" "he is perfectly well as far as i know," ruth said gravely. "goodness! you are not _mad_ with him?" "of course not. how silly," her chum returned. "well, but don't you see him every day or two?" ruth fielding stared at her chum, not alone with gravity, but with scorn. "i think it is well you have come up here to visit," she said. "don't you know yet that we are in this war, helen cameron?" "i don't know what you mean," returned helen, pouting. "if we were not at war with germany, do you think i would be away from ardmore college at this time of year?" "tom is on active service," ruth said quietly. "i am rather busily engaged myself. i have seen him just twice since i have been at clair. but i happened to learn to-day that--beyond peradventure--he is in health." "that's good enough!" exclaimed helen. "and i suppose you can get word to him so he'll know jennie and i are here?" "i will try to get word to him," agreed ruth soberly. "he can ask off and come to see us, can't he?" "not being in military charge of this sector, i cannot tell you," the girl of the red mill said dryly. "but if you remain here long enough i hope tom will come to see you, my dear." she could tell them no more. indeed, to-night she did not even wish the girls to know that she proposed absenting herself from the hospital for a time and expected helen and jennie to do her work. she had a burden to shoulder that she could not share with her friends. she sent them to their beds a little later to sleep confidently and happily after their long journey from paris. as for ruth fielding, she scarcely closed her eyes that night. chapter xix adventure in the dawn of the next morning ruth arose and rearranged all her stock of supplies and corrected the schedule of goods on hand. despite her recent activities she had kept her accounts up to date and every record was properly audited. before helen cameron and jennie stone even knew how ruth proposed making use of them, the girl of the red mill had explained her plan fully to the matron. that the americaine mademoiselle was so friendly with the grand folk at the chateau rather awed the frenchwoman. she could find no fault with anything ruth did. but there was a great outcry when, at breakfast, ruth explained to helen and jennie that she was called away from the hospital on private and important business, and for several days. "she's running away to be married!" gasped jennie stone. "treason!" "your romantic imagination is ever on tap, isn't it, heavy?" responded ruth with scorn. "that's all right," returned the plump girl sharply. "you look out for your brother tom, helen cameron." "but it may be one of these french officers," helen said, with more mildness. "some of them are awfully nice." "don't be ridiculous, girls!" ruth observed. "really it isn't at all nice of you, my dear," her chum said. "i'm not doing this because it is nice," flared ruth, whose nerves were a little raw by now. "it is something i _have_ to do." "what, then?" demanded jennie. "i can't tell you! it is not my secret! if it were, don't you suppose i would take you both into my confidence?" "i don't know about that," grumbled jennie stone. "i had made arrangements to do this before you came," the girl of the red mill said, rather provoked. "you must take me at my word. i cannot do differently. i never told you girls a falsehood in my life." "goodness, ruthie!" exclaimed helen, with sudden good sense. "say no more about it. of course we know you would not desert us if it could be helped. if tom would only come while you are gone----" "i may be able to communicate with him," ruth said, turning her head quickly so that her chum should not see her expression of countenance. "and there is something you girls can do for me while i am gone." "i warrant!" groaned jennie. "no rest for the wicked. don't try to think up anything in the line of cooking for _me_, ruthie fielding, for i won't do it! i have come here to get away from cooking." "will you fast then, while you remain at clair?" asked ruth rather wickedly. "ow-wow!" shrieked the plump girl. "how you can twist a fellow's meaning around! no! i merely will _not_ cook!" "but she still hopes to eat," said helen. "what is it you want of your poor slaves, lady ruth?" "do my work here while i'm gone. look out for the supplies. i can break you both in this morning. i do not know just when i shall be called for----" "by whom, pray?" put in the saucy jennie drawlingly. ruth ignored the question. "you will not find this work difficult. and, as jennie suggests, it will be a change." "good-_night_!" groaned jennie. "don't lose heart, sister," said helen cheerfully. "i understand that ruth often goes into the wards and writes letters for the poor poilus, and feeds them canned peaches and soft puddings. isn't that what you do, ruthie?" "better not let me do that," grumbled jennie. "i might be tempted to eat the goodies myself. i'll write the letters." "heaven help the home folks of the poor poilus, my dear," helen responded. "nobody--not even madame picolet--could ever read your written french." "well! i do declare!" exclaimed the fleshy girl, tossing her head. "i suppose the duty will devolve upon me to eat all the _blessã©s'_ fancy food for them. dear me, ruthie fielding! don't stay long. for if you do i shall utterly ruin my figure." it was very kind of the girls to agree to ruth's suggestion, and she appreciated it. but she could not tell them anything about what she was to do while she was absent from the hospital. indeed, she barely knew herself what she would do--in detail, that is. she had put herself in the hands of major marchand and must wait to hear from him. she dared not breathe to helen a word of tom's trouble. nobody must know that she, ruth, hoped in some way to aid him to escape from beyond the german lines. it seemed almost impossible for a girl--any girl--to pass from one side of the battle front to the other. from the sea on the belgian coast to the alps the trenches ran in continuous lines. division after division of belgians, british and their colonial troops, french, and americans held the trenches on this side, facing a great horde of germans. in places the huge guns stood so close together they all but touched. beyond these were the front trenches, in which the sharpshooters and the machine-gun men watched the enemy. and beyond again were the listening posts and the wire entanglements. how could a girl ever get through the jungle of barbed wire? and in places the huns had strung live wires, carrying voltages strong enough to kill a man, just as they did along the borderland of holland. when ruth thought of these things she lost hope. but she tried not to think at all. major marchand had bade her be of good hope. she kept her mind occupied in showing the two girls their duties and in introducing them to such of the nurses and other workers as ruth herself knew well. it was rather late in the afternoon, and she had heard no word of the major, when ruth and her two friends came out of a lower ward to the main entrance of the hospital just as an ambulance rolled in. two of the _brancardiers_ came out of the hospital and drew forth one stretcher on which a convalescent patient lay. "oh, the poor man!" murmured helen. "what do they do with him now?" "he has come in from a field hospital," began ruth. and then she saw the face of the ambulance driver. "oh, charlie bragg!" she called. "what did i tell you?" said jennie solemnly. "she knows 'em all. they grow on bushes around here, i warrant." "they don't grow 'em like charlie on bushes, i assure you," declared ruth, laughing, and she ran down the steps to speak to the ambulance driver, for she saw that he wanted to say something to her. "miss ruth, i was told to whisper something in your private ear, and when i have said it, you are to do it, instantly." "goodness! what do you mean, charlie bragg?" she gasped. "listen. those two _brancardiers_ are coming for the second man. when they start up the steps with him, you pop into the back of the ambulance." "why, charlie!" she murmured in utter amazement. "are you going to do as you are told?" he demanded with much apparent fierceness. "but the third man? you have another wounded man inside." the stretcher-bearers slid the second convalescent out of the ambulance. "now!" whispered charlie. "do as you are told." half understanding, yet still much puzzled, the girl went around to the rear of the ambulance. it was half dark within, but she saw the man lying on the third stretcher, the one overhead, put out a hand and beckon her. she could see nothing of his face, his head was so much bandaged. one arm seemed strapped to his side, too. the engine of the car began to purr. charlie clashed the clutch. ruth jumped upon the step, and then crept into the covered vehicle. the car leaped ahead. she heard jennie stone exclaim in utter amazement: "well, what _do_ you think of that? what did i tell you, helen? she is actually running away." in half a minute the ambulance was out of the courtyard and the dust of the village street wan rising behind it, as charlie bragg swung the car into high gear. this was adventure, indeed! chapter xx on the raw edge of no man's land "sit down, mademoiselle," said a low voice. "there is a cushion yonder. make no sound--at least, not until we are out of the village." ruth could only gasp. there was light enough under the ambulance roof for her to see the speaker creep down from the swinging stretcher. he moved very carefully, but his bandages were evidently camouflage. the jouncing of the automobile made her uncomfortable. charlie bragg was driving at his usual reckless pace. ruth did not even laugh over the surprise of helen and jennie at her departure. she was too deeply interested in the actions of the man with her in the ambulance. he was unwinding the bandage that strapped his left arm to his side and, with gravity, removed the splints that had evidently been put in place by a professional hand. his arm, however, was as well and strong as ruth's own. she saw that he wore a familiar, patched, blue smock, baggy trousers, and wooden shoes. he began to look like the mysterious nicko, the chocolate vender! then he unwrapped his head. there were yards of the gauze and padding. to believe his first appearance once might have thought that his jaw had been shot away. but at last ruth saw his unmarred face so clearly that she could no longer doubt his identity. it was major marchand. and yet, it was nicko! "pardon, mademoiselle," said the officer softly. "it is necessary that i go disguised at times. my poor friend, nicko (perhaps you saw him at the field hospital to which you were assigned for a week?), allows me to dress like him and did, indeed, allow me to live in his house at times. now he has been removed from his home and fields with the rest." "i think i understand, major marchand," she answered. "i was much interested in a wounded uhlan captain who was in that hospital. he began by trying to bribe our poor nicko, thinking the chocolate peddler too weak-minded to be patriotic. he was mistaken," and the major nodded. "had the uhlan not died of his wounds i believe i should have got something of moment from him." ruth shook her head and asked: "where are you taking me? oh! i thought charlie would have us over then!" the major smiled. "our friend, monsieur bragg, is faithful and wise; but he drives like jehu. i have engaged him to transport us a part of the way." "part of the way to where?" "to where we are going," major marchand replied dryly enough. "but i was not exactly prepared, major marchand," ruth said. "i am not properly clothed. i wear slippers and i have no hat." "trouble not regarding that," he told her. "it would be impossible for you to take a wardrobe across no man's land. an outfit of proper clothing must be secured for you upon the other side." "will that be possible?" "german women still dress in the mode, mademoiselle. and the garments you wear at merz must bear the labels of berlin tradesmen." "goodness! i never thought of that," admitted ruth. "somebody must think of all the details," he said gently. "my brother will attend to it all." "count allaire?" "yes. he is a master of detail," and the major smiled and nodded. "you speak as though i were sure of getting across," ruth whispered. "have no doubt, mademoiselle. we _must_ get over. doubt never won in a contest yet. have courage." after another minute of jouncing about in the furiously driven ambulance, the girl continued her questioning: "what am i to do first?" "do as you are told," he smiled. "we are going toward the front now? yes? and at what part of the line can we cross?" "there is but one place where it is possible for you to get over. it is at the savoie swamps. it is a wild and deserted place--has always been. there is a little lake much sought by fishermen in the summers before the war started. the shores immediately about it are always marshy. at this season they are inundated." "then, how am i to get through?" "that you will be able to understand better when you are there," said the officer noncommittally. "is it open country?" she asked wonderingly. "shall we be quite exposed?" "not at night," he returned grimly. "and it is partly forest covered, that morass. the guns have shattered the forest in places. but most of the huge shells which drop into the swamp never explode." "oh!" "yes. they are very, very dangerous--those duds. but they will not be our only peril in crossing. have you a brave heart, mademoiselle?" "i am going to help tom cameron escape," she said firmly. he bowed and said nothing more until she again spoke. "i can see that it may be possible for a man to get through that swamp--or across the lake by boat. but how about me? my dress----" "i am afraid we shall have to disguise you, mademoiselle," major marchand said with one of his flashing smiles. "but do not take thought of it. all will be arranged." this was comforting, but only to a slight degree. ruth fielding was not a person given to allowing things to take their course. she usually planned far ahead and "made things come her way." she stared out rather stonily upon the landscape. charlie was still driving at his maddest gait. they passed few houses, and those they did pass were deserted. "your americans, mademoiselle," said the major, "have prepared for the expected german advance with a completeness--yes! they have my admiration." "but will the attack come?" she asked doubtfully. "surely. as i told you, mademoiselle, we can thank your young friend, lieutenant cameron, for the warning. through his advantage with general stultz he gained such information. the high command of the german armies has planned this attack upon the first american-held trenches." "oh, what will they do to poor tom if they are sure he is a spy?" murmured ruth, for the moment breaking down. "we will get there first," was the assurance given her. "but his sister--helen--- think of it, major marchand! she has just arrived at clair and awaits him there at the hospital. i have not dared tell her that tom has been caught by the germans." "fear not," he urged her. "there is yet hope." but every now and then ruth felt her courage melting. it seemed so impossible for her to do this great thing she had set out to do. she felt her limitations. yet it was not personal fear that troubled her. she would have pressed forward, even had she been obliged to essay the crossing of no man's land alone. at last the jouncing ambulance came to a rocking halt. "as far as i can take you folks in this old fliver, i guess," drawled charlie bragg. "an unhealthy looking place for a picnic." he twisted around in his seat to look at ruth. she smiled wanly at him, while the major got down quickly and offered her his hand. "is it all right, ruth?" charlie whispered. "i don't _know_ this french chap." "don't fear for me, charlie dear," she returned. "he is major henri marchand. i fancy he is high in the french army. and i know his mother--a very lovely lady." "oh, all right," responded the boy shortly. "one of the family, as you might say? take care of yourself. haven't heard from cameron, have you?" "that is what i am here for," whispered ruth. "i hope i shall hear of him soon." "well, best o' luck!" said charlie bragg, as ruth followed the major out of the rear of the ambulance. the evening was falling. they stood at the mouth of a wide gully up which the car could not have traveled. the latter turned in a swirl of dust and pounded back toward the rear. when it was out of sight and the noise of it had died away, there did not seem to be any other sound about them. "where are we?" asked ruth. "let us see," returned major marchand cheerfully. "i think we shall find somebody up this way." they walked up the gully some hundreds of yards until they finally came out upon a narrow plain at the top. on this mesa was a ruined dwelling of two stories and some shattered farm buildings. "halt!" was the sudden command. a man in khaki appeared from a clump of trees near the house, advancing his rifle. "friends," said the major quietly. "advance one friend with the countersign." major marchand stepped ahead of ruth and whispered something to the sentinel. "guess it's all right, boss," said the sentinel, who evidently had no french. "but you can't proceed in this direction." "why not, _mon ami_?" "new orders. something doing up front. wait till my relief comes on in half an hour. top-sergeant will tell you." "but we _must_ go forward," urged the major, rather vexed. "don't worry," advised the american. "general orders takes the 'must' out of mustard even, and don't you forget it. if you were a soldier, you'd learn _that_," and he chuckled. "come on over to the dyke and sit down--you and the lady," and he favored ruth with an admiring glance. the american girl did not speak, and it was evident that the sentinel thought her french like her companion. the three strolled along to the grassy bank behind the trees and directly before the half-ruined house. shell fire had destroyed one end of it. but the other end wall was complete. on the second floor was a window. the lower sash was removed, but in the upper sash there were several small, unbroken panes of glass. there was the smell of smoke in the air, and the two newcomers spied a little handful of fire blazing on a rock under the dyke. here the sentinel had made his little camp, and it was evident that he had boiled coffee and toasted meat within the hour. "great housekeeping," he said, grinning. "when i get back home i guess my mother'll make me do all the kitchen work. ain't war what general sherman said it was--and then some?" "but we wish to hurry on, monsieur," said the major quietly. "nothing doing!" responded the sentinel. "i got particular orders not to let anybody pass--not even with the word. just stick around a little while, you and the lady. toppy'll be along soon." ruth wondered that the french officer did not reveal his identity. but she remained silent herself, knowing that major marchand must have good reason for not wishing his rank known. "we got to watch this old ranch," continued the talkative sentinel, nodding toward the half-ruined dwelling. "somebody thinks there's something besides cooties in it. yep," as the major started and looked at him questioningly. "spies. those dutchmen are mighty smart, they do say. i'm told they flash signals from that window up yonder clear across the swamps to the german lines. now, when it gets dark----" he nodded and pursed his lips. the major nodded in return. ruth remained silent, but she was becoming nervous. while they were in action and going forward the suspense was not so hard to bear. but now she began to wonder how she was ever going to cross that morass the major had told her about. and half a hundred other difficulties paraded through her troubled mind. they sat upon the bank, and waited. the sentinel continued to march up and down just the other side of the fire, occasionally throwing a remark at the major, but usually with his face turned toward the house, which was distant about five furlongs. suddenly ruth observed that major marchand had in his palm a little round mirror. he seemed to be manipulating it to catch the firelight. ruth saw in a moment what he was about. the sentinel stopped in his beat with a smothered exclamation. his back was to them and he was staring up at the open window of the house. there came a flash of light from the window--another! like lightning the sentinel raised his rifle and fired pointblank into the opening on the second floor. then, with a shout, he dashed across the intervening space and disappeared within the house. major marchand seized ruth's hand and rose to his feet. chapter xxi a night to be remembered "come!" the french officer whispered. "now is our chance." "oh!" ruth murmured, scarcely understanding. "haste! he will be back in a minute," the officer said. he helped her over the dyke, and, stooping, they ran away from the abandoned house from which the puzzled american sentinel thought he had seen a spy flashing a light signal to the enemy lines. "fortunately, i had a little mirror," murmured major marchand, as he and the girl hurried on through the dusk. "with it, you see, i flashed a reflection of the firelight upon the broken panes of that upper window. our brave young american will discover his mistake before his relief comes. we could not wait for that. nor could we easily explain to his top-sergeant why we wished to go forward." "oh!" murmured ruth again. "in your work, monsieur, i see you have to take chances with both sides." "it is true. our own friends must not suspect too much about us. the best spy, mademoiselle, plays a lone hand. come! this way. we must dodge these other sentinels." it was evident that he knew the vicinity well. beyond the mesa they descended through a grove of big trees, whose tops had been shot off by the german guns. they traveled through the lowland swiftly but cautiously. ruth could not see the way, and clung to major marchand's hand. but she tried to make no sound. once he drew her aside into a jungle of brush and they crouched there, completely hidden, while a file of soldiers marched by, their file leader flashing an electric torch to show the way. "the relief," whispered major marchand, when they had gone. "they may be swarming down this hill after us in a few minutes." the two hurried on. the keen feeling of peril and adventure gripped ruth fielding's soul. it was not with fear that she trembled now. at length they halted in a pitch-black place, which might have been almost anything but the sheepfold major marchand told ruth it was. he produced an officer's trench whistle and blew a long and peculiar blast on it. "now, hush!" he whispered. "it is against usage to use these whistles for anything but the command to go over the top at 'zero.' necessity, however, mademoiselle, knows no law." they waited. not a sound answered. there was no stir on any side of them. ruth's fears seemed quenched entirely. now a feeling of exultation gripped her. she was fairly into this adventure. it was too late to go back. the major blew the whistle a second time and in the same way. suddenly a dark figure loomed before them. there was a word in french spoken out of the darkness. it was not the password the major had given the american sentinel. "come, mademoiselle," said the major. "give me your hand again." ruth's warm hand slipped confidently into his enclosing palm. the frenchman's courtesy and unfailing gentleness had assured her that she was perfectly safe in his care. they left the sheepfold, the second man, whoever he was, moving ahead to guide them. even in the open it was now very dark. there was no moon, and the stars were faint and seemed very far away. finally ruth saw that a ridge of land confronted them; but they did not climb its face. instead, they followed a winding path along its foot, which soon, to the girl's amazement, became a tunnel. it was dimly lit with an electric bulb here and there along its winding length. "where are we?" she whispered to the major. "this is the first approach-trench," he returned. "but silence, mademoiselle. your voice is not--well, it is not masculine." she understood that she was not to attract attention. a woman in the trenches would, indeed, create both curiosity and remark. the guide stopped within a few yards and sought out trench helmets that they all put on. when the strap was fastened under her chin ruth almost laughed aloud. what would helen and jennie say if they could see her in this brand of millinery? she controlled her laughter, however. here, at the first cross-trench, stood a sentry who let them by when the ghostly leader of the trio, whose face she could not see at all, had whispered the password. ruth walked between her two companions, and her dress was not noticed in the dark. soon they were out of the tunnels through the ridge. later she learned that the ridge was honeycombed with them. the trench they entered was broader and open to the sky. and muddy! she stepped once off the "duckboards" laid down in the middle of the passway and dipped half-way to her knee in the mire. she felt that if the major had not pulled her up quickly she might have sunk completely out of sight. but she did not utter a sound. he whispered in her ear: "i admire your courage, mademoiselle. just a short distance farther. do not lose heart." "i am just beginning to feel brave," she whispered in return. presently the leader stopped. they waited a moment while he fumbled along the boarded side of the trench. then a plank slid back. it was the door of a dugout. "this way, major," the man said in french. the major pushed ruth through the narrow opening. the plank door was closed. it was a vile-smelling place. a match was scratched, a tiny flame sprang up, and then there flared a candle--one of those trench candles made of rolled newspapers and paraffin. it illumined the dugout faintly. there were bunks along the walls, and in the middle of the planked cave was a rustic table and two benches. evidently the men who sometimes occupied this trench had spent their idle hours here. but to ruth fielding it seemed a fearful place in which to sleep, and eat, and loaf away the long hours of trench duty. "all ready for us, tremp?" asked major marchand of the man who had led them to this spot. the american girl now saw that the man was a squat frenchman in the horizon blue uniform of the infantry and with the bars of a sergeant. he was evidently one of the french officers assigned to teach the americans in the trenches. in his own tongue the man replied to his superior. he drew from one of the empty bunks two bulky bundles. the major shook them out and they proved to be two suits of rubber over-alls and boots together--a garment to be drawn on from the feet and fastened with buckled straps over the shoulders. they enclosed the whole body to the armpits in a waterproof garment. "a complete disguise for you, mademoiselle--with the helmet," major marchand suggested. "and a protection from the water." "the water?" gasped ruth. "we have half a mile of morass to cross after we get out of the trenches," was the reply. "i am unable to carry you over that, pickaback. you will have to wade, mademoiselle." chapter xxii through the german lines perhaps this was the moment most trying for ruth fielding in all that long-to-be-remembered night. and the frenchmen realized it. having come so far and already having endured so much, however, the girl of the red mill was of no mind to break down. but the thought introduced into her brain by major marchand's last words was troubling her. as for roughing it in such an admirable garment as this rubber suit, ruth was not at all distressed. she had camped out in the wilderness, ridden half-broken cow ponies on a wyoming ranch, and gone fishing in an open boat. it was not the mannish dress that fretted her. it was the suggestion of the long and arduous passage between the american trenches and the german trenches. what lay for her in that no man's land of which she had heard so much? "i am ready," she said at length, and calmly. "am i to remove my skirts?" "quite unnecessary, mademoiselle," replied the major respectfully. "see! the garment is roomy. it was made, you may be sure, for a man of some size. your skirts will ruffle up around you and help to keep you warm. at this time in the year the swamp water is as cold as the grave." without further question the girl stepped into the rubber suit. sergeant tremp helped to draw it up to her armpits, and then buckled it over her shoulders. he showed her, too, how to pull in the belt. she immediately felt that she would be dry and warm in the suit. and, although the boots seemed loaded, she could walk quite well in them. major marchand gave her a pair of warm gloves, which she drew on, after tucking her hair up under her helmet all around. the major thrust two automatic pistols into his belt. but he gave her a small electric torch to carry, warning her not to use it. "then why give it to me?" she asked. "ah, mademoiselle! we _might_ need it. now--_allons_!" tremp slid the plank back, and they filed out into the trench after he had looked both ways to make sure that the coast was clear. ruth wondered what would happen to them if they were caught by an american patrol? perhaps be apprehended for the spies they were--only the americans would think them spying for the huns! the major's hands were full. before the candle had been put out ruth had seen him pick up two gas-masks, and he carried these as they stumbled along the duckboards toward the next cross trench. "halt!" a sibilant whisper. sergeant tremp muttered something in reply. the trio turned the corner and immediately it seemed they were at the back of the firing shelf where--every so far apart--the figures of riflemen stood waiting for any possible german attack. the men in the trenches at night are ever on the alert. nobody molested the girl and her companions. indeed, it was too dark to see much in the trench. but the sergeant seemed to know his way about perfectly. little wonder in that. the french had dug these trenches and sergeant tremp knew them as he did the paths in the environs of his native village. at a dark corner he clucked with his tongue and brought them to a halt. "this is it, major," he whispered, after peering about. "good!" ejaculated the officer softly. "let me step ahead, mademoiselle. cling to my belt behind. try to walk in my footsteps." "yes," she breathed. tremp seemed to melt into the darkness. major marchand turned at an abrupt angle and ruth followed him as he had desired. she knew they were passing through a very narrow passage. the earth was scraped from the walls by their elbows and rattled down upon their feet. the passage rose slightly. the bottom of the trench they had just left--the very front line--was all of thirty feet in depth at this point. this narrow tunnel was thrust out into no man's land and led to a listening post. at least, so she supposed, and she was not mistaken. nor was she mistaken in her supposition that tremp was no longer with them. he was not prepared to cross the savoie morass. a breath of sweeter air blew upon ruth's cheek. "down!" whispered the major. they almost crawled the final few yards. there was a quick word spoken ahead and the clatter of arms. major marchand shrilled a whisper in reply. "come, my boy," he said aloud, turning to ruth. "we must step out lively. it is nearing ten o'clock." "so you take a friend to-night, do you, major?" asked a good american voice--that of the officer in command of the listening post. "aye," was the reply. "a boy to help me bring home the fish i may catch." there was a little laugh. ruth felt herself in a tremor. she knew instinctively that it would never do for her sex to be discovered. she was not discovered, however. they stood upon the surface. major marchand took her hand and led her quietly away. the earth about them looked gray; but the blackness of night wrapped them around. there was not a light to be seen. she realized more by the sense of locality she possessed than by aught else that they were on the lowland far beyond that ridge through which they had first tunneled after sergeant tremp had joined them. her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness as they stumbled on. below them and ahead, she occasionally caught the glint of water. it was a pool of considerable size. she believed it must be the small lake major marchand had spoken of. suddenly ruth seized her companion's arm. "there!" she whispered. "what is it?" he asked in the same low tone. "there are men. see them?" "no, no, mademoiselle," he told her with a small chuckle. "there are no men standing so boldly there. they are posts--posts to which our barbed-wire entanglements are fixed." "oh!" she breathed with relief. "be not alarmed----" he seized her shoulder as he spoke and so great was his sudden pressure on it that he carried her with him to the ground. a shower of flare rockets had erupted from the german trenches. they sailed up over no man's land and burst, flooding acres of the rough ground with a white glare. the major and ruth lay flat upon the ground, and the girl knew enough not to move. nor did she cry out. for five minutes the eruption lasted. then all died down and there was no reply from the american side. major marchand chuckled. "that was most unexpected, was it not, mademoiselle? but have no fear. the first patrol has already been across here to the german wire entanglements to-night, and found nothing stirring. it is not yet that we shall run into germans." they arose, and the major led straight on again, slowly descending the easy slope of this hillside. finally they reached a gaping hole. ruth knew it must have been made by a shell. it was thirty feet or more across, and when they descended into it she found it to be fully twenty feet deep. "now you may show a flash of your light, mademoiselle," the frenchman advised her. "thank you. remove that casque you wear. these would attract much attention upon the german side. here is a german helmet to take the place of the other. i cached them on a former trip. so! now, over this way. on hands and knees, mademoiselle." she followed him, obeying his word. so they crept out of the marmite hole and up under the entanglement of wire. it was plain that this path had been used before. once clear of the barrier, they descended the last few steps to the shore of the lake. there was thick shrubbery here, but major marchand led through this to the narrow beach. "can it not be crossed by boat?" she whispered. "this water can be seen from watchers of both armies. its least disturbance--even that occasioned by a swimmer--would draw volleys of shots from americans and germans alike. "now, we follow along this narrow beach. step in my track, if possible, mademoiselle fielding. and keep within touch of me." they walked on steadily. soon the track became soft and sticky. she sank ankle deep in mire. then gradually the morass grew deeper and she was in mud and water up to her knees. later she was plodding half-leg deep, panting deeply. the frenchman wished to get to a certain place before they halted. the girl was almost exhausted when the major leaped out upon a log and offered her his hand. "come up here, mademoiselle," he whispered. "we shall be dry here--and we can rest." she could not speak; but her breathing soon grew calmer. major marchand said, suddenly speaking in german: "forget your french, fraulein--from this point on. the german tongue only for us." "oh! are we near?" she asked, obeying him. "yes. can you go on again?" "at once," she declared with confidence. they walked to the end of the long log. stepping down, she found that the quagmire was not so deep. but for some minutes they continued to plow through it, but walking as softly as possible. ahead there was a flash of light. ruth thought it might be another flare, and prepared to drop down in the mud. but it was merely an electric torch. there were voices--rougher voices than those to which ruth had been used. she caught german words. major marchand drew her behind the huge trunk of a tree. there splashed past through the mud a file of bulky figures. when they had gone, her companion whispered to the girl: "fraulein, it is a patrol. we are in good season. soon we shall be there." she was soon able to walk beside him on higher ground. she saved her breath for continued exertion. they came to a wire entanglement somewhat similar to that on the american side of the morass. but here a narrow path had been opened for the patrol. "halt! who goes there?" croaked the sentinel. "_ein freund_!" the major gave the reply in a guttural tone. he stepped forward and whispered to the sentinel. evidently he had the password of the germans, as he had had that of the americans! ruth followed on through the wires. they crossed a narrow field and were again challenged. here a sergeant was brought to confer with the disguised frenchman. but it was all right. he and his companion were passed, and they were led on by the sergeant. they went over several bridges which spanned the front trenches and then their escort left them. major marchand seized ruth's hand and held it for a moment. "rejoice, fraulein!" he whispered. "we are through the lines." chapter xxiii the gardener's cot ruth fielding thought afterward that major marchand must possess the eyes of a cat. and his sense of locality was as highly developed as that of a feline as well. in the midst of the wood into which they had come out from the german trenches he discovered a path leading to a tiny hut, which seemed entirely surrounded by thick brush. he left her waiting for a moment while he ventured within. then he came to the door and touched ruth's sleeve. "i can never know who is waiting for me here," he whispered. "your brother?" "no, no! some day they will suspect--these boches--and they will find my little lodge. you know, fraulein, the pitcher that too often goes to the well is at last broken." she understood his meaning. at last he would be caught. it was the fate of most spies. he lit a smoky lamp; but it gave light enough for her to see that the hut was all but empty. it must have been a swineherd's cot at a pre-war date. there was a table, a sawed-off log for a chair, a cupboard hanging against the wall, and a heap of straw in a corner for a bed. this he pushed aside until he revealed beneath it a box like a coffin, buried in the dirt floor. its cover was hinged. from this hidden receptacle he drew forth the complete uniform of a uhlan lieutenant. "turn your back for a little, fraulein," he said softly. "i must make a small change in my toilet." he removed the muddy rubber suit and the helmet. likewise, the smock, and baggy trousers, like those worn by nicko the chocolate peddler. in a trice he clothed himself from top to toe as a uhlan full lieutenant. he stood before the small glass tacked in the corner and twirled and stiffened his mustache with pomatum. when he turned and strode before ruth again he was the typical haughty martinet who demanded of the rank and file the goose-step and "right face salute" of the german army. "for your protection, fraulein," he said, stooping at the box again, "we must make a subaltern of you." "oh! i could never look like a boy," ruth objected, shrinking as she saw the second uniform brought to light. "for your protection," he said again. "a girl like you, fraulein, would not have the chance of a rabbit among these huns. they are not french," he added dryly. "i will step outside. make haste, please." he practically commanded her to don the uniform he laid out. ruth let fall the heavy rubber garment she had worn through the swamp. then she removed her outer clothing and got into the uniform and into the long, polished boots quickly. there was even the swagger cane that young prussian officers carry. she viewed herself as well as she could in the piece of mirror in the corner. she might have the appearance of a "stage" soldier; but nobody would ever, for a moment, take her for a man! she strode up and down the hut for several moments, trying to tune her gait to her new character--no easy matter. finally she went to the door. the lamplight showed her figure boldly in the frame of the doorway. she saw the waiting major start, and he muttered something under his breath. "am i not all right?" she asked with some trepidation. for once major marchand forgot himself. he bowed his stiff, military bow with a gesture as though he would kiss her finger tips. "assuredly, mademoiselle!" she drew back for him to enter the hut again. he withdrew from the box under the straw a long, military cloak, which he fastened upon ruth's shoulders. "it will cover the figure, fraulein. and now, a bit of camouflage." from his pocket he drew a leather roll, which, when opened, proved to contain shaving materials and certain toilet requisites. with a camel's hair brush dipped in grease paint he darkened her lip and her cheekbones just before her ears--as though the down of immature manhood were sprouting. she again looked at herself in the glass. "i _am_ a boy now!" she cried. major marchand chuckled as he tumbled the rubber suits and all the other articles into the box, shut the cover and covered it with the straw. he looked carefully about the hut before they departed to make sure that no signs of their occupancy of it were left. he even rubbed out faint imprints of ruth's slippers upon the damp earthen floor of the hut. putting out the smoky lamp, they left the place. the frenchman seemed to know the vicinity perfectly. they followed yet another path out of the wood and came to what was evidently a small inn. there was a noisy party within, caparisoned horses held by orderlies in the yard, and several automobiles under the sheds. "some of the crown prince's wild friends," whispered major marchand to ruth. "we must keep out of their sight but appear to be members of the party. remember, you are sub-leutnant louden. i am your superior, leutnant gilder. do not speak if you can help it, fraulein--and then of the briefest." she nodded, quite understanding his warning. she was alive to the peril she faced, but she felt no panic of fright now that she was in the midst of the adventure. the major found somebody in authority. an auto-car for hire? surely! a price asked for it and a driver to merz, which staggered ruth. but her companion agreed with a nod. to be a prussian lieutenant of the crown prince's suite one must throw money around! in ten minutes they were under way--as easily as that was it accomplished. huddled down in her corner of the tonneau, with the cloak wrapped around her, ruth dozed. it was growing very late, and after her struggle across the swampland between the lines she was exhausted in body if not in mind. she awoke suddenly. the car was stopping at a wide gateway and two sentries were approaching to examine their papers. the frenchman seemed prepared for everything. he had papers for himself and for "sub-leutnant louden." "correct, herr leutnant. pass on." the car entered the private estate, but swiftly sped off into a side road instead of going up to the big house in the upper windows of which ruth saw lights, although it was now nearly morning. "our quarters are in the gardener's cottage," said the major, loudly, evidently intending the information for the automobile driver's ear. they came to a roomy old cottage. its windows were dark. the chauffeur stopped before it and the major sprang out. "have a care how you step," he whispered to ruth, and she made ready to get out of the car without a tumble. the high boots did feel queer on her legs. her companion was hammering on the door of the cottage with the hilt of his sword. a window opened above. "leutnant gilder and sub-leutnant louden billeted here. make haste and come down," he commanded in his gruffest voice as the automobile wheeled around in the drive and started back for the gate. in three minutes the door was opened; but it was dark inside. "is it thou, my henri?" whispered a voice. "allaire!" ruth knew that it was the young count himself. major marchand drew her into the tiny hall. there was not much light, but she saw the two tall men greet each other warmly--in true french fashion--with a kiss upon either cheek. chapter xxiv captain von brenner's sister the major turned immediately to ruth, drawing his brother forward. "mademoiselle ruth fielding, allaire. the count marchand," he whispered formally. "you understand, from my message by bubu, allaire, for what reason the lady has taken this arduous journey, do you not?" "but yes," rejoined his brother. "bubu safely arrived. i have not yet sent him back." "but tom--lieutenant cameron? what of him?" ruth asked anxiously. "have no present fear, fraulein," said the count in german. "he has not yet been allowed to return to his rooms at the hotel in merz. that is all." "he is a prisoner at the house up yonder, yes?" the major asked, with a shrug. "not a prisoner. a guest," replied the count. "general stultz is still friendly. the hauptman von brenner," and he smiled, "is teaching the general some american card game, i believe. the whole staff is card-crazy. they have little else to do but play." "and what plans have you already made for fraulein ruth?" queried major marchand. "while she remains under this roof she will pass as frau krause's niece. but in the morning she will be furnished an outfit i have secured, and she shall enter merz as a very different person." "oh, dear!" murmured ruth. "another disguise?" "you could scarcely continue in your present dress and escape discovery--by daylight," the count said dryly. this fact was, of course, patent. ruth was only too glad that the voluminous cloak covered her completely. the count led her up two flights of stairs to a tiny, neat chamber under the roof. it was evidently a domestic's bedroom. "put the uniform outside the door, fraulein, when you remove it. it must be hidden," whispered the count. "you will find night apparel on the chair. the good frau krause has thought of everything." this, indeed, seemed to be the fact when ruth awoke from her sound sleep at mid-forenoon. she might not have aroused then had there not been an insistent tapping on the door. "_ja_? _herein_!" exclaimed ruth, not too sleepy to remember her german. a broad face surmounted by a cap, then the woman--quite a motherly looking person--appeared. "i am to help the fraulein dress," announced frau krause, smiling. "if you will be so kind," the girl agreed. what she had not noticed when she went to bed was an open trunk heaped with clothing--both for under and outer wear. the rich and "stuffy" gown was typically german, and so was the plumed hat. ruth was sitting, with her hat on, in the little dining-room of the cottage over her pot of substitute coffee, rye bread and schmierkã¤se, when a private and almost noiseless auto-car rolled up to the door. she went out and entered it quite alone, and they were out of the marchand estate by a rear exit and on the highway to merz before ruth discovered that the capped and goggled chauffeur was none other than count allaire marchand himself. in a stretch of the road where there was no traffic and few houses in sight, he half turned in his seat and told ruth in brisk, illuminating sentences what she was to do. it sounded easy, providing she aroused no suspicion in the breasts of those whom she met. the supposed character of captain von brenner's sister would enable her to treat everybody in a distant and haughty manner. "but be careful of your german, fraulein," urged the count. "make no error in your speech. deny yourself to everybody until your brother appears. after your first outburst of anger and alarm, when you arrive at the hotel, retire to the rooms he engaged for you, and refuse to discuss the matter with anybody. "it is, as you americans say, one grand game of bluff. it can be carried through by no other means. remember what i have told you to tell your brother. to-night at nine, or to-morrow night at nine, i will be in waiting with the car. this is absolutely all my brother and i can do for you." in a few minutes the car rolled into the principal street of merz. just beyond the great, glass-roofed building, wherein in happier times the visitors went daily to drink the medicated waters, was the hotel. a rheumatic old woman with a sash, who acted as carriage opener, with a young boy for porter, met "captain von brenner's sister." in the hall the corpulent host bowed before her. "captain von brenner?" queried ruth. "i am his sister." mine host paled. his eyes grew round with wonder. "what it the matter with you?" asked the girl impatiently. "are you dumb?" "he is not here, mein fraulein," chattered the man. "send for him, then. and show me to the suite he engaged for me." "fraulein! pardon!" gasped the innkeeper. "we did not understand. that is--it was--- we thought he would not return." "what?" "and that--that the _gnã¤diges fraulein_ would not come." "idiot!" exclaimed ruth, revealing an excellent semblance of rage. "you have relet my rooms?" "but you may occupy the herr hauptman's," burst out the browbeaten innkeeper. "and where is captain von brenner?" it all came out at one gush of chattering information. the captain had been sent for by the herr general stultz. he had already been away three days. it was whispered he was arrested. after her first show of annoyance ruth seemed to recover her self-possession. she listened more quietly to the explanation of the excited hotel man. then she demanded to be shown to her "brother's" rooms. there she sat down and wrote quite a long letter to tom cameron in the character of his sister, "mina von brenner." she was sure tom would recognize her handwriting and understand at once that she was at merz in an attempt to aid him. "fear not for me, brother," she wrote in conclusion. "but hasten to assure your mina that you are perfectly safe. is it not possible for you to return to the hotel by dinner time? i am distraught for your safety." she sent this letter, with gold, by the hotel keeper, who said he could find a messenger to go to the marchand estate. ruth knew, of course, that her letter would be read there before it was given to tom. even if they questioned him about his sister before giving him the letter tom would make no mistake. "mina von brenner" was already a character and name chosen by count allaire and tom when the latter took up his difficult and dangerous work in the guise of an uhlan captain. that was one of the longest days ruth fielding had ever spent. as the hours dragged by she sat and pondered in the rooms tom had occupied, one moment in despair of his coming, the next fearing that every step in the corridor outside her door was that of a guard come to arrest her. yet her own safety scarcely mattered. she felt that if she could not compass tom's escape, she did not care to go back across the lines, were that even possible! ruth fielding learned much about her own heart during that long wait--much that she would not have acknowledged to any other soul in the world. it finally grew dark. she would allow the servant to light but a single candle. this stood upon her table beside which she sat with her forehead resting in her hand, her elbow on the table. suddenly there sounded a quick step in the corridor. ruth had been mistaken so many times that she did not raise her head or look up. a rap on the door, and before she could say "_herein_!" the knob turned. a figure dashed in--a brave figure in a uniform somewhat similar to the one ruth herself had worn the night before. "mina!" cried a welcome and familiar voice. "my dear sister!" tom rushed across the room. ruth saw, as she rose, that there were two officers with him, but they remained outside. they saw tom take her in his arms in a most affectionate and brotherly manner. then they closed the door, evidently satisfied. "no need of tearing my hair down and breaking my ribs, tom," ruth whispered. "please remember that i am _not_ helen, after all." "no," he returned softly. then, holding her off to look more closely at her, he went on more lightly: "you are mina von brenner. great heavens, my dear! how did you get here?" chapter xxv back again it was ruth who finally remembered to order dinner sent up. her letter, read, of course, by the mildly suspicious old general, had served to release tom from present espionage. there was not even a guard in the corridor when, just before nine, the "brother and sister" left the rooms and strolled out of the hotel into the streets. they walked several blocks until tom was assured they were not spied upon. then quickly, through several short but crooked side streets, he led ruth to a garage in an alley. he tapped a signal on the door. the latter slid back. the purring of a motor was heard. a man silently got into the driver's seat. tom helped ruth into the tonneau and got in himself. "you have your papers, captain?" asked the count softly. "yes. they did not take them from me." "and the lady's?" said the other. "if we are halted you know what to say?" "quite," returned tom in german. the car rolled out of the garage, the door of which closed as silently behind them as it had opened. ruth made up her mind that merz was quite as infested with french spies as the towns behind the french lines were infested with those of the germans. the car left the town quickly. she remembered the road over which she had traveled that morning. they entered the marchand estate by the same rear gate where only one sleepy guard hailed them and did not even look at the papers when he observed tom's uniform. "farewell," whispered the count as they approached the gardener's cottage. "i may not see you soon again, captain. nor the fraulein. best of luck!" they alighted. the car wheeled and was gone. good frau krause met ruth at the door, hurried her up to the small room and there helped her into the uniform of the sub-lieutenant of uhlans. when ruth came down into the parlor of the cottage she found two other officers of apparently her own regiment awaiting her. tom rushed to her. but she only gave him her hand. "manifestly this is no place for renewed protestations of brotherly regard, tommy," she said demurely. "i presume we have to go through all the difficulties we did last night, major?" "and quickly," muttered major henri marchand, looking away from them. "there is something on foot. i should not be surprised if the promised attack and advance under barrage fire is to begin before morning." "i am ready," the girl said simply. "here is the car i sent for," the frenchman said, raising his hand as he heard the automobile without. "you ahead, captain. remember, you are our superior officer." they filed out. the car which the major and ruth had used in reaching the gardener's cottage from the german front stood panting on the drive. the three got in. they wheeled around, boldly passing the front of the marchand house where the general and his staff lived and where tom had been an unwilling guest for three days, and so reached the main entrance of the estate. here their papers were scrutinized, but superficially. captain von brenner's name was already known. leutnant gilder and sub-leutnant louden were remembered from the previous evening. the car started again. it slipped between the massive stone posts of the gateway. it sped toward the front. but all the peril was yet ahead. "how can we get through the german trenches if they are already filled with the shock troops that will be sent over following the barrage?" asked tom. "we must beat them to it, as you americans say," chuckled the major, whose spirits seemed to rise as the peril increased. and he prophesied well in this matter. they were, indeed, in the trenches before the reserves were brought up for the planned attack upon the american lines. the trio of fugitives left the car at the wayside inn. they found the hidden hut and made their changes into rubber suits, an outfit being produced for tom by the indefatigable major marchand. through the shrouding darkness they went in single file to the wood directly behind the trenches. as on the previous night the french spy had secured the password. three men with an evident objective "up front" were allowed to pass without question. once "over the top" they lay in the field until a patrol went out through the wire entanglements to spy about no man's land. the three joined this party, but quite unknown to its leader. once on the black waste at the edge of the morass, the three fugitives separated from the german patrol and slipped down into the low ground. major marchand found the path, and, for a second time, there began for ruth that wearisome and exhausting journey through the swamp. this time, what with her failing strength and the excitement of the venture, ruth was utterly played out when they reached the log whereon she and the major had rested the night before. "we'll carry her between us--chair fashion," suggested tom cameron. "that is the way, major. interlock your hands with mine. lean back, ruthie. we'll get you out of this all right." it was a three-hour trip to the american trenches, however, and, after a while, ruth insisted upon being set down. she did not want to overburden her two companions. at the listening post an officer was sent for who recognized major marchand and who took tom and ruth "on trust." the major, too, sent the word up and down the trenches by telephone that the expected advance of the germans was about to occur. as the three passed through the american lines, after removing the rubber suits in the dugout, they passed company after company of american troops marching into the trenches. tom left ruth and the major at a certain place to report to his commander. but he promised to be in clair the next morning to satisfy helen of his safety. it was almost morning before the major and ruth secured transportation, the one to the clair hospital, the other to the chateau on the hill behind the village. but it was an officer's car they used, and it covered the distance less bumpily than had charlie bragg's ambulance. "mademoiselle," said major henri marchand in his most punctilious way, "it is in my heart to say much to you. i approve of you--i admire you. your courage is sublime--and your modesty and goodness equally so. "forgive the warm expressions of a frenchman who appreciates your attributes of character, as well as your graces of person. believe me your friend forever--your devoted and humble friend. and i trust your future will be as bright as you deserve." the day was just breaking as he thus bade her good-bye and ruth fielding alighted from the machine at the gateway of the hospital. she stood for a minute and watched the car disappear in the semi-darkness with this faithful soldier of france sitting so upright upon the rear seat. and she had once suspected him of disloyalty! the sentinel presented arms as she went in. she climbed wearily to her own little white cell that looked out toward the battle front. already the guns had begun--the big german guns, heralding an attack for which the americans were prepared, thanks to tom cameron! the thundering echoes awoke helen and jennie. they scurried into ruth's little room to find her sitting on the side of her cot sipping hot tea which she had made over her alcohol lamp. "where _have_ you been?" cried helen. and jennie chimed in with: "two whole nights and a day! it is disgraceful! oh, ruthie! are you really wedded?" "i am wedded to my work," replied the girl of the red mill quietly. "dear, dear! how original!" drawled jennie. "what are those guns?" demanded helen. "aren't they going to stop pretty soon?" "they have merely begun. you are here in time to witness--from a perfectly safe distance--a german drive. this sector will be plowed by huge shells, and our brave boys in khaki will hold the german horde back. it will be one of the hottest contested battles our boys have experienced." "pooh! how do you know?" scoffed helen. "i warrant it will all be over in an hour," added jennie. "what do you know about it, ruth fielding? you haven't been over there to find out what is in the mind of the hun." "_haven't i_?" ruth fielding hesitated. should she tell them? what would these, her two closest girl friends, say or think, if they knew what she had been through during the past thirty-six hours? suppose she should picture her adventure to them--just as it had happened? suppose she told them of her long journey with the french major across no man's land? "where is tom? did you get word to him?" helen asked. "he will be here this morning to see you," ruth said, and then went back to her thoughts of her adventure. "goody! dear old tom will take us around and show us the big shell holes--and all," helen declared. shell holes! ruth remembered the shell hole in which they had changed steel helmets before and after crossing the swamp. how she must have looked in that shapeless rubber garment and steel hat! "what under the sun are you laughing at, ruth fielding?" demanded helen. "yes. do tell us the joke," drawled heavy stone. "i--i was ju-just thinking of how fun-funny i must ha-have looked in a hat i had on since i saw you girls!" ruth was hysterical. "well! i never!" gasped jennie. "dear me, ruth," helen said, admonishingly. "i wonder you are so light-minded at such a time as this. you are laughing when those horrid guns may be throwing shells right among our poor boys. dear, dear! i wish they would stop." ruth gazed at helen with a far-away look in her eyes. "i'm not laughing," she said slowly. "far from it!" "yes, but you did laugh!" burst out jennie. "if i did, i didn't know it," answered ruth. "i was thinking of something else. oh, girls, not now--to-morrow, perhaps--you may know about it. now i'm tired, so tired!" the two girls, at last realizing that something out of the ordinary had occurred and seeing how near the end of her strength ruth really was, petted her, made her as comfortable as possible, and finally left her to rest, telling her they would still take charge of the supply room, so that the girl of the red mill need not take up at once her duties in the hospital. the end proofreading team ruth fielding on cliff island or the old hunter's treasure box by alice b. emerson author of "ruth fielding of the red mill," "ruth fielding at silver ranch," etc. _illustrated_ new york cupples & leon company publishers =books for girls= by alice b. emerson ruth fielding series 12mo. cloth. illustrated. price per volume, 40 cents, postpaid. 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 on cliff island [illustration: she shot over the yawning edge of the chasm and disappeared] contents chapter i. the wreck at applegate crossing 1 ii. the panther at large 9 iii. uncle jabez has two opinions 17 iv. on the way to briarwood 26 v. a long look ahead 35 vi. picking up the threads 42 vii. "a hard row to hoe" 49 viii. jerry sheming again 57 ix. ruth's little plot 66 x. an exciting finish 73 xi. a number of things 82 xii. rufus blent's little ways 90 xiii. fighting fire with fire 98 xiv. the hue and cry 106 xv. over the precipice 115 xvi. hide and seek 124 xvii. christmas morning 133 xviii. fun on the ice 143 xix. blent is master 150 xx. the fishing party 157 xxi. jerry's cave 166 xxii. snowed in 173 xxiii. "a blow for liberty" 181 xxiv. a midnight marauder 189 xxv. the treasure box 197 ruth fielding on cliff island chapter i the wreck at applegate crossing a september morning has dawned, with only a vague tang of autumn in the air. in the green old dooryard at the red mill, under the spreading shade trees, two girls are shelling a great basket of dried lima beans for the winter's store. the smaller, black-haired girl begins the conversation. "suppose jane ann doesn't come, ruth?" "you mean on this morning train?" responded the plumper and more mature-looking girl, whose frank face was particularly attractive. "yes." "then tom said he would go back to meet the evening train--and we'll go with him," said ruth fielding, with a smile. "but i could not go this morning and leave poor aunt alvirah all these beans to shell." "of course not," agreed her friend, promptly. "and jane ann won't feel offended by our not meeting her at cheslow, i know." "no, indeed, helen," laughed ruth. "jane ann hicks is altogether too sensible a girl." "sensible about everything but her name," commented helen cameron, making a little face. "and one can scarcely blame her. it _is_ ugly," ruth responded, with a sigh. "jane ann hicks! dear, dear! how could her uncle bill be so thoughtless as to name her that, when she was left, helpless, to his care?" "he didn't realize that fashions in names change--like everything else," observed helen, briskly. "i wonder what the girls at briarwood will say to that name," ruth pondered. "why the fox and heavy will help us make the other girls toe the mark. and madge steele! she's a regiment in herself," declared helen. "we all had such a fine time at silver ranch that the least we can do is to see that jane ann is not hazed like the other infants." "i expect we all have to stand our share of hazing when we go into fresh company," said ruth, reflectively. "but there will not be the same crowd to meet her that met us, dear." "and the sweetbriars will be on hand to preserve order," laughed her chum. "thanks to _you_, ruthie. why--oh! see tom!" she jumped up, dropping a lapful of pods, and pointed up the cheslow road, which here branched from the river road almost opposite the red mill. "what is the matter?" demanded ruth, also scrambling to her feet. a big touring car was approaching at top speed. they could see that the only person in it was a black-haired boy, who sat at the steering wheel. he brought the machine to an abrupt stop before the gate, and leaped out. tearing off his goggles as he ran, he approached the two girls in such a state of excitement that he could scarce speak coherently. "oh, tom! what is it?" gasped helen, seizing his arm with both hands. it took but a single glance to discover the relationship between them. twins never looked more alike--only tom's features lacked the delicacy of outline which belonged to his sister. "tom!" cried ruth, on the other side of the excited youth, "don't keep us on tenter-hooks. surely nothing has happened to jane ann?" "i don't know! they won't tell us much about it at the station," exclaimed the boy. "there hasn't been a wreck?" demanded ruth. "yes. at applegate crossing. and it is the train from the west that is in trouble with a freight. a rear-end collision, i understand." "suppose something has happened to the poor girl!" wailed helen. "we must go and see," declared ruth, quick to decide in an emergency. "you must drive us, tom." "that's what i came back for," replied tom cameron, mopping his brow. "i couldn't get anything out of mercy's father----" "of course not," helen said, briskly, as ruth ran to the house. "the railroad employes are forbidden to talk when there is an accident. mr. curtis might lose his job as station agent at cheslow if he answered all queries." ruth came flying back from the house. she had merely called into the kitchen to aunt alvirah that they were off--and their destination. while tom sprang in and manipulated the self-starter, his sister and the girl of the red mill took their seats in the tonneau. by the time old aunt alvirah had hobbled to the porch, the automobile was being turned, and backed, and then it was off, up the river road. uncle jabez, in his dusty garments, appeared for a moment at the door of the mill as they flashed past in the big motor car. evidently he was amazed to see the three--the girls hatless--starting off at such a pace in the camerons' car. tom threw in the clutch at high speed and the car bounded over the road, gradually increasing its pace until the hum of the engine almost drowned out all speech. the girls asked no questions. they knew that, by following the river road along the placid lumano for some distance, they could take a fork toward the railway and reach applegate crossing much quicker than by going through cheslow. once tom flung back a word or two over his shoulder. no relief train had gone from their home station to the scene of the wreck. it was understood that a wrecking gang, and doctors, and nurses, had started from the distant city before ever the cheslow people learned of the trouble. "oh! if jane ann should be hurt!" murmured helen for the twentieth time. "uncle bill hicks would be heartbroken," agreed ruth. although the crossroad, when they struck into it at the forks, was not so smooth and well-built as the river highway, tom did not reduce speed. mile after mile rolled away behind them. from a low ridge they caught a glimpse of the cut where the two trains had come together. it was the old story of a freight being dilatory in getting out of a block that had been opened for the passage of an express. the express had run her nose into the caboose of the freight, and more harm was done to the freight than to the passenger cars. a great crowd, however, had gathered about. tom ran the car into an open lot beside the tracks, where part of the railroad fence had been torn away. two passenger cars were on their sides, and one or two of the box cars had burst open. "look at that!" gasped the boy, whose bright eyes took in much that the girls missed, for _they_ were looking for jane ann hicks. "that's a menagerie car--and it's all smashed. see! 'rival's circus & menagerie.' crickey! suppose some of the savage animals are loose!" "oh! don't suggest such a thing," begged his sister. tom saw an excited crowd of men near the broken cage cars of the traveling menagerie. down in the gully that was here crossed by the narrow span of the railroad trestle, there was a thick jungle of saplings and brush out of which a few taller trees rose, their spreading limbs almost touching the sides of the ravine. it must be confessed that the boy was drawn more toward this point of interest than toward the passenger train where jane ann might possibly be lying injured. but ruth and helen ran toward this latter spot, where the crowd of passengers was thickest. suddenly the crowd parted and the girls saw a figure lying on the ground, with a girl about their own age bending over it. ruth screamed, "jinny!" and at the sound of the pet name her uncle's cow punchers had given her, the girl from silver ranch responded with an echoing cry. "oh, ruth! and helen! i'm not hurt--only scratched. but this poor fellow----" "who is he?" demanded helen cameron, as she and ruth arrived beside their friend. the figure on the ground was a very young man--a boy, in fact. he was roughly dressed, and sturdily built. his eyes were closed and he was very pale. "he got me out of the window when the car turned over," gasped jane ann. "then he fell with me and has either broken his leg, or twisted it----" "only strained, miss," spoke the victim of the accident, opening his eyes suddenly. ruth saw that they were kind, brown eyes, with a deal of patience in their glance. he was not the sort of chap to make much of a trifle. "but you can't walk on it," exclaimed jane ann, who was a large-framed girl with even blacker hair than helen's--straight as an indian's--and with flashing eyes. she was expensively dressed, although her torn frock and coat were not in very good taste. she showed plainly a lack of that motherly oversight all girls need. "they'll come and fix me up after a time," said the strange youth, patiently. "that won't do," declared ruth, quickly. "i suppose the doctors are busy up there with other passengers?" "oh, yes," admitted jane ann. "lots of people were hurt in the cars a good deal worse than mr.--mr.----?" "my name's jerry sheming, miss," said the youth. "don't you worry about me." "here's tom!" cried helen. "can't we lift him into the car? we'll run to cheslow and let dr. davison look at his leg," she added. tom, understanding the difficulty at a glance, agreed. between the four young folk they managed to carry jerry sheming to the car. they had scarcely got him into the tonneau when a series of yells arose from the crowd down near the derailed freight train. "look out! take care of that panther! i told you she was out!" shouted one voice above the general uproar. ruth fielding and her friends, startled indeed, ran to the brow of the hill. one of the wide-branched trees rose from the bottom of the ravine right below them. along one of the branches lay a long, cat-like body. "a black panther!" gasped tom. chapter ii the panther at large "say! let's get out of here!" exclaimed the girl from the west. "i don't want to be eaten up by that cat--and uncle bill would make an awful row over it. come on!" she seized ruth's hand and, leaving tom to drag his sister with him, set off at full speed for the motor car, wherein jerry sheming, the stranger, still lay helpless. helen was breathless from laughter when she reached the car. jane ann's desire not to be eaten up by the panther because of what mr. bill hicks, of bullhide, montana, would say, was so amusing that tom's twin forgot her fright. "stop your fooling and get in there--quick!" commanded the anxious boy, pushing his sister into the tonneau. with the injured jerry, the back of the car was well filled. tom leaped into the front seat and tried to start the car. "quick, tom!" begged ruth fielding. "there's the panther." "panther! what panther?" demanded jerry, starting up in his seat. the lithe, black beast appeared just then over the brow of the hill. the men who had started after the beast were below in the ravine, yelling, and driving the creature toward them. the motor car was the nearest object to attract the great cat's wrath, and there is no wild beast more savage and treacherous. tom was having trouble in starting the car. besides, it was headed directly for the huge cat, and the latter undoubtedly had fastened its cruel gaze upon the big car and its frightened occupants. ruth fielding and her friends had been in serious difficulties before. they had even (in the woods of the northern adirondacks and in the foothills of the montana rockies) met peril in a somewhat similar form. but here, with the panther creeping toward them, foot by foot, the young friends had no weapon of defense. ruth had often proved herself both a courageous and a sensible girl. coming from her old home where her parents had died, a year and a half before, she had received shelter at the red mill, belonging to her great uncle, jabez potter, at first as an object of charity, for uncle jabez was a miserly and ill-tempered old fellow. the adventures of the first book of this series, entitled "ruth fielding of the red mill; or, jasper parloe's secret," narrate how ruth won her way--in a measure, at least--to her uncle's heart. ruth made friends quickly with helen and tom cameron, and when, the year previous, helen had gone to briarwood hall to school, ruth had gone with her, and the fun, friendships, rivalries, and adventures of their first term at boarding school are related in "ruth fielding at briarwood hall; or, solving the campus mystery." in "ruth fielding at snow camp; or, lost in the backwoods," the third volume of the series, are told the mid-winter sports of our heroine and her friends; and later, after the school year is concluded, we find them all at the seaside home of one of the briarwood girls, and follow them through the excitement and incidents of "ruth fielding at lighthouse point; or, nita, the girl castaway." when our present story opens ruth and the camerons have just returned from the west, where they had spent a part of the summer vacation with jane ann hicks, and their many adventures are fully related in the fifth volume of the series, entitled "ruth fielding at silver ranch; or, schoolgirls among the cowboys." few perils they had faced, however, equalled this present incident. the black panther, its gleaming eyes fixed upon the stalled motor car and the young folk in it, crouched for only a moment, with lashing tail and bared fangs. uttering another half-stifled snarl, the beast bounded into the air. the distance was too great for the brute to pass immediately to the car; but it was plain that one more leap would bring her aboard. "start it! quick, tom!" gasped helen. "i--i can't!" groaned her brother. "then we must run----" "sit still!" commanded jane ann, with fire in her eye. "i'm not going to run from that cat. i hate 'em, anyway----" "we can't leave mr. sheming," said ruth, decidedly. "try again, tommy." "oh, don't bother about me," groaned the young man, who was still a stranger to them. "don't be caught here on my account." "it will not do us any good to run," cried ruth, sensibly. "oh, tommy!" and then the engine started. the electric starter had worked at last. tom threw in his clutch and the car lunged ahead just as the snarling cat sprang into the air again. the cat and the car were approaching each other, head on. the creature could not change its course; nor could tom cameron veer the car very well on this rough ground. he had meant to turn the car in a big circle and make for the road again. but that flashing black body darting through the air was enough to shake the nerve of anybody. the car "wabbled." it shot towards the tracks, and then back again. perhaps that was a happy circumstance, after all. for as the car swerved, there was a splintering crash, and the windshield was shivered. the body of the panther shot to one side and the motor car escaped the full shock of the charge. over and over upon the ground the panther rolled; and off toward the road, in a long, sweeping curve, darted the automobile. "lucky escape!" tom shouted, turning his blazing face once to look back at the party in his car. "oh! more than luck, tommy!" returned ruth, earnestly. "it was providential," declared helen, shrinking into her seat again and beginning to tremble, now that the danger was past. "good hunting!" exclaimed the girl from the ranch. "think of charging a wildcat with one of these smoke wagons! my! wouldn't it make bashful ike's eyes bulge out? i reckon he wouldn't believe we had such hunting here in the east--eh?" and her laugh broke the spell of fear that had clutched them all. "that critter beats the biggest bobcat i ever heard of," remarked jerry sheming. "why! a catamount isn't in it with that black beast." "where'd it go?" asked tom, quite taken up with the running of the car. "back to the ravine," said ruth. "oh! i hope it will do no damage before it is caught." just now the four young friends had something more immediate to think about. this jerry sheming had been "playing 'possum." suddenly they found that he lay back in the tonneau, quite insensible. "oh, oh!" gasped helen. "what shall we do? he is--oh, ruth! he isn't _dead_?" "of a strained leg?" demanded jane ann, in some disgust. "but he looks so white," said helen, plaintively. "he's just knocked out. it's hurt him lots more than he let on," declared the girl from silver ranch, who had seen many a man suffer in silence until he lost the grip on himself--as this youth had. in half an hour the car stopped before dr. davison's gate--the gate with the green lamps. jerry sheming had come to his senses long since and seemed more troubled by the fact that he had fainted than by the injury to his leg. ruth, by a few searching questions, had learned something of his story, too. he had not been a passenger on the train in which jane ann was riding when the wreck occurred. indeed, he hadn't owned carfare between stations, as he expressed it. "i was hoofin' it from cheslow to grading. i heard of a job up at grading--and i needed that job," jerry had observed, drily. this was enough to tell ruth fielding what was needed. when dr. davison asked where the young fellow belonged, ruth broke in with: "he's going to the mill with me. you come after us, doctor, if you think he ought to go to bed before his leg is treated." "what do you reckon your folks will say, miss?" groaned the injured youth. and even helen and tom looked surprised. "aunt alvirah will nurse you," laughed ruth. "as for uncle jabez----" "it will do uncle jabez good," put in dr. davison, confidently. "that's right, ruthie. you take him along to your house. i'll come right out behind you and will be there almost before tom, here, and your uncle's ben can get our patient to bed." it had already been arranged that jane ann should go on to outlook, the camerons' home. she would remain there with the twins for the few days intervening before the young folk went back to school--the girls to briarwood, and tom to seven oaks, the military academy he had entered when his sister and ruth went to their boarding school. "how you will ever get your baggage--and in what shape--we can only guess," tom said to the western girl, grinning over his shoulder as the car flew on toward the red mill. "guess you'll have to bid a fond farewell to all the glad rags you brought with you, and put on some of ruth's, or helen's." "i'd look nice; wouldn't i?" she scoffed, tossing her head. "if i don't get my trunks i'll sue the railroad company." the car arrived before the gate of the cottage. there was the basket of beans just where ruth and helen had left them. and aunt alvirah came hobbling to the door again, murmuring, "oh, my back! and oh, my bones!" and quite amazed when she saw ben come running to help tom cameron into the house with the youth from the railroad wreck. "though, landy's sake! i don't know what your uncle jabez will say when he comes back from town and finds this boy in the best bed," grumbled aunt alvirah, after a bit, when she and ruth were left alone with jerry sheming, and the others had gone on in the car, hurrying so as not to be late for luncheon at outlook. chapter iii uncle jabez has two opinions dr. davison came, found that jerry's leg was not broken, left liniment, some quieting medicine to use if the patient could not sleep, and went away. still uncle jabez had not returned from town. dinner had been a farce. ben, the hired man, was fed as usual; but ruth and aunt alvirah did not feel like eating; and, considering his fever, it was just as well, the doctor said, if the patient did not eat until later. jerry sheming was a fellow of infinite pluck. the pain he had endured during his rough ride in the automobile must have been terrific. yet he was only ashamed, now, that he had fainted. "first time i ever heard of a sheming fainting--or yet a tilton, miss," he told ruth. "i don't believe you belong near here?" suggested ruth, who sat beside him, for he seemed restless. "i don't remember hearing either of those names around the red mill." "no. i--i lived away west of here," replied jerry, slowly. "oh, a long ways." "not as far as montana? that is where jane ann comes from." "the girl i helped through the car window?" he asked, quickly. "yes. miss hicks." "i did not mean really west," he said. "but it's quite some miles. i had been walking two days--and i'm some walker," he added, with a smile. "looking for work, you said?" questioned ruth, diffident about showing her interest in the young fellow, yet deeply curious. "yes. i've got to support myself some way." "haven't you any folks at all, mr. jerry?" "i ain't a 'mister,'" said the youth. "i'm not so much older than you and your friends." "you seem a lot older," laughed ruth, tossing back her hair. "that's because i have been working most of my life--and i guess livin' in the woods all the time makes a chap seem old." "and you've lived in the woods?" "with my uncle. i can't remember anybody else belongin' to me--not very well. pete tilton is _his_ name. he's been a guide and hunter all his life. and of late years he got so queer--before they took him away----" "took him away?" interrupted ruth, "what do you mean by that?" "why, i'll tell you," said jerry, slowly. "he got wild towards the last. it was something about his money and papers that he lost. he kep' 'em in a box somewhere. there was a landslide at the west end of the island." "the island? what island?" "cliff island. that's where we lived. uncle pete said he owned half the island, but rufe blent cheated him out of it. that's what made him so savage with blent, and he come pretty near killin' him. at least, blent told it that way. "so they took poor uncle pete into court, and they said he wasn't safe to be at large, and sent him to the county asylum. then--well, there wasn't no manner o' use my stayin' around there. rufe blent warned me off the island. so i started out to hunt a job." the details were rather vague, but ruth felt a little diffident about asking for further particulars. besides, it was not long before uncle jabez came home. "what do ye reckon your aunt alvirah keeps that spare room for?" demanded the old miller, with his usual growl, when ruth explained about jerry. "for to put up tramps?" "oh, uncle! he isn't just a _tramp_!" "i'd like to know what ye call it, niece ruth?" grumbled uncle jabez. "think how he saved jane ann! that car was rolling right down the embankment. he pulled her through the window and almost the next moment the car slid the rest of the way to the bottom, and lots of people--people in the chairs next to her--were badly hurt. oh, uncle! he saved her life, perhaps." "that ain't makin' it any dif'rent," declared uncle jabez. "he's a tramp and nobody knows anything about him. why didn't davison send him to the hospital? the doc's allus mixin' us up with waifs an' strays. he's got more cheek than a houn' pup----" "now, jabez!" cried the little old lady, who had been bending over the stove. "don't ye make yourself out wuss nor you be. that poor boy ain't doin' no harm to the bed." "makin' you more work, alviry." "what am i good for if it ain't to work?" she demanded, quite fiercely. "when i can't work i want ye sh'd take me back to the poor farm where ye got me--an' where i'd been these last 'leven years if it hadn't been for your charity that you're so 'fraid folks will suspect----" "charity!" broke in uncle jabez. "ha! yes! a fat lot of charity i've showed you, alviry boggs. i reckon i've got my money's wuth out o' you back an' bones." the old woman stood as straight as she could and looked at the grim miller with shining eyes. ruth thought her face really beautiful as she smiled and said, wagging her head at the gray-faced man: "oh, jabez potter! jabez potter! nobody'll know till you're in your coffin jest how much good you've done in this world'--on the sly! an' you'll let this pore boy rest an' git well here before he has to go out an' hunt a job for hisself. for my pretty, here, tells me he ain't got no home nor no friends." "uh-huh!" grunted uncle jabez, and stumped away to the mill, fairly beaten for the time. "he grumbles and grunts," observed aunt alvirah, shaking her head as she turned to her work again. "but out o' sight he's re'lly gettin' tender-hearted, ruthie. an' i b'lieve you showed him how a lot. oh, my back! and oh, my bones!" before supper time a man on horseback came to the mill and cried a warning to the miller and his family: "look out for your stables and pigpens. there's three beasts loose from those wrecked menagerie cars at the crossing, jabez." "mercy on us! they ain't bound this way, are they?" demanded uncle jabez, with more anxiety than he usually showed. "nobody knows. you know, the piece of woods yonder is thick. the menagerie men lost them an hour ago. a big black panther--an ugly brute--and a lion and lioness. them last two they say is as tame as kittens. but excuse me! i'd ruther trust the kittens," said the neighbor. then he dug his heels in the sides of his horse and started off to bear the news to other residents along the road that followed this bank of the lumano river. jabez shouted for ben to hurry through his supper, and they closed the mill tight while the womenfolk tried to close all the shutters on the first floor of the cottage. but the "blinds" had not been closed on the east side of the house since they were painted the previous spring. aunt alviry was the kind of housekeeper who favored the morning sun and it always streamed into the windows of the guest room. when they tried to close the outside shutters of those windows, one had a broken hinge that the painters had said nothing about. the heavy blind fell to the ground. "goodness me!" exclaimed ruth, running back into the house. "that old panther could jump right into that room where jerry is. but if we keep a bright light in there all night, i guess he won't--if he comes this way at all." it was foolish, of course, to fear the coming of the marauding animal from the shattered circus car. probably, ruth told herself before the evening was half over, "rival's circus and menagerie" had moved on with all its beasts. uncle jabez, however, got down the double-barreled shotgun, cleaned and oiled it, and slipped in two cartridges loaded with big shot. "i ain't aimin' to lose my pigs if i can help it," he said. as the evening dragged by, they all forgot the panther scare. jerry had fallen asleep after supper without recourse to the medicine dr. davison had left. as usual, uncle jabez was poring over his daybook and counting the cash in the japanned money box. ruth was deep in her text books. one does forget so much between june and september! aunt alvirah was busily sewing some ruffled garment for "her pretty." suddenly a quick, stern voice spoke out of the guest room down the hall. "quick! bring that gun!" "hul-_lo_!" murmured uncle jabez, looking up. "that poor boy's delirious," declared aunt alvirah. but ruth jumped up and ran lightly to the room where jerry sheming lay. "what _is_ it?" she gasped, peering at the flushed face that was raised from the pillow. "that cat!" muttered jerry. "oh, you're dreaming!" declared ruth, trying to laugh. "i ain't lived in the woods for nothin'," snapped the young fellow. "i never see that black panther in her native wilds, o' course; but i've tracked other kinds o' cats. and one of the tribe is 'round here----there! hear that?" one of the horses in the stable squealed suddenly--a scream of fear. then a cow bellowed. uncle jabez came with a rush, in his stocking feet, with the heavy shotgun in his hand. "what's up?" he demanded, hoarsely. "i am!" exclaimed jerry, swinging his legs out of bed, despite the pain it caused him. "put out that light, miss ruth." aunt alvirah hobbled in, groaning, "oh, my back! and oh, my bones!" uncle jabez softly raised the sash where the blind was missing. "i saw her eyes," gasped jerry, much excited. he reached out a grasping hand. "gimme that gun, sir, unless you are a good shot. i don't often miss." "you take it," muttered uncle jabez, thrusting the gun into the young fellow's hand. "my--my eyes ain't what they once was." "send the women folk back. if she leaps in at the winder----" suddenly he raised the gun to his shoulder. it was so dark in the room they all saw the crouching creature on the lawn outside. it was headed for the open window, and its eyes gleamed like yellow coals. in a moment the gun spoke--one long tongue of flame, followed by the other, flashed into the night. there was a yowl, a struggle on the grass outside, and then---"you're something of a shot, you be, young feller!" boomed out jabez potter's rough voice. "i was some mistaken in you. ah! it hurt ye, eh?" and he proceeded to lift the suffering jerry back into bed as tenderly as he would have handled ruth herself. they did not go out to see the dead panther until daybreak. then they learned that the pair of lions had already been caught by their owners. chapter iv on the way to briarwood if anything had been needed to interest ruth fielding deeply in the young fellow who had been injured at the scene of the railroad wreck, the occurrence that evening at the red mill would have provided it. it was not enough for her to make a veritable hero of him to helen, and jane ann, and tom, when they came over from outlook the following morning. when the girl of the red mill was really interested in anything or anybody, she gave her whole-souled attention to it. she could not be satisfied with jerry sheming's brief account of his life with his half-crazed uncle on some distant place called cliff island, and the domestic tragedy that seemed to be the cause of the old man's final incarceration in a madhouse. "tell me all about yourself--do," she pleaded with jerry, who was to remain in bed for several days (uncle jabez insisted on it himself, too!), for the injured leg must be rested. "didn't you live anywhere else but in the woods?" "that's right, miss," he said, slowly. "i got a little schooling on the mainland; but it warn't much. uncle pete used to guide around parties of city men who wanted to fish and hunt. at the last i did most of the guidin'. he said he could trust me, for i hated liquor as bad as him. _my_ dad was killed by it. "uncle pete was a mite cracked over it, maybe. but he was good enough to me until rufus blent came rummagin' round. somehow he got uncle pete to ragin'." "who is this rufus blent?" asked ruth, curiously. "he's a real estate man. he lives at logwood. that's the landin' at the east end o' the lake." "what lake?" "tallahaska. you've heard tell on't?" he asked. "yes. but i was never there, of course." "well, miss, cliff island is just the purtiest place! and uncle pete must have had some title to it, for he's lived there all his life--and he's old. fifty-odd year he was there, i know. he was more than a squatter. "i reckon he was a bit of a miser. he had some money, and he didn't trust to banks. so he kept it hid on the island, of course. "then the landslide come, and he talked as though it had covered his treasure box--and in it was papers he talked about. if he could ha' got those papers he could ha' beat rufus blent off. "that's the understandin' i got of him. of course, he talked right ragin' and foolish; but some things he said was onderstandable. but he couldn't make the judge see it--nor could i. they let rufus blent have his way, and uncle pete went to the 'sylum. "then they ordered me off the island. i believe blent wanted to s'arch it himself for the treasure box. he's a sneakin' man--i allus hated him," said jerry, clenching his fist angrily. "but they could ha' put me in the jug if i'd tried to fight him. so i come away. don't 'spect i'll ever see tallahaska--or cliff island--again," and the young fellow's voice broke and he turned his face away. when jane ann hicks heard something of this, through ruth, she was eager to help jerry to be revenged upon the man whom he thought had cheated his uncle. "let me write to bill hicks about it," she cried, eagerly. "he'll come on here and get after this thieving real estate fellow--you bet!" "i have no doubt that he would," laughed helen, pinching her. "you'd make him leave his ranch and everything else and come here just to do that. don't be rash, young lady. jerry certainly did you a favor, but you needn't take everything he says for the gospel truth." "i believe myself he's honest," added ruth, quietly. "and i don't doubt him either," helen cameron said. "but we'd better hear both sides of it. and a missing treasure box, and papers to prove that an old hunter is owner of an island in tallahaska, sounds--well, unusual, to say the least." ruth laughed. "helen has suddenly developed caution," she said. "what do you say, tom?" "i'll get father to write to somebody at logwood, and find out about it," returned the boy, promptly. that is the way the matter was left for the time being. the next day they were to start for school--the girls for briarwood and tom for seven oaks. it was arranged that jerry should remain at the red mill for a time. uncle jabez's second opinion of him was so favorable that the miller might employ him for a time as the harvesting and other fall work came on. and jane ann left a goodly sum in the miller's hands for young sheming's use. "he's that independent that he wouldn't take nothing from me but a pair of cuff links," declared jane ann, wiping her eyes, for she was a tender-hearted girl under her rough exterior. "says they will do for him to remember me by. he's a nice chap." "jinny's getting sentimental," gibed tom, slily. "i'm not over you, mister tom!" she flared up instantly. "you're too 'advanced' a dresser." "and you were the girl who once ran away from silver ranch and the boys out there, because everything was so 'common,'" chuckled tom. ruth shut him off at that. she knew that the western girl could not stand much teasing. they were all nervous, anyway; at least, the girls were. ruth and helen approached their second year at briarwood with some anxiety. how would they be treated? how would the studies be arranged for the coming months of hard work? how were they going to stand with the teachers? when the two chums first went to briarwood they occupied a double room; but later they had taken in mercy curtis, a lame girl. now that "triumvirate" could not continue, for jane ann had begged to room with ruth and helen. the western girl, who was afraid of scarcely anything "on four legs or two" in her own environment, was really nervous as she approached boarding school. she had seen enough of these eastern girls to know that they were entirely different from herself. she was "out of their class," she told herself, and if she had not been with ruth and helen these few last days before the opening of the school term, she would have run away. ruth was going back to school this term with a delightful sense of having gained uncle jabez's special approval. he admitted that schooling such as she gained at briarwood was of some use. and he made her a nice present of pocket-money when she started. the cameron auto stopped for her at the red mill before mid-forenoon, and ruth bade the miller and aunt alvirah and ben--not forgetting jerry sheming, her new friend--good-bye. "do--_do_ take care o' yourself, my pretty," crooned aunt alvirah over her, at the last. "jest remember we're a-honin' for you here at the ol' mill." "take care of uncle jabez," whispered ruth. she dared kiss the grim old man only upon his dusty cheek. then she shook hands with bashful ben and ran out to her waiting friends. "come on, or we'll lose the train," cried helen. they were off the moment ruth stepped into the tonneau. but she stood up and waved her hand to the little figure of aunt alvirah in the cottage doorway as long as she could be seen on the cheslow road. and she had a fancy that uncle jabez himself was lurking in the dark opening to the grist-floor of the mill, and watching the retreating motor car. there was a quick, alert-looking girl hobbling on two canes up and down the platform at cheslow station. this was mercy curtis, the station agent's crippled daughter. "here you are at last!" she cried, shrilly. "and the train already hooting for the station. five minutes more and you would have been too late. did you think i could go to briarwood without you?" ruth ran up and kissed her heartily. she knew that mercy's "bark was worse than her bite." "you come and see jane ann--and be nice to her. she doesn't look it, but she's just as scared as she can be." "of course you'd have some poor, unfortunate pup, or kitten, to mother, ruth fielding," snapped the lame girl. she was very nice, however, to the girl from silver ranch, sat beside her in the chair car, and soon had jane ann laughing. for mercy curtis, with her sarcastic tongue, could be good fun if she wished to be. here and there, along the route to osago lake, other briarwood girls joined them. at one point appeared madge steele and her brother, bob, a slow, smiling young giant, called "bobbins" by the other boys, who was always being "looked after" in a most distressing fashion by his sister. "come, bobby, boy, don't fall up the steps and get your nice new clothes dirty," adjured madge, as her brother made a false step in getting aboard the train. "will you look out for him, mr. cameron, if i leave him in your care?" "sure!" said tom, laughing. "i'll see that he doesn't spoil his pinafore or mess up his curls." "say! i'd shake a sister like that if i had one," grunted "busy izzy" phelps, disgustedly. "aw, what's the odds?" drawled good-natured bobbins. the hilarious crowd boarded the _lanawaxa_ at the landing, and after crossing the lake they again took a train, disembarking at seven oaks, where the boys' school was situated. from here the girls were to journey by stage to briarwood. there was dust-coated, grinning, bewhiskered "old noah dolliver" and his "ark," waiting for them. there was a horde of uniformed academy boys about to greet tom and his chums, and to eye the girls who had come thus far in their company. but ruth and her friends were not so bashful as they had been the year before. they formed in line, two by two, and slowly paraded the length of the platform, chanting in unison the favorite "welcome to the infants" used at the beginning of each half at briarwood: "uncle noah, he drove an ark- one wide river to cross! he's aiming to land at briarwood park- one wide river to cross! one wide river! one wide river of jordan! one wide river! one wide river to cross!" the boys cheered them enthusiastically. the girls piled into the coach with much laughter. even mercy had taken part in this fun, for the procession had marched at an easy pace for her benefit. old dolliver cracked his whip. tom ran along in the dust on one side and bobbins on the other, each to bid a last good-bye to his sister. then the coach rolled into the shadow of the cool wood road, and ruth and her friends were really upon the last lap of their journey to the hall. chapter v a long look ahead "hurrah! first glimpse of the old place!" helen cried this, with her head out of the ark. the dust rolled up in a cloud behind them as they topped the hill. here mary cox had met ruth and helen that first day, a year ago, when they approached the hall. there was no infant in the coach now save jane ann. and the chums were determined to save the western girl from that strange and lonely feeling they had themselves experienced. there was nobody in view on the pastured hill. down the slope the ark coasted and bye and bye cedar walk came into view. "shall we get out here, girls?" called madge steele, with a glance at mercy. "of course we shall," cried that sprightly person, shaking her fist at the big senior. "don't you dare try to spare _me_, miss! i am getting so strong and healthy i am ashamed of myself. don't you dare!" madge kissed her warmly, as ruth had. _that_ was the best way to treat mercy curtis whenever she "exploded." suddenly helen leaned out of the open half of the door on her side and began to call a welcome to four girls who were walking briskly down the winding pathway. instantly they began to run, shouting joyfully in return. "here we be, young ladies," croaked old dolliver, bringing his tired horses to a halt. they struggled forth, jane ann coming last to help the lame girl--just a mite. then the two parties of school friends came together like the mingling of waters. one was a very plump girl with a smiling, rosy face; one was red-haired and very sharp-looking, and the other two balanced each other evenly, both being more than a little pretty, very well dressed, and one dark while the other was light. the light girl was belle tingley, and the dark one lluella fairfax; of course, the red-haired one was mary cox, "the fox," while the stout girl could be no other than "heavy" jennie stone. the fox came forward quickly and seized both of ruth's hands. "dear ruth," she whispered. "i arrived just this morning myself. you know that my brother is all right again?" and she kissed the girl of the red mill warmly. belle and lluella looked a bit surprised at mary cox's manifestation of friendship for ruth; but they did not yet know all the particulars of their schoolmates' adventures at silver ranch. heavy was hurrying about, kissing everybody indiscriminately, and of course performing this rite with ruth at least twice. "i'm so tickled to see you all, i can't tell!" she laughed. "and you're all looking fine, too. but it does seem a month, instead of a week, since i saw you." "my! but you are looking bad yourself, heavy," gibed helen cameron, shaking her head and staring at the other girl. "you're just fading away to a shadow." "pretty near," admitted heavy. "but the doctor says i shall get my appetite back after a time. i was allowed to drink the water two eggs were boiled in for lunch, and to-night i can eat the holes out of a dozen doughnuts. oh! i'm convalescing nicely, thank you." the girls who had reached the school first welcomed jane ann quite as warmly as they did the others. there was an air about them all that seemed protecting to the strange girl. other girls were walking up and down the cedar walk, and sometimes they cast more than glances at the eight juniors who were already such friends. madge had immediately been swallowed up by a crowd of seniors. "say, foxy! got an infant there?" demanded one girl. "i suppose fielding has made her a sweetbriar already--eh?" suggested another. "the sweetbriars do not have to fish for members," declared helen, tossing her head. "oh, my! see what a long tail our cat's got!" responded one of the other crowd, tauntingly. "the double quartette! there's just eight of them," crowed another. "there certainly will be something doing at briarwood hall with those two roomsful." "say! that's right!" cried heavy, eagerly, to ruth. "you, and helen, and mercy, and jinny, take that quartette room on our other side. we'll just about boss that dormitory. what do you say?" "if mrs. tellingham will agree," said ruth. "i'll ask her." "but you girls will be 'way ahead of me in your books," broke in jane ann. "we needn't be ahead of you in sleeping, and in fun," laughed heavy, pinching her. "don't be offish, miss jinny," said helen, calling her by the title that the cowboys did. "and my name--my dreadful, dreadful name!" groaned the western girl. "i tell you!" exclaimed ruth, "we're all friends. let's agree how we shall introduce miss hicks to the bunch. she must choose a name----" "why, call yourself 'nita,' if you want to, dear," said helen, patting the western girl's arm. "that's the name you ran away with." "but i'm ashamed of that. i know it is silly--and i chose it for a silly reason. but you know what all these girls will do to 'jane ann,'" and she shook her head, more than a little troubled. "what's the matter with ann?" demanded mercy curtis, sharply. "isn't 'ann hicks' sensible-sounding enough? for sure, it's not _pretty_; but we can't all have both pretty names and pretty features," and she laughed. "and it's mighty tough when you haven't got either," grumbled the new girl. "'ann hicks,'" quoth ruth, softly. "i like it. i believe it sounds nice, too--when you get used to it. 'ann hicks.' something dignified and fine about it--just as though you had been named after some really great woman--some leader." the others laughed; and yet they looked appreciation of ruth fielding's fantasy. "bully for you, ruthie!" cried helen, hugging her. "if ann hicks agrees." "it doesn't sound so bad without the 'jane,'" admitted the western girl with a sigh. "and ruth says it so nicely." "we'll all say it nicely," declared the fox, who was a much different "fox" from what she had been the year before. "'ann hicks,' i bet you've got a daguerreotype at home of the gentle old soul for whom you are named. you know--silver-gray gown, pearls, pink cheeks, and a real ostrich feather fan." "my goodness me!" ejaculated the newly christened ann hicks, "you have already arranged a very fanciful family tree for me. can i ever live up to such an ancestress as _that_?" "certainly you can," declared ruth, firmly. "you've just _got_ to. think of the original ann--as mary described her--whenever you feel like exploding. her picture ought to bring you up short. a lady like that _couldn't_ explode." "tough lines," grumbled the western girl. "right from what you girls call the 'wild and woolly,' and to have to live up to silver-gray silk and pearls--m-m-m-m!" "now, say! say!" cried belle tingley, suddenly, and seizing upon ruth, about whom she had been hovering ever since they had met. "_i_ want to talk a little. there aren't any more infants to christen, i hope?" "go on!" laughed ruth, squeezing her. "what is the matter, _bella mia_?" "and don't talk italian," said belle, shrugging her shoulders. "listen! i promised to ask you the minute you arrived, ruthie, and now you've been here ten at least." "it is something splendid," laughed lluella, clapping her hands, evidently being already a sharer in belle's secret. "i'll tell you--if they'll let me," panted belle, shaking ruth a little. "father's bought cliff island. it's a splendid place. we were there for part of the summer. and there will be a great lodge built by christmas time and he has told me i might invite you all to come to the house-warming. now, ruth! it remains with you. if you'll go, the others will, i know. and it's a splendid place." "cliff island?" gasped ruth. "yes. in lake tallahaska." "and your father has just bought it?" "yes. he had some trouble getting a clear title; but it's all right now. they had to evict an old squatter. i want you all to come with me for the mid-winter holiday. what do you say, ruthie?" asked belle, eagerly. "i say it's a long look ahead," responded ruth, slowly. "it's very kind of you, belle. but i'll have to write home first, of course. i'd like to go, though--to cliff island--yes, indeed!" chapter vi picking up the threads ann hicks must see the preceptress at once. that came first, and ruth would not go into the old dormitory until the introduction of the western girl was accomplished. there was a whole bevy of girls on the steps of the main building, in which mrs. grace tellingham and dr. tellingham lived. nobody ever thought of putting the queer old doctor first, although all the briarwoods respected the historian immensely. he was considered very, very scholarly, although it would have been hard to find any of his histories in any library save that of briarwood itself. it was understood that just now he was engaged upon a treatise relating to the possible existence of a race before the mound builders in the middle west, and he was not to be disturbed, of course, at his work. but when ruth and ann hicks entered the big office room, there he was, bent over huge tomes upon the work table, his spectacles awry, and his wig pushed so far back upon his head that two hands' breadth of glistening crown was exposed. the fiction that dr. tellingham was not bald might have been kept up very well indeed, did not the gentleman get so excited while he worked. as soon as he became interested in his books, he proceeded to bare his high brow to all beholders, and the wig slid toward the back of his neck. the truth was, as heavy stone said, dr. tellingham had to remove his collar to brush his hair--there really was so little of it. "dear, dear!" sputtered the historian, peering at the two girls over his reading glasses. "you don't want me, of course?" "oh, no, dr. tellingham. this is a new girl. we wished to see mrs. tellingham," ruth assured him. "quite so," he said, briskly. "she is--ah! she comes! my dear! two of the young ladies to see you," and instantly he was buried in his books again--that is, buried all but his shining crown. mrs. tellingham was a graceful, gray-haired lady, with a charming smile. she trailed her black robe across the carpet and stooped to kiss ruth warmly, for she not only respected the junior, but had learned to love her. "welcome, miss fielding!" she said, kindly. "i am glad to see you back. and this is the girl i have been getting letters about--miss hicks?" "ann hicks," responded ruth, firmly. "that is the name she wishes to be known by, dear mrs. tellingham." "i don't know who could be writing you but uncle bill," said ann hicks, blunderingly. "and i expect he's told you a-plenty." "i think 'uncle bill' must be the most recklessly generous man in the world, my dear," observed mrs. tellingham, taking and holding one of ann's brown hands, and looking closely at the western girl. for a moment the new girl blushed and her own eyes shone. "you bet he is! i--i beg pardon," she stammered. "uncle bill is all right." "and jennie stone's aunt kate has been writing me about you, too. it seems she was much interested in you when you visited their place at lighthouse point." "she's very kind," murmured the new girl. "and mrs. murchiston, helen's governess, has spoken a good word for you," added the preceptress. "why--why i didn't know so many people _cared_," stammered ann. "you see, you have a way of making friends unconsciously. i can see that," mrs. tellingham said, kindly. "now, do not be discouraged. you will make friends among the girls in just the same way. don't mind their banter for a while. the rough edges will soon rub off----" "but there _are_ rough edges," admitted the western girl, hanging her head. "don't mind. there are such in most girls' characters and they show up when first they come to school. keep cheerful. come to me if you are in real trouble--and stick close to miss fielding, here. i can't give you any better advice than that," added mrs. tellingham, with a laugh. then she was ready to listen to ruth's plea that the room next to the fox and her chums be given up to ruth, helen, mercy and the new girl. "we love our little room; but it was crowded with mercy last half; and we could all get along splendidly in a quartette room," said ruth. "all right," agreed the principal. "i'll telephone to miss scrimp and miss picolet. now, go and see about getting settled, young ladies. i expect much of you this half, ruth fielding. as for ann, i shall take her in hand myself on monday and see what classes she would best enter." "she's fine," declared ann hicks, when they were outside again. "i can get along with her. but how about the girls?" "they'll be nice to you, too--after a bit. of course, everybody new has to expect some hazing. thank your stars that you won't have to be put through the initiation of the marble harp," and she pointed to a marble figure in the tiny italian garden in the middle of the campus. when ann wanted to know what _that_ meant, ruth repeated the legend as all new girls at briarwood must learn it. but ruth and her friends had long since agreed that no other nervous or high-strung girl was to be hazed, as she and helen had been, when they first came to the hall. so the ceremony of the marble harp was abolished. it has been described in the former volume of this series, "ruth fielding at briarwood hall." the two went back to the dormitory that had become like home to ruth. miss picolet, the little french teacher, beckoned them into her study. "i must be the good friend of your good friend, too, miss fielding," she said, and shook hands warmly with ann. the matron of the house had already opened and aired the large room next to that which had been so long occupied by the fox and her chums. the eight girls made the corridor ring with laughter and shouts while they were getting settled. the trunks had arrived from lumberton and helen and ruth were busy decorating the big room which they were to share in the future with the lame girl and ann hicks. there were two wide beds in it; but each girl had her own dressing case and her locker and closet there were four windows and two study tables. it was a delightful place, they all agreed. "hush! tell it not in gath; whisper it not in ascalon!" hissed the fox, peering into the room. "you girls have the best there is. it's lots bigger than our quartette----" "oh, i don't think so. only a 'teeny' bit larger," responded ruth, quickly. "then it's heavy that takes up so much space in our room. she dwarfs everything. however," said the red-haired girl, "you can have lots more fun in here. shove back everything against one wall, roll up the rugs, and then we can dance." "and have picolet after us in a hurry," observed helen, laughing. "barefoot dancing is still in vogue," retorted the fox. "helen can play her violin." "after retiring bell? no, thanks!" exclaimed ruth's chum. "i am to stand better in my classes this half than last spring or monsieur pa-_pa_ will have something to say to me. he doesn't often preach; but that black-haired brother of mine did better last term than i did. can't have that." "they're awfully strict with the boys over at seven oaks," sighed heavy, who was chewing industriously as she talked, sitting cross-legged on the floor. "what are you eating, heavy?" demanded belle, suddenly. "some of those doughnut holes, i bet!" giggled lluella. "they must be awful filling, heavy." "nothing _is_ filling," replied the stout girl. "just think, almost the whole universe is filled with just atmosphere--and your head, lluella." "that's not pretty, dear," remarked the fox, pinching heavy. "don't be nasty to your playmates." "well, i've got to eat," groaned heavy. "if you knew how long it seemed from luncheon to supper time----" despite all ruth fielding could do, the girl from silver ranch felt herself a good deal out of this nonsense and joviality. ann could not talk the way these girls did. she felt serious when she contemplated her future in the school. "i'd--i'd run away if it wasn't for uncle bill," she whispered to herself, looking out of the window at the hundreds of girls parading the walks about the campus. almost every two girls seemed chums. they walked with their arms about each other's waists, and chattered like magpies. ann hicks wanted to run and hide somewhere, for she was more lonely now than she had ever been when wandering about the far-reaching range on the montana ranch! chapter vii "a hard row to hoe" since ruth fielding had organized the s.b.'s, or sweetbriars, there had been little hazing at briarwood hall. of course, this was the first real opening of the school year since that auspicious occasion; but the effect of the new society and its teachings upon the whole school was marked. rivalries had ceased to a degree. the old upedes, of which the fox had been the head, no longer played their tricks. the fox had grown much older in appearance, if not in years. she had had her lesson. belle and lluella and heavy were not so reckless, either. and as the s.b.'s stood for friendship, kindness, helpfulness, and all its members wore the pretty badge, it was likely to be much easier for those "infants" who joined the school now. ann hicks was bound to receive some hard knocks, even as mrs. tellingham had suggested. but "roughing it" a little is sometimes good for girls as well as boys. in her own western home ann could have held her own with anybody. she was so much out of her usual element here at briarwood that she was like a startled hare. she scented danger on all sides. her roommates could not always defend her, although even mercy, the unmerciful, tried. ann hicks was so big, and blundering. she was taller than most girls of her age, and "raw-boned" like her uncle. some time she might really be handsome; but there was little promise of it as yet. when the principal started her in her studies, it was soon discovered that ann, big girl though she was, had to take some of the lessons belonging to the primary grade. and she made a sorry appearance in recitation, at best. there were plenty of girls to laugh at her. there is nothing so cruel as a schoolgirl's tongue when it is unbridled. and unless the victim is blessed with either a large sense of humor, or an apt brain for repartee, it goes hard with her. poor ann had neither--she was merely confused and miserable. she saw the other girls of her room--and their close friends in the neighboring quartette--going cheerfully about the term's work. they had interests that the girl from the west, with her impoverished mind, could not even appreciate. she had to study so hard--even some of the simplest lessons--that she had little time to learn games. she did not care for gymnasium work, although there were probably few girls at the school as muscular as herself. tennis seemed silly to her. nobody rode at the hall, and she longed to bestride a pony and dash off for a twenty-mile canter. nothing that she was used to doing on the ranch would appeal to these girls here--ann was quite sure of that. ruth and the others who had been with them for that all-too-short month at silver ranch seemed to have forgotten the riding, and the roping, and all. then, helen had her violin--and loved it. ruth was practicing singing all the time she could spare, for she was already a prominent member of the glee club. when the girl of the red mill sang, ann hicks felt her heart throb and the tears rise in her eyes. she loved ruth's kind of music; yet she, herself, could not carry a tune. mercy was strictly attentive to her own books. mercy was a bookworm--nor did she like being asked questions about her studies. those first few weeks ann hicks's recitations did not receive very high marks. often some of the girls who did not know her very well laughed because she carried books belonging to the primary grade. ann hicks had many studies to make up that her mates had been drilled in while they were in the lower classes. one day at mail time (and in a boarding school that is a most important hour) ann received a very tempting-looking box by parcel post. she had been initiated into the meaning of "boxes from home." even aunt alvirah had sent a box to ruth, filled with choicest homemade dainties. ann expected nothing like that. uncle bill would never think of it--and he wouldn't know what to buy, anyway. the box fairly startled the girl from silver ranch. "what is it? something good to eat, i bet," cried heavy, who was on hand, of course. "open it, ann--do." "come on! let's see what the goodies are," urged another girl, but who smiled behind her hand. "i don't know who would send _me_ anything," said ann, slowly. "never mind the address. open it!" cried a third speaker, and had ann noted it, she would have realized that some of the most trying girls in the school had suddenly surrounded her. with trembling fingers she tore off the outside wrapper without seeing that the box had been mailed at the local post office--lumberton! a very decorative box was enclosed. "h-m-m!" gasped heavy. "nothing less than fancy nougatines in _that_." she was aiding the heartless throng, but did not know it. it would have never entered heavy's mind to do a really mean thing. ann untied the narrow red ribbon. she raised the cover. tissue paper covered something very choice----? _a dunce cap._ for a moment ann was stricken motionless. the girls about her shouted. one coarse, thoughtless girl seized the cap, pulled it from the box, and clapped it on ann hicks's black hair. the delighted crowd shouted more shrilly. heavy was thunderstruck. then she sputtered: "well! i never would have believed there was anybody so mean as that in the whole of briarwood school." but ann, who had held in her temper as she governed a half-wild pony on the range, until this point, suddenly "let go all holts," as bill hicks would have expressed it. she tore the cap from her head and stamped upon it and the fancy box it had come in. she struck right and left at the laughing, scornful faces of the girls who had so baited her. had it not been disgraceful, one might have been delighted with the change in the expression of those faces--and in the rapidity with which the change came about. more than one blow landed fairly. the print of ann's fingers was impressed in red upon the cheeks of those nearest to her. they ran screaming--some laughing, some angry. heavy's weight (for the fleshy girl had seized ann about the waist) was all that made the enraged girl give over her pursuit of her tormentors. fortunately, ruth herself came running to the spot. she got ann away and sat by her all the afternoon in their room, making up her own delinquent lessons afterward. but the affair could not be passed over without comment. some of the girls had reported ann's actions. of course, such a disgraceful thing as a girl slapping another was seldom heard of in briarwood. mrs. tellingham, who knew very well where the blame lay, dared not let the matter go without punishing ann, however. "i am grieved that one of our girls--a young lady in the junior grade--should so forget herself," said the principal. "whatever may have been the temptation, such an exhibition of temper cannot be allowed. i am sure she will not yield to it again; nor shall i pass leniently over the person who may again be the cause of ann hicks losing her temper." this seemed to ann to be "the last straw." "she might have better put me in the primary grade in the beginning," the ranch girl said, spitefully. "then i wouldn't have been among those who despise me. i hate them all! i'll just get away from here----" but the thought of running away a second time rather troubled her. she had worried her uncle greatly the first time she had done so. now he was sure she was in such good hands that she wouldn't wish to run away. ann knew that she could not blame ruth fielding, and the other girls who were always kind to her. she merely shrank from being with them, when they knew so much more than she did. it was her pride that was hurt. had she taken the teasing of the meaner girls in a wiser spirit, she knew they would not have sent her the dunce cap. they continued to tease her because they knew they could hurt her. "i--i wish i could show them i could do things that they never dreamed of doing!" muttered ann, angrily, yet wistfully, too. "i'd like to fling a rope, or manage a bad bronc', or something they never saw a girl do before. "book learning isn't everything. oh! i have half a mind to give up and go back to the ranch. nobody made fun of me out there--they didn't dare! and our folks are too kind to tease that way, anyhow," thought the western girl. "uncle bill is just paying out his good money for nothing. he said ruth was a little lady--and helen, too. i knew he wanted me to be the same, after he got acquainted with them and saw how fine they were. "but you sure 'can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.' that's as certain as shootin'! if i stay here i've got a mighty hard row to hoe--and--and i don't believe i've got the pluck to hoe it." ann groaned, and shook her tousled black head. chapter viii jerry sheming again ruth, with all the fun and study of the opening of the fall term at briarwood, could not entirely forget jerry sheming. more particularly did she think of him because of the invitation belle tingley had extended to her the day of their arrival. it was a coincidence that none of the other girls appreciated, for none of them had talked much with the young fellow who had saved ann hicks from the wrecked car at applegate crossing. even ann herself had not become as friendly with the boy as had ruth. the fact that he had lived a good share of his life on the very island belle said her father had bought for a hunting camp, served to spur ruth's interest in both the youth and the island itself. then, what jerry had told her about his uncle's lost treasure box added to the zest of the affair. somewhere on the island peter tilton had lost a box containing money and private papers. jerry believed it to have been buried by a landslide that had occurred months before. there must be something in this story, or why should "uncle pete," as jerry called him, have lost his mind over the catastrophe? uncle pete must be really mad or they would not have shut him up in the county asylum. the loss of the papers supposed to be in the box made it possible for some man named blent to cheat the old hunter out of his holdings on cliff island. not for a moment did ruth suppose that mr. tingley, belle's father, was a party to any scheme for cheating the old hunter. it was the work of the man blent--if true. ruth was very curious--and very much interested. few letters ever passed between her and the red mill. aunt alvirah's gnarled and twisted fingers did not take kindly to the pen; and uncle jabez loved better to add up his earnings than to spend an evening retailing the gossip of the mill for his grandniece to peruse. ruth knew that jerry had soon recovered from his accident and that for several weeks, at least, had worked for uncle jabez. the latter grudgingly admitted that jerry was the best man he had ever hired in the cornfield, both in cutting fodder and shucking corn. just before thanksgiving there came a letter saying that jerry had gone on. of course, ruth knew that her uncle would not keep the young fellow longer than he could make use of him; but she was sorry he had gone before she had communicated with him. the girl of the red mill felt that she wished to know jerry better. she had been deeply interested in his story. she had hoped to learn more about him. "if you are really going to cliff island for the holidays, belle," she told the latter, "i hope i can go." "bully!" exclaimed belle, joyfully. "we'll have a dandy time there--better than we had at helen's father's camp, last winter. i refuse to be lost in the snow again." "same here," drawled heavy. "but i wish that lake you talk about, belle, wouldn't freeze over. i don't like ice," with a shiver. "who ever heard of water that wouldn't freeze?" demanded belle, scornfully. "i have," said heavy, promptly. "what kind of water, i'd like to know, miss?" "hot water," responded heavy, chuckling. helen, and most of the other girls who were invited to cliff island for christmas, had already accepted the invitation. ruth wrote to her uncle with some little doubt. she did not know how he would take the suggestion. she had been at the mill so little since first she began attending boarding school. this thanksgiving she did not expect to go home. few of the girls did so, for the recess was only over the week-end and lessons began again on monday. only those girls who lived very near to briarwood made a real vacation of the first winter holiday. a good many used the time to make up lessons and work off "conditions." thanksgiving day itself was made somewhat special by a trip to buchane falls, where there was a large dam. dinner was to be served at five in the evening, and more than half the school went off to the falls (which was ten miles away) in several big party wagons, before ten o'clock in the morning. "bring your appetites back with you, girls," mrs. tellingham told them at chapel, and heavy, at least, had promised to do so and meant to keep her word. yet even heavy did justice to the cold luncheon that was served to all of them at the falls. it was crisp autumn weather. early in the morning there had been a skim of ice along the edge of the water; but there had not yet been frost enough to chain the current of the buchane creek. indeed, it would not freeze over in the middle until mid-winter, if then. the picnic ground was above the falls and on the verge of the big millpond. there were swings, and a bowling alley, and boats, and other amusements. ruth had fairly dragged ann hicks into the party. the girls who had been meanest to the westerner were present. ann would have had a woefully bad time of it had not some of the smaller girls needed somebody to look out for them. ann hated the little girls at briarwood less than she did the big ones. in fact, the "primes," as they were called, rather took to the big girl from the west. one of the swings was not secure, and ann started to fix it. she could climb like any boy, and there did not happen to be a teacher near to forbid her. therefore, up she went, unfastened the rope from the beam, and proceeded to splice the place where it had become frayed. it was not a new rope, but was strong save in that one spot. ann coiled it, and although it did not have the "feel" of the fine hemp, or the good hair rope that is part of the cowman's equipment, her hands and arm tingled to lassoo some active, running object. she coiled it once more and then flung the rope at a bush. the little girls shouted their appreciation. ann did not mind, for there seemed to be no juniors or seniors there to see. most of the older girls were down by the water. indeed, some of the seniors were trying to interest the bigger girls in rowing. briarwood owned a small lake, and they might have canoes and racing shells upon it, if the girls as a whole would become interested. but many of the big girls did not even know how to row. there was one big punt into which almost a dozen of them crowded. heavy sat in the stern and declared that she had to have a big crowd in the bow of the boat, to balance it and keep her end from going down. therefore one girl after another jumped in, and when it was really too full for safety it was pushed out from the landing. just about the time the current which set toward the middle of the pond seized the punt, it was discovered that nobody had thought of oars. "how under the sun did you suppose a thing like this was going to be propelled?" heavy demanded. "i never did see such a fellow as you are, mandy mitchell!" "you needn't scold me," declared the mitchell girl. "you invited me into the boat." "did i? why! i must have been crazy, then!" declared heavy. "and didn't any of you think how we were going to get back to shore?" "nor we don't know now," cried another girl. "oh-o!" gasped one of the others, darting a frightened look ahead. "we're aiming right for the dam." "you wouldn't expect the boat to drift against the current, would you?" snapped heavy. "let's scream!" cried another--and they could all do that to perfection. in a very few minutes it was apparent to everybody within the circle of half a mile or more that a bunch of girls was in trouble--or thought so! "sit down!" gasped heavy. "don't rock the boat. if that yelling doesn't bring anybody, we're due to reach a watery grave, sure enough." "oh, don't, heavy!" wailed one of the weaker ones. "how can you?" heavy was privately as frightened as any of them, but she tried to keep the others cheerful, and would have kept on joking till the end. but several small boats came racing down the pond after them, and along the bank came a man--or a boy--running and shouting. how either the girls in the boats or the youth on the shore could help them, was a mystery; but both comforted the imperiled party immensely. the current swung the heavy punt in toward the shore. right at that end of the dam the water was running a foot deep--or more--over the flash-board. if the punt struck, it would turn broadside, and probably tip all hands over the dam. this was a serious predicament, indeed, and the spectators realized it even more keenly than did the girls in the punt. the youth who had been called to the spot by their screams threw off his coat and cap, and they saw him stoop to unlace his shoes. a plunge into this cold water was not attractive, and it was doubtful if he could help them much if he reached the punt. down the hill from the picnic grounds came a group of girls, ann hicks in the lead. most of her companions were too small to do any good in any event. the girl from the ranch carried a neat coil of rope in one hand and she shouted to heavy to "hold on!" "you tell me what to hold on to, and you'll see me do it!" replied the plump girl. "all i can take hold of just now is thin air." "hold on!" said ann again, and stopped, having reached the right spot. then she swung the rope in the air, let it uncoil suddenly, and the loose end dropped fairly across jennie stone's lap. "hold on!" yelled everybody, then, and heavy obeyed. but the young fellow sprang to ann's aid, and wrapped the slack of the rope around a stout sapling on the edge of the pond. "easy! easy!" he admonished. "we don't want to pull them out of the boat. you _can_ fling a rope; can't you, miss?" "i'd ought to," grunted ann. "i've roped enough steers--why! you're jerry sheming," she declared, suddenly looking into his face. "ruth fielding wants to see you. don't you run away before she talks with you." then the rope became taut, and the punt began to swing shoreward slowly, taking in some water and setting the girls to screaming again. chapter ix ruth's little plot the punt was in shallow water and the girls who had ventured into it without oars were perfectly safe before any of the teachers arrived. with them came ruth and helen, and some of the other juniors and seniors. heavy took the stump. "now! you see what she did?" cried the stout girl, seizing ann in her arms the moment she could get ashore. "if she hadn't known how to fling a lasso, and rope a steer, she'd never have been able to send that rope to us. "three cheers for ann hicks, the girl from the ranch, who knows what to do when folks are drowning in buchane pond! one--two--three----" the cheers were given with a will. several of the girls who had treated the western girl so meanly about the dunce cap had been in the boat, and they asked ann to shake hands. they were truly repentant, and ann could not refuse their advances. but the western girl was still doubtful of her standing with her mates, and went back to play with the little ones. meanwhile she showed ruth where jerry sheming stood at one side, and the girl from the red mill ran to him eagerly. "i am delighted to see you!" she exclaimed, shaking jerry's rough hand. "i was afraid i wouldn't be able to find you after you left the mill. and i wanted to." "i'm glad of your interest in me, miss ruth," he said, "but i ain't got no call to expect it. mr. potter was pretty kind to me, and he kept me as long as there was work there." "but you haven't got to tramp it, now?" "only to look for a steady job. i--i come over this way hopin' i'd hit it at lumberton. but they're discharging men at the mills instead of hiring new ones." "and i expect you'd rather work in the woods than anywhere else?" suggested ruth. "why--yes, miss. i love the woods. and i got a good rifle and shotgun, and i'm a good camp cook. i can't get a guide's license, but i could go as assistant--if anybody would take me around tallahaska." "suppose i could get you a job working right where you've always lived--at cliff island?" she asked, eagerly. "what d'ye mean--cliff island?" he demanded, flushing deeply. "i wouldn't work for that rufus blent--nor he wouldn't have me." "i don't know anything about the man," said ruth, smiling. "but one of my chums has invited me to go to cliff island for the christmas holidays. her father has bought the place and is building a lodge there." "good lands!" ejaculated jerry. "isn't that a coincidence?" ruth commented. "now, you wouldn't refuse a job with mr. tingley; would you?" "tingley--is that the name?" "yes. perhaps i can get him, through belle, to hire you. i'll try. would you go back?" "in a minute!" exclaimed jerry. "then i'll try. you see, in four or five weeks, we'll be going there ourselves. i think it would just be jolly to have you around, for you know all about the island and everything." "yes, indeed, ma'am," agreed jerry. "i'd like the job." "so you must write me every few days and let me know where you are. mrs. tellingham won't mind--i'll explain to her," ruth said, earnestly. "i am not quite sure that i can go myself, yet. but i'll know for sure in a few days. and i'll see if belle won't ask her father to give you work at cliff island. then, in your off time, you can look for that box your uncle lost. don't you see?" "oh, miss! i guess that's gone for good. near as i could make out o' uncle pete, the landslide at the west end of the island buried his treasure box a mile deep! it was in one o' the little caves, i s'pose." "caves? are there caves on the island?" "lots of 'em. big ones as well as small. if uncle pete wasn't plumb crazy, he had his money and papers in a hide-out that i'd never found." "i see miss picolet coming this way. she won't approve of my talking with 'a strange young man' so long," laughed ruth. "you let me know every few days where you are, jerry?" "yes, ma'am, i will. and thank you kindly." "you aren't out of funds? you have money?" "i've got quite a little store," said jerry, smiling. "thanks to that nice black-eyed girl that i helped out of the car window." "oh! ann hicks. and she's being made much of, now, by the girls, because she knew how to fling a rope," cried ruth, looking across the picnic ground to where her schoolmates were grouped. "she's all right," said jerry, enthusiastically. "they ought to be proud of her--them that was in that boat." "it will break the ice for ann," declared ruth. "i am so glad. now, i must run. don't forget to write, jerry. good bye." she gave him her hand and ran back to join her school friends. ann had gone about putting up the children's swing and at first had paid little attention to the enthusiasm of the girls who had been saved from going over the dam. but she could not ignore them altogether. "you're just the smartest girl i ever saw," heavy declaimed. "we'd all be in the water, sure enough, if you hadn't got that rope to us. come on, ann! be a sport. _do_ wear your laurels kindly." "i'm just as 'dumb' about books as ever. flinging that rope didn't make any difference," growled the western girl. "i don't care if you don't know your 'a.b., abs,'" cried one of the girls who had taken a prominent part in the dunce cap trick. "you make me awfully ashamed of myself for being so mean to you. please forgive us all, ann--that's a good girl." ann was awkward about accepting their apologies; and yet she was not naturally a bad-tempered girl. she was just different from them all--and felt the difference so keenly! this sudden reversal of feeling, and their evident offer of friendliness, made her feel more awkward than ever. she remained very glum while at the picnic grounds. but, as ruth had said, the incident served to break the ice. ann had gotten her start. somebody beside the "primes" gave her "the glad hand and the smiling eye." briarwood began to be a different sort of place for the ranch girl. there were plenty of the juniors who looked down on her still; but she had "shown them" once that she could do something the ordinary eastern girl could not do and ann was on the _qui vive_ for another chance to "make good" along her own particular line. she grew brighter and more self-possessed as the term advanced. her lessons, too, she attacked with more assurance. a few days after thanksgiving ruth received a letter in aunt alvirah's cramped hand-writing which assured her that uncle jabez would make no objection to her accepting the invitation to go to cliff island for the holidays. "and i'll remind him of it in time so't he can send you a christmas goldpiece, if the sperit so moves him," wrote aunt alvirah, in her old-fashioned way. "but do take care of yourself, my pretty, in the middle of that lake." in telling belle how happy she was to accept the invitation for the frolic, ruth diffidently put forward her request that mr. tingley give jerry sheming a job. "i am quite sure he is a good boy," she told belle. "he has worked for my uncle, and uncle jabez praised him. now, uncle jabez doesn't praise for nothing." "i'll tell father about this jerry--sure," laughed belle. "you're an odd girl, ruth. you're always trying to do something for somebody." "trying to do somebody for somebody, maybe," interposed mercy, in her sharp way. "ruth uses her friends for her own ends." but ruth's little plot worked. a fortnight after thanksgiving she was able to write to jerry, who had found a few days' work near the school, that he could go back to cliff island and present himself to mr. tingley's foreman. a good job was waiting for him on the island where he had lived so long with his uncle, the old hunter. chapter x an exciting finish affairs at briarwood went at high speed toward the end of the term. everybody was busy. a girl who did not work, or who had no interest in her studies, fell behind very quickly. ann hicks was spurred to do her best by the activities of her mates. she did not like any of them well enough--save those in the two neighboring quartette rooms in her dormitory building--to accept defeat from them. she began to make a better appearance in recitations, and her marks became better. they all had extra interests save ann herself. helen cameron was in the school orchestra and played first violin with a hope of getting solo parts in time. she loved the instrument, and in the evening, before the electricity was turned on, she often played in the room, delighting the music-loving ann. sometimes ruth sang to her chum's accompaniment. ruth's voice was so sweet, so true and tender, and she sang ballads with such feeling, that ann often was glad it was dark in the room. the western girl considered it "soft" to weep, but ruth's singing brought the tears to her eyes. mercy curtis even gave up her beloved books during the hour of these informal concerts. other times she would have railed because she could not study. mercy was as hungry for lessons as heavy stone was for layer-cake and macaroons. "that's all that's left me," croaked the lame girl, when she was in one of her most difficult moods. "i'll learn all there is to be learned. i'll stuff my head full. then, when other girls laugh at my crooked back and weak legs, i'll shame 'em by knowing more out of books." "oh, what a mean way to put it!" gasped helen. "i don't care, miss! you never had your back ache you and your legs go wabbly--no person with a bad back and such aches and pains as i have, was ever good-natured!" "think of aunt alvirah," murmured ruth, gently. "oh, well--she isn't just human!" gasped the lame girl. "she is very human, i think," ruth returned. "no. she's an angel. and no angel was ever called 'curtis,'" declared the other, her eyes snapping. "but i believe there must be an angel somewhere named 'mercy,'" ruth responded, still softly. however, it was understood that mercy was aiming to be the crack scholar of her class. there was a scholarship to be won, and mercy hoped to get it and to go to college two years later. even jennie stone declared she was going in for "extras." "what, pray?" scoffed the fox. "all your spare time is taken up in eating now, miss." "all right. i'll go in for the heavyweight championship at table," declared the plump girl, good-naturedly. "at least, the result will doubtless be visible." ann began to wonder what she was studying for. all these other girls seemed to have some particular object. was she going to school without any real reason for it? uncle bill would be proud of her, of course. she practised assiduously to perfect her piano playing. that was something that would show out in bullhide and on the ranch. uncle bill would crow over her playing just as he did over her bareback riding. but ann was not entirely satisfied with these thoughts. nor was she contented with the fact that she had begun to make her mates respect her. there was something lacking. she had half a mind to refuse belle tingley's invitation to cliff island. in her heart ann believed she was included in the party because belle would have been ashamed to ignore her, and ruth would not have gone had ann not been asked. to tell the truth ann was hungry for the girls to like her for herself--for some attribute of character which she honestly possessed. she had never had to think of such things before. in her western home it had never crossed her mind whether people liked her, or not. everybody about silver ranch had been uniformly kind to her. belle's holiday party was to be made up of the eight girls in the two quartette rooms, with madge steele, the senior; madge's brother, bobbins, tom cameron, little busy izzy phelps, and belle's own brothers. "of course, we've got to have the boys," declared helen. "no fun without them." mercy had tried to beg off at first; then she had agreed to go, if she could take half a trunkful of books with her. briarwood girls were as busy as bees in june during these last few days of the first half. the second half was broken by the easter vacation and most of the real hard work in study came before christmas. there was going to be a school play after christmas, and the parts were given out before the holidays. helen was going to play and ruth to sing. it did seem to ann as though every girl was happy and busy but herself. the last day of the term was in sight. there was to be the usual entertainment and a dance at night. the hall had to be trimmed with greens and those girls--of the junior and senior classes--who could, were appointed to help gather the decorations. "i don't want to go," objected ann. "goosie!" cried helen. "of course you do. it will be fun." "not for me," returned the ranch girl, grimly. "do you see who is going to head the party? that mitchell girl. she's always nasty to me." "be nasty to her!" snapped mercy, from her corner. "now, mercy!" begged ruth, shaking a finger at the lame girl. "i wouldn't mind what mitchell says or does," sniffed the fox. "fibber!" exclaimed mercy. "i never tell lies, miss," said mary cox, tossing her head. "humph!" ejaculated the somewhat spiteful mercy, "do you call yourself a female george washington?" "no. marthy washington," laughed heavy. "only her husband couldn't lie," declared mercy. "and at that, they say that somebody wished to change the epitaph on his tomb to read: 'here lies george washington--for the first time!'" "everybody is tempted to tell a fib some time," sighed helen. "and falls, too," exclaimed mercy. "i must say i don't believe there ever was anybody but washington that didn't tell a lie. it's awfully hard to be exactly truthful always," said lluella. "you remember that time in the primary grade, just after we'd come here to briarwood, belle?" "do i?" laughed belle tingley. "you fibbed all right then, miss." "it wasn't very bad--and i did _want_ to see the whole school so much. so--so i took one of my pencils to our teacher and asked her if she would ask the other scholars if it was theirs. "of course, all the other girls in our room said it wasn't," proceeded lluella. "then teacher said just what i wanted her to say: 'you may inquire in the other classes.' so i went around and saw all the other classes and had a real nice time. "but when i got back with the pencil in my hand still, belle come near getting me into trouble." "uh-huh!" admitted belle, nodding. "how?" asked somebody. "she just whispered--right out loud, 'lluella, that is your pencil and you know it!' and i had to say--right off, 'it isn't, and i didn't!' now, what could i have said else? but it was an awful fib, i s'pose." the assembled girls laughed. but ann hicks was still seriously inclined not to go into the woods, although she had no idea of telling a fib about it. and because she was too proud to say to the teacher in charge that she feared miss mitchell's tongue, the western girl joined the greens-gathering party at the very last minute. there were two four-seated sleighs, for there was a hard-packed white track into the woods toward triton lake. old dolliver drove one, and his helper manned the other. the english teacher was in charge. she hoped to find bushels of holly berries and cedar buds as well as the materials for wreaths. one pair of the horses was western--high-spirited, hard-bitted mustangs. ann hicks recognized them before she got into the sleigh. how they pulled and danced, and tossed the froth from their bits! "i feel just as they do," thought the girl. "i'd love to break out, and kick, and bite, and act the very old boy! poor things! how they must miss the plains and the free range." the other girls wondered what made her so silent. the tang of the frosty air, and the ring of the ponies' hoofs, and the jingle of the bells put plenty of life and fun into her mates; but ann remained morose. they reached the edge of the swamp and the girls alighted with merry shout and song. they were all armed with big shears or sharp knives, but the berries grew high, and old dolliver's boy had to climb for them. then the accident occurred--a totally unexpected and unlooked for accident. in stepping out on a high branch, the boy slipped, fell, and came down to the ground, hitting each intervening limb, and so saving his life, but dashing every bit of breath from his lungs, it seemed! the girls ran together, screaming. the teacher almost fainted. old dolliver stooped over the fallen boy and wiped the blood from his lips. "don't tech him!" he croaked. "he's broke ev'ry bone in his body, i make no doubt. an' he'd oughter have a doctor----" "i'll get one," said ann hicks, briskly, in the old man's ear. "where's the nearest--and the best?" "doc haverly at lumberton." "i'll get him." "it's six miles, miss. you'd never walk it. i'll take one of the teams----" "you stay with him," jerked out ann. "i can ride." "ride? them ain't ridin' hosses, miss," declared old dolliver. "if a horse has got four legs he can be ridden," declared the girl from the ranch, succinctly. "take the off one on my team, then----" "that old plug? i guess not!" exclaimed ann, and was off. she unharnessed one of the pitching, snapping mustangs. "whoa--easy! you wouldn't bite me, you know," she crooned, and the mustang thrust forward his ears and listened. she dropped off the heavy harness. the bridle she allowed to remain, but there was no saddle. the english teacher came to her senses, suddenly. "that creature will kill you!" she cried, seeing what ann was about. "then he'll be the first horse that ever did it," drawled ann. "hi, yi, yi! we're off!" to the horror of the teacher, to the surprise of old dolliver, and to the delight of the other girls, ann hicks swung herself astride of the dancing pony, dug her heels into his ribs, and the next moment had darted out of sight down the wood road. chapter xi a number of things there may have been good reason for the teacher to be horrified, but how else was the mustang to be ridden? ann was a big girl to go tearing through the roads and 'way into lumberton astride a horse. without a saddle and curb, however, she could not otherwise have clung to him. just now haste was imperative. she had a picture in her mind, all the way, of that boy lying in the snow, his face so pallid and the bloody foam upon his lips. in twenty-five minutes she was at the physician's gate. she flung herself off the horse, and as she shouted her news to the doctor through the open office window, she unbuckled the bridle-rein and made a leading strap of it. so, when the doctor drove out of the yard in his sleigh, she hopped in beside him and led the heaving mustang back into the woods. of course she did not look ladylike at all, and not another girl at briarwood would have done it. but even the english teacher--who was a prude--never scolded her for it. indeed, the doctor made a heroine of ann, old dolliver said he never saw her beat, and the boy, who was so sadly hurt (but who pulled through all right in the end) almost worshipped the girl from silver ranch. "and how she can ride!" the very girl who had treated ann the meanest said of her. "what does it matter if she isn't quite up to the average yet in recitations? she _will_ be." this was after the holidays, however. there was too short a time before belle tingley and her friends started for cliff island for ann to particularly note the different manner in which the girls in general treated her. the party went on the night train. mr. tingley, who had some influence with the railroad, had a special sleeper side-tracked at lumberton for their accommodation. this sleeper was to be attached to the train that went through lumberton at midnight. therefore they did not have to skip all the fun of the dance. this was one of the occasions when the boys from the seven oaks military academy were allowed to mix freely with the girls of briarwood. and both parties enjoyed it. belle's mother had arrived in good season, for she was to chaperone the party bound for logwood, at the head of tallahaska lake. she passed the word at ten o'clock, and the girls got their hand-baggage and ran down to the road, where old dolliver waited for them with his big sleigh. the boys walked into town, so the girls were nicely settled in the car when tom cameron and his chums reached the siding. belle tingley's two brothers were not too old to be companions for tom, bob, and isadore phelps. and they were all as eager for fun and prank-playing as they could be. mrs. tingley had already retired and most of the girls were in their dressing gowns when the boys arrived. the porter was making up the boys' berths as the latter tramped in, bringing on their clothing the first flakes of the storm that had been threatening all the evening. "let the porter brush you, little boy," urged madge, peering out between the curtains of her section and admonishing her big brother. "if you get cold and catch the croup i don't know what sister _will_ do! now, be a good child!" "huh!" grunted isadore phelps, trying to collect enough of the snow to make a ball to throw at her. "i wonder at you, bobbins. why don't you make her behave? treatin' you like an over-grown kid." "i'd never treat _you_ that way, master isadore," said madge, sweetly. "for you very well know that you're not grown at all!" at that isadore _did_ gather snow--by running out for it. he brought back a dozen snowballs and the first thing the girls knew the missiles were dropping over the top of the curtains into the sheltered spaces devoted to the berths. there _was_ a great squealing then, for some of the victims were quite ready for bed, and the snow was cold and wet. mrs. tingley interfered little with the pranks of the young folk, and izzy was careful not to throw any snow into _her_ compartment. but the tease did not know when to stop. he was usually that way--as madge said, izzy would drive a willing horse to death. it was heavy and ann, however, who paid him back in some of his own coin. the boys finally made their preparations for bed. izzy paraded the length of the car in his big robe and bed slippers, for a drink of ice water. before he could return, heavy and ann bounced out in their woolen kimonas and seized him. by this time the train had come in, the engine had switched to the siding, picked up their sleeper, and was now backing down to couple on to the train again. the two girls ran izzy out into the vestibule, heavy's hand over his mouth so that he could not shout to his friends for help. the door of the vestibule on the off side was unlocked. ann pushed it open. the snow was falling heavily--it was impossible to see even the fence that bounded the railroad line on this side. the cars came together with a slight shock and the three were thrown into a giggling, struggling heap on the platform. "lemme go!" gasped izzy. "sure we will!" giggled heavy, and with a final push she sent him flying down the steps. then she shut the door. she did not know that every other door on that side of the long train was locked. almost immediately the train began to move forward. it swept away from the lumberton platform, and it was fully a minute before heavy and ann realized what they had done. "oh, oh, oh!" shrieked the plump girl, running down the aisle. "busy izzy is left behind." "stop your joking," exclaimed tom, peering out of his berth, which was an upper. "he's nothing of the kind." "he is! he is!" "why, he's all ready for bed," declared one of the tingley boys. "he wouldn't dare----" "we threw him out!" wailed heavy. "we didn't know the train was to start so quickly." "threw him off the train?" cried mrs. tingley, appearing in her boudoir cap and gown. "what kind of a menagerie am i supposed to preserve order in----?" "you can make bully good preserved ginger, ma," said one of her sons, "but you fall short when it comes to preserving _order_." most of the crowd were troubled over isadore's absence. some suggested pulling the emergency cord and stopping the train; others were for telegraphing back from the next station. all were talking at once, indeed, when the rear door opened and in came the conductor, escorting the shivering isadore. "does this--this _tyke_ belong in here?" demanded the man of brass buttons, with much emphasis. they welcomed him loudly. the conductor shook his head. the flagman on the end of the train had helped the boy aboard the last car as the train started to move. "keep him here!" commanded the conductor. "and i've a mind to have both doors of the car locked until we reach logwood. don't let me hear anything more from you boys and girls on this journey." he went away laughing, however, and bye and bye they quieted down. madge insisted upon making some hot composition, very strong, and dosing isadore with it. the drink probably warded off a cold. izzy admitted to bobbins that a sister wasn't so bad to "have around" after all. while they slept, the car was shunted to the sidetrack at logwood and the western-bound train went hooting away through the forest. it was still snowing heavily, there were not many trains passing through the logwood yard, and no switching during the early part of the day. the snow smothered other sounds. therefore, the party that had come to the lake for a vacation was not astir until late. it was hunger that roused them to the realities of life in the end. they had to dress and go to the one hotel of which the settlement boasted for breakfast. "can't cross to the island on the ice, they say," ralph tingley ran in to tell his mother. "weight of the snow has broken it up. one of the men says he'll get a punt and pole us over to cliff island if the snow stops so that he can see his way." "my! won't that be fun!" gasped ann hicks, who had overheard him. she had begun to enjoy herself the minute she felt that they were in rough country. some of the girls wished they hadn't come. ruth and helen were already outside, snowballing with the boys. when mrs. tingley descended the car steps, ready to go to breakfast, her other son appeared--a second mercury. "mother, mr. preston is here. says he'd like to see you." mr. preston was the foreman to whom jerry sheming had been sent for a job. ruth, who overheard, remembered the man's name. then she saw a man dressed in canadian knit cap, tall boots, and mackinaw, and carrying a huge umbrella, with which he hurried forward to hold protectingly over mrs. tingley's head. "glad to see you, ma'am," said the foreman. ruth was passing them on her way to the hotel when she heard something that stayed her progress. "sorry to trouble you. mr. tingley ain't coming up to-day?" "not until christmas morning," replied the lady. "he cannot get away before." "well, i'll have to discharge that jerry sheming. too bad, too. he's a worker, and well able to guide the boys and girls around the island--knows it like a book." "why let him go, then?" asked the lady. "blent says he's dishonest. an' i seen him snooping around rather funny, myself. guess i'll have to fire him, mis' tingley." chapter xii rufus blent's little ways the crowd waded through the soft snow to the inn. it was a small place, patronized mainly by fishermen and hunters in the season. it was plain, from the breakfast they served to the tingley party, that if the unexpected guests had to remain long, they would be starved to death. "and all the 'big eats' over on the island," wailed heavy. "i could swim there, i believe." "i am afraid i could not allow you to do that," said mrs. tingley, shaking her head. "it would be too absurd. we'd better take the train home again." "never!" chorused belle and her brothers. "we must get to cliff island in some way--by hook or by crook," added the girl, who had set her heart upon this outing. ruth was rather serious this morning. she waited for a chance to speak with mrs. tingley alone, and when it came, she blurted out what she wished to say: "oh, mrs. tingley! i couldn't help hearing what that man said to you. must he discharge jerry because rufus blent says so?" "why, my dear! oh! i remember. you were the girl who befriended the boy in the first place?" "yes, i did, mrs. tingley. and i hope you won't let your foreman turn him off for nothing----" "oh! i can't interfere. it is my husband's business, of course." "but let me tell you!" urged ruth, and then she related all she knew about jerry sheming, and all about the story of the old hunter who had lived so many years on cliff island. "mr. tingley had a good deal of trouble over that squatter," said belle's mother, slowly. "he was crazy." "that might be. but jerry isn't crazy." "but they made some claim to owning a part of the island." "and after the old man had lived there for fifty years, perhaps he thought he had a right to it." "why, my child, that sounds reasonable. but of course he didn't." "just the same," said ruth, "he maybe had the box of money and papers hidden on the island, as he said. that is what jerry has been looking for. and i wager that man blent is afraid he will find it." "how romantic!" laughed mrs. tingley. "but, do wait till mr. tingley comes and let him decide," begged ruth. "surely. and i will tell mr. preston to refuse any of blent's demands. he is a queer old fellow, i know. and, come to think of it, he told us he wanted to make some investigations regarding the caves at the west end of the island. he wouldn't sell us the place without reserving in the deed the rights to all mineral deposits and to treasure trove." "what's 'treasure trove,' mrs. tingley?" asked ruth, quickly. "why--that would mean anything valuable found upon the land which is not naturally a part of it." "like a box of money, or papers?" "yes! i see. i declare, child, maybe the boy, jerry, has told you the truth!" "i am sure he has. he seemed like a perfectly honest boy," declared ruth, anxiously. "i will see mr. preston again," spoke mrs. tingley, decisively. the storm continued through the forenoon. but the boys and girls waiting for transportation to cliff island had plenty of fun. behind the inn was an open field, and there they built a fort, the party being divided into opposing armies. tom cameron led one and ann hicks was chosen to head the other. mercy could look at them from the windows, and urge the girls on in the fray. the boys might throw straighter, but numbers told. the girls could divide and attack the boy defenders of the fortress on both flanks. they came in rosy and breathless at noon--to sit down to a most heart-breaking luncheon. "such an expanse of table and so little on it i never saw before," grumbled heavy, in a glum aside. "how long do you suppose we would exist on these rations?" "we're not dead yet," said ruth, cheerfully, "so you needn't become a 'gloom.'" "jen ought to live on past meals--like a camel existing on its hump," declared madge. "i'm no camel," retorted the plump one, instantly. "and a meal to me--after it has been digested--is nothing more than a beautiful dream; and you can bet that i never gained my avoirdupois by dreaming!" mrs. tingley beckoned to ruth after dinner. together they went into the general room, where there was a huge fire of logs. mr. preston, the foreman, was there. "i have been making inquiries," the lady explained to ruth, "and i find that this rufus blent has not a very enviable reputation. at least, he is considered, locally, a sharper." "is this the girl who is interested in jerry?" asked the foreman. "well! he ought to be all right if she sticks up for him." "i believe his story is true," ruth said, shaking her head. "and if that's so, then the boss hasn't got a clear title to cliff island--eh?" returned the big foreman, smiling at her quizzically. "that isn't mr. tingley's fault," cried ruth, quickly. "he'd be the one to suffer, however, if it should be proved that old pete tilton had any vested right in the island," said preston. "you can bet blent is sharp enough to have covered his tracks if he has done anything foxy. he was never caught yet in any legal tangle." "oh, i hope mr. tingley won't have trouble up here," declared mrs. tingley, quite disturbed. ruth felt rather embarrassed. as much as she was interested in jerry sheming, she did not like to think she was stirring up trouble for her school-mate's father. just then the outer door of the inn opened and a man entered, stamping the snow from his boots upon the wire mat. "s-s-t!" said preston, his eyes twinkling. "here's rufus blent himself." it seemed that mrs. tingley had never seen the real estate man and she was quite as much interested as ruth in making his acquaintance. they both eyed him with growing disapproval as the old man finished freeing his feet of the clinging snow and then charged at preston from across the big room. "i say! i say, you, preston!" he snarled. "have you done what i tol' you? have you got that jerry sheming off the island? he'd never oughter been let to git on there ag'in. i've been away, or i'd heard of it before. is he off?" "not yet," replied preston, smiling secretly. "i wanter know why not? i won't have him snoopin' around there. it was understood when i sold tingley that island that i reserved sartain rights----" "this here is mis' tingley," interposed preston, turning the old man's attention to the lady. he was a brown, wrinkled old man, with sparse pepper-and-salt whiskers and a parrot-like nose. "sharper" was written all over his hatchet features; but probably his provincialism and lack of book education had kept him from being a very dangerous villain. "i wanter know!" exclaimed rufus. "so you're tingley's lady? wal! do you take charge here?" "oh, no," laughed mrs. tingley. "my husband will be up here christmas morning." "goin' to have preston send that boy back to the mainland?" "oh, no, i shall not interfere. mr. tingley will attend to it when he comes. i think that would be best." "nothin' of the kind!" cried blent, his little eyes snapping. "that boy's got no business over there--snooping round." "what are you afraid of, rufus? what do you think he'll find?" queried preston, who was evidently not above aggravating the old fellow. "never you mind! never you mind!" croaked blent. "if you folks won't discharge him and put him off the island, i'll do it, myself." "how can you, mr. blent?" asked mrs. tingley, feeling some disposition to cross swords with him. "never you mind. i'll do it. goin' back to-day, of course, preston; ain't you?" "i'm hoping to get this crowd of young folk--and mrs. tingley--across to the island. and i think the snow is going to stop soon." "i'll go with you," declared blent, promptly. "don't you go till i see you again, preston. i gotter ketch 'squire keller fust." he hurried out of the inn. mrs. tingley and ruth looked at the foreman questioningly. the girl cried: "oh! what will he do?" "he's going to get a warrant for the boy," answered preston, scowling. "how can he? what has jerry done?" "that don't make no difference," said the woodsman. "old rufus just about runs the politics of this town. keller will do what he says. rufus will get the boy off the island by foul means if he can't by fair." chapter xiii fighting fire with fire ruth felt her heart swell in anger against rufus blent, the logwood real estate man. if she had not been determined before to aid jerry sheming in every way possible, she was now. if there was a box of money and papers hidden on cliff island, once belonging to pete tilton, the old hunter, ruth desired to keep blent from finding it. she believed jerry's story--about the treasure box and all. rufus blent's actions now seemed to prove the existence of such a box. he wanted to find it. but if the money and papers in the box had belonged to old pete tilton, surely jerry, as his single living relative, should have the best right to the "treasure trove." how to thwart blent was the question disturbing ruth fielding's mind. of course, nobody but jerry had as strong a desire as she to outwit the old real estate man. the other girls and boys--even mrs. tingley--would not feel as ruth did about it. she knew that well enough. if anything was to be done to save jerry from being arrested on a false charge and dragged from cliff island by blent, _she_ must bring it about. ruth watched the last flakes of the snow falling with a very serious feeling. the other young folk were delighted with the breaking of the weather. now they could observe logwood better, and its surroundings. the roughly built "shanty-town" was dropped down on the edge of the lake, in a clearing. much of the stumpage around the place was still raw. the only roads were timber roads and they were now knee-deep in fresh snow. there was a dock with a good-sized steamer tied up at it, but there was too much ice for it to be got out into the lake. the railroad came out of the woods on one side and disappeared into just as thick a forest on the other. the interest of the young people, however, lay in the bit of land that loomed up some five miles away. cliff island contained several hundred acres of forest and meadow--all now covered with glittering white. at the nearer end was the new hunting lodge of the tingleys, with the neighboring outbuildings. at the far end the island rose to a rugged promontory perhaps a hundred and fifty feet high, with a single tall pine tree at the apex. that western end of the island seemed to be built of huge boulders for the most part. here and there the rocks were so steep that the snow did not cling to them, and they looked black and raw against the background of dazzling white. the face of the real cliff--because of which the island had received its name--was scarcely visible from logwood. jerry had told ruth it was a very wild and desolate place, and the girl of the red hill could easily believe it. the crowd had left the inn as soon as the clouds began to break and a ray or two of sunshine shone forth. two ox teams were breaking the paths through the town. the boys and girls went down to the dock, singing and shouting. mrs. tingley and the foreman came behind. three other men were making ready a huge punt in which the entire party might be transported to the island. later the punt would return for the extra baggage. this vehicle for water-travel was a shallow, skiff-like boat, almost as broad as it was long, and with a square bow and stern. there was a place for a short mast to be stepped, but, with the lake covered with drifting ice cakes, it was judged safer to depend upon huge sweeps for motive power. with these sweeps, not only could the punt be urged forward at a speed of perhaps two miles an hour, but the ice-cakes could be pushed aside and a channel opened through the drifting mass for the passage of the awkward boat. mr. preston had explained all this to mrs. tingley, who was used to neither the woods nor the lake, and she had agreed that this means of transportation to cliff island was sufficiently safe, though extraordinary. "let's pile in and make a start," urged ralph tingley, eagerly. "why! we won't get there by dark if we don't hurry." "and goodness knows we need to get somewhere to eat before long," cried jennie stone. "i am willing to help propel the boat myself, if they'll show me how." "you might get out and swim, and drag us behind you, heavy," suggested one of the girls. "you're so anxious to get over to the island." they all were desirous of gaining their destination--there could be no doubt of that. as they were getting aboard, however, there came a hail from up the main street of logwood. "hi, yi! don't you folks go without me! hi, preston!" "here comes that blent man," said mrs. tingley, with some disgust. "i suppose we must take him?" "well, i wouldn't advise ye to turn him down, mis' tingley," urged the foreman. "no use making him your enemy. i tell you he's got a big political pull in these parts." "is there room for him?" "yes. and for the fellow with him. that's lem daggett, the constable. oh, rufe is going over with all the legal right on his side. he'll bring jerry back here and shut him up for a few days, i suppose." "but on what charge?" mrs. tingley asked, in some distress. "that won't matter. some trumped-up charge. easy enough to do it when you have a feller like 'squire keller to deal with. oh," said preston, shaking his head, "rufe blent knows what he's about, you may believe!" "who's the old gee-gee with the whiskers?" asked the disrespectful isadore, when the real estate man came down to the dock, with the constable slouching behind him. "hurry up, grandpop!" shouted one of the tingley boys. "this expedition is about to start." blent scowled at the hilarious crowd. it was plain to be seen that any supply of milk of human kindness he may have had was long since soured. ruth caught tom cameron's eye and nodded to him. helen's twin was a very good friend of the girl from the red mill and he quickly grasped her wish to speak with him alone. in a minute he maneuvered so as to get into the stern with his sister's chum, and there ruth whispered to him her fears and desires regarding blent and jerry sheming. "say! we ought to help that fellow. see what he did for jane ann," said tom. "and that old fellow looks so sour he sets my teeth on edge, anyway." "he is going to do a very mean thing," declared ruth, decidedly. "jerry has done nothing wrong, i am sure." "we must beat the old fellow." "but how, tom? they say he is all-powerful here at logwood." "let me think. i'll be back again," replied tom, as the boys called him to come up front. the punt was already under way. preston and his three men worked the craft out slowly into the drifting ice. the grinding of the cakes against the sides of the boat did not frighten any of the passengers--unless perhaps mrs. tingley herself. she felt responsible for the safety of this whole party of her daughter's school friends. the wind was not strong and the drift of the broken ice was slow. therefore there was really no danger to be apprehended. the punt was worked along its course with considerable ease. the boys had to take their turns at the sweeps; but tom found time to slip back to ruth before they were half-way across to the island. "too bad the old fellow doesn't fall overboard," he growled in ruth's ear. "isn't he a snarly old customer?" "but i suppose the constable has the warrant," ruth returned, smiling. "so mr. blent's elimination from the scene would not help jerry much." "i tell you what--you've got to fight fire with fire," observed tom, after a moment of deep reflection. "well? what meanest thou, sir oracle?" "why, they haven't any business to arrest jerry." "agreed." "then let's tip him off so that he can run." "where will he run to?" demanded ruth, eagerly. "say! that's a big island. and i bet he knows his way all over it." "oh! the caves!" exclaimed ruth. "what's that?" "he told me there were caves in it. he can hide in one. and we can get food to him. great, tom--great!" "sure it's great. when your uncle dudley----" "but how are we going to warn jerry to run before this constable catches him?" interposed ruth, with less confidence. "how? you leave that to me," tom returned, mysteriously. chapter xiv the hue and cry ruth and tom cameron had no further opportunity of speaking together until the punt came very close to the island. here the current ran more swiftly and the ice-blocks seemed to have been cleared away. there was a new stone dock, and up the slight rise from it, about a hundred yards back from the shore, was the heavily-framed lodge. it consisted of two stories, the upper one extending over the lower. big beams crossed at the corners of this upper story and the outer walls were of roughly hewn logs. the great veranda was arranged for screening, in the summer, but now the west side was enclosed with glass. it was an expensive and comfortable looking camp. there were several men on the dock as the punt came in, but jerry sheming was not in sight. tom had, from time to time, been seen whispering with the boys. they all now gathered in the bow of the slowly moving punt, ready to leap ashore the moment she bumped into the dock. "do be careful, boys," begged mrs. tingley. "don't fall into the water, or get hurt. i certainly shall be glad when mr. tingley comes up for christmas and takes all this responsibility off my hands." "don't have any fear for us, mrs. tingley, i beg," said tom. "we're only going to scramble ashore, and the first fellow who reaches the house is the best man. now, fellows!" the punt bumped. such a scrambling as there was! ann hicks showed her suppleness by being one of the first to land and beating some of the boys; but she did not run with them. "they might have stayed and helped us girls--and mrs. tingley--to land," complained helen. "i don't see what tom was thinking of." but all of a sudden ruth had an idea that she understood tom's lack of gallantry. jerry sheming, not being at the dock to meet the newcomers, must be at the house. the boys, it proved later, had agreed to help "tip" jerry. the first fellow to see him was to tell him of the approach of blent and the constable. therefore, when rufus blent and lem daggett reached the lodge, nobody seemed to know anything about jerry. tom winked knowingly at ruth. "i tell ye, preston, i gotter take that boy back to logwood with me," shouted blent, who seemed greatly excited. "where are you hidin' the rascal?" "you know very well i came over with you in the boat and walked up here with you, blent," growled the foreman, in some anger. "how could i hide him?" "but the cook, nor nobody, knows what's become of him. he was here peelin' 'taters for supper, cookie says, jest b'fore we landed. now he's sloped." "he saw you comin', it's likely," rejoined preston. "he suspected what you was after." "well, i'm goin' to leave daggett. and, lem!" "yes, sir?" said that slouching person. "you got to get him. now mind that. the boy's to 'pear in 'squire keller's court to-morrow--or something will happen," threatened the real estate man. "and if he don't appear, what then?" drawled preston, who was more amused by the old man than afraid of him. "you'd better not interfere with the course of the law, preston," declared blent, shaking his head. "you bet i won't. especially the brand of law that's handed a feller by your man, keller. but i don't know nothing about the boy nor where he's gone. i don't wanter know, either. "and none of they rest o' you wanter harbor that thief," snarled blent, viciously, looking around at the gaping hired men and the boys who had come to visit cliff island. "the law's got a long arm. 'member that!" "will we be breaking the law if we don't report this poor fellow to the constable here, if we see him?" asked tom cameron, boldly. "you bet you will. and i'll see that you're punished if ye harbor or help the rascal. don't think because tingley's a rich man, and your fathers have probably more money than is good for them, that you will escape," said blent. "i don't believe he's so powerful as he makes out to be," grumbled tom, later, to ruth. "_i_ was the one who caught jerry and whispered for him to get out. i didn't have to say much to him. he was wise about blent." "where did he go?" asked the eager ruth, quickly. "i don't know. i didn't want to know--and you don't, either." "but suppose something happens to him?" objected the girl, fearfully. "why, he knows all about this island. you said so yourself. i just told him we'd get some grub to him to-morrow." "how?" "told him we'd leave it at the foot of that tall pine at the far end of the island. then he slipped out of the kitchen and disappeared." but blent was a crafty old party and did not easily give up the pursuit of the young fellow he had come to the island to nab. the coat of fresh snow over everything made tracking the fugitive an easy task. after a few minutes of sputtering anger, the real estate man organized a pursuit of jerry. he made sure that the forest youth had run out of the kitchen at about the time the visitors came up from the dock. "he ain't got a long start," said blent to his satellite, the constable. "let's see if he didn't leave tracks." he had. there was still an hour of daylight, although the winter evening was closing in rapidly. jerry had left by the back door of the lodge and had gone straight across the yard, through the unbroken snow, to the bunkhouse used by the male help. there he had stopped for his rifle and shotgun, and ammunition. indeed, he had taken everything that belonged to him, and, loaded down with this loot, had gone right up the hill, keeping in the scrub so as to be hidden from the big house, and had so passed over the rising ground toward the middle of the island. "the track is plain enough," blent said. "ain't ye got a dog, preston? we could foller him all night." "not with our dogs," declared the foreman. "why not?" "don't think the boss would like it. we don't keep dogs to hunt men with." "you better take care how you try to block the law," threatened the old man. "that boy's goin' to be caught." "not with these dogs," grunted preston. "you can put _that_ in your pipe and smoke it." blent and the constable went off over the ridge. ruth was so much interested that she stole out to follow them, and ann hicks overtook her before she had gotten far up the track. "ruth fielding! whatever are you doing?" demanded the girl from the montana ranch. "don't you know it will soon be night? mrs. tingley says for you to come back." "do you suppose those horrid men will find jerry?" "no, i don't," replied ann, shortly. "and if they do----" "oh! you're not as interested in him as i am," sighed ruth. "i am sure he is honest and that mr. blent is telling lies about him. i--i want to see that they don't abuse him if they catch him." "abuse him! and he a backwoods boy, with two guns?" snorted ann. "why, he wouldn't even let them arrest him, i don't suppose. _i_ wouldn't if i were jerry." "but that would be dreadful," sighed ruth. "let's go a little farther, ann." dusk was falling, however, and when they got down the far side of the ridge they came to a swift, open water-course. blent and the constable were evidently "stumped." blent was snarling at their ill-luck. "he's took to the water--that's all _i_ know," drawled lem daggett, the constable. "ye see, there ain't a mark in the snow on 'tother side." "him wadin' in that ice-cold stream in mid-winter," grunted blent. "ain't he a scoundrel?" "can't do nothin' more to-night," announced the constable, who didn't like the job any too well, it was evident. "and dorgs wouldn't do us no good." "ha! ye know what ye gotter do," threatened blent. "i'm goin' back to town when the punt goes this evenin'. but you stay here, an' you git the hue an' cry out after him to-morrer bright and early. "i don't want him rummagin' around this island at all. you understand? not at all! it's up to you to git him, lem daggett." daggett grunted and followed his master back to the lodge. the girls went on before and ruth was delighted that, for a time, at least, jerry was to have his freedom. "if it froze over solid in the night he could get to the mainland from the other end of the island, and then they'd never find him," she confided to tom. but when morning came the surface of the lake was still a mass of loose and shifting ice. lem demanded of mrs. tingley the help of all the men at the camp, and they started right away after breakfast to "comb" the island in a thorough manner. there wasn't a trace near the running stream to show in which direction the fugitive had gone. had jerry gone up stream he could have reached the very heart of the rough end of the island without leaving the water-trail. a party of the boys, with ruth, helen, and ann hicks, stole out of the lodge after the main searching party, and struck off for the high point where the lone pine tree grew. "i'd hate to think we'd draw that constable over there and help him to catch jerry," said bobbins. "we won't," tom replied. "we are just going to leave the tin box of grub for him. he probably won't come out of hiding and try to get the food until this foolish constable has given up the chase. and i put the food in the tin box so that no prowling animal would get it instead of jerry." it was hard traveling in the snow, for the party of young folk had not thought to obtain snowshoes. "we'll string some when we go back," tom promised. "i know there are some frames all ready." "but no more such tobogganing as we had last winter up at snow camp," declared busy izzy, with deep feeling. "remember the spill i had with ruth and that heavy girl? gee! that was some spill." "the land here is too rough for good sliding," said tom. "but i wish the lake would freeze hard again. ralph says there are a couple of good scooters, and we all have our skates." "and the fishing!" exclaimed helen, eagerly. "i _do_ so want to fish through the ice again." "oh! we're bound to have a bully good time," declared bobbins. "but we'll do this jerry sheming a good turn, too, if we can." chapter xv over the precipice under the soft snow that had fallen the day before was a hard-packed layer that had come earlier in the season and made a firm footing for the explorers. ruth and her chum, with ann hicks, were quite as good walkers as the boys. at any rate, the three girls determined not to be at the end of the procession. the constable and his unwilling helpers (for none of the men about the tingley camp cared to see jerry sheming in trouble) were hunting the banks of the stream higher up for traces of the trail the boy had taken when he ran away from rufus blent the previous afternoon. therefore the girls and boys who had started for the rendezvous at the lone pine, were able to put the wooded ridge between them and the constable's party, and so make their way unobserved toward the western end of cliff island. "they may come back and follow us," growled tom. "but they'll be some way behind, and we'll hurry. i have a note in this tin box warning jerry what he must look out for. as long as that lem daggett is on the island, i suppose he will be in danger of arrest." "it is just as mean as it can be!" gasped helen, plodding on. "the boys wouldn't leave much o' that constable if they caught him playin' tag for such a man as blent, at bullhide," ann hicks declared, with warmth. "this blent," said bobbins, seriously, "seems to have everybody about logwood buffaloed. what do you suppose your father will say to the constable taking the men with him this morning to hunt jerry down?" this question he put to ralph tingley and the latter flushed angrily. "you wait!" he exclaimed. "father will be angry, i bet. i told mother not to let the men have anything to do with the hunt, but you know how women are. she was afraid. she said that if blent and the constable were within their legal rights----" "all bosh!" snapped isadore phelps. "i do not think mrs. tingley would have let them go with daggett if she'd had the least idea they would be able to find jerry," observed helen, sagely. "and they won't," put in ruth, with assurance. "i know he can hide away on this island like a fox in a burrow." "but he'll find it mighty cold sleeping out, this weather," remarked bobbins. "he sure will!" agreed tom. the party went ahead as rapidly as possible, but even the stronger of the boys found it hard to climb the steeper ascents through the deep snow. "crackey!" exclaimed isadore. "i know i'm slipping back two steps to every one i get ahead." "nonsense, izzy," returned helen. "for if you did _that_, you had better turn around and travel the other way; then you'd back up the hill!" they had to wait and rest every few yards. the rocks were so huge that they often had to go out of the way for some distance to get around them. although it could not be more than five miles, as the crow flies, from the lodge to the lone pine, in two hours they still had the hardest part of the journey before them. "i had no idea we should be so long at it," tom confessed. "it's lucky heavy didn't come with us," chuckled helen. "why?" "she would have been starved to death before this, and the idea of going the rest of the distance before turning back for home and luncheon would have destroyed her reason, i am sure." "then," said ruth, amused by this extravagant language, "poor heavy would have been first dead and then crazy! consider an insane corpse!" they came out at last upon the foot of the last ascent. the eminence seemed to be a smooth, cone-shaped hill. on it grew a number of trees, but the enormous old pine, lightning-riven and dead at the top, stood much taller than any of the other trees. here and there they caught glimpses of chasms and steep ravines that seemed to split the rocky island to the edge of the water. when the snow did not cover the ground there might be paths to follow, but at this time the young explorers had to use their judgment in climbing the heights as best they might. the boys had to help the girls up the steeper places, with all their independence, and even ann admitted that their male comrades were "rather handy to have about." the old pine tree sprang out of a little hollow in the hill. behind it was the peak of the island, and from this highest spot the party obtained an unobstructed view of the whole western end of tallahaska. "it's one big old lake," sighed isadore phelps. "if it would only just freeze over, boys, and give us a chance to try out the iceboats!" "if it keeps on being as cold as it was this morning, and the wind dies down, there'll be all the ice you want to see to-morrow," declared ralph tingley. "goodness! let's get down from this exposed place. i'm 'most frozen." "shall we stop and make a fire here, girls, and warm up before we return?" asked tom cameron. "and draw that constable right to this place where you want to leave jerry's tin box?" cried his sister. "no, indeed!" "we'd better keep moving, anyway," ruth urged. "less danger of frost-bite. the wind _is_ keen." tom had already placed the box of food in a sheltered spot. "the meat will be frozen as solid as a rock, i s'pose," he grumbled. "i hope that poor fellow has some way of making a fire in his hide-out." they began to retrace their steps. instead of following exactly the same path they had used in climbing to the summit, tom struck off at an angle, believing he saw an easier way. his companions followed him in single file. ruth happened to be the last of all to come down the smooth slope. the seven ahead of her managed to tramp quite a smooth track through the snow, and once or twice she slipped in stepping in their footprints. "look out back there, ruthie!" called tom, from the lead. "the snow must have got balled on your boots. knock it off----" his speech was halted by a startled cry from ruth. she felt herself going and threw out both hands to say her sudden slide. but there was nothing for her hands to seize save the unstable snow itself. she fell on her side, and shot out from the narrow track her companions had trod. "ruth!" shrieked helen, in the wildest kind of dismay. but the girl of the red mill was already out of reach. the drifting snow had curled out over the brink of the tall rock across the brow of which tom had unwisely led the way. they had not realized they were so near the verge of the precipice. ruth's body was solid, and when she fell in the snow the undercrust broke like an eggshell. amid a cloud of snow-dust she shot over the yawning edge of the chasm and disappeared. several square yards of the snow-drift had broken away. at their very feet fell the unexpected precipice. the boys and girls shrank back from the peril with terrified cries, clinging to each other. "she is killed!" moaned helen, and covered her face with her mittened hands. "ruth! ruth!" called tom, charging back toward the broken snow-drift. but bobbins caught and held him. "don't make a fool of yourself, old man!" commanded the big fellow. "you can't help her by falling over the cliff yourself." "oh! how deep can that place be?" gasped ralph tingley. "what will mother say?" cried his brother. "ruth! ruth!" shouted ann hicks, and dropped on her knees to crawl to the edge. "you'll be down there yourself, ann!" exclaimed helen, sobbing. "a couple of you useless boys grab me by the ankles," commanded the western girl. "come! take a good hold. now let me see----" she hung half over the verge of the rock. the fall was sheer for fifty feet at least. it was a narrow cut in the hill, with apparently unscalable sides and open only toward the lake. "i--i don't see a thing," panted the girl. "shout again," urged helen. "let's all shout together!" cried isadore. "now!" they raised their voices in a long, lingering yell. again and again they repeated it. they thought nothing now of the possibility of attracting the constable and his companions to the scene. meanwhile nothing but the echoes replied to their hail. down there in the chasm ann hicks saw no sign of the lost girl. the bottom of the place seemed heaped high with snow. "she plunged right into the drift, and perhaps she's smothered down there," gasped ann. "oh! what shall we do?" "if it's a deep drift ruth may not be hurt at all," cried tom. "do let me look, ann. that's a good girl." the western girl was drawn back and the boy took her place. bobbins and ralph tingley let tom slide farther over the verge of the precipice than they had ann. "she went down feet first," panted tom. "there isn't an obstruction she could have hit. she must have dropped right into the snowbank in the bottom--ruth! ruth fielding!" but even his sharp eyes could discover no mark in the snow. nothing of the lost girl appeared above the drift at the foot of this sheer cliff. she might have been smothered under the snow, as ann suggested. and yet, that scarcely seemed probable. surely the fall into the soft drift could not have injured ruth fatally. she must have had strength enough to struggle to the surface of the snow. her disappearance was a most mysterious thing. when tom crept back from the brink of the precipice and stood on his feet again, they all stared at one another in growing wonder. "what could have happened to her down there?" groaned helen, her own amazement stifling her sobs. chapter xvi hide and seek ruth had fallen with but a single shriek. from top to bottom of the precipice had been such a swift descent that she could not cry out a second time. and the great bank of snow into which she had plunged did--as ann suggested--smother her. the shock of dropping fifty feet through the air, and landing without experiencing anything more dangerous than a greatly accelerated heart-action was enough, of itself, to make the girl of the red mill dumb for the moment. she heard faintly the frightened cries of her companions, and she struggled to get to the surface of the great, soft heap of snow that had saved her from instant death. then she heard a voice pronounce her name, and a hand was thrust into the snow bank and seized her shoulder. "ruth fielding! miss ruth! that come nigh to being your last jump, that did!" "jerry sheming!" gasped the girl, as he drew her out of the snow. "in here--quick! are they after me?" ruth shook the snow from her eyes. she was like a half-drowned person suddenly coming to the surface. "where--where are we?" she whispered. "all right! this is one of my hide-outs. is that old blent up yonder?" "oh, jerry! he's not on the island to-day. he's left the constable----" "lem daggett?" "yes. they are searching for you. but i was with tom and helen and the others. we brought you some food----" he led her along a narrow shelf, which had been swept quite free of snow. now a hollow in the rock-wall opened before them, and there a little fire of sticks burned, an old buffalo robe lay nearby, and there were other evidences of the fugitive's camp. ruth was shaking now, but not from the cold. the shock of her fall had begun to awaken the nervous terror which is the afterclap of such an adventure. so near she had been to death! "you are sick, miss ruth?" exclaimed jerry. "oh, no! oh, no!" repeated the girl of the red mill. "but so--so frightened." "nothin' to be frightened over now," he returned, smiling broadly. "but you _did_ miss it close. if that pile of snow hadn't sifted down there yesterday----" "i know!" burst out ruth. "it was providential." "you girls and boys want to be careful climbing around these rocks," said jerry sheming, gravely. at that moment the chorus of shouts from above reached their ears. ruth turned about and her lips opened. she would have replied, but the backwoods boy leaped across the fire and seized her arm. "don't make a sound!" he exclaimed. "oh! jerry----" "if that constable hears----" "he isn't with us, i tell you," said ruth. "but wait. he might hear. i don't want him to find this place," spoke the boy, eagerly. "he may be within hearing." "no. i think not," ruth explained. then she told jerry of the morning's hunt for him and the course followed by both parties. he shook his head for a moment, and then ran to a shelf at the other side of the little cavern. "i'll communicate with your friends. i'll make them understand. but we mustn't shout. lem daggett may be within hearing." "but i can't stay with you here, jerry," objected the girl. "of course you can't, miss. i will get you out--another way. you'll see. but we'll explain to your friends above and they will stop yelling then. if they keep on that way they'll draw lem daggett here, if he isn't already snooping around." meanwhile jerry had found a scrap of paper and a pencil. he hurriedly wrote a few lines upon the paper. then he produced a heavy bow and a long arrow. the message he tied around the shank of the arrow. "oh! can you shoot with that?" cried ruth, much interested. "reckon so," grinned jerry. "uncle pete wouldn't give me much powder and shot when i was a kid. and finally i could bring home a bigger bag of wild turkeys than he could, and all i had to get 'em with was this bow'n'arrer." he strung the bow, and ruth saw that it took all his strength to do it. the boys and girls were still shouting for her in a desultory fashion. jerry laid his finger on his lips, nodded at his visitor, and stepped swiftly out of sight along the cleared shelf of rock. ruth left the fire to peer after him. she saw him bend the bow and saw the swift flight of the arrow as it shot out of the chasm and curved out of sight beyond the broken edge of the snow-wreath which masked the summit of the cliff. she heard the clamor of her friends' voices as they saw the arrow shoot over their heads. then they were silent. jerry ran back to her and unstrung the bow, putting it away in its niche. but from the same place he produced a blue-barrelled rifle. "i know you won't tell blent, or any of them, how to reach me, miss ruth," he said, looking at her with a smile. "i guess not!" exclaimed the girl. "i am going to show you the way out--to the other end. i wish you were wearing rubber boots like me." "why?" "so you could wade in the stream when we come to it. that's how i threw them off the track," explained jerry, laughing. "why, i know this old island better than uncle pete himself knowed it." "and yet you haven't found the box you say your uncle hid?" asked ruth, curiously. "no. i never knowed anything about it until blent came to drive us off and swore that uncle pete had never had nothin' but 'squatter rights.' but i'm not sure that i couldn't find that place where uncle pete hid his treasure box--if i had time to hunt for it," added jerry, gravely. "that's what mr. blent is afraid of," declared ruth, with conviction. "that's why he is afraid of your being here on the island." "you bet it is, miss." "and we boys and girls will do everything we can to help you, jerry," ruth assured him, warmly. "if you think you can find the place where your uncle hid his papers----" "but suppose i find them and the papers show that this mr. tingley hasn't a clear title to the island?" demanded the backwoods boy, looking at the girl of the red mill sharply. "why should _that_ make a difference?" asked ruth, coolly. "well--you know how some of these rich folks be," returned the boy, dropping his gaze. "when it comes to hittin' their pocketbooks----" "that has nothing to do with it. right is right." "uh-huh!" grunted jerry. "but sometimes they don't want to lose money any quicker than a poor man. if he's paid for the island----" "i don't see how he can lose," declared ruth, quickly. "if blent has claimed a title that cannot be proved, blent will have to lose." "i bet mr. tingley didn't buy without having the title searched," observed jerry. "blent's covered his tracks. he'll declare he was within his rights, probably having bought uncle pete's share of the island through some dummy. you know, when deeds aren't recorded, it's mighty hard to establish them as valid. i know. i axed our town clerk. and he is one man that ain't under blent's thumb." "i don't believe mr. tingley is a man who would stand idle and see you cheated even if he lost money through defending you," said ruth, firmly. "do you know him?" "no. i have never met him," ruth admitted. "but his wife is a very nice lady. and belle and the boys----" "business is business," interrupted jerry, shaking his head. "i don't want tingley to know where i be--yet awhile, anyway." "but may i talk with him about you?" "why--if you care enough to, miss ruth." "of course i do," cried the girl. "didn't i tell you we all want to help you?" and she stamped her foot upon the warm rock. "we'll bring you food, too. we'll see that the constable doesn't get you." "well, it's mighty nice of you," admitted the suspicious young woodsman. "now, come on. i'll take you through my hide-out to the creek. i told your friends you'd meet 'em there, and we want to get there by the time they arrive." "oh, jerry! that's a long way off," cried ruth. "not so very long by the way we'll travel," he returned, with a laugh. and this proved to be true. jerry lighted a battered oil lantern and with his rifle in the other hand led the way. a narrow passage opened out of the back of this almost circular cave. part of the time they traveled through a veritable tunnel. at other times ruth saw the clear sky far above them as they passed along deep cuts in the hills. the descent was continuous, but gradual. such a path wild animals might have traveled in times past. originally it was probably a water-course. the action of the water had eaten out the softer rock until almost a direct passage had been made from the bottom of the cliff where ruth had fallen to the edge of the swift stream that ran through the middle of the island. they came out behind a screen of thick brush through which ruth could see the far bank of the brook, but through which nobody outside could see. jerry set down the lantern, and later leaned the rifle against the wall when he had made sure that nobody was in sight. "i am going to carry you a ways, miss ruth," he said, "if you don't mind. you see, i must walk in the stream or they will find this entrance to my hide-out." "but--can you carry me?" "i bet you! if you only wore rubber boots i'd let you walk. come on, please." "oh! i am not afraid," she told him, quietly, and allowed him to take her into his arms after he had stepped down into the shallow, swiftly lowing current. "this water-trail confuses men and dogs completely," said jerry, with a laugh. "that is--such men as lem daggett. if _i_ was hunting a fellow who took to the stream, with the water so shallow, i'd find which way he went in a jiffy." "how would you?" demanded ruth, feeling perfectly secure in the strong arms of the young fellow. "that's telling," chuckled jerry. "mebbe--some time--i'll tell you. i hoped i'd get the chance of showing you and your friends around this island. but i guess i won't." "perhaps you will. and if there is anything we can do to help you----" "just one thing you might do," remarked jerry, finally setting her upright upon a flat rock on the side of the stream nearest the hunting camp, and some distance away from the secret entrance to his hide-out. "oh! what is that?" cried ruth, eagerly. "find me a pickax, or a mattock, and put it right here on this rock. do it at night, so no one will see you. good bye, miss!" he exclaimed, and hurried away. in another minute he had disappeared behind the screen of bushes, and ruth heard the glad shouts of her friends as they came over the ridge and saw her standing safe and sound beside the stream. chapter xvii christmas morning "how under the sun did you get here, ruth?" helen shouted the moment she saw her chum. "did that jerry sheming bring you?" demanded ann. the other members of the party were quite as anxious to learn the particulars of her adventure, and when they had crossed on the stepping stones, they gathered about her eagerly. ruth would tell just so much and no more. she explained how she had fallen into the snow-drift at the foot of the cliff, how jerry had heard her scream and pulled her out. but beyond that she only said he had left her here to wait their coming. "you needn't be so mysterious, miss!" ejaculated helen, rather piqued. "i guess she doesn't want to say anything about his hide-out that might lead to his being hunted out by lem daggett," observed the wise tom. "but jerry signed his name to the note he tied on the arrow." "and we sure were surprised when we saw that arrow shoot up from the depths," said isadore. "what do you suppose mother will say?" cried one of the tingley boys. "don't let's tell her," suggested ruth, quickly. "there's no need. it will only add to her worries and she will be troubled enough by us as it is." "but----" "you see, i'm not a bit hurt," insisted ruth. "and the less we talk about the matter the less likely we shall be to drop something that may lead to the discovery of jerry sheming's hiding place." "oh, well, if you put it that way," agreed ralph. "i suppose mother will have all the trouble she wants. and maybe if she knew, she'd keep you girls away from this end of the island." they tramped home to a late luncheon. it was so very cold that afternoon and evening that they were only too glad to remain in the house and "hug the fire." the inclement weather drove lem daggett and the men indoors, too. the constable had to go back to logwood without his prisoner, and he evidently feared the anger of rufus blent. "i want to warn ye, mis' tingley," he said to the lady of the lodge, shaking his head, "that when blent sets out ter do a thing, he does it. that boy's got to be found, and he's got to be kep' off this island." "i will see what my husband says when he comes," replied mrs. tingley, firmly. "i will not allow our men to chase the poor fellow further." "you'd better ketch him and signal us at logwood. run up that flag on the pole outside. i'll know what you mean." "mr. tingley will decide when he comes," was all the satisfaction the lady gave the constable. after he had gone, mrs. tingley told ruth she hoped no harm would come to the poor boy, "sleeping out in the cold alone." "oh, mrs. tingley! i know he has a warm, dry place to sleep, and plenty of firewood--heaps and heaps of it." "you seem to know a good deal about him," the lady commented. "yes, i do," admitted ruth, honestly. "more about him and where he is hiding than he would care to have me tell you." so mrs. tingley did not catechise the girl further upon the subject of the fugitive. just because they were shut in was no reason why the house party on cliff island should not have an extraordinarily good time. they played games and had charades that evening. they had a candy pull, too, but unlike that famous one at snow camp the winter before, busy izzy phelps did not get a chance to put the walnut shells into the taffy instead of the kernels. the wind died down and it grew desperately cold during the night. the mercury soon left the zero point so far above that it threatened to be lost for the rest of the winter. they awoke the next morning to find the island chained fast to the mainland by old jack frost's fetters. a sheet of new ice extended for some hundreds of yards all around cliff island. farther out the ice was of rougher texture, but that near at hand was clear and black. out came the skates soon after breakfast, and everybody but mercy went down to the lake. later the boys made the lame girl and mrs. tingley come, too, and they arranged chairs in which the two non-skaters could be pushed over the smooth surface. hockey was the game for the afternoon, and two "sides" were chosen to oppose each other, one of the boys and another of the girls. although ann hicks had never had a hockey stick in her hand before, she quickly got into the game, and they all had a very merry time. the day before ruth had not been able to find the implement that jerry sheming had spoken about, nor could she find a mattock, or pickax, on this second day. if she went to the toolshed and hunted for the thing herself she was afraid her quest would be observed by some of the men. she located the place where the tools were kept, but the shed was locked. however, there was a window, and that window could be easily slid back. ruth shrank from attempting to creep in by it. "just the same, i told him i'd get it--at least, i told myself i'd get it for him," thought the girl of the red mill. "and i will." of course, mrs. tingley would have allowed her to borrow the tool, but it would have aroused comment had it become known that jerry wanted it. "it must be that he really thinks now he knows where his uncle hid the treasure box. he wants to dig for it," was ruth's thought. yet she remembered that jerry had said all along the old man had seemingly gone mad because his treasure box was buried under a landslide. she asked mr. preston, the foreman of the camp, where the landslide had occurred. "why, right over yonder, little lady," explained the woodsman. "if the snow wasn't on the ground, you could easy see the scar of it down that hillside," and he pointed to a spot just beyond the secret opening of jerry's cave. "the dirt and rock was heaped up so at the foot of the slide that the course of the brook was changed. that slide covered a monster lot of little caves in the rock," pursued the man. "but i expect there's others of 'em left and that jerry's hidin' out in one now," he added, looking at ruth with shrewd gaze. ruth took him no further into her confidence. she felt that she must have somebody to help her, however, and naturally enough she chose tom. helen's twin thought a great deal of ruth fielding, and was never ashamed of showing this feeling before the other boys. on her side, ruth felt that tom cameron was just about right. nor was she mistaken in him when she placed her difficulty before the lad. help her? of course he would! they agreed to make the raid upon the toolshed that evening when the others were busily filling stockings and trimming the huge christmas tree set up in the main hall of the hunting lodge. ruth beckoned to her fellow-conspirator and tom slipped out of the hall by one door while she made the outer air by another. the kitchen girls and the men hired about the camp were all in the big hall watching the fun, or aiding in decorating the lodge. nobody saw ruth and tom. it was a very cold evening. there was a hazy moon and brilliant stars, but they did not think anybody would see their efforts to aid jerry sheming. nevertheless, ruth and tom were very circumspect. they crept behind the toolshed and looked all about to make sure that nobody was watching. there was no light in the bunkhouse or in the cook's cabin. although the toolshed was so carefully locked, ruth knew that the window could be opened. tom quickly slipped back the sash, and then dived into the dark interior of the place, head first. the moment he was on his feet, however, he drew from his pocket the electric spotlight he had supplied himself with, and flashed the ray about the shed. "good! here's either one you want--pickax or mattock," were the words he whispered to ruth. "which do you suppose he would like best?" "a mattock is more practical, i believe," said tom. "'maddox,' they call it. we had a fellow working for us once who called it a 'mad-ax.' it has a broad blade and can be used to chop as well as dig." "never mind giving a lecture on it," laughed ruth, very softly, "hand it out." tom chuckled and did as he was bid. in a minute he was with her and picked up the heavy implement. "i hope they don't come hunting for us," said the girl of the red mill, breathlessly. "we must take that risk. come on, ruth. or do you want me to take it down to the brookside alone?" "i want to go along, too. oh, dear! i do hope he will find it." "i have another cracker box full of food for him," said tom. "i reckon he will be on the lookout for the pick, so he'll find the food, too." after a good deal of climbing, they reached the flat rock by the brookside where jerry sheming had requested ruth to leave the mattock. there was no sign of the fugitive about. ruth did not tell tom where the mouth of the secret tunnel lay--nor did tom ask for information. as they hurried back, mounting the ridge that separated the lodge and its outbuildings from the middle of the island, ruth, looking back, suddenly grabbed tom's hand. "see! see there!" she cried. tom looked in the direction to which she pointed. the stars gave light enough for them to see miles across the ice. several black figures were hurrying toward the western end of the island from the direction of the mainland--the southern shore of the lake. "who do you suppose those men are?" asked ruth, faintly. tom shook his head slowly. "i expect it's lem daggett, the constable, and others to hunt for poor jerry. i feel almost sure that the man in the lead is daggett." "isn't that mean?" exclaimed ruth, her voice shaking. "it is. but i don't believe they will find jerry very easily." just the same, ruth was not to be comforted. she was very quiet all the rest of the evening. her absence, and tom's, had not been noticed. the crowd went to bed before eleven, having spent a most delightful christmas eve. ruth sat at a window that overlooked a part of the island. once she saw the men who had crossed from the mainland climbing the hill toward the lone pine. "i hope they won't find a trace of him!" she murmured as she popped into bed. ruth slept as soundly as any of her mates. a clanging bell at six o'clock aroused the whole household. the sun was not yet up, but there was a streak of gold across the eastern sky. it was christmas morning. ruth ran again to the west window. a pillar of smoke rose straight from a hollow on the higher part of the island. the searching party was still there. there was no time now to think of jerry sheming and his affairs. the girls raced to see who should dress first. downstairs there were "loads" of presents waiting for them, so belle declared. "come on!" cried heavy, leading the way. "ready all? march!" the nine girls started through the hall and down the broad stairway in single file. heavy began to cheer and the others chimed in: "'s.b.--ah-h-h! s.b.--ah-h-h! sound our battle-cry near and far! s.b.--all! briarwood hall! sweetbriars, do or die- this be our battle-cry- briarwood hall! _that's all_!'" so sounding the sweetbriars' challenge, they met the grinning boys at the foot of the flight, before the huge, sparkling tree. "gee!" exclaimed tom. "i'm mighty glad i suggested that name for your secret society, ruth. 'sweetbriars'--it just fits you." chapter xviii fun on the ice of course, the girls had prepared one another's presents long before. each had been tied in a queer bundle so, in trimming the tree, the nature of the contents could not be guessed. the oddest shaped things hung from the branches of the christmas tree, and the boys had excelled in making up these "surprise packages." mrs. tingley handed the presents out, while the boys lifted them down for her. a long, tightly rolled parcel, which looked as though it ought to contain an umbrella, and was marked "to helen from tom," finally proved to contain a jeweler's box, in which nestled a pretty ring, which delighted his twin. a large, flat package, big enough to hold a large kite, was carefully opened by belle, who finally found in it, among the many tissue wrappings, a pretty set of hair combs set with stones. in a roughly-done-up parcel was a most disreputable old shoe addressed to lluella. she was going to throw it out, but the boys advised her so strongly not to that she finally burrowed to the toe and found, to her amazement, a gold bracelet. there was a good-sized box for ann hicks--just as it had come from the express office at lumberton a week before. having been addressed in mrs. tellingham's care, the western girl had known nothing about it. now it was opened last. it had come all the way from silver ranch, of course. such a set of furs no girl at briarwood possessed. there were a number of other presents from the cowboys, from mrs. sally, and from bashful ike himself. ann was so pleased and touched that she ran away to hide her tears. there were presents for each of the girls and boys who had been at bullhide the previous summer. bill hicks had forgotten nobody, and, as mrs. tellingham had once said, the ranchman certainly was a generous man. no member of the house party was overlooked on this bright christmas morning. mercy's presents were as costly and numerous as those of any other girl. besides, the lame girl had been able to give her mates beautiful little keepsakes that expressed her love for them quite as much as would have articles that cost more money. her presents to the boys were funny, including a jumping jack on a stick to isadore, the face of which mercy had whittled out and painted to look a good deal like the features of that active youth. for two hours the young folk reveled in their presents. then suddenly heavy smelled the breakfast coffee and she led the charge to the long dining room. they were in the midst of the meal when mr. tingley himself arrived, having reached logwood on the early train and driven across the ice in a sleigh. the tingley young people met him hilariously. he was a big, bewhiskered man, with a jolly laugh and amiable manner. his eye could flash, too, if need be, ruth judged. and almost at once she had an opportunity of seeing him stern. "what crowd is that over at the west end of the island?" he asked his wife. "i see they have a fire. there must be four or five men there. is it some of blent's doings?" "oh, dad!" cried ralph tingley, eagerly. "you ought to stop that. those fellows are hunting jerry sheming." "who is jerry sheming?" he asked, quickly. mrs. tingley explained briefly. "i remember now," said her husband. "and this is the young lady who spoke a good word for the boy in the first place?" and he beckoned the eager ruth to them. "what have you to say for your protã©gã© now, miss?" "everything that is good," declared the girl of the red mill, quickly. "i am sure he is not at all the sort of boy this man blent would have you believe. and perhaps, mr. tingley, his old uncle _may_ have had some title to a part of this island." "that puts _me_ in bad, then--eh?" chuckled mr. tingley. "unless mr. blent has cheated you, sir," suggested ruth, hesitatingly. "he's a foxy old fellow. but i believe i have safeguarded myself. this trouble about something being buried on the island--well! i don't know about that." "i believe jerry really has some idea now where his uncle put the box. even if the old hunter _was_ crazy, he might have had some valuables. and surely jerry has a better right to the box than blent," ruth said, indignantly. "i'll see about that. just as soon as i have had breakfast, i'll take preston and go over and interview this gang of blent's henchmen. i am not at all sure that he has any right to hunt the boy down, warrant or no warrant!" that was when he looked grim and his eyes flashed. ruth felt that her friend's father was just the man to give jerry sheming a fair deal if he had the chance. when the boys proposed getting out the two iceboats and giving the girls a sail (for the wind was fresh), ruth was as eager as the others to join in the sport. not all the girls would trust themselves to the scooters, but there were enough who went down to the ice to make an exceedingly hilarious party. ralph tingley and tom cameron were the best pilots. the small iceboats were built so that two passengers could ride beside the steersman and sheet tender. so the girls took turns in racing up and down the smooth ice on the south side of the island. ruth and helen liked to go together with tom, who had busy izzy to tend sheet. it was "no fair" if one party traveled farther than from the dock to the mouth of the creek and back again. the four friends--ruth and her chum, and tom and busy izzy--were making their second trip over the smooth course. bobbins, with his sister and the fox, and ralph tingley, manned the other boat. the two swift craft had a splendid race to the mouth of that brook which, because of its swiftness, still remained unshackled by the frost. the shallow stream of water poured down over the rocks into the lake, but there was only a small open place at the point where the brook emptied into its waters into the larger and more placid body. when the two iceboats swung about, the one bobbins manned got away at once and swiftly passed down the lake. the sheet fouled in tom's boat. busy izzy had to drop the sail and the boat was brought to a halt. "there are mr. tingley and preston going over to talk to the constable and his crowd," remarked isadore. "see yonder?" "i hope he sends those men off the island. i don't see what right they have here, anyway," helen exclaimed. "if only jerry knows enough to keep under cover while they are here," said tom, looking meaningly at ruth. they both wondered if the fugitive had ventured out of his cave to find the mattock and box of food they had left for him the evening before. the craft was under way again in a minute or two, and they swept down the course in the wake of the other boat. suddenly the sharp crack of a rifle echoed across the island. helen screamed. ruth risked the boom and sat up to look behind. "there's a fight!" yelled busy izzy. "i believe they're after jerry." they saw mr. tingley and preston hastening their steps toward the brook. as the iceboat swept out farther from the shore, the four friends aboard her could see several men running in the same direction. one bore a smoking gun in his hand. "right towards that rock, ruthie!" gasped tom, venturing a glance behind him. "what rock do you mean?" demanded his sister. "the rock where you folks found me the other day. it's near the opening to jerry's cave. i see them!" "'ware boom!" yelled tom, and shifted his helm. the great sail went slowly over; the iceboat swooped around like a great bird skimming the ice. then, in a minute, it was headed back up the lake toward the scene of the trouble. another rifle shot echoed across the ice. chapter xix blent is master ruth was truly frightened, and so was her chum. could it be possible that those rough men dared fire their guns at jerry sheming? or was the poor boy foolish enough to try to frighten his pursuers off with the weapons which ruth very well knew he had in the cave with him? "oh, i'm glad mr. tingley's here to-day," cried busy izzy. "he'll give that lem daggett what's coming to him--that's what _he'll_ do!" "hope so," agreed tom, grimly. the latter brought the iceboat into the wind near the shore, and isadore dropped the sail again. they all tumbled out and ran up the bank. a little climb brought them to the plateau where they could see all that was going on near the rock on which ruth and tom had left the mattock the evening before. lem daggett had four men with him--all rough-looking fellows, and armed with rifles. jerry sheming was standing half-leg deep in the running stream, his hands over his head, and the men were holding him under the muzzles of their guns. "why! it beats the 'wild and woolly'!" gasped tom cameron. "silver ranch and bullhide weren't as bad as this. the scoundrels!" "come out o' that brook, jerry, or it'll be the wuss for ye." lem daggett drawled, standing on the flat rock and grinning at his captive. "what do you want of me?" demanded the fugitive, sullenly. "you know well enough. oh, i got a warrant for ye, all right. ev'rything's all right an' proper. ye know rufe blent don't make no mistakes. he's got ye." "an' here he comes now!" ejaculated another of the rough men, looking toward the east end of the island. the four hurrying young folk looked back. driving hastily from the lodge, and behind mr. tingley and preston, came a heavy sleigh drawn by a pair of horses. rufus blent and a driver were in it. but mr. tingley approached first, and it was plain by a single glance at his face that he was angry. "what's all this shooting about?" he demanded. "don't you men know that cliff island is private property? you are trespassing upon it." "oh, i guess we're within our rights, boss," said lem daggett, laughing. "i'm the constable. and these here are helpers o' mine. we was arter a bird, and we got him." "a warrant from a justice of the peace does not allow you to go out with guns and rifles and shoot over private property," declared mr. tingley, angrily. "be off with you--and don't you dare come to this island again without permission." "hold on, thar!" yelled rufus blent, leaping from the sleigh with more agility than one would have given him credit for. "you air oversteppin' the line, mr. tingley. that officer's in the right." "no, he's not in the right. he'd never be in the right--hunting a boy with an armed posse. i should think you and these other men would be ashamed of yourselves." "you look out, mr. tingley," warned blent, hotly. "you're a stranger in these parts. you try to balk me and you'll be sorry." "why?" demanded the city man, quite as angrily. "are you the law and the prophets here, mr. blent?" "i know my rights. and if you want to live in peace here, keep out o' my way!" snarled the real estate man. "you old scoundrel!" exclaimed mr. tingley, stepping swiftly toward him. "get off cliff island--and get off quick. i'd spend a thousand dollars to get a penny's worth of damages from you. i'll sue you in the civil courts for trespass if you don't go--and go quick! "don't think i went blindly into the transaction that gave me title to this island. i know all about your withholding the right to 'treasure trove,' and all that. but it doesn't give you the right to trespass here. get out--and take your gang with you--or i'll have suit begun against you at once." old blent was troubled, but he had one good hold and he knew it. he shouted to lem daggett: "serve that warrant, lem, and come along. bring that young rascal. i'll fix him." "let me read that warrant!" exclaimed mr. tingley, suddenly. "no, ye don't!" yelled blent. "don't let him take it into his hand. read it aloud to him. but make that pesky young sheming come ashore first. before ye know it, he'll be runnin' away ag'in." the men who "covered" jerry motioned him to step up to the bank. they looked so threatening that he obeyed. daggett produced a legal looking paper. he read this aloud, blunderingly, for he was an illiterate man. its contents were easily gathered, however. squire keller had signed the warrant on complaint of rufus blent. jerry was accused of having stolen several boxes of ammunition and a revolver. the property had been found in an old shed at logwood where the boy had slept for a few nights after he had first been driven from cliff island. "why, this is an old story, blent," ejaculated mr. tingley, angrily. "the boy left that shed months ago. he came directly to the island, when i hired him, from the neighborhood of lumberton, and preston assures me he hasn't been to logwood since arriving." "you can tell all that in court," snarled blent, waving his hand. "if he's got witnesses to clear him, i guess they'll be given a chance to testify." "you're a villain!" declared the city man. "lemme tell you something, mr. tingley. there's a law to punish callin' folks out o' their names! i know the law, an' don't you forgit it. come here, you, jerry sheming! git in this sleigh. and you, too, lem. you other fellers can come back to logwood and i'll pay ye as i agreed." ruth had, meanwhile, met jerry when he came ashore. she seized his hand and, almost in tears, told him how sorry she was he was captured. "don't you mind, miss ruth. he's bound to git me out of the way if he can," whispered jerry. "rufe blent is _all_ the law there is in logwood, i guess." "but mr. tingley will help you." "maybe. but if blent can't prove this hatched up business against me, he'll keep right on persecuting me, if i don't light out. an' i believe i found something, miss ruth." "your uncle's money?" "i wouldn't say that. but i was goin' to break into another little cave if i'd got hold of that mattock. the mouth is under the debris that fell with the landslide. it was about where uncle pete said he hid his treasure box. poor uncle pete! losin' that box was what sent him off his head complete, like." this had been said too low for the others to hear. but now daggett came forward and clamped his big paw on jerry's shoulder. "come along, you!" commanded the constable, jerking his prisoner toward the sledge. "oh, isn't it a mean, mean shame?" cried helen cameron. "wish that old blent was my size," grumbled busy izzy, clenching his fists and glaring at the real estate man. "i wish i could do something at the present moment to help you, sheming," said mr. tingley, his expression very angry. "but don't be afraid. you have friends. i shall come right over to keller's court, and i shall hire a lawyer to defend you." "you kin do all ye like," sneered blent, as the sledge started with the prisoner. "but i'll beat ye. and ye'll pay for tryin' to balk me, too." "don't you be too loose with your threats, rufe," sang out preston, the foreman. "if anything happens over here on the island--any of mr. tingley's property is destroyed--we'll know who to look to for damages." "yah!" snarled blent, and drove away. the fact remained, however, that, for the time being at least, rufus blent was master of the situation. chapter xx the fishing party ruth felt so unhappy she wept openly. it seemed too bad that jerry sheming should be taken away to the mainland a prisoner. "they'll find some way of driving him out of this country again," remarked preston, the foreman. "you don't know blent, mr. tingley, as well as the rest of us do. other city men have come up here and bucked against him in times past--and they were sorry before they got through." "what do you mean?" demanded the angry owner of cliff island. "blent can hire those fellows from the lumber camps, and some of the guides, to do his dirty work. that's all i've got to say. hunting camps have burned down in these woods before now," observed the foreman, significantly. "why! the scoundrel sold me this island himself!" "and he's sold other outsiders camp sites. but they have had to leave if they angered blent." "he is a dangerous man, then?" "well--things just happen," returned preston, shaking his head. "i'd keep watch if i were you." "i will. i'll hire guards--and arm 'em, if need be," declared mr. tingley, emphatically. "but take it from me--i am going to see that that boy jerry is treated right in these backwoods courts. that's the way i feel about it." ruth was glad to hear him say this. as she had decided when she first saw him, mr. tingley could be very firm if he wished to be. at once he went back to the house, had a team hitched to a sleigh, and drove over to the mainland so as to be sure that blent did not get ahead of him and have court convened before the proper hour. the day was spoiled for ruth and for some of the other young folk who had taken such a deep interest in jerry. the boy had been caught because he tried to get the mattock ruth and tom had put out for him. ruth wished now that she and tom had not gone down to the brook. there was too much going on at cliff island for even ruth to mope long. mr. tingley came back at dark and said he had succeeded in getting jerry's case put over until a lawyer could familiarize himself with the details. meanwhile keller, blent's man, had refused to accept bail. jerry would have to remain in jail for a time. a man came across from the town that evening and brought a telegram for mr. tingley. that gentleman had without doubt shown his interest in jerry sheming. fearing that the local legal lights might be somewhat backward about opposing rufus blent, he had telegraphed to his own firm of lawyers in new york and they were sending him a reputable attorney from an up-state city who would be at logwood the next day. "let's all go over to court to-morrow and see that lawyer get jerry free," suggested belle tingley, and the others agreed with enthusiasm. it would be as much fun as snow-shoeing; more fun for those who had not already learned that art. the day after christmas, in the morning, the boys insisted that everybody but mercy curtis should get out and try the shoes. those who had been at snow camp the year before were able to set out quite briskly--for it is an art that, like swimming and skating, is not easily forgotten. there were some very funny spills and by luncheon they were all in a glow. later the big sledge was brought around and behind that the boys strung a couple of bobs. the horses drew them down to the ice and there it was easy for the team to pull the whole crowd across to logwood. the town seemed to have turned out to meet the party from cliff island. ruth and her friends noted the fact that many of the half-grown boys and young men--those of the rougher class--seemed greatly amused by the appearance of the city folk. "but what can you expect from a lot of rubes?" demanded tom, rather angrily. "see 'em snickering and grinning? what d'ye s'pose is the matter with them?" "whatever the joke is, it's on us and we don't know it," remarked heavy, who was easily angered by ridicule, too. "there! mr. tingley has gone off with the lawyer. i guess we'll know what it's all about pretty soon." and _that_ was true, sure enough. it came out that there would be no case to try. justice keller announced that the accusation against jerry sheming had been withdrawn. mr. blent had "considered mr. tingley's plea for mercy," the old fox said, and there was nothing the justice could do but to turn the prisoner loose. "but what's become of him?" mr. tingley wanted to know. "oh, that does not enter into my jurisdiction," replied keller, blandly. "i am not his keeper. he was let out of jail early this morning. after that i cannot say what became of him." blent was not even at the court. it was learned that he had gone out of town. blent could always find somebody to handle pitch for him. it was later discovered that when lem daggett had opened the jail to jerry, several of blent's ruffians had rushed the boy to the railroad yard, put him aboard a moving freight, given a brakeman a two-dollar bill as per instructions from the real estate man, and jerry wasn't likely to get off the train, unless he jumped while it was moving, until it was fifty miles farther west. but, of course, this story did not come out right away. the whole town was laughing at mr. tingley. nobody cared enough about the city man, or knew him well enough, to explain the details of jerry's disappearance at that time. mr. tingley looked very serious when he rejoined the young folk and he had little to say on the way home, save to ruth, whom he beckoned to the seat beside him. "i am very sorry that the old fox got the best of us, miss fielding. as preston says, i must look out for him. he is sly, wicked, and powerful. my albany lawyer tells me that blent is notorious in this part of the state, and that he has great political influence, illiterate as he is. "but i am going to fight. i have bought cliff island, and paid a good price for it. i have spent a good many thousand dollars in improvements already. i'll protect myself and my investment if i can--and meanwhile i'll do what i can for your friend, jerry sheming, too. "they've got the boy away from the vicinity for the time being, but i reckon he'll find his way back. you think so, too, miss fielding?" "if he understands that we are trying to help him. and--yes!--i believe he will come back anyway, for he is very anxious to find that treasure box his uncle peter lost." "oh--as to that--well, there may be something in it. but pete tilton was really insane. i saw him myself. the asylum is the place for him, poor man," concluded mr. tingley. ruth felt in secret very much worried over jerry's disappearance. when she once became interested in anybody, as helen said, "she was interested all the way through." the others could laugh a little about how the crafty real estate agent had fooled mr. tingley and gotten jerry out of the way, but not ruth. she could scarcely sleep that night for thinking of what might have happened to the ill-used youth. but she tried to hide her anxiety from her companions the next morning when plans were made for a fishing trip. all but mercy joined in this outing. they went on snowshoes to the far end of the island, keeping on the beach under the huge cliffs, to a little cove where they would be sheltered and where the fishing was supposed to be good. preston, the foreman, went with them. he and the boys dragged a bobsled well laden with the paraphernalia considered necessary for fishing through the ice. first the holes were cut--thirteen of them. then, near each hole, and on the windward side, two stakes were set about four feet apart and a square of canvas lashed between them for a wind-break. a folding campstool had been brought for each fisherman and "fishergirl," and there were a lot of old sacks for the latter, especially, to put under their feet as they watched the "bobbers" in the little pool of water before which they sat. after preston saw them well started, he went back to the house. the crowd intended to remain until evening, and planned to make their dinner on the shore of the cove, frying some of the fish they expected to catch, and making coffee in a battered camp pot that had been brought along. the fish were there, as the foreman had assured them. each member of the party watched and baited two lines. at first some of the girls had considerable trouble with the bait, and the boys had to show them how to put it on the hook; but it was fun, and soon all were interested in pulling out the flopping fish, vying with each other in the catch, calling back and forth about their luck, and having a splendid time. it was so cold that the fish froze almost as soon as they were thrown upon the ice. had they been catching for shipment, the fish could have been boxed and sent some distance by express without being iced. but the young folk did not mind the cold much, nor the fact that the sun did not shine and the clouds grew thicker as the day advanced. "i'm going to beat you all!" declared the fox, after a great run of luck, in which she could scarcely bait rapidly enough to satisfy the ravenous fish. "might as well award me the laurel wreath right now." "don't you be too sure," drawled heavy. "you know, 'he laughs best who laughs last.'" "wrong!" returned mary cox. "the true quotation should be, 'he laughs best whose laugh lasts.' and mine is going to last--oh-he! here comes another!" tom and ruth got the dinner. there was plenty of dry wood under the fir trees. tom cleaned the fish and ruth fried them to a delicious brownness and crispness. with the other viands brought from home and cups of good, hot coffee, the thirteen friends made a hearty and hilarious meal. they were sheltered by the high cliff at their backs and did not notice when the snow began to fall. but, after a time, they suddenly discovered that the flakes were coming so thick and fast that it was all but impossible to see the farthest fishing shelters. "oh, dear me! we don't want to go back yet," wailed the fox. "and we were catching them so fast. do, do let's wait a while longer." "not much fun if it keeps on snowing this way," objected bobbins. "don't begin croaking, little boy," advised his sister. "a few flakes of snow won't hurt us." nevertheless, the storm did not hold up. it was more than a "flurry" and some of the others, as well as bob steele, began to feel anxious. chapter xxi jerry's cave for a while they tried to shelter themselves with the canvas, and shouted back and forth through the falling snow that they were having a "scrumptious" time. but some of the girls, as isadore said, "began to weaken." "we don't want to be lost in the snow as we were the time we went for balsam at snow camp," said helen. "how can you get lost--with us fellows along?" demanded busy izzy, in vast disgust. "can't a boy be lost?" demanded ann hicks, laughing. "not on your life!" declared the irrepressible isadore. but just then madge steele got up and declared she had had enough. "this hole in the ice is filling up with snow. we'll lose the fish we've already caught if we don't look out. come on, bobby, and get mine." so it was agreed to cut the fishing short for that day, although the fox declared she could have beaten them all in another hour. however, they had a great load of the frozen fish. besides what they had eaten for dinner, there were at least a hundred handsome fellows, and the boys had strung each fisher's catch on a birch twig which they had cut and trimmed while coming down to the lake that morning. tom and ruth, left at the campfire to clean up after the mid-day meal, were shouting for them to come in. the girls left the boys to wind up the fishlines and "strike camp," as ralph called taking down the pieces of canvas, and all hustled for the shore. they crowded around the fire, threw on more fuel, danced to get their feet warm, and called to the boys to hurry. the five boys had their hands full in retrieving all the chairs, and canvas sheets, and fish lines, and sacks. when they got them all in and packed upon the bobsled for transportation, the snow was a foot deep on the ice and it was snowing so fast that one could not see ten feet into the swirling heart of the storm. "i declare! it looks as though we were in a mess, with all this snow," complained tom cameron. "and with all these girls," growled ralph tingley. "wish we'd started an hour ago." "i don't know about starting _at all_," observed bobbins. "don't you see that the girls will give out before we're half-way there? we can't use snowshoes with the snow coming down like this. they clog too fast." "oh, they'll have to wade the same as we do," said isadore. "yah! wade! and us pulling this sled, too? i wish preston had stayed with us. don't you, ralph?" asked his brother. "hush! don't let the girls hear you," was the whispered reply. already the girls were comparing notes in a group around the fire. now madge turned and shouted for them: "come here, boys! don't be mumbling together there. we have an idea." "if it's any good, let's have it," answered tom, cheerfully. "it is good. it was born of experience. some of us got all the tramping in a blinding snowstorm that we wanted a year ago. never again! eh, girls?" "quite right, madge," said ralph. "it is foolish to run into danger. we are all right here----" "why, the snow will drown out your fire in half an hour," scoffed isadore. "and there isn't so much dry fuel." "i know where there is plenty of wood--and shelter, too!" cried ruth, suddenly. "so do i. at the lodge," scoffed belle. "no. nearby. tom and i were just talking about it. up that ravine yonder is the place where i fell over the cliff. and jerry's cave is right there--one end of it." "a cave!" ejaculated helen. "that would be bully." "if only we could have a good fire and get dry and warm again," quoth lluella, her teeth already chattering. "i believe that would be best," admitted madge steele. "we never could get back to the lodge through this snow. the shore is so rough." "we can travel on the ice," ventured ann hicks, doubtfully. "and get turned around," put in tom. "easiest thing in the world to get lost out there on that ice without a compass and in such a whirlwind of snow. ruth's right. let's try to find the cave." "i'm game!" exclaimed heavy. "why, with all this fish we could live a week in a cave. it would be bully." "'charming' is the better word, miss stone," suggested the fox. "don't correct me when i'm on a vacation," exclaimed the plump girl. "i won't stand for it----" just then she slipped and sat down hard and they all laughed. "lucky you weren't on the ice. you'd gone right through that time, jennie," declared the fox. "now, let's come on to the cave if we're all agreed. i guess ruth has the right idea." "we'll drag the sled and break a path for you girls," announced tom. "all ready, now! bring your snowshoes. if it stops snowing, we can get home on them to-night." "oh, dear, me! i hope so," cried belle tingley. "what will mother and father say if we're not home by dark?" "they'll be pretty sure we wouldn't travel far in this storm. preston and the other men will find us, anyway." "i expect that is so," admitted ruth, thoughtfully, "and they'll find jerry's cave. i hope he won't be mad at me for taking you all there." however that might be, it seemed to the girl of the red mill, as well as to tom cameron, that it was wisdom to seek the nearest shelter. the ravine was steep, but it was sheltered. there were not many big drifts until they reached that great one at the head of it, into which ruth had fallen when she slipped over the brink of the precipice. nevertheless, they were half an hour beating their way up the gully and out upon that ledge which led to the mouth of jerry's cave. the boys found the laden sled a good deal of a load and the girls had all they could do to follow in the track the sled made. "we never _could_ have reached home safely through this storm," declared madge. "how clever of you to remember the cave, ruthie." "ruth is always doing something clever," said helen, loyally. "why, she even falls over a cliff, so as to find a cave that, later, shelters us all from the inclement elements." "wow, wow, wow!" jeered isadore. "you girls think a lot of each other; don't you? better thank that jerry boy for finding the cave in the first place." they were all crowding into the place by this time. it was not very light in the cave, for the snow had already veiled the entrance. but there was a great store of wood piled up along one side, and the boys soon had a fresh fire built. the girls and boys stamped off the clinging snow and began to feel more comfortable. the flames danced among the sticks, and soon an appreciable sense of warmth stole through the cave. the crowd began to laugh and chatter. the girls brushed out the cave and the boys rolled forward loose stones for seats. isadore found jerry's shotgun, ammunition, bow and arrow, and other possessions. "he must have taken the rifle with him when he went to the other end of the tunnel," ruth said. "say!" exclaimed ralph tingley. "you could find the way through the hill to where you came out of the cave with jerry; couldn't you, ruth?" "oh! i believe so," cried ruth. "then we needn't worry," said the boy. "we can go home that way. even if the storm doesn't stop to-night, we ought to be able to find the lodge from _that_ end of the cave." "we've nothing to worry about, then," said madge, cheerfully. "we're supplied with all the comforts of home----" "and plenty to eat," sighed heavy, with satisfaction. chapter xxii snowed in naturally, thirteen young folk in a cave could not be content to sit before the fire inactive. they played games, they sang songs, they made up verses, and finally madge produced a pencil and a notebook and they wrote a burlesque history of "george washington and the cherry tree." the first author wrote a page of the history and two lines on the second page. then the second read those last two lines and went on with the story, leaving another two lines at the top of the next page, and so on. it was a wonderful piece of literary work when it was finished, and madge kept it to read to the s.b.'s when they got back to briarwood hall. "for, of course," she said, "we're not going to be forever shut up in this cave. i don't want to turn into a 'cave man'--nor yet a 'cave woman'!" "see if the snow has stopped--that's a good boy, tommy," urged helen. "of course it hasn't. don't you see how dark it is, sis?" returned her twin. but he started toward the mouth of the cavern. just then bob looked at his watch in the firelight, and exclaimed: "no wonder it seems dark--do you know it's half after four right now?" "wow! mother will be scared," said ralph tingley. just then there came a cry from tom. then followed a heavy, smothered thud. the boys dashed to the entrance. it was pitch dark. a great mass of hard packed snow filled the opening, and was being forced into the cave itself. in this heap of snow struggled tom, fairly smothered. they laid hold upon him--by a leg and an arm--and dragged him out. he could not speak for a moment and he had lost his cap. "how did you do that?" demanded bob. "what does it mean?" "think--think i did it on purpose?" demanded the overwhelmed youth. "i'm no samson to pull down the pillars on top of me. gee! that snow came sudden." "where--where did it all come from?" demanded his sister. "from the top of the cliff, of course. it must have made a big drift there and tumbled down--regular avalanche, you know--just as i tried to look out. why! the place out there is filled up yards deep! we'd never be able to dig out in a week." "oh, dear me! what shall we do?" groaned belle, who was beginning to get nervous. "have supper," suggested heavy, calmly. "no matter what we have to face, we can do it better after eating." they laughed, but took her advice. nobody failed to produce an appetite at the proper time. "dear me!" exclaimed belle, "if only mother knew we were safe i'd be content to stay all night. it's fun." "and if we had some salt," complained lluella. "i don't like fish without salt--not much." "you're a fine female robinson crusoe," laughed tom. "this is real 'roughing it.' i expect all you girls will weaken by morning." "oh, oh!" cried his sister, "you talk as though you thought we would be obliged to stay here, tom." "i don't just see how we're to get out to-night," tom returned, grimly. "not from this end of the cave, at any rate. i tell you, tons and _tons_ of snow fell into its mouth." "but you know the other way out, ruthie?" urged lluella, half inclined to cry. "i think so," returned the girl of the red mill. "then just hunt for the way," said belle, firmly. "if it has stopped snowing i want to go home." "don't be a baby, belle," advised her brother ralph. "nothing is going to hurt us here." "especially as we have plenty of fuel and grub," added bobbins, thoughtfully. but ruth saw that it would be wiser to try to get through the tunnel to the brookside. nobody could dig them out at this end, that was sure. so she agreed with tom and ralph tingley to try to follow the same passages that jerry sheming had taken her through upon the occasion of her first visit. "how shall we find our way, though, if it's dark?" questioned ralph, suddenly. "_i_ can't see in the dark." "neither can the rest of us, i guess," said tom. "do you suppose we could find torchwood in that pile yonder?" "not much," bobbins told them. "and a torch is a smoky thing, anyway." ruth was hunting the dark corners of the big cavern in which they had camped. although jerry had been at the far end of the tunnel when he was captured by the constable and his helpers--outside that end of the tunnel, in fact--she hoped that he had left his lantern at this end. as it proved, she was not mistaken. here it was, all filled and cleaned, hidden on a shelf with a half-gallon can of kerosene. jerry had been in the habit of coming to the cave frequently in the old days when his uncle and he lived alone on the island. so tom lit the lantern and the trio started. the opening of the tunnel through the hill could not be missed; but farther along ruth had a dim recollection of passing cross galleries and passages. should she know the direct tunnel then? she put that anxiety aside for the present. at first it was all plain traveling, and tom with the lantern went ahead to illuminate the path. they came out into one of the narrow open cuts, but there was little snow in it. however, a flake or two floated down to them, and they knew that the storm still continued to rage. the moaning of the wind in the tree tops far up on the hill reached their ears. "some storm, this," observed tom. "i should say it was! you don't suppose the folks will be foolish enough to start out hunting for us till it's over; do you?" ralph asked, anxiously. "they would better not. we're safe. they ought to know that. preston will tell them about the caves in this end of the island and they ought to know we'd find one of 'em." "it's a wild spot, just the same," remarked ralph. "and i suppose mother will be worried." "ruth isn't afraid--nor helen--nor the other girls," said tom. "i think these briarwood girls are pretty plucky, anyway. don't _you_ get to grouching, rafe." they pursued their way, tom ahead with the lantern, for some rods further. suddenly the leader stopped. "now what, ruthie?" he demanded. "which way do we go?" the passage forked. ruth was uncertain. she could not for the life of her remember having seen this spot before. but, then, she and jerry must have passed it. she had not given her attention to the direction at that time, for she had been talking with the backwoods boy. she took the lantern from tom now, and walked a little way into first the left-hand passage and then the right-hand one. it seemed to her as though there were places in the sand on the floor of this latter tunnel which had been disturbed by human feet. "_this_ is the path, i guess," she said, laughing and so hiding her own anxiety. "but let's take a good look at the place so we can find our way back to it if we have to return." "huh!" grumbled ralph tingley. "you're not so awfully sure; are you?" "that's all right. ruth was only through here once," tom spoke up, loyally. "and we can't get really lost." in five minutes they came into a little circular room out of which no less than four passages opened. ruth was confident now that she was "turned around." she had to admit it to her companions. "well! what do you know about that?" cried ralph. "i thought you said you could find the way?" "i guess i can," said ruth, cheerfully. "but we'll have to try each one of these openings. i can't be sure which is the right one." ralph sniffed, but tom was unshaken in his confidence in his girl friend. "let me have the lantern, tom, and you boys stay here," ruth said, quickly. "i'll try them myself." "say! don't you get lost," cried tom. "and don't you leave us long in the dark," complained ralph. "i don't believe we ought to let her take that lantern, tom----" "aw, stop croaking!" commanded young cameron. "you're worse than any girl yourself, tingley." ruth hated to hear them quarrel, but she would not give up and admit that she was beaten. she took the lantern and ventured into the first tunnel. her carriage was firmer than her mind, and before she had gone a dozen steps she was nervously sobbing, but smothered the sounds with her handkerchief. chapter xxiii "a blow for liberty" ruth was a healthy girl and particularly free from "nerves"; but she _was_ frightened. she was so proud that she determined not to admit to her companions that she was lost in the caves. indeed, she was not entirely sure that she _was_ lost. perhaps this was the way she had come with jerry. only, she did not remember passing the little room with the four tunnels opening out of it. this first passage into which she had ventured with so much apparent boldness proved to be the wrong one within a very few moments. she came to the end of it--against an unbroken wall. there she remained until she had conquered her nervous sobbing and removed as well as she could the traces of tears from her face. when she returned to tom and ralph she held the lantern well down, so that the shadow was cast upon her face. "how about it, ruth?" demanded tom, cheerfully, when she reappeared. "that's not the one. it is just a pocket," declared ruth. "wait till i try another." "well, don't be all night about it," growled tingley, ungraciously. "we're wasting a lot of time here." ruth did not reply, but took the next tunnel. she followed this for even a shorter distance before finding it closed. "only two more. that's all right!" exclaimed tom. "narrows the choice down, and we'll be surer of hitting the right one--eh, ruthie?" she knew that he was talking thus to keep her courage up. dear old tom! he was always to be depended upon. she gathered confidence herself, however, when she had gone some distance into the third passage. there was a place where she had to climb upon a shelf to get along, because the floor was covered with big stones, and she remembered this place clearly. so she turned and swung her tight, calling to the boys. her voice went echoing through the tunnel and soon brought a reply and the sound of scrambling feet. "hold up that lantern!" yelled ralph, rather crossly. "how do you expect us to see?" young tingley's nerves were "on edge," and like a good many other people when they get that way, he was short-tempered. "now we're all right, are we, ruth?" cried tom. "i remember this place," the girl of the red mill replied. "i couldn't be mistaken. now you take the lantern, tom, and lead on." they pursued the tunnel to its very end. there it branched again and ruth boldly took the right hand passage. whether it was right, or no, she proposed to attack it firmly. after a time tom exclaimed: "hullo, ruthie! do you really think this is right?" "what do you mean?" he held up the lantern in silence. ruth and ralph crowded forward to look over his shoulders. there was a heap of rubbish and earth half-filling the tunnel. it had not fallen from the roof, although neither that nor the sides of the tunnel were of solid rock. "you never came through this place, ruth!" exclaimed ralph, in that "i-told-you-so" tone that is so hard to bear. "i--i didn't see this place--no," admitted ruth. "of course you didn't!" declared ralph, crossly. "why! it's right up against the end of the tunnel." "it _does_ look as though we were blocked, ruthie," said tom, with less confidence. "then we'll have to go back and try the other passage," returned the girl, choking a little. "see here!" cried tom, suddenly. "somebody's been digging here. that's where all this stuff comes from, underfoot." "where?" asked the others, crowding forward to look closer. tom set down the lantern and picked up a broken spade. there was a cavity in the wall of this pocket-like passage. with a flourish tom dug the broken blade of the spade into the gritty earth. "this is what jerry wanted that mattock for, i bet!" he exclaimed. "oh, dear, me! do you believe so?" cried ruth. "then, right here, is where he thought he might find his uncle's treasure box." "ho, ho!" ejaculated ralph. "that old hunter was just as crazy as he could be--father says so." "well, that wouldn't keep him from having money; would it?--and might be a very good reason for his burying it." "and the papers he declared would prove his title to a part of this island," ruth hastened to add. that didn't please ralph any too well. "my father owns the island, and don't you forget it!" he declared. "well, we don't have to quarrel about it," snapped tom, rather disgusted with the way ralph was behaving. "come on! we might as well go back. but here's one blow for liberty!" and he laughed and flung the spade forward with all his strength. jerry sheming had never suspected it, or he would not have left the excavation just as he had. there was but a thin shell beyond where he had been digging, and the spade in tom's hand went clear through. "for the goodness gracious grannies!" gasped tom, scrambling off his knees. "i--i came near losing that spade altogether." there was a fall of earth beyond the hole. they heard it rolling and tumbling down a sharp descent. "hold the lantern here, ruth!" cried tom, trying to peer into the opening. ruth did so. the rays revealed a hole, big enough for a man to creep through. it gave entrance, it seemed, to another cavern--and one of good size. "oh, my dear!" exclaimed ruth, seizing tom's arm. "i just know what this means." "you may. _i_ don't," laughed tom cameron. "why, this other cavern is the one that was buried under the landslide. jerry said he knew about where it was, and he's been trying to dig into it." "oh, yes; there was a landslide on this side of the cliff just about the time father was negotiating for the purchase of the island last summer," said ralph. "we all came up here to look at the place a while afterward. we camped in a tent about where the lodge now stands. that old crazy hunter had just been taken away from here. they say he tried to kill blent." "and maybe he had good reason," said tom. "blent is without a doubt a pretty mean proposition." "just the same, the island is my father's," declared ralph, with confidence. "he bought it, right enough." "all right. but you think, ruth, that perhaps it was in this buried cave that old mr. tilton hid his money box?" "so jerry said. it looks as though jerry had been digging here----" "let's have another crack at it!" cried tom, and went to work with the spade again. in ten minutes he had scattered considerable earth and made the hole much larger. they held the lantern inside and saw that the floor of the other cavity was about on a level with the one in which they stood. tom slid the old spade through the hole, and then went through himself. "come on! let's take a look," he said, reaching up for ruth and the lantern. "but this isn't finding a way out," complained ralph. "what will the other folks say?" "we'll find the opening later. we couldn't venture outside now, anyway. it is still storming, you can bet," declared the eager tom. ruth's sharp eyes were peering here and there. the cavern they had entered was almost circular and had a dome-shaped roof. there were shelves all around several feet above the floor. some of these ledges slanted inward toward the rock, and one could not see much of them. "lift me up here, tom!" commanded the girl. "i want to scramble up on the ledge." "you'll hurt yourself." "nonsense! can't i climb a tree almost as well as ann hicks?" he gave her a lift and ruth scrambled over the edge with a little squeal. "oh, oh, oh!" she cried. "here's something." "must be," grunted tom, trying to climb up himself. "why, i declare, ruthie! that's a box." "it's a little chest. it's ironbound, too. my! how heavy. i can't lift it." "tumble it down and let's see," commanded ralph, holding the lantern. ruth sat down suddenly and looked at the boys. "i don't know," she said. "i don't know that we've got any right to touch it. it's padlocked. maybe it is old mr. tilton's treasure-box." "that would be great!" cried tom. "but i don't know," continued ruth, reflectively. "we would better not touch it. i wouldn't undertake to advise jerry what to do if _he_ found it. but this is what they call 'treasure trove,' i guess. at least, it was what that rufus blent had in mind, all right, when he sold mr. tingley the island with the peculiar reservation clause in the deed." chapter xxiv a midnight marauder meanwhile the boys and girls left behind in jerry sheming's old camp began to find the absence of ruth and her two companions rather trying. the time which had elapsed since the three explorers started to find the eastern outlet of the cave seemed much longer to those around the campfire than to the trio themselves. before the searching party could have reached the brookside, had the tunnel been perfectly straight, the nervous belle tingley wanted to send out a relief expedition. "we never should have allowed ruthie to go," she wailed. "we all should have kept together. how do we know but they'll find the cave a regular labyrinth, and get lost in it, and wander around and around, and never find their way out, or back, and----" "oh, for the goodness sake!" ejaculated mary cox, "don't be such a weeping, wailing sister of misery, belle! you not only cross bridges before you come to them, but, i declare, you build new ones!" "she's old man trouble's favorite daughter," said heavy. "didn't you know _that_? now, miss fuss-budget, stop croaking. nothing's going to happen to ruthie." "not with tom on hand, you can wager," added helen, with every confidence in her twin brother. but at last the watches of the party could not be doubted. two hours had crept by and it was getting very late in the evening. some of the party were, as ann said, "yawning their heads off." lluella and heavy had camped down upon the old buffalo-robe before the fire and were already more than half asleep. "i do wish they'd come back," muttered bob steele to isadore phelps. "we can't tell in here whether the storm has stopped, or not. i don't just fancy staying in this cave all night if there's any possible chance of getting to mr. tingley's house." "don't know what can be keeping those folks. i believe i could have crept on my hands and knees through the whole hill, and back again, before this time," returned busy izzy, in a very sleepy voice. "now, you can talk as you please," said ann hicks, with sudden decision, "but i'm going a short distance along that tunnel and see if the lantern is in sight." "i'm with you!" exclaimed bob. "me, too," joined in helen, jumping up with alacrity. "now, some more of you will go off and get lost," cried belle. "i--i wish we were all home. i'm--i'm sorry we came to this old island." "baby!" ejaculated her brother, poking her. "do be still. ralph isn't going to get lost--what d'ye think he is?" "how'll we see our way?" helen asked bob and ann. "feel it. we'll go in the dark. then we can see their lantern the quicker." "there's no wood here fit for torches," bob admitted. "and i have plenty of matches. come on! we sha'n't get lost." "what do you really suppose has happened to them?" demanded helen of bob, as soon as they were out of hearing of the camp. "give it up. something extraordinary--that's positive," declared the big fellow. they crept through the tunnel, bob lighting a match occasionally, until they reached the first crack in the roof, open to the sky. it was not snowing very hard. "of course they wouldn't have tried climbing up here to get out," queried helen. "of course not!" exclaimed ann. "what for?" "no," said bobbins. "they kept straight ahead--and so will we." in five minutes, however, when they stopped, whispering, in a little chamber, ann suddenly seized her companions and commanded them to hold their breath! "i hear something," she whispered. the others strained their ears to hear, too. in a moment a stone rattled. then there sounded an unmistakable footstep upon the rock. somebody was approaching. "they're coming back?" asked helen, doubtfully. "hush!" commanded ann again. "whoever it is, he has no light. it can't be ruth." much heavier boots than those the girl of the red mill wore now rattled over the loose stones. ann pulled the other two down beside her where she crouched in the corner. "wait!" she breathed. "can it be some wild animal?" asked helen. "with boots on? i bet!" scoffed bob. it was pitch dark. the three crouching together in the corner of the little chamber were not likely to attract the attention of this marauder, if all went well. but their hearts beat fast as the rustle of the approaching footsteps grew louder. there loomed up a man's figure. it looked too big to be either tom or ralph, and it passed on with an assured step. he needed no lamp to find a path that seemed well known. "who--what----" "hush, helen!" commanded ann. "but he's going right to the cave--and he carried a gun." "i didn't see the gun," whispered ann. "i did," agreed bob, squeezing helen's arm. "it was a rifle. do you suppose there is any danger?" "it couldn't be anybody hunting us, do you suppose?" queried helen, in a shaken voice. "anybody from the house?" "preston!" exclaimed ann. "how would he know the way to get into this tunnel?" returned bob. "come on! let's spy on him. i'm worried now about tom and the others." "you don't suppose anything has happened to ruthie?" whispered helen. "oh! you don't believe _that_, bobbins?" "come on!" grunted the big fellow, and took the advance. they were careful of their own footsteps over the loose stones. the person ahead acted as though he had an idea he was alone. nor did they overtake him until they had passed the open crack in the roof of the tunnel. somebody laughed in the cavern ahead--then the girls all shouted. the marauder stopped, uttering an astonished ejaculation. bob and the two girls halted, too, but in a moment the person ahead turned, and came striding toward them, evidently fleeing from the sound of the voices. ann and helen were really frightened, and with faint cries, shrank back. bob _had_ to be brave. he leaped forward to meet the person with the rifle, crying: "hold on, there!" "ha!" exclaimed the other and advanced the rifle until the muzzle touched bob steele's breast. the boy was naturally frightened--how could he help being? but he showed pluck. he did not move. "what do you want in here? who are you?" asked bob, quietly. "goodness me!" gasped the other, and dropped the butt of his rifle to the ground. "you sure did startle me. you're one of those boys staying with the tingleys?" "yes." "and here's a couple of the girls. not ruth fielding?" "oh, jerry sheming!" cried ann, running forward. "you might have shot him with that gun." "not unless i'd loaded it first," replied jerry, with a quiet chuckle. "but you folks scared me quite as much as i did you--why, it's miss hicks and miss cameron." "where is ruth?" demanded ann, anxiously. "and tom?" joined in helen. "and how did you get back here to cliff island?" asked bob. "we understood that you'd been railroaded out of the country." "hold on! hold on!" exclaimed jerry. "let's hear first about miss fielding. where's she gone? how came you folks in this cave?" helen was the one who told him. she related all the circumstances very briefly, but in a way to give jerry a clear understanding of the situation. "they've wandered off to the right. i know where they must be," said jerry, decidedly. "i'll go find them. and then i'll get you all out of here. it has almost stopped snowing now." "but how did you find your way back here to the island?" bob demanded again. "i ain't going to be beat by blent," declared jerry sheming, doggedly. "i am going to have another look through the caves before i leave for good, and don't you forget it. "the engine on that train yesterday morning broke a piston rod and had to stop down the lake shore. i hopped off and hid on the far bank, watching the island. if you folks hadn't come over this way to fish this morning, i'd been across before the storm began. "i was pretty well turned around in the storm, and have been traveling a long time. but i got to the brook at last, and then worked my way up it and into the other end of this cave. i was going up there after my lantern----" "ruth and the others have it," explained helen, quickly. "then i'll go find them at once. i know my way around pretty well in the dark. i couldn't get really lost in this cave," and jerry laughed, shortly. "i've got matches if you want them," said bob. "got a plenty, thanks. you folks go back to your friends, and i'll hunt out miss fielding in a jiffy." jerry turned away at once, and soon passed out of their sight in the gloom. as helen and the others hurried back to the anxious party at the campfire, jerry went straightway to the most satisfactory discovery of all his life. chapter xxv the treasure box when jerry met ruth and her companions coming slowly from the little cave, the boys bearing the heavy, ironbound box between them, he knew instantly what it was--his uncle's chest in which he had kept his money and papers. "it's yours to hide again if you want to, jerry," ruth told him, when the excitement of the meeting had passed, and explanations were over. "it was what both you and rufus blent have been looking for, and i believe you have the best right to it" "it belongs to uncle pete. and uncle pete shall have it," declared the backwoods boy. "why, do you know, i believe if uncle pete once had this box in his possession again that he might recover his mind?" "oh, i hope so!" ruth cried. first, however, the crowd of young folk had to be led through the long tunnel and out into the open air. it was agreed that nothing was to be said to anybody but mr. tingley about the treasure box. and the boys and girls, too, agreed to say nothing at the house about jerry's having returned to his cave. when they reached the brook, there were lights about the island, and guns being fired. the entire household of tingley lodge was out on the hunt for the lost ones. the boys and girls were home and in bed in another hour, and mrs. tingley was vastly relieved. "never again will i take the responsibility of such a crowd!" declared the harassed lady. "my own children are enough; a dozen and a half active young ones like these would send me to the madhouse in another week!" but the girls from briarwood and their boy friends continued to have a delightful time during the remainder of their stay at cliff island, although their adventures were less strenuous than those that have been related. they went away, in the end, to take up their school duties, pronouncing their vacation on the island one of the most enjoyable they had ever experienced. "something to keep up our hearts for the rest of the school year," declared heavy. "and you'll like us better, too, when we're gone, mrs. tingley. we _all_--even the fox, here--have a good side to our characters." even ann hicks went back to briarwood with pleasant expectations. she had learned to understand her mates better during this holiday, and all the girls at briarwood were prepared to welcome the western girl now with more kindness than before. we may believe that ruth and her girl friends were all busy and happy during that next half-year at briarwood, and we may meet them again in the midst of their work and fun in the next volume of the series, entitled "ruth fielding at sunrise farm; or, what became of the raby orphans." ruth fielding, however, did not leave cliff island before being assured that the affairs of jerry sheming and his uncle would be set right. as it chanced, the very day the crowd had gone fishing mr. tingley had received a letter from the head doctor of the hospital, to whom the gentleman had written inquiring about old peter tilton. the patient had improved immensely. that he was eccentric was true, but he had probably always been so, the doctor said. the old man was worrying over the loss of what he called his treasure box, and when ruth confided to mr. tingley the truth about jerry's return and the discovery of the ironbound box, mr. tingley determined to take matters into his own hands. he first went to the cave and had a long talk with jerry. then he had his team of horses put to the sledge, and he and jerry and the box drove the entire length of lake tallahaska, struck into a main road to the county asylum, and made an unexpected call upon the poor old hunter, who had been so long confined in that institution. "it was jest what uncle pete needed to wake him up," jerry declared to ruth, when he saw her some weeks later. "he knowed the box and had always carried the key of it about his neck on a string. they didn't know what it was at the 'sylum, but they let him keep the key. "and when he opened it, sure enough there was lots of papers and a couple of bags of money. i don't know how much, but mr. tingley got uncle pete to trust a bank with the money, and it'll be mine some day. uncle pete's going to pay my way through school with some of it, he says." "but the title to the island?" demanded the excited girl of the red mill. "how did that come out? did your uncle have any deed to it? what of that mean old rufus blent?" "jest you hold your hosses, miss ruth," laughed jerry. "i'm comin' to that." "but you are coming to it awfully slow, jerry," complained the eager girl. "no. i'll tell you quick's i can," he declared. "uncle pete had papers. he had been buying a part of the island from blent on installments, and had paid the old rascal a good part of the price. but when blent found out that uncle's papers were buried under the landslide he thought he could play a sharp trick and resell to mr. tingley. you see, the installment deeds were not recorded. "however, mr. tingley's lawyers made old blent get right down and howl for mercy--yes, they did! there was a strong case of conspiracy against him. that's still hanging fire. "but mr. tingley says he will not push that, considering rufus did all he was told to about the title money. he gave uncle pete back every cent he had paid in on the cliff island property, with interest compounded, and a good lump sum of money beside as a bonus. "then uncle pete made mr. tingley's title good, and we're going to live at the lodge during the closed season, as caretakers. that pleases uncle pete, for he couldn't be very well content anywhere else but on cliff island." "oh, jerry! i am so glad it has come out all right for you," cried the girl of the red mill. "and so will all the other girls be when i tell them. and uncle jabez and aunt alvirah--for _they_ are interested in your welfare, too." "you're mighty kind, miss ruth," said the backwoods boy, bashfully. "i--i'm thinking i've got a lot more to thank _you_ for than i ever can express right proper." "oh, no! no more to me than to other folks," cried ruth fielding, earnestly, for it had always been her natural instinct to help people, and she did not wish to be thanked for it. that being the case, neither jerry nor the writer must say anything more about the matter. the end ruth fielding at snow camp or lost in the backwoods by alice b. emerson contents chapter i. a lively time ii. a surprising appearance iii. the newspaper clipping iv. the mysterious behavior of fred hatfield v. off for the backwoods vi. on the train vii. a runaway in good earnest viii. first at snow camp ix. "long jerry" todd x. bears--and other things xi. the frost games xii. peril--and a taffy pull xiii. shells and kernels xiv. a telephone chase xv. the battle in the snow xvi. an appearance and a disappearance xvii. long jerry's story xviii. "the amazon march" xix. besieged by the storm king xx. the snow shroud xxi. adrift in the storm xxii. the hideout xxiii. a double captivity xxiv. the search xxv. certain explanations ruth fielding at snow camp chapter i a lively time "i don't think we'd better go home that way, helen." "why not? mr. bassett won't care--and it's the nearest way to the road." "but he's got a sign up--and his cattle run in this pasture," said ruth fielding, who, with her chum, helen cameron, and helen's twin brother, tom, had been skating on the lumano river, where the ice was smooth below the mouth of the creek which emptied into the larger stream near the red mill. "aw, come on, ruthie!" cried tom, stamping his feet to restore circulation. the ground was hard and the ice was thick on the river; but the early snows that had fallen were gone. it was the day after christmas, and helen and ruth had been at home from school at briarwood hall less than a week. tom, too, who attended the military academy at seven oaks, was home for the winter holidays. it was snapping cold weather, but the sun had been bright this day and for three hours or more the friends had enjoyed themselves on the ice. "surely hiram bassett hasn't turned his cows out in this weather," laughed helen. "but maybe he has turned out his bull," said ruth. "you know how ugly that creature is. and there's the sign." "i declare! you do beat peter!" ejaculated tom, shrugging his shoulders. "we are only going to cut across bassett's field--it won't take ten minutes. and it will save us half an hour in getting to the mill. we can't go along shore, for the ice is open there at the creek." "all right," agreed ruth fielding, doubtfully. she was younger than the twins and did not mean to be a wet blanket on their fun at any time; but admiring helen so much, she often gave up her own inclinations, or was won by the elder girl from a course which she thought wise. there had been times during their first term at briarwood hall, now just completed, when ruth had been obliged to take a different course from her chum. this occasion, however, seemed of little moment. hiram bassett owned a huge red herd-leader that was the terror of the countryside; but it was a fact, as helen said, that the cattle were not likely to be roaming the pasture at this time of year. "come on!" said tom, again. "the car was to go down to the cheslow station for father and stop at the mill for us on its return. we don't want to keep him waiting." "and we've got so much to do to-night, ruthie!" cried helen. "have you got your things packed?" "aunt alvirah said she would look my clothes over," said ruth, in reply. "i don't really see as i've much to take, helen. we only want warm things up there in the woods." "and plenty of 'em," advised tom. "bring your skates. we may get a chance to use them if the snow isn't too heavy. but up there in the backwoods the snow hasn't melted, you can bet, since the first fall in november." "we'll have just the loveliest time!" went on helen, with her usual enthusiasm. "tom and i spent a week-end at snow camp when mr. parrish owned it, and when we knew he was going to sell, we just _begged_ papa to buy it. you never saw such a lovely old log cabin--" "i never saw a log cabin at all," responded ruth, laughing. they had climbed the steep bank now and started across the pasture in what tom called "a catter-cornering" direction, meaning to come out upon the main road to osago lake within sight of the red mill, which was the property of mr. jabez potter, ruth's uncle. ruth fielding, after her parents died, had come from darrowtown to live with her mother's uncle at the red mill, as was told in the first volume of this series, entitled "ruth fielding of the red mill; or, jasper parloe's secret." the girl had found uncle jabez very hard to get along with at first, for he was a good deal of a miser, and his finer feelings seemed to have been neglected during a long life of hoarding and selfishness. but through a happy turn of circumstances ruth was enabled to get at the heart of her crotchety uncle, and when ruth's very dear friend, helen cameron, planned to go away to school, uncle jabez was won over to the idea of sending ruth with her. the girls were now home for the winter holidays after spending their first term at briarwood hall, where they had made many friends as well as learning a good many practical and necessary things. the fun and work of this first term is all related in "ruth fielding at briarwood hall; or, solving the campus mystery," which is the second volume of the ruth fielding series. and now another frolic was in immediate prospect. mr. cameron, who was a very wealthy dry-goods merchant, had purchased a winter camp deep in the wilderness, up toward the canadian line, and christmas itself now being over, helen and tom had obtained his permission to take a party of their friends with them to the lodge in the backwoods --snow camp. it was really helen's party. besides ruth, she had invited madge steele, jennie stone, belle tingley, and lluella fairfax to be of the party. she had invited one other girl from briarwood, too; but mary cox had refused the invitation. "the fox," as her school-fellows called her, had been under a cloud at the end of the term, and perhaps she might have felt somewhat abashed had she joined the party of her school-fellows at snow camp. tom had invited his chum at school, who was madge steele's brother bob, and another boy named isadore phelps. with mr. cameron himself and mrs. murchiston, the lady who had been the twins' governess when they were small, and several servants, the party were to take train at cheslow the next day for the northern wilderness. the trio of friends, as they hurried across hiram bassett's pasture, were full of happy anticipations regarding the proposed trip, and they chatted merrily as they went on. halfway across the field they passed along the edge of a bush-bordered hollow. their skating caps-tom's white, ruth's blue, and helen's of a brilliant scarlet--bobbed up and down beside the hedge, and anybody upon the other side, in the hollow, might have been greatly puzzled to identify the bits of color. "for mercy's sake! what's that?" ejaculated helen, suddenly. the others fell silent. a sudden stamping upon the frozen ground arose from beyond the bushes. then came a reverberating bellow. tom leaped through the bushes and looked down the hill. there sounded the thundering of pounding hoofs, and the boy sprang back to the side of his sister and her chum with a cry. "run!" he gasped. "the bull is there--i declare it is! he's coming right up the hill and will head us off. we've got to go back. he must have seen us through the bushes." "oh, dear me! dear me!" cried his sister. "what will we do--" "run, i tell you!" repeated tom, seizing her hand. ruth had already taken her other hand. with their skates rattling over their shoulders, the trio started back across the field. the bull parted the bushes and came thundering out upon the plain. he swerved to follow them instantly. there could be no doubt that he had seen them, and the bellow he repeated showed that he was very much enraged and considered the three friends his particular enemies. ruth glanced back over her shoulder and saw that the angry beast was gaining on them fast. it was indeed surprising how fast the bull could gallop--and he was very terrible indeed to look upon. "he will catch us! he will catch us!" moaned helen. "you girls run ahead," gasped tom, letting go of his sister's hand. "maybe i can turn him---" "he'll kill you!" cried helen. "come this way!" commanded ruth, suddenly turning to the left, toward the bank of the open creek. the current of this stream was so swift that it had not yet frozen--saving along the edges. the bank was very steep. a few trees of good size grew along its edge. "we can't cross the creek, ruthie!" shrieked helen. "he will get us, sure." "but we can get below the bank--out of sight!" panted her chum. "come, tom! that beast will kill you if you delay." "it's our caps he sees," declared master tom. "that old red cap of nell's is what is exciting him so." in a flash ruth fielding snatched the red cap from her chum's head and ran on with it toward the bank of the creek. the others followed her while the big bull, swerving in his course, came bellowing on behind. chapter ii a surprising appearance helen was sobbing and crying as she ran. tom kept a few feet behind the girls, although what he could have done to defend them, had the big bull overtaken him, it would be hard to say. and for several moments it looked very much as though hiram bassett's herd-leader was going to reach his prey. the thunder of his hoofs was in their ears. they did not speak again as they came to the steep bank down to the open creek. there, just before them, was an old hollow stump, perhaps ten feet high, with the opening on the creek side. all three of them knew it well. as helen went over the bank and disappeared on one side of the stump, tom darted around the other side. ruth, with the red cap in her hand, stumbled over a root and fell to her knees. she was right beside the hollow stump, and helen's cap caught in a twig and was snatched from her hand. as ruth scrambled aside and then fairly rolled over the edge of the bank out of sight, the cap was left dangling right in front of the stump. the bull charged it. that flashing bit of color was what had attracted the brute from the start. as the three friends dived over the bank--and their haste and heedlessness carried them pell-mell to the bottom--there sounded a yell behind them that certainly was not emitted by the bull. goodness knows, he roared loudly enough! but this was no voice of a bull that so startled the two girls and tom cameron--it was far too shrill. "there's somebody in that tree!" yelled tom. and then the forefront of the bull collided with the rotten old stump. taurus smashed against it with the force of a pile-driver-three-quarters of a ton of solid flesh and bone, going at the speed of a fast train, carries some weight. it seemed as though a live tree could scarcely have stood upright against that charge, let alone this rotten stump. crash! the rotten roots gave way. they were torn out of the frozen ground, the stump toppled over, and, carrying a great ball of earth with it, plunged down the bank of the creek. tom had clutched the girls by their hands again and the three were running along the narrow shore under shelter of the bank. the bull no longer saw them. indeed, the shock had thrown him to the ground, and when he scrambled up, he ran off, bellowing and tossing his head, in an entirely different direction. but the uprooted stump went splash! into the icy waters of the creek, and as it plunged beneath the surface--all but its roots--the trio of frightened friends heard that eyrie cry again. "it's from the hollow trunk! i tell you, some body's in there!" declared tom. but the uprooted stump had fallen into the water with the opening down. if there really was anybody in it, the way in which the stump had fallen served to hold such person prisoner. ruth fielding was as quick as tom to turn back to the spot where the old stump had been submerged; but helen had fallen in her tracks, and sat there, hugging her knees and rocking her body to and fro, as she cried: "he'll be drowned! don't you see, he _is_ drowned? and suppose that bull comes back?" "that bull won't get us down here, nell," returned her brother, laying hold of the roots of the hollow tree and trying to turn it over. but although he and ruth both exerted themselves to the utmost, they could barely stir the stump. suddenly they heard a struggle going on inside the hollow shell; as well, a thumping on the thin partition of wood and a muffled sound of shouting. "he's alive--the water hasn't filled the hollow," cried ruth. "oh, tom! we must do something." "and i'd like to know what?" demanded that youth, in great perturbation. the stump rested on the shore, but was half submerged in the water for most of its length. the unfortunate person imprisoned in the hollow part of the tree-trunk must be partly submerged in the water, too. had the farther end of the stump not rested on a rock, it would have plunged to the bottom of the creek and the victim of the accident must certainly have been drowned. "why don't he crawl out? why don't he crawl out?" cried ruth, anxiously. "how's he going to do it?" sputtered tom. "can't he dive down into the water through the hole in the tree and so come up outside?" demanded the girl from the red mill, irritably. "i never saw such a fellow!" whether this referred to tom, or to the unknown, the former did not know. but he recognized immediately the good sense in ruth's suggestion. tom leaped out upon the log and stamped upon it. helen screamed: "you'll go into the creek, too, tom!" "no, i won't," he replied. "then you'll make the stump fall in entirely and the man will be drowned." "no, i won't do that, either," muttered master tom. he stamped upon the wooden shell again. a faint halloo answered him, and the knocking on the inner side of the hollow tree was repeated. "come out! come out!" shouted tom, "dive down through the water and get out. you'll be suffocated there." but at first the prisoner seemed not to understand--or else was afraid to make the attempt. "oh, if i only had an axe!" groaned master tom. "if you cut into that tree you might do some damage," said his sister, now so much interested in the prisoner that she got up and came near. ruth saw helen's red cap high up on the bank and she scrambled up and got it, stuffing it under her coat again. "we'll keep _that_ out of sight," she said. "if it hadn't been for that old red thing," growled tom, "the bull wouldn't have chased us in the first place." but all of them were thinking mainly of the person in the hollow of the old stump. how could they get this person out? and the answer to that question was not so easily found--as tom had observed. they could not roll the stump over; they had no means of cutting through to the prisoner. but, suddenly, that individual settled the question without their help. there was a struggle under the log, a splashing of the water, and then a figure bobbed up out of the shallows. ruth screamed and seized it before it fell back again. it was a boy-a thin, miserable-looking, dripping youth, no older than tom, and with wild, burning eyes looking out of his wet and pallid face. had it not been for ruth and tom he must have fallen back into the stream again, he was so weak. they dragged him ashore, and he fell down, shaking and chattering, on the edge of the creek. he was none too warmly dressed at the best; the water now fast congealed upon his clothing. his garments would soon be as stiff as boards. "we've got to get him to the mill, girls," declared tom. "come! get up!" he cried to the stranger. "you must get warmed and have dry clothing." "and something hot to drink," said ruth. "aunt alviry will make him something that will take the cold out of his bones." the strange boy stared at them, unable, it seemed, to speak a word. they dragged him upright and pushed him on between them. the bull had run towards the river and had not come back; so the friends, with their strange find, hurried on to the public road and crossed the bridge at the creek, turning off into the orchard path that led up to the red mill. "what's your name?" demanded tom of the strange boy. but all the latter could do was to chatter and shake his head. the icy water had bitten into his very bones. they fairly dragged him between them for the last few yards, and burst into aunt alvirah's kitchen in a manner "fit to throw one into a conniption!" as that good lady declared. "oh, my back, and oh, my bones!" she groaned, getting up quickly from her rocking chair by the window, where she had been knitting. "for the good land of mercy! what is this?" all three of the friends began to tell her together. but the little old woman with the bent back and rheumatic limbs understood one thing, if she made nothing else out of the general gabble. the strange boy had been in the water, and his need was urgent. "bring him right in here, tommy," she commanded, hobbling into mr. potter's bedroom, which was the nearest to the kitchen, and thereby the warmest. "i don't know what jabez will say, but that child's got to git a-twixt blankets right away. it's a mercy if he ain't got his death." they drew off the stranger's outer clothing, and then aunt alviry left tom to help him further disrobe and roll up in the blankets on mr. potter's bed. meantime the old woman filled a stone water-bottle with boiling water, to put at his feet, and made a great bowl of "composition" for him to drink down as soon as it was cool enough for him to swallow. ruth wrung out the boy's wet garments and hung them to dry around the stove, where they began immediately to steam. as she had noticed before, the stranger's clothing was well worn. he had no overcoat-only a thick jacket. all his clothing was of the cheapest quality. suddenly helen exclaimed: "what's that you've dropped out of his vest, ruthie? a wallet?" it was an old leather note-case. there appeared to be little in it when ruth picked it up, for it was very flat. certainly there was no money in it. nor did there seem to be anything in it that would identify its owner. however, as ruth carried it to the window she found a newspaper clipping tucked into one compartment, and, as it was damp, too, she took this out, unfolded it, and laid it carefully on the window sill to dry. but when she looked further, she saw inside the main compartment of the wallet a name and address stenciled, it was: jonas hatfield scarboro, n. y. "sec, helen," she said to her chum. "maybe this is his name--jonas hatfield." "and scarboro, new york!" gasped helen, suddenly. "why, ruthie!" "what's the matter?" returned ruth, in surprise. "what a coincidence!" "what is a coincidence?" demanded ruth, still greatly amazed by her chum's excitement. "why this boy--if this is his wallet and that is his name and address--comes from right about where we are going to-morrow. scarboro is the nearest railroad station to snow camp. what do you think of that?" before ruth could reply, the sound of an automobile horn was heard outside, and both girls ran to the door. the cameron automobile was just coming down the hill from the direction of cheslow, and in a minute it stopped before the door of the potter farmhouse. chapter iii the newspaper clipping the red mill was a grist mill, and mr. jabez potter made wheat-flour, buckwheat, cornmeal, or ground any grist that was brought to him. standing on a commanding knoll beside the lumano river, it was very picturesquely situated, and the rambling old farmhouse connected with it was a very homey-looking place indeed. the automobile had stopped at the roadside before the kitchen door, and mr. cameron alighted and started immediately up the straight path to the porch. he was a round, jolly, red-faced man, who was forever thinking of some surprise with which to please his boy and girl, and seldom refused any request they might make of him. this plan of taking a party of young folk into the backwoods for a couple of weeks was entirely to amuse tom and helen. personally, the dry-goods merchant did not much care for such an outing. he came stamping up the steps and burst into the kitchen in a jolly way, and helen ran to him with a kiss. "hullo i what's all this?" he demanded, his black eyes taking in the grove of airing garments around the stove. "tom been in the river? no! those aren't tom's duds, i'll be switched if they are!" "no, no," cried helen. "it's another boy." and here tom himself appeared from the bedroom. "i thought tom could keep out of the river when the ice was four inches thick--eh, son?" laughed mr. cameron. his children began to tell him, both together, of the adventure with the bull and the mysterious appearance of the strange boy. "aye, aye!" he said. "and ruth fielding was in it, of course--and did her part in extricating you all from the mess, too, i'll be bound! whatever would we do without ruth?" and he smiled and shook hands with the miller's niece. "i guess we were all equally scared. but it certainly was my fault that the old bull bunted the hollow stump into the creek. so this boy can thank me for getting him such a ducking," laughed ruth. "and who is he? where does he come from?" ruth showed mr. cameron the stencil on the inside of the wallet. "isn't that funny, father?" cried helen. "right where we are going-scarboro." "if the wallet is his," muttered mr. cameron. "what do you mean, sir?" questioned ruth, quickly. "do you think he is a bad boy--that he has taken the wallet----" "now, now!" exclaimed mr. cameron, smiling at her again. "don't jump at conclusions, mistress ruth fielding. i have no suspicion regarding the lad----how is the patient, aunt alviry?" he added, quickly, as the little old woman came hobbling out of the bedroom where the strange boy lay. "oh, my back, and oh, my bones!" said aunt alviry, under her breath. but she welcomed mr. cameron warmly enough, too. "he's getting on fine," she declared. "he'll be all right soon. i reckon he won't suffer none in the end for his wetting. i'm a-goin' to cook him a mess of gruel, for i believe he's hungry." "who is he, aunt alviry?" asked the gentleman. aunt alvirah boggs was "everybody's aunt alviry," although she really had no living kin, and mr. jabez potter had brought her from the almshouse ten years or more before to act as his housekeeper. "dunno," said aunt alvirah, shaking her head in answer to mr. cameron's question. "ain't the first idee. you kin go in and talk to him, sir." with the wallet in his hand and the three young folk at his heels, both their interest and their curiosity aroused, mr. cameron went into the passage and so came to the open door of the bedroom. mr. potter slept in a big, four-post bedstead, which was heaped high at this time of year with an enormous feather bed. rolled like a mummy in the blankets, and laid on this bed, the feathers had plumped up about the vagabond boy and almost buried him. but his eyes were wide open--pale blue eyes, with light lashes and eyebrows, which gave his thin, white countenance a particularly blank expression. "heigho, my lad!" exclaimed mr. cameron, in his jolly way. "so your name is jonas hatfield, of scarboro; is it?" "no; sir; that was my father's name, sir," returned the boy in bed, weakly. "my name is fred." and then a brilliant flush suddenly colored his pale face. he half started up in bed, and the pale blue eyes flashed with an entirely different expression. he demanded, in a hoarse, unnatural voice: "how'd' you find me out?" mr. cameron shook his head knowingly, and laughed. "that was a bit of information you were keeping to yourself--eh? well, why did you carry your father's old wallet about with you, if you did not wish to be identified? come, son! what harm is there in our knowing who you are?" fred hatfield sank back in the feathers and weakly rolled his head from side to side. the blood receded from his cheeks, leaving him quite as pale as before. he whispered: "i ran away." "yes. that's what i supposed," said mr. cameron, easily. "what for?" "i--i can't tell you." "what did you do?" "i didn't say i did anything. i just got sick of it up there, and came away," the boy said, sullenly. "your father is dead?" asked the gentleman, shrewdly. "yes, sir." "got a mother?" "yes, sir." "doesn't she need you?" "no, sir." "why not?" "she's got ez, and peter, and 'lias to work the farm. they're all older'n me. then there's the two gals and bob, who are younger. she don't need me," declared fred hatfield, doggedly. "i don't believe a mother ever had so many children that she didn't sorely miss the one who was absent," declared mr. cameron, quietly. "tell me how you came away down here." brokenly the boy told his story--not an uncommon one. he had traveled most of the distance afoot, working here and there for farmers and storekeepers. he admitted that he had been some weeks on the road. his being in that hollow stump in hiram bassett's field was quite by accident. he was passing through the field, making for the main road, when he had seen ruth, helen, and tom, and stepped behind the tree so as not to be observed. "what made you so afraid of being seen by anyone?" demanded mr. cameron, at this point. "do you think your folks are trying to find you?" "i--i don't know," stammered the lad. this was about all his questioner was able to get out of him. "you'll be cared for here to-night--i'll speak to mr. potter," said mr. cameron. "and in the morning i'll decide what's to be done with you." "why, dad! we're going----" tom had begun this speech when his father warned him with a look to be still. "you'll be all right here," pursued mr. cameron, cheerfully. "aunt alviry and ruth will look after you. why! i wouldn't want better nurses if _i_ was sick." "but i'm not sick," said fred hatfield, as the little old woman hobbled in with a steaming bowl. his eyes were wolfish when he saw the gruel, however. "no, you're not so sick but that a good, square meal would be your best medicine, i'll be bound," cried the gentleman, laughing. he went out to the mill then and was gone some moments; when he returned he called helen and tom to come with him quickly to the car. "remember and be ready as early as nine o'clock, ruth!" called helen, looking back as she climbed into the automobile. when her friends had bowled away up the frozen road, ruth came back into the kitchen. aunt alvirah was still in the bedroom with their strange guest. of a sudden the girl's eye caught sight of the newspaper clipping laid on the window sill to dry. mr. cameron had placed the old wallet belonging to fred hatfield's father on the table when he came out of the bedroom. now ruth picked it up, found it dry, and went to the window to replace the clipping in it. it was the most natural thing in the world for ruth to glance at the slip of paper when she picked it up. there is nothing secret about a newspaper clipping; it was no infringement of good manners to read the article. and read it ruth did when she had once seen the heading--she read it all through with breathless attention. her rosy face paled as she came to the conclusion, and she glanced suddenly toward the bedroom as she heard aunt alvirah's voice again. dropping the old wallet on the table, ruth folded the clipping and hastily thrust it into the bosom of her frock. she did not dare face the old woman when she appeared, but kept her back turned until she was sure the color had returned to her cheeks. and all the time she helped aunt alvirah get supper, ruth was very, very silent. chapter iv the mysterious behavior of fred hatfield uncle jabez potter came in from the mill after a time. he was a gaunt, gray-faced man, who seldom smiled, and whose stern, rugged countenance had at first almost frightened ruth whenever she looked at it. but she had fortunately gotten under the crust of mr. potter's manner and learned that there was something better there than the harsh surface the miller turned to all the world. uncle jabez hoarded money for the pleasure of hoarding it; but he had been generous to ruth, having put her at one of the best boarding schools in the state. he could be charitable at times, too; aunt alvirah could testify to that fact. so could a certain little lame friend of ruth fielding, mercy curtis, who was attending briarwood hall as the result of the combined charity of uncle jabez and dr. davison, of cheslow. but it is said that "charity begins at home"; when charity begins in a man's very bed, that seems a little too near! at least, so mr. potter thought. "what's this i hear about a vagabond boy in my bed, aunt alviry?" he demanded, when he came in. "the poor child!" said the old woman. "oh, my back, and oh, my bones! come in and see him, jabez," she urged, hobbling toward the passage. "no. who is he? what is he here for? that cameron talks so fast i never can get the rights of what he's saying till afterward. says the boy belongs up there where he wants to take ruth to-morrow?" "he has run away from his home at scarboro, uncle," said ruth. "young villain! a widder's son, too!" said her uncle. "he says his father is dead," said ruth, hesitating. "i venture to say!" exclaimed jabez potter. "and he's in my bed; is he?" he came back to this as being a reason for objection. "now, now, jabez," said aunt alvirah, soothingly. "he ain't hurted the bed. he was wet--the coat frozen right on him--when they brought him in. i had to git him atween blankets jest as quick as i could. and your bedroom isn't so cold as the rooms upstairs." "well?" grunted mr. potter. "before bedtime i'll make him up a couch in here near the fire and put your bed straight for you." "young vagabond!" grunted mr. potter. "don't know who he is. may rob us before morning. perhaps he come here for just that purpose." "that's not possible, uncle," said ruth, laughing. she told him the story of their adventure with the bull and fred hatfield's appearance. yet all the time she looked worried herself. there was something troubling the girl of the red mill. ruth took the tray into the bedroom with the supper that aunt alvirah had prepared. there was a flaming red spot in the center of each of the boy's pallid cheeks, and his eyes were still bright. he had no little fever after the chill of his plunge into the creek. but the fever might have been as much from a mental as a physical cause. it was on ruth's lips to ask the boy certain questions. that newspaper clipping fairly burned in the bosom of her frock. but his suppressed excitement warned her to be silent. he was hungry still. it was plain that he had been without proper food for some time. but in the midst of his appreciation of the meal he asked ruth, suddenly: "wasn't there anything in that wallet when you gave it to that man, miss?" "no," she replied, truthfully enough. "no. he didn't say there was," muttered the boy, and said not another word. ruth watched him eat. he did not raise his light eyes to her. the color faded out of his cheeks. she knew that it was actual starvation that kept him eating; but he was greatly troubled in his mind. she went back to her own supper, and remained very quiet all through the evening. later aunt alvirah made up the couch with plenty of blankets and thick, downy "comforters," and when ruth had gone to bed the boy came out into the kitchen and left uncle jabez free to seek his own repose. but though the whole house slept, ruth could not--at first. long after it was still, and she knew aunt alvirah was asleep and uncle jabez was snoring, ruth arose, slipped on a warm wrapper and her slippers, and squeezing something tightly between her fingers, crept down the stairs to the kitchen door. she unlatched it softly and let it swing open a couple of inches. there was a stir within. she waited, holding her breath. she heard the couch creak. then came the sound of a shuffling step. the moonlight lay in a broad band under the front window. into this radiance moved the figure of the vagabond boy, shrouded in a blanket. he came to the table and he felt around until he found the wallet. he had doubtless marked it lying there by the window before aunt alvirah had put the lamp out and left him. he seized the wallet and opened it wide. he shook it over the table. then ruth heard him groan: "it's gone! it's gone!" he stood there, shaking, and dropped the leather case unnoticed. for half a minute he stood there, uncertain and--ruth thought--sobbing softly. then the boy approached the garments hung upon the chairs about the stove, wherein the coal fire was banked for the night. he stopped before he touched his underclothing. all these garments were well dried by this time; but aunt alvirah had wished them left there to be warm when he put them on in the morning. ruth knew exactly what fred hatfield had in his mind. the vagabond boy was determined to dress quietly and secretly leave the miller's house. but when master fred touched the first garment ruth rattled the door latch ever so lightly. fred stopped and turned fearfully in that direction. his lips parted. she could see that he was panting with fear. ruth rattled the latch again. he ran back to his couch and plunged into the comforters with a gasp. ruth pulled the door quietly to and stood there, shivering in the dark, wondering what to do. she knew that the boy had it in his mind to escape. she did not wish to arouse uncle jabez. nor did she wish the strange boy to depart so secretly. mr. cameron expected to find him here when he came in the morning, she was sure. although mr. cameron only supposed him an ordinary runaway, and perhaps wished to advise him to return to his mother, ruth knew well that fred hatfield's was no ordinary case of vagabondage. ruth hesitated on the stairs for some minutes. uncle jabez snored. there was no further movement from the boy on the couch. she was growing very cold. ruth could not remain there on the stairs to guard the boy all night. something desperate had to be done--and something very desperate she did! she unlatched the door again as quietly as possible. she pushed it open far enough to slip through into the kitchen. there was no movement from the boy--not a sound. nor did ruth dare even look in his direction. she crept across the kitchen floor to the stove. she reached the garments hung upon the chair backs. she selected one and withdrew in a hurry to the staircase, and so ran up to her room. "there!" she thought, shutting her door and breathing heavily. "if he wants to run away he can; but he'll have to go without his trousers!" chapter v off for the backwoods it was still dark when ruth awoke and slipped down to the kitchen again. but she heard her uncle rattling the stove grate. he was a very early riser. she peered into the kitchen and saw the grove of drying clothing, so knew that her trick of the night before had kept fred hatfield from running away. therefore she merely dropped the boy's nether garments inside the kitchen door and scurried back to her own room to dress by candle-light. she heard aunt alvirah stumbling about her room and groaning her old, old tune, "oh, my back, and oh, my bones!" as soon as ruth was dressed she ran in to see if she could do anything for the old woman. "ah, deary! what a precious pretty you be," said the old woman, hugging her. "i'm so glad to see you again after your being away so long. and your uncle's that proud of you, too! he often reads the reports the school teacher sends him--i see him doing that in the evening. he keeps the reports in his cash-box, just as though they was as precious as his stocks and bonds. yes-indeedy!" "you are so glad to have me at home, aunt alvirah, that i feel guilty to be going away again so soon," ruth said. "no, honey. have your good times while ye may, my pretty creetur. it's mighty nice of the camerons to take you away with them. you go and have a good time. your trunk's all packed and ready, and your young friend, helen, would be dreadful disappointed if you didn't go. now, let's go down and git breakfast. jabez has been up for some time and i heard him just go out to the mill. that boy must be up and dressed by now, for if he had been sick, jabez would have hollered up the stairs about it." she was right. fred hatfield was completely dressed when they came into the kitchen. ruth did not look at him, but busied herself with the details of getting breakfast. she did not speak to him, nor did fred speak to her. but aunt alvirah was as cheerful and as chatty as ever. uncle jabez was never talkative; but he was no more taciturn this morning than was their guest. the boy ate his breakfast with downcast eyes and only said timidly, at the end of the meal: "i'm real obliged for your kindness, mr. potter. i think i'm all right again now. can't i do some work for you to pay--" "i don't need another hand at the mill--and i couldn't make use of a boy like you at all," said mr. potter, hastily. "you wait till mr. cameron comes here this morning." ruth saw that there was an understanding between her uncle and mr. cameron regarding this boy. but fred said, still hesitating: "if--if i can't do anything to repay you, i'd rather go on. i was making for cheslow. i'll get a job--" "you wait here as you're told, boy," snapped uncle jabez, and the runaway shrank into his chair again and said nothing more. breakfast at the red mill was always early; it had been finished before seven o'clock on this clear winter morning. it was a fine day when the sun appeared, and ruth's mind--at least, a _part_ of it!--delighted in the thought of the journey to be taken into the great woods to the north and east of osago lake. she had several little things to do in preparation; therefore she could not be blamed if she lost sight of fred hatfield occasionally. suddenly, however, she found that he had left the kitchen. she cried up the stairs to aunt alvirah: "have you seen him, auntie? where is he?" "where's who?" returned the old woman. "that boy. he's not here." "for the land's sake!" returned aunt alvirah. "i dunno. didn't your uncle tell him to wait for mr. cameron here?" "but he's gone!" exclaimed ruth; and picking up her cap she pulled it on, and likewise her sweater, and went out of the house with a bang. he was not on the road to cheslow. she could see that, straight before the mill, for a mile. she ran down to the gate and looked along the river road, up stream. no figure appeared there. nor in the other direction--although the camerons' car would appear from that way, and if the runaway went in that direction he would surely run right into the camerons. "he slipped out of the back door--towards the river," she whispered. back she ran into the house. she caught up her skates in the back hall and burst out upon the back porch, which was partly enclosed. there was the figure of fred hatfield on the ice--some distance, already, from the shore. ruth ran eagerly down to the shore. she had no idea what young hatfield intended; but she was well aware that he could get across the lumano if he chose; the ice was thick enough. she quickly clamped the skates upon her shoes, and within five minutes was darting off across the ice. hatfield heard the ring of her skates within a very few moments; he threw a glance over his shoulder, saw her, and then began to run. it was a feeble attempt to escape, for unless some accident happened to ruth, she could easily overtake him. and she did so, although he ran straight ahead, and ran so hard that finally he slipped and fell, panting, to his knees. ruth was beside him before he could rise. "don't you be such a ridiculous boy!" she commanded, seizing the lad by the shoulder, as he attempted to rise. "you mustn't run away. mr. cameron expects to find you at the mill, and you must stay. and they'll be here, ready to take the train from cheslow, shortly." "i--i don't want to stay here," stammered the boy. "i--i don't want to see that man again." "but he expects to see you, and i could not let you go before he comes." "you're just the meanest girl i ever saw!" cried hatfield, almost in tears. "i'd got away in the night if it hadn't been for you." ruth fairly giggled at that--she couldn't help it. "well, don't you be nasty about it," she said. "you are a dreadfully foolish boy--" "what do you know about me?" he gasped, turning to look at her finally with frightened eyes. "i know that running away isn't going to help you," ruth fielding said, with returning gravity. "you think that man--that cameron man--will take me back?" "back where?" "to--to scarboro?" "i don't know." "i tell you i won't go," the boy cried. "i won't go." "but we're all going up there this very day," said ruth, slowly. "mr. cameron, and helen and tom, and some other girls and boys. i'm going, too--" "_going where_?" shrieked fred hatfield, actually shaking with terror, and as pale as a ghost. "we're off for the backwoods--up scarboro way. mr. cameron is going to take us for a fortnight to snow camp. and you--" with another wild cry fred hatfield crumpled down upon the ice and burst into a tempest of sobbing. he beat his ungloved hands upon the ice, and although ruth could not help feeling contempt for a boy who would so give way to weakness she could not help but pity him, too. for ruth fielding had more than an inkling of the trouble that so weighed fred hatfield down, and had made him an outcast from his home and friends. chapter vi on the train when the cameron automobile arrived at the red mill that forenoon fred hatfield sat gloomily upon the porch steps. ruth kept an eye on him from the doorway. mr. cameron seemed to understand their position when he came up the walk, and asked ruth: "so, he wants to leave; does he?" ruth merely nodded; but fred hatfield scowled at the dry-goods merchant and turned away his head. "now, young man," said mr. cameron, standing in front of the sullen boy, with his legs wide apart and a smile upon his ruddy face, "now, young man, let's get to the bottom of this. you confide in me, and i will not betray your confidence. why don't you want to live at home?" "i don't want to--that's all," muttered fred hatfield, shortly. "and i _won't_." mr. cameron shook his head. "i hate to see one so young so obstinate," he said. "it may be that your mother and brothers and sisters find you a sore trial; perhaps they are glad you are not at home. but until i am sure of that i consider it my duty to keep an eye on you. i want you to come along with us to-day." "i know where you are going. this girl has told me," said the light-haired youth, nodding at ruth. "you're going up to scarboro." "yes. and i propose to take you with us. we'll see whether your mother wants you or not." "you don't know what you're doing, sir!" gasped fred hatfield, crouching down upon the step. "i certainly do not know what i am doing," admitted mr. cameron. "but that is your fault, not mine. if you would trust us--" "i can't!" cried the boy, shaking as though with a chill. "then, you come along, young man," commanded the merchant. he put a hand upon fred's shoulder and the boy wriggled out from under it and started to run. but tom had got out of the automobile and seemed rather expecting this move. he sprang for the other boy and held him. "here! hold on!" he cried. "put on this old overcoat of mine that i've brought along, it's going to be cold riding. put it on--and then get into the auto with us. aw, come on! what are you afraid of? we aren't going to eat you." snivelling, but ceasing his struggles, fred hatfield got into the coat tom offered him, and entered the car. ruth said never a word, but she looked very grave. uncle jabez came to the door of the mill and ruth ran to him and kissed the old miller goodbye. not that he returned the kiss; uncle jabez looked as though he had never kissed anybody since he was born! but aunt alvirah hugged and caressed her "pretty creetur" with a warmth that made up for the miller's coldness. "bless ye, deary!" crooned the little old woman, enfolding ruth in her arms. "go and have the best of times with your young friends. we'll be thinkin' of ye here--and don't run into peril up there in the woods. have a care." "oh, we won't get into any trouble," ruth declared, happily, with no suspicion of what was before the party in the backwoods. "goodbye!" "good-bye, ruthie--oh, my back and oh, my bones!" groaned aunt alvirah, as she hobbled into the house again, while ruth ran down to the car, leaped aboard, and the chauffeur started immediately. ben, the hired man, had gone on to cheslow with ruth's trunk early in the morning, and now the automobile sped quickly over the smooth road to the railroad station. by several different ways--for cheslow was a junction of the railroad lines--the young folk who had been invited to snow camp had gathered at the station to meet the camerons and ruth fielding. nobody noticed fred hatfield, saving mr. cameron and ruth herself; but the runaway found no opportunity of leaving the party. tom had no attention to give the scarboro boy as he welcomed his own chums. "here's old bobbins and busy izzy!" he cried, seeing bob steele and his sister, with isadore phelps, pacing the long platform as the car halted. bob steele was a big, yellow-haired boy, rosy cheeked and good-natured, but not a little bashful. as madge, his sister, was a year and a half older than bob she often treated him like a very small boy indeed. "now, master cameron!" she cried, when tom appeared, "don't muss his nice clean clothes. be careful he doesn't get into anything. be a good boy, bobbie, and the choo-choo cars will soon come." isadore phelps was a sharp-looking boy, with red hair and so many freckles across the bridge of his nose and under his eyes that, at a little distance, he looked as though he wore a brown mask. isadore seldom spoke without asking a question. he was a walking interrogation point. perhaps that was one reason why he was known among his mates as "busy izzy," being usually busy about other people's business. "what do you let her nag you for that way, bob?" he cried. "i'd shake her, if she was my sister--wouldn't you, tom?" "no," said tom, boldly, for he considered madge steele quite a young lady. "she's too big to shake--isn't she, bobbins?" but bob only smiled in his slow way, and said nothing. the girls were in a group by themselves--helen and ruth, belle and lluella, jennie stone (who rejoiced in the nickname of "heavy" because of her plumpness) and madge steele. mr. cameron had gone to the ticket window to make an inquiry. it was ruth who saw fred hatfield making across the tracks to where a freight train was being made up for the south. "tom!" she cried to helen's brother, and he turned and saw her glance. "by george, fellows!" exclaimed tom, with some disgust. "there's that chap sneaking off again. we've got to watch him. come on!" he ran after the runaway. busy izzy was at his ear in a moment: "what's the matter with him? who is he? what's he been doing? is he trying to get aboard that freight? what do you want of him?" "oh, hush! hush!" begged tom. "your clatter would deafen one." then he shouted to hatfield: "hold on, there! the train will be in soon. come back!" hatfield stopped and turned back with a scowl. tom grinned at him cheerfully and added: "might as well take it easy. dad says you're to go along with us, so i advise you to stick close." "pleasant-looking young dog," said bob, in an undertone. "what's he done?" "i don't know that he has done anything," returned tom, in the same low tone. "but we're going to take him with us to scarboro. that is the place he has run away from." "did he run away from home?" demanded isadore phelps. "what for?" "i don't know. but don't you ask him!" commanded tom. "he wouldn't tell you, anyway; he won't tell father. but don't nag him, izzy." to the great surprise of the young folks, when the train bound north came along, there was a private car attached to it, and in that car the cameron party were to travel. one of the railroad officials had lent his own coach to the cheslow merchant, and he and his party had the car to themselves. there was a porter and a steward aboard--both colored men; and soon after the train started odors from the tiny kitchen assured the girls and boys that they were to have luncheon on the train. "isn't it delightful?" sighed heavy, gustily, in ruth's ear. "riding through the country on this fast train and being served with our meals--oh, dear! why weren't _all_ fathers born rich?" "it's lucky your father isn't any richer than he is, jennie stone!" whispered madge steele, who heard this. "if he was, you'd do nothing but eat all the livelong day." "well, i might do a deal worse," returned heavy. "father says that himself. he says he wishes my reports were better at briarwood; but he can't expect me to put on flesh and gain much learning at the same time--not when the days are only twenty-four hours long." they all laughed a good deal at heavy, but she was so good-natured that the girls all liked her, too. what they should do when they reached snow camp was the principal topic of conversation. as the train swept northward the snow appeared. it was piled in fence corners and lay deep in the woods. some ice-bound streams and ponds were thickly mantled in the white covering. mr. cameron read his papers or wrote letters in one compartment; mrs. murchiston was the girls' companion most of the time, while tom and his two chums had a gay time by themselves. they tried to get fred hatfield into their company, but the runaway boy would not respond to their overtures. at the dinner table, when the fun became fast and furious, fred hatfield did not even smile. heavy whispered to ruth that she never did see a boy before who was so dreadfully solemn. "and he grows solemner and solemner every mile we travel!" added heavy. "what do you suppose is on his mind?" ruth was quite sure she knew what was on the lad's mind; but she did not say. indeed, all the day long she was troubled by the special knowledge she had gained from the newspaper clipping that she carried hidden in the bottom of her pocket. should she tell mr. cameron about it? should she speak plainly to fred himself about it? the nearer they approached scarboro the more uncertain she became, and the more sullen fred hatfield looked. ruth watched him a good deal, but so covertly that her girl friends did not notice her abstraction. the short winter day was beginning to draw in and the red sun was hanging low above the tree-tops when mr. cameron announced that the second stop of the train would be their destination. the party--at least, mr. cameron, the governess, and the young folk--were to remain at the hotel in scarboro over-night. the serving people and the baggage were to go on that evening to snow camp. fred hatfield sauntered to the rear of the car and stood looking out of the window in the door. the flagman was on the rear platform, however, and he could not get down without being observed. the stop at this town was brief; then the train sped on through the deep woods. but suddenly the airbrakes were put on again and they slowed down with a good deal of clatter and bumping. "we're not at scarboro yet, surely?" cried mrs. murchiston. "no, no!" mr. cameron assured them. "we're stopping from some other cause--why, this is merely a flag station. not even a station--just a crossing." a white-sheeted road crossed the rails. there were two or three houses in sight and a big general store, over the door of which was painted: emoryville p. o. but the train had stopped and the rear brake-man, or flagman, seized his lamp and ran back to wait for the engineer to recall him. it was growing dusk and the lamps had been lighted the length of the train. the general interest of the party drew their attention forward. ruth, suddenly remembering fred hatfield, looked toward the rear of the car. fred was just going out of the door in the wake of the brakeman. "oh, he mustn't go!" whispered ruth to herself, and leaving her girl companions she ran back to speak to the runaway boy. when she reached the door, fred had already descended the steps. she saw him run across the tracks, and quick as a flash she sprang down after him. chapter vii a runaway in good earnest fred hatfield, the runaway, was approaching the old, rambling country store at emoryville crossroads. it was so cold an evening that there were no loungers upon the high, railless porch which extended clear across the front of the building. indeed, there was but one wagon standing before the store and probably there were very few customers, or loungers either, inside. the stopping of the train had brought nobody to the door. as fred gained the sidewalk in front of the store he glanced back. there was ruth crossing the tracks behind him. "you come back! come back immediately, fred hatfield!" she called. "come back or i shall call mr. cameron." the girl had been his nemesis all day. fred knew he could have given the party the slip at some station, had ruth not kept such a sharp watch upon him. and here she was on his very heels, when he might have gotten well away. the next stop would be scarboro. fred did not want to appear in scarboro again. and he had a suspicion that ruth knew his reasons for desiring to keep away from his home and friends. he looked wildly about the lonely crossroads. the panting of the locomotive exhaust was not the only sound he heard. the two mules hitched to the timber wagon--the only wagon standing by the store-jingled their harness as they shook their heads. one bit at the other, and his mate squealed and stamped. they were young mules and full of "ginger"; yet their driver had carelessly left them standing unhitched in the road. fred gave another glance at ruth and kept on running. the engineer suddenly whistled for the return of the flagman. but none of the train-hands--nor did the party in the private car--notice the boy and girl who had so incautiously left the train. "come back!" commanded ruth, so much interested in following fred that she did not notice the lantern of the rear brakeman bobbing along beside the ties. in a moment he swung himself aboard the private car and his lantern described half an arc in the dusk. the engine answered with a loud cough and the heavy train began to move. but at that moment fred hatfield, grown desperate because of ruth's pursuit, leaped aboard the timber wagon. he was a backwoods boy himself; he knew how to handle mules. he gave a shout to which the team responded instantly. they leaped ahead just as ruth came to the side of the long reach that connected the small pair of front wheels with the huge wheels in the rear. "get off of that wagon, fred!" she had just cried, when the mules started. she was directly in front of the large rear wheel. if it struck her--knocked her down--ran over her! fred knew that she would be killed and he seized her hands and dragged her up beside him on the jouncing timber-reach. "now see what you've done!" he bawled, as the mules broke into a gallop. but ruth was too frightened for the moment to speak. her uncle had a pair of mules, and she knew just how hard they were to manage. and this pair were evidently looking toward supper. they flew up the road, directly away from the railroad, and the wagon jounced about so that she could only hold on with both hands. "stop them! stop them!" she cried. but that was much easier said than done. the animals had been willing enough to start when given the word by a stranger; but now they did not recognize their master's voice when the boy yelled: "yea-a! yea-a!" instead of stopping, the mules went faster and faster. they had their bits 'twixt their teeth and were running away in good earnest. almost immediately, when the bumping and jouncing wagon got away from the store and the two or three neighboring houses, they were in the deep woods. there were no farms--no clearings--not even an open patch in the timber. the snow lay deep under the pines and firs. the road had been used considerably since the last snow, and the ruts were deep. therefore the mules kept to the beaten track. "oh, stop them! stop them!" moaned ruth, clinging to the swaying, jouncing cart. "i can't! i can't!" repeated the terrified boy. "oh, you wicked, wicked boy! you'll kill us both!" cried ruth. "it's your own fault you're here," returned fred, sharply. "and i wouldn't never have got onto the wagon if you hadn't chased me." "i believe you are the very worst boy who ever lived!" declared the girl from the red mill, in both anger and despair. "and i wish i had let you go your own wicked way." "i wish you had," growled hatfield, and then tried to soothe the running mules again. he was successful in the end. he had driven mules before and understood them. the beasts, after traveling at least two miles, began to slow down. the wagon was now passing through a wild piece of the forest, and it was growing dark very fast. only the snow on the ground made it possible for the boy and girl to see objects at a distance. ruth was wondering what her friends would think when they missed her, and likewise how she would ever get back to the railroad. would mr. cameron send back for her? what would happen to her, here in the deep woods, even when the mules stopped so that she dared leap down from the cart? and just then--before these questions became very pertinent in her mind--she was startled by a wild scream from the bush patch beside the road. fred cried out in new alarm, and the mules stopped dead-for a moment. they were trembling and tossing their heads wildly. the awful, blood-chilling scream was repeated, and there was the soft thudding of cushioned paws in the bushes. some beast had leaped down from a tree-branch to the hard snow. "a cat-o'-mountain!" yelled fred hatfield, and as he shouted, the lithe cat sprang over the brush heap and landed in the road, right beside the timber cart. once ruth had been into the menagerie of a traveling circus that had come to darrowtown while her father was still alive. she had seen there a panther, and the wicked, graceful, writhing body of the beast had frightened her more than the bulk of the elephant or the roaring of the lion. this great cat, crouching close to the snow, its tail sweeping from side to side, all its muscles knotted for another spring, struck ruth dumb and helpless. fortunately her gloved hands were locked about the timber on which she lay, for the next instant a third savage scream parted the bewhiskered lips of the catamount and on the heels of the cry the mules started at full gallop. the panther sprang into the air like a rubber ball. had the mules not started the beast must have landed fairly upon the boy and the girl clinging to the reach of the timber wagon. but providentially ruth fielding and her companion escaped this immediate catastrophe. the savage beast landed upon the wagon, however--far out upon the end of the timber, beyond the rear wheels. mad with fright, the mules tore on along the wood road. there were many turns in it, and the deep ruts shook them about terrifically. ruth and fred barely retained their positions on the cart--nor was the catamount in better situation. it hung on with all its claws, yowling like the great tom-cat it was. on and on plunged the poor mules, sweating and fearful. ruth and fred hatfield clung like mussels to a rock, while the panther bounded into the air, screeching and spitting, always catching the tail of the cart as it came down--afraid to leap off and likewise afraid to hang on. the mules came to a hill. they were badly winded by now and their pace grew slower. the panther scratched along the reach nearer to the two human passengers, and ruth saw its eyes blazing like huge carbuncles in the dusk. there was a fork of the roads at the foot of the hill. fred hatfield uttered a shriek of despair as the mules took the right hand road and struck into the bush itself--a narrow and treacherous track where the limbs of the trees threatened to brush all three passengers from the cart at any instant. "oh! oh! we're done for now!" yelled fred. "they've taken the road to rattlesnake hill. we'll be killed as sure as fate!" chapter viii first at snow camp fred hatfield's fears might have been well-founded had the mules not been so winded. they had run at least four miles from the railroad and even with the fear of the snarling panther behind them they could not continue much farther at this pace. but over this rougher and narrower road the timber cart jounced more than ever. in all its life the panther had probably never received such a shaking-up. the mules had not gone far on what fred called the rattlesnake hill road when, with an ear-splitting cry, the huge cat leaped out from the flying wagon and landed in the bush. "we're saved!" gasped ruth. "that dreadful beast is gone." fred immediately tried to soothe the mules into a more leisurely pace; but nothing but fatigue would bring them down. thoroughly frightened, they kept starting and running without cause, and there was no chance in this narrow road to turn them. the fact that it ascended the side of the hill steeply did more toward abating the pace of the runaways than aught else. the track crept along the edge of several abrupt precipices, too--not more than thirty or forty feet high, but enough to wreck the wagon and kill mules and passengers had they gone over the brink. these dangerous places in the winding road were what had so frightened young hatfield at first. he knew this locality well. but to ruth the place was doubly terrifying, for she was lost--completely lost. "oh, where are we going? what will become of us?" she murmured, still obliged to cling with both hands to the jumping, rocking reach. the mules could gallop no longer. fred yelled at them "yea-a! yea-a!" at the top of his voice. they began to pay some attention--or else were so winded that they would have halted of their own volition. and as the cart ceased its thumping and rumbling a light suddenly blazed up before them, shining through the dusk, and higher up the hill. "what is that? a house?" cried ruth, seizing fred by the shoulder. not more than half an hour ago the girl from the red mill had slipped out of the private car at the emoryville crossing, in pursuit of the runaway youth; now they were deep in the wilderness and surrounded by such dangers as ruth had never dreamed of before. the baying of a hound and the angry barking of another dog was ruth's only answer. she turned to see fred hatfield sliding down off the cart. "you sha'n't leave me!" cried ruth, jumping down after him and seizing the runaway desperately. "you sha'n't abandon me in this forest, away from everybody. you're a cruel, bad boy, fred hatfield; but you've just _got_ to be decent to me." "what did you interfere for, anyway?" he demanded, snarling like a cross dog. "lemme go!" but if ruth was afraid of what terrors the forest might hold, and of her general situation, she had seen enough of this boy to know that he was just a poor, miserable coward--he aroused no fear in her heart. "i'm going to just stick to you, freddie," she assured him. she was quite as strong as he, she knew. "you are going home. at least, you shall go back to mr. cameron--" just then the flare of light ahead broadened and a gruff voice shouted: "hullo! what's wanted? down, tiger! behave, rose!" the dogs instantly stopped their clamor. the light came through the open door and the glazed window of a little hut perched on a rock overlooking the road. the mules had halted just below this eminence, and ruth saw that there was a winding path leading up to the door of the hovel. down this path came the huge figure of a man, with the two dogs gamboling about him in the snow. the occupant of this cabin in the wilderness carried a rifle in one hand. "hullo!" he said again. "that's sim rogers's team--i know those mules. are you there, sim? what's happened ye?" "who is it?" whispered ruth, again, still clinging to fred's jacket. "it's--it's the rattlesnake man," returned the boy, in a shaking voice. "who is he?" asked ruth, in surprise. "he lives here alone on the hill. he's a hermit. they say he's crazy. and i guess he is," added fred, with a shudder. "why do you think he's crazy?" but before fred could reply--if he intended to--the hermit reached the road. he was an old but very vigorous-looking man, burly and stout, with a great mat of riotous gray hair under his fur cap, and a beard of the same color that reached his breast. he seemed to have very good eyes indeed, for he immediately muttered: "ha! sim's mules--been running like the very kildee! all of a sweat, i vow. two young folks--ha! scared. runaway--ah! what's that?" the dogs began to bay again. far behind the boy and girl--down the hill road--rose the eyrie scream of the disappointed panther. "that cat-o'-mountain chase ye, boy?" the hermit asked, sharply. but fred had no answer. he stood, in ruth's sharp clutch, and hung his head without a word. the girl had to reply: "i never was so scared. the beast jumped right on the cart and we just shook him off down the hill yonder." "a girl," said the hermit, talking to himself, but talking aloud, in the same fashion as before. without doubt, being so much alone in these wilds he had contracted the habit of talking to himself--or to his dogs--or to whatever creature chanced to be his company. "a girl. not sim's gal. sim ain't got nothing but louts of boys. let me see. what boy is this?" "he is fred hatfield," said ruth, simply. fred jumped and tried to pull away from her; but ruth's hold was not to be so easily broken. the hermit, however, seemed to have never heard the name before. he only said, idly: "fred hatfield, eh? you his sister?" "no, sir. i am ruth fielding," she replied. "ruth fielding? don't know her. she's not belongin' around here. no. well, how'd you get here? and with sim's mules?" ruth told him briefly, but without bringing fred hatfield's trouble into the story. they had got aboard the timber cart at the crossing, the mules had run away, the panther had taken a ride with them and-here they were! the hermit merely nodded in acknowledgment of the tale. his questions dealt with her alone: "where do you belong?" "the party i was with are bound for snow camp. do you know where that is, sir?" ruth asked. "not ten miles away. yes." "they will be worried--" "i will get you over there before bedtime. go up to my house and wait. this boy and i will stable the mules in my barn; it's just along the road here. sim will follow the beasts and find them; but he'll be some time in getting along. he lives along this road himself --not far, not far. ah!" the old man talked mostly as though he spoke to himself. he seldom more than glanced at her, his eye roving everywhere but at the person to whom he spoke. ruth started toward the house from which the fire and lamplight shone so cordially. the dogs stood before her--tiger, the big hound, and rose, a beautiful gordon setter. "let her alone," said the hermit to his canine companions. "she's all right." the dogs seemed to agree with him immediately. the hound sniffed once at the hem of ruth's frock; rose gambolled about her and licked her hand. ruth now realized how cold she was, and she ran quickly up to the open door of the cabin. on the threshold she hesitated a moment. a great lamp with a tin shade, hanging from the rafters, illuminated all the center of the room. at one end burned a hot log fire on the hearth; but the two further corners were in gloom. ruth had said she had never seen a log cabin, and it was true. this one seemed to her to be a very cozy place indeed, even if it was the habitation of a hermit. as she entered, however, she found that there was a rather suffocating, unpleasant odor in the place. it was light, yet penetrating enough to be distinguished clearly. in one of the darker corners was what appeared to be a big green chest, and it had a glazed window frame for a cover. something rustled there. the dogs followed her in and she sat down in an old-fashioned, bent hickory chair on the hearth--perhaps the hermit himself had just risen from it, for there was a sheepskin lying before it for a mat and a pair of huge carpet slippers on either side of the sheepskin. the dogs came in and sat down by the slippers, just where ruth could rest a hand on either head, and so blinked at the flames while they waited for the return of the hermit and the runaway boy. so she sat when they came into the cabin, stamping the snow from their shoes. the hermit led fred by the arm. he had not overlooked the care with which ruth had retained him by her side. "so you want to go over to mr. parrish's snow camp?" asked the old man. "it belongs to mr. cameron, now." said ruth. "i know that there is a telephone there, and i can get word to mr. cameron and helen and tom at scarboro that we are safe." "i'm not going," said fred "i'll stay here." "you'll go along with young miss," said the hermit, firmly. "i'll git ye a pannikin of tea and a bite. then we'll start. we'll go 'cross the woods on snowshoes--'twill be easier." "oh, can i do it, do you suppose?" cried ruth. "i never wore such things in my life." "you'll learn," said the hermit. he bustled about, making the tea and warming a big pancake of cornbread which he put into an iron dripping-pan down before the glowing coals at one side. while they waited for the water to bubble for the tea the old man went to the big chest, and began to talk and fondle something. ruth heard the rustling again and turned around to look. "want to see my children, young miss?" asked the old man, whose eyes seemed as sharp as needles. ruth arose in curiosity and approached. within a yard of the old man and his chest she stopped suddenly with a gasp. the hermit stood up with two snakes twining about his hands and wrists. the serpents ran their tongues out like lightning, and their beady eyes glowed as though living fire dwelt in their heads. ruth was frightened, but she would not scream. the hermit handled the snakes as though they were as harmless as kittens--as probably they were, the poison sacks having been removed. "they won't hurt you--harmless, harmless," said the old man, caressingly. "there, there, my pretties! go to bed again." he lifted the glass cover of the chest and dropped them into its interior. there was a great hissing and rustling. the hermit stepped to the hanging lamp and turned the shade so as to send the radiance of it into that corner. through the pane ruth saw a squirming mass of scaly bodies, mixed up with an old quilt. more than one tail, with rows of "buttons" and rattles on it, was elevated, and one angry serpent "sprung his rattle" sharply. "hush, hush, my dears!" said the hermit, soothingly. "go to sleep again now. my children," he said, nodding at ruth. "pretty dears!" to tell the truth, the girl from the red mill wanted to scream; but she held herself down, clenching her hands, and saying nothing. the kettle began to sing and she was glad to go back to the chair by the fire and afterward to sip the tin cup of hot tea that their host gave her, and eat with good appetite a square of the crisp cornbread. meanwhile, the hermit took from the walls three pairs of great, awkward-looking snowshoes and tightened the lacings and fitted thongs to them. the pair he selected for ruth looked to the girl to be so big that she never could take a step in them; but he seemed to expect her to try. they went out of the cabin as the moon was rising. it came up as red and fiery as the sun had gone down. long shadows of the tall trees were flung across the snow. the hermit commanded rose, the setter, to guard the hut, while he allowed the hound to follow at heel. he carried his rifle, and ruth was glad of this. "haven't heard a cat-o'-mountain around here this winter," he said, as they started up the hill. "didn't hear nor see one at all last winter. neighbors will have to get up a hunt for this one that troubled you, young miss, 'fore it does more damage." at the top of the ascent they stopped and the old man put on ruth's snowshoes for her. fred, always without a word and looking mighty sullen (but evidently afraid of the rattlesnake man) tied his own in place and the hermit slipped into his and they each gave ruth a hand. she stood up and found that her weight made little or no impression upon the well-packed snow. there was no wind and, although the air was very keen (the thermometer probably being almost to the zero mark) it was easy for her to move over the drifts. with some little instruction from the rattlesnake man, and after several tumbles-which were of little moment because he and fred held her up--ruth was able to put one foot before the other and shuffle over the snow at a fairly good pace. the moonlight made the unbroken track as plain as noonday. to ruth it seemed almost impossible that the hermit could find his way through a forest which showed no mark of any former traveler; but he went on as though it was a turnpike. two hours and a half were they on the way, and ruth had begun to be both tired and cold when they crossed a road on which there were telegraph, or telephone poles and then--a little farther into the big woods--they struck a well-defined private track over which sleds had recently traveled. "you say some of your party and the baggage were coming over to-night," said the hermit to ruth. "they have been along. this is the road to snow camp--and there is the light from the windows!" ruth saw several points of light directly ahead. they quickly reached a good-sized clearing, in the middle of which stood a two-story log cabin, with a balcony built all around it at the height of the second floor. sleigh bells jingled as the horses stamped in the yard. the heavy sledges with the luggage and the serving people had just arrived. ruth fielding was the first of the pleasure party to arrive at snow camp. chapter ix "long jerry" todd some dogs began barking, and the hermit's hound replied by baying with his nose in the air--a sound to make anybody shiver! the rattlesnake man gave a lusty shout, and a door opened, flooding the porch of the big log cabin with lamplight. "hello!" came the answering shout across the clearing, and a very tall man--as thin as a lath--strode down from the porch and approached them, after sending back the dogs--all but one. this big creature could not be stayed in his impetuous rush over the snow and the next instant he sprang up and put both his forepaws on ruth's shoulders. "oh, reno!" she cried, fondling tom cameron's big mastiff, that had come all the way from cheslow with them in the baggage car. "_you_ know me; don't you?" "guess that proves her right to be here," said the hermit, more to himself than to the surprised tall man, who was the guide and keeper in charge of snow camp. "your boss lose one of his party off the train, long jerry todd?" "so i hear. is this here the gal?" cried the other, in immense surprise. "i swanny!" "yep. she's all right. i'll go back," said the rattlesnake man, without further ado, turning in his tracks. "oh, sir!" cried ruth. "i'm so much obliged to you." but the hermit slipped away on his snowshoes and in less than a minute was out of sight. then ruth looked around suddenly for fred hatfield. the runaway had disappeared. "where's that boy?" she cried. "what boy?" returned long jerry, curiously. "didn't see no boy here." "why, the boy that came here with us. he left the train at emoryville when i did--you must have seen him." "i never did," declared the guide. "he must have slipped away. maybe he's gone into the house. you'd better come in yourself. the women folks will 'tend to you. why, miss, you're dead beat!" indeed ruth was. she could scarcely stumble with the guide's help to the porch. she had kicked off the snowshoes and the hermit had taken them with him. had it not been for the hermit and fred hatfield, ruth fielding would never have been able to travel the distance from the hermit's cabin to snow camp. and the terrible shaking up she had received on the timber cart made her feel like singing old aunt alvirah's tune of "oh, my back and oh, my bones!" there were two maids whom mr. cameron had brought along and they, with two men, had come over from scarboro (a ride of eight miles, or so) with the luggage. they welcomed ruth and set her down before a great fire in the dining room, and one of them removed the girl's shoes so that her feet might be dried and warmed, while the other hurried to make some supper for the wanderer. but as soon as ruth got her slippers on, and recovered a little from the exhaustion of her trip, two things troubled her vastly. she inquired for the boy again, and learned that he had not been seen about the camp. when she and the hermit had entered the clearing, fred had undoubtedly taken the opportunity to slip away. "and in the night--and it so cold, too," thought ruth. "what will mr. cameron say?" that question brought her to the second of her troubles. her friends would worry about her all night if she did not find some way of allaying their anxiety. "oh, mary!" she said to the maid. "where's the telephone? tom said there was telephone connection here." "so there is, miss," returned the maid. "and somebody had better tell mrs. murchiston that you're safe. they're all as worried as they can be about you, for the folks at that store by the railroad--where the train stopped--when _they_ was called up as soon as the train reached scarboro, declared that you had got run away with by a team of mules." "which was most certainly true," admitted ruth. "i never had such a dreadful time in all my life. run away with by mules, and frightened to death by a great big catamount----" mary squealed and covered her ears. "don't tell me!" she gasped. "sure, miss, there do bes bears, an' panthers, an' wild-cats, an'-an' i dunno what-all in these woods. sure, me and janey will never go out of this house whilst we stay. 'tain't civilized hereabout." ruth laughed rather ruefully. "i guess you're right, mary," she said. "it doesn't seem to be very civilized here in the backwoods-and such queer people live here, too. but now! let me telephone." the maid showed her where it was and ruth called up scarboro and got the hotel where the cameron party was stopping. almost immediately she heard mr. cameron's voice. "hullo! snow camp? what's wanted?" he asked, in a nervous, jerky way. "this is me, mr. cameron--ruth, you know. i am all right at snow camp." "well! that's fine! thank goodness you're safe!" ejaculated the merchant, in an entirely different tone. "why, ruth, i was just about sending a party out from the store at emoryville to beat up the woods for you. they say there is a big panther in that district." "oh, i know it. the beast frightened us most to death--" "who was with you?" interrupted mr. cameron. "why, that boy! he jumped off the train and i followed to stop him. now he's run away again, sir." "oh, the boy calling himself fred hatfield?" ejaculated mr. cameron. "he's left you?" "he came here to snow camp and then disappeared. i am sorry--" "you're a good little girl, ruth. i wanted to bring him up here--and there are people who would be glad to know who he really is." "but don't you know? isn't his name fred hatfield?" questioned ruth, in surprise. "that can't be. fred hatfield was shot here in the woods more than a month ago. it was soon after the deer season opened, they tell me, and it is supposed to have been an accident. young 'lias hatfield, half-brother of the real fred, is in jail here, held for shooting his brother. who the boy was whom we found and brought from the red mill, seems to be a mystery." "oh!" cried ruth, but before she could say more, mr. cameron went on: "we'll all be over in the morning. i hope you have not taken cold, or overtaxed your strength, i must go and tell helen. she has been frightened half to death about you. goodnight." he hung up the receiver, leaving ruth in rather a disturbed state of mind. the newspaper clipping that had dropped out of the old wallet the strange boy had carried, was the account of the shooting affair. mention was made in it about the very frequent mistakes made in the hunting season--mistakes which often end in the death of one hunter by the hand of another. it said that 'lias hatfield and his younger brother, fred, had had a quarrel and then gone hunting, each taking a different direction. the younger boy had ensconced himself just under the brink of a steep bank at the bottom of which was rolling river, a swift and deep stream. his brother's story was that he had come up facing this place, having started a young buck not half a mile away. he thought he heard the buck stamping, and blowing, and then saw what he thought was the animal behind a fringe of bushes at the top of this steep river bank. the hunter blazed away, and heard a dreadful scream, a rolling and thrashing in the brush, and a splash in the river. he ran forward and found his brother's old gun and tippet. there was blood on the bushes. the supposition was that fred hatfield had been shot and had rolled into the swift-flowing river. 'lias had given himself up to the authorities and there seemed some doubt in the minds of the people of scarboro as to whether the shooting had been an accident. "if there was no body found," thought ruth, all the time she was eating the supper that mary brought her, "how do they know fred hatfield is really dead? and if he _is_ dead, who is the boy who is traveling about the country using fred hatfield's name and carrying mr. hatfield's old wallet? i guess fred has run away, instead of being killed, and is staying away because he hates his brother 'lias, and wishes him to get into trouble about the shooting. if that's so, isn't he just the meanest boy that ever was?" long jerry todd came in with a huge armful of wood for the fire, and ruth determined to pump him about the accident. the tall man knew all about it, and was willing enough to talk. he sat down beside the fire and answered ruth's questions most cheerfully. "ya-as, i knowed old man hatfield," he said. "he's been dead goin' on ten year. that fred wasn't good to his mother. his half-brothers-children of old man hatfield's fust wife--is nicer to their marm than fred was. oh, ya-as! he was shot by 'lias, all right. i dunno as 'lias meant to do it. hope not. but they found fred's body in the river t'other day, and so they arrested 'lias." but long jerry hadn't seen any sign of the boy that had been with ruth and the hermit when they arrived at snow camp. ruth did not like to discuss the mystery with him any more; for it _was_ a mystery now, that was sure. fred hatfield's body had been found in the river, yet a boy was traveling about the country bearing fred hatfield's name. the guide finally unfolded himself and rose slowly to his full height, preparatory to going back to the kitchen regions. he was nearly seven feet tall, and painfully thin. he grinned down upon ruth fielding as she gazed in wonder at his proportions. "i'm some long; ain't i, miss?" he chuckled. "but i warn't no taller than av'rage folks when i was a boy. you hear of some folks gettin' stunted by sickness, or fright, or the like. wal, i reckon _i_ got stretched out longer'n common by fright. want to hear about it?" he was so jolly and funny that ruth was glad to hear him talk and she encouraged him to go on. so jerry sat down again and began his story. chapter x bears--and other things "ye see," drawled jerry, "my marm was alive in them days--bless her heart! dad was killed on the boom down rolling river when i was a little shaver; but marm hung on till i got growed. ya-as! i mean till i got clean through growin' and that was long after i voted fust time," and he chuckled and wagged his head. "wal, mebbe i was sixteen; mebbe seventeen. boys up here in the woods have to cut their own vittles pretty airly. i was doin' a man's labor when i was 'leven. ya-as, miss! had to work for me an' marm. "and marm worked, too. one day i started for drownville with a big bundle of aperns marm had sewed for mis' juneberry that kep' store at drownville. she got two bits a dozen for makin' them aperns, i remember. wal, it was a wilder country then than it is now, and i never see a soul, nor heard the sound of an axe in walking four miles. just at the end o' them four miles," continued long jerry, his eyes twinkling, "there was a turn in the road. i swung around it--i was travelin' at a good clip--and come facin' up an old she b'ar which riz up on her hind laigs an' said: 'how-d'-do, jerry todd!' jest as plain as ever a bear spoke in its e-tar-nal life! "why," said long jerry, almost choking with his own laughter, "by the smile on thet thar b'ar's face and the way she spread her arms wide to receive me, it was plain enough how glad she was ter see me." "i should think you'd have been scared to death!" gasped ruth, looking down at him. "wal, i calculate i was some narvous. i was more narvous in them days than i be now. hadn't seen so much of the world. and sure hadn't seen so much o' b'ars," cackled jerry. "not bein' used to b'ar sassiety i natcherly balked when that ol' she b'ar appeared so lovin'. i had pretty nigh walked right into her arms and there wasn't much chance to make any particular preparations. fact was, i didn't have nothin' with me more dangerous than a broken jack-knife, and i don't know how it might strike you, miss, but to me that didn't seem to be no implement with which to make a b'ar's acquaintance." "i should think not!" giggled ruth. "what _did_ you do?" "wal, first of all i give her marm's bundle--ya-as i did! i pitched that there bundle of aperns right at her, and the way she growled an' tore at 'em was a caution, now i tell ye! i seen at once what she'd do to me if she got me, so i left them parts, an' left 'em quick! i started off through the woods, hittin' only the high spots, and fancied i could beat the old gal runnin'. but not on your tin-type! no, sir-ree! the old gal jest give a roar, come down on all four feet, and started after me at a pace that set me a-thinkin' of my sins. "jest as sure as you live, if i'd kept on running she'd had me within thirty yards. an' i knew if i climbed a big tree she'd race me to the top of it and get me, too. ye see, a small-round tree was my only chance. a b'ar climbs by huggin' their paws around the trunk, and it takes one of right smart size to suit them for climbin'. "i see my tree all right, and i went for it. missus b'ar, she come cavortin' an' growlin' along, and it did seem to me as though she'd have a chunk out o' me afore i could climb out o' reach. it was jest about then, i reckon," pursued long jerry, chuckling again, "when i believe i began to grow tall! "i stretched my arms up as fur as i could, an' the way i shinnied up that sapling was a caution to cats, now i tell ye! she riz up the minute she got to the tree and tried to scrape me off with both paws. she missed me by half a fraction of an infinitessimal part of an inch --that's a good word, that 'infinitessimal'; ain't it, miss? i got it off of a college perfesser what come up here, and he said he got it straight-away out of the dictionary." "it's a good word, mr. todd," laughed ruth, highly delighted at the man and his story. "wal!" chuckled jerry, "we'll say she missed me. i was so scar't that i didn't know then whether she had missed me or was chawin' of me. i felt i was pretty numb like below my waist. and how i did stretch up that tree! no wonder i growed tall after that day," said jerry, shaking his head. "i stretched ev'ry muscle in my carcass, miss--i surely did! "there was that ol she b'ar, on her hind legs and a-roarin' at me like the mr. bashan's bull that they tell about, and scratchin' the bark off'n that tree in great strips. she cleaned the pole, as far up as she could reach, as clean as a bald man's head. she jumped as far as she could, gnashed her teeth, and tried her best to climb that sapling. every time she made a jump, or howled, i tried to climb higher. an', miss, that was the time i got stretched out so tall, for sure. "the bear, with wide-open mouth, kept on a-jumpin' an' ev'ry time she jumped i clumb a little higher, i was so busy lookin' down at her that i never looked up to see how fur i was gettin' toward the top, so, all of a suddent-like, the tree top begun to bend over with me an' sumpin' snapped. 'twarn't my galluses, neither!" crowed long jerry, very much delighted by his own tale. "i knowed that, all right. sna-a-ap! she went again, and i begun to go down. "i swanny! but that was a warm time for me, miss--it sure was. there was that ol' she b'ar with her mouth as wide open as a church door-or, so it looked to jerry todd. they say a feller that's drowndin' thinks over all his hull endurin' life when he's goin' down. i believe it. sure i do. 'twarn't twenty feet from the top o' that tree to the ground, but i even remembered how i stole my sister jane's rag baby when i couldn't more'n toddle around marm's shanty--that's right!--an' berried of it in the hog-pen. every sin that was registered to my account come up before me as plain as the wart on jim biggle's nose!" "oh, mr. todd!" cried ruth. "falling right on that awful bear?" "that's what i was doin', miss--and it didn't take me long to do it, neither, i reckon. mebbe the b'ar warn't no more ready to receive me than i was to drap down on her. i heard her give a startled _whuff_, and she come on all four paws. the next thing i done was to land square on her back--i swanny! that was a crack. purty nigh drove my spine up through the top of my head, it did. and the ol' b'ar must ha' been mighty sorry arterwards that she was right there to receive me. she give a most awful grunt, shook me off onto the ground and kited out o' that as though she'd been sent for in a hurry! i swanny! i never did see a b'ar run so fast," and long jerry burst into an uproarious laugh. "but that, i reckon, is the time i got so stretched out an' begun to grow so tall, miss," he added. "stretchin' an' strainin' to git away from that ol' she b'ar was what done it." ruth was delighted with the guide; but she was very tired, too, and when the maids came in she was only too glad to fall in with the suggestion of bed. she was put to sleep in a great, plainly furnished room, where there were three other beds--a regular dormitory. it was like one of the prime sleeping rooms at briarwood hall. and how ruth did sleep that night after her adventurous day! the sun shone broadly on the clearing about the camp when she first opened her eyes. mary put her head in at the door and said: "your breakfast will be spoilt, miss ruth, or i wouldn't disturb you. all the men's ate long ago and janey's fussin' in the kitchen. besides, the folks will be over from scarboro in an hour. mr. cameron just telephoned and asked how you were." "oh, i feel fine!" cried the girl from the red mill, joyfully. but when she hopped out of bed she found herself dreadfully stiff and lame; the jouncing she had received while riding with the boy calling himself fred hatfield, and the catamount, on the timber cart, and later her first long walk on snow-shoes, had together strained her muscles and lamed her limbs to a degree. old aunt alvirah's oft-repeated phrase fitted her condition, and she grimly repeated it: "oh, my back and oh, my bones!" but the prospect of the other girls, coming--and tom and his friends, too--and the fun in store for them all at snow camp, soon made ruth fielding forget small troubles. besides, the muscles of youth are elastic and the weariness soon went out of her bones. before the party arrived from scarboro she had opportunity of going all about the great log lodge, and getting acquainted with all it held and all that surrounded it. the great hall on the lower floor was arranged so as to have a broad open fireplace at either end. these fires were kept burning day and night and the great heaps of glowing logs made the hall, and most of the upper rooms, very comfortable indeed. the walls of this hall were hung with snowshoes, canadian toboggans--so light, apparently, that they would not hold one man, let alone four, but very, very strongly built--guns, indian bows and sheaf of arrows, fish-spears, and a conglomeration of hunting gear for much of which ruth fielding did not even know the names, let alone their uses. outside the snow had been cleared away immediately around the great log house and a wide path was cut through the drifts down to a small lake, or pond. in coming from rattlesnake hill the night before with the old hermit, and the boy who called himself fred hatfield, they had come down a long incline in sight of the camp. now, ruth saw that a course had been made level upon that hillside, banked up on either side with dykes of snow, and water poured over the whole to make a perfect slide. there was a starting platform at the top and the course was more than half a mile in length, long jerry told her. but when she had seen all these things sleigh bells were heard and ruth ran out to welcome her friends. chapter xi the frost games the big sleigh in which were helen and the other girls swept into the clearing in advance and ruth's chum led the chorus addressed vociferously to the girl from red mill. "oh, ruthie!" "the lost is found!" "and she got here first--wasn't that cute of her?" "oh, _do_ tell us all about it, ruth," cried lluella fairfax. "however could you scare us so, ruthie?" cried jennie stone, the heavyweight. "i was so worried i was actually sick." "and that is positively 'no error,'" laughed belle tingley. "for once heavy was so troubled that she couldn't eat." helen was out of the sleigh at once and hugged ruth hard. "you blessed girl!" she cried. "i was _so_ afraid something dreadful had happened to you." "and what became of that horrid boy mr. cameron tried to take to scarboro?" demanded madge steele. the boys piled out of their sledge before ruth could answer these questions, and she was unable to give a very vivid explanation of all that had happened to her since leaving the train, until the whole party was gathered before one of the open fires in the hall, waiting for dinner. before this hour came, however, and while the rest of the young folks were getting acquainted with the possibilities of snow camp, ruth had a serious talk with mr. cameron regarding the mysterious boy who had disappeared on the verge of the snow camp reservation. "i don't know how he escaped us. he sped away through the woods with the old hermit's snowshoes--i am sure of that. and that old rattlesnake man didn't seem to be bothered at all by his loss," ruth said. "perhaps that hermit knows something about the fellow. we'll look into that," said the merchant, gravely. "however, ruth, you did what you thought was right. it was reckless. i cannot commend you for leaving the train, child. something dreadful might have happened to you." "i thought something dreadful _did_ happen to me," said ruth, with a shudder, "when those mules ran away and that catamount leaped up on the timber cart." "i believe you! and your going to the cabin of that rattlesnake catcher. they say he is mad, and he handles the serpents just as though they were white mice. the people hereabout are afraid of him," said mr. cameron, earnestly. "he was as kind as he could be to me," said ruth, shaking her head. "i don't think i should ever be afraid of him. his eyes are kind. but the snakes--oh! they did frighten me dreadfully." "from what i hear of this young man, 'lias hatfield, who is in jail at scarboro, he is a decent lad and has worked hard for his stepmother. the half-brother he shot was about the age of this boy we found down home. but _his_ body was recovered from the river only the other day when they arrested 'lias. i shall make it my business to see the hatfields personally and learn, if possible, how a stranger like that boy who came here with you, ruth, could have obtained mr. hatfield's old wallet." "he had some deep interest in the mystery of this shooting," declared ruth, and she told the merchant of the newspaper clipping that had dropped out of the old wallet when she had undertaken to dry the boy's clothing at the red mill. meanwhile, the other young folks were highly delighted over the possibilities for fun at snow camp. tom and his friends did not pay much attention to what was inside the great log house; but before noon they knew all that was to be done outside and were unhappy only because they did not know which to do first. in addition, busy izzy had exhausted himself and every man about the place, asking questions; and finally tom and bob gagged him with his own handkerchief and threatened to tie him up and not give him any dinner if he did not stop it. "but _do_ let him ask for a second helping to pudding, boys," urged the kind-hearted heavy. "it's going to be fine--i had a taste of the dough. mary says it's 'whangdoodle pudding, with lallygag sauce'; but you needn't be afraid of the fancy name she gives it," added the plump girl, rolling her eyes. "it's just scrumptious!" they laughed at heavy's ecstasies, yet all did full justice to the pudding. such a hearty appetite as everybody had! the snapping cold and the odor of balsam and pine gave a tang to the taste that none of them had ever known before. the girls were full of plans for quiet hours around the great open fires, as well as for the out-of-door fun; but tom was leader on this first day of the vacation at snow camp, and he declared for skating in the afternoon. even mrs. murchiston went down to the pond. the boys took turns in pushing her about in an ice-chair. but mr. cameron put on skates and proved himself master of them, too. long jerry came down to watch them and grinned broadly at the boys' antics on the ice. jerry was no skater; but he was stringing snowshoes and by the morning would have enough ready for the whole party and promised to teach the young folk the art of walking on them in half a day. that afternoon on the ice only put an edge on the appetite of the whole party for the frost games. "plenty of time to make those pine-needle pillows for the girls at briarwood, if we have a stormy day," quoth helen cameron. "we mustn't mope before the fire this evening. the moon is coming up--big as a bushel and red as fire! oh, we'll have some fun this night." "what now?" demanded madge steele. "i see the boys have stolen out after supper. a sleigh ride?" "no; although that would be fun," said helen. "oh, dear! can't we take it easy this evening?" whined heavy, after a mighty yawn. "i _was_ so hungry--" "you shouldn't give way to that dreadful appetite of yours, jennie stone!" cried belle tingley. "if there's any fun afoot i want to be in it." "come on! all ready!" shouted the boys outside the house, and the sextette of girls ran to get on their wraps. they bundled out of the house to find tom, bob and isadore each drawing a long, flat, narrow toboggan. helen clapped her hands and shouted: "fine! fine! see these sleds, girls." "we're going to shoot the chutes, heavy," sang out madge. "do you think you can stand it?" "now, don't any of you back out," tom said. "each of us will take two girls on his sled. there's plenty of room." "you'd better draw matches for us," said the irrepressible heavy. "that is, if you intend drawing _us_--two to each toboggan--to the top of that slide. i never did care much for boys--they are greedy; but which one of you could drag madge and me, for instance, up that hill?" "we draw the line at that," cried tom. "those who can't toddle along to the top of the chute needn't expect to ride to the bottom." they all hurried off, laughing and shouting. it was a most beautiful moonlight night. save their own voices, only the distant barking of a fox broke the great silence that wrapped the snow-clad country about. none of the grown folk followed them. the party had the hill to themselves. it being a race to the hill-top, with the first two girls to take their places on the toboggan of the first boy, naturally heavy was out of the running, and bound to be last. she came panting to the starting platform, and found ruth waiting to share isadore's sled with her. tom, with madge and belle, had already shot down the icy chute. bob steele, with lluella and helen before him, dropped over the verge of the platform and their toboggan began to whiz down the pathway, as jennie plumped down upon the remaining toboggan. "come on, ruthie! you're a good little thing to wait for me--and i guess tom cameron didn't like it much, either? he wanted you." "nonsense, jennie," returned ruth, with a laugh. "what does it matter? as long as we all get a slide--" "hurry up, now," cried busy izzy, troubled because he was behind his comrades, if the girls were not. "sit tight." he pushed the toboggan over the edge of the drop almost before ruth was settled behind jennie. he flung himself upon the sled, sitting sideways, and "kicked" them over the drop. the toboggan struck the icy course and began to descend it like an arrow shot from a bow. jennie stone shrieked a single, gasping: "oh!" the toboggan whizzed down the path, with the low, icy dykes on either hand, and so rapidly that their eyes watered and they could not see. it seemed only a breath when the third toboggan shot onto the level at the bottom, and they passed the crew of the first sled already coming back. it was exhilarating sport--it was delightful. yet every time they started ruth felt as though the breath left her lungs and that she couldn't catch it again until they slowed down at the bottom of the hill. she would have felt safer with one of the other boys, too. isadore phelps was none too careful, and once the toboggan ran up one of the side dykes and almost spilled them on the course. "do look out what you are about, isadore," ruth begged, when they reached the bottom of the slide that time. "if we should have a spill----" "great would be the fall thereof!" grinned isadore, looking at heavy, puffing up the hill beside them. "you take care now, and don't spatter me all over the slide," said the cheerful stout girl, whose doll-like face was almost always wreathed in smiles. but isadore was really becoming reckless. to tell the truth, bob and tom were laughing at him. he had been the last to get away each time from the starting platform, and he could not catch up with the others. perhaps that was the stout girl's fault; but ruth would climb the hill no faster than jennie, and so the third toboggan continued far behind the others. as they panted up the hill tom and his two companions shot past and waved their hands at them; then followed bob steele's crew and helen shouted some laughing gibe at them. isadore's face grew black. "i declare! i wish you girls would stir yourselves. hurry up!" he growled quite ungallantly. "what's the hurry?" panted heavy. "there's nobody paying us for this; is there? let 'em catch up with us and then we will be--all--to--geth--er--woof! my goodness me, i'm winded," and she had to stop on the hill and breathe. "go on and leave us. take one trip by yourself, isadore," said ruth. "no, i won't," returned phelps, ungratefully. "then they'll all gab about it. come along; will you?" "don't you mind him, jennie," whispered ruth. "i don't think he's very nice." they got aboard the toboggan once more and isadore recklessly flung himself on it, too, and pushed off. at the moment there came a shrill hail from below. tom was sending up some word of warning--at the very top of his voice. but the three just starting down the slide could not distinguish his words. jennie shut her eyes tight the moment the toboggan lurched forward, so she could not possibly see anything that lay before them. ruth peered over the stout girl's shoulder, the wind half blinding her eyes with tears. but the moonlight lay so brilliantly upon the track that it was revealed like midday. something lay prone and black upon the icy surface of the slide. chapter xii peril--and a taffy pull it seemed to ruth fielding, as the toboggan dashed down the chute toward that strange object in their course, as though her lips were glued together. she could not speak--she could not utter a sound. and yet this inaction--this dumbness--lasted but a very few seconds. the thing upon the slide lay more than half way down the hill--a quarter of a mile ahead when her stinging eyes first saw it. toward it the sled rushed, gathering speed every moment, and the object on the track grew in her eyes apace. when her lips parted she screamed so that isadore heard her words distinctly: "stop, izzy! there's something ahead! look!" of course it was foolish to beg of the boy to stop. nothing could halt them once they had started upon the icy incline. but her cry warned isadore of the peril ahead. he echoed her cry, and was as panic-stricken as the girl herself. at first, the thing looked like somebody lying across the slide. had one of their friends fallen off either of the other toboggans, and been too hurt to rise? then, the next instant, both isadore and ruth knew that the thing was too small for that. it was really a jacket that bob steele had tied about his neck by the arms. on the way down the sleeves had become untied and the jacket had spread itself out upon the slide to its full breadth. it didn't seem as though such a thing could do the coming toboggan any harm; but ruth and isadore phelps knew well that if it went upon the outspread coat there would be a spill. it would act like a brake to the sled, and that frail vehicle on which the three young folk rode would stop so abruptly that they would be flung off upon the icy course. ruth at least understood this peril only too well; but she made no further outcry. jennie stone's eyes were still tight shut. one moment the outspread jacket lay far before them, across the path. the next instant--or so it seemed--they were right upon it. "hang on!" yelled isadore, and shot his boot-heel into the icy surface of the slide. the toboggan swerved. jennie uttered a cry. the sled went up the left hand dyke like a bolting horse climbing a roadside wall or a side hill. in ruth's ears rang the shouts of their friends, who were coming hastily up the hillside. they could do nothing to help the endangered crew, nor could the latter help themselves. up the toboggan shot into the air. it leaped the shoulder of the dyke and--crew and all--darted out into space. that was certainly an awful moment for ruth fielding and her two companions. jennie's intermittent squeal turned into a sudden shriek-as keen and nerve-racking as the whistle of a locomotive. isadore phelps "blew up" with a muffled roar as he turned half a somersault in the air and landed headfirst in a huge snowdrift. that is how the girls landed, too. at least, if they didn't dive headfirst into the drift, they were pretty well swallowed up in it. and it was providential that they all did find such a soft cushion when they landed. their individual shrieks were broken off suddenly by the smothering snow. their friends, on the other side of the slide, came plunging across the course, and bob steele, slipping on the smooth surface, kicked up both feet high in the air, landed with a crash on the small of his back, and finished the slide to the very bottom of the chute in that most undignified position. bob's accident turned the whole affair into a most ludicrous scene. tom cameron laughed so hard that he scarcely had the strength to help the girls out of the snowdrift. as for isadore, he had to scramble out by himself--and the soft snow had got down his neck, and he had lost his hat, his ears were full of snow, and altogether he was in what madge steele called "a state of mind." "huh!" izzy growled, "you all can laugh. wait! i'll get square with you girls, now, you better believe that." and he actually started off for the camp in a most abused state. the others could not help their laughter--the more so that what seemed for a few seconds to promise disaster had turned out to be nothing but a most amusing catastrophe. this ended the coasting for this particular evening, however. jennie stone was pried out of the snowdrift last of all, and they all went to the bottom of the hill where bob steele sat with his back against a tree trunk, waiting, as he said, for the "world to stop turning around so fast." his swift descent had made him dizzy. they all ran back to snow camp, catching up with isadore before he got there with his grouch, and tom and bob fell upon the grouch and dumped it into another snowbank--boy and all--and managed in the scuffle to bring busy izzy into a better state of mind. "just the same," he declared, "i'll get square with those girls for laughing at me--you see if i don't!" "a lot of good that'll do you," returned tom cameron. "and why shouldn't they laugh? do you suppose that the sight of you on your head in a snowbank with your legs waving in the wind was something to make them _weep_? huh!" but when they got inside the big hall, where the two fires burned, izzy forgot his grouch. there was a basket of popcorn and several "poppers" and the crowd of young folk were soon shelling corn and popping it, turning the fluffy, snow-white kernels into big bowls, over which thick cream was poured, and, as jennie declared, "they ate till they couldn't eat another crumb!" "isn't it just grand?" cried belle tingley, when the girls had retired to the big room in which ruth fielding had slept alone the night before. "i never did know you could have so much fun in the woods in the dead of winter. helen! your father is just the dearest man to bring us up here! we'll none of us forget this vacation." but in the morning there were new things to go and learn. the resources of snow camp seemed unending. as soon as breakfast was over there was long jerry ready with snowshoes for all. tom and helen, as well as bob steele, were somewhat familiar with these implements. and ruth had had one unforgettable experience with them. but at first there were a good many tumbles, and none of the party went far from the big lodge on this occasion. they came into the mid-day dinner pretty well tired, but oh, how hungry! "i declare, eating never seemed so good before," bob steele murmured. "i really wish i could eat more; but room i have not!" heavy went to sleep before the fire directly after the meal, but was awakened when the girls all trooped out to the kitchen to make molasses taffy. the boys had gone with long jerry to try to shoot squirrels; but they came back without having any luck before the girls were fairly in possession of janey's kitchen. "let us help--aw, do!" cried tom, smelling the molasses boiling on the range and leading the way into the kitchen. "you can't cook anything good to eat when there are boys within a mile, and they not know it," sighed jennie stone. "or be able to keep them out of it," declared madge steele. "i suppose we shall have to let them hang around, helen." "i tell you!" cried helen, who never would go back upon her twin, and who liked to have him around, "we'll make some nut candy. there's nuts--half a bushel of them. the boys must crack and pick the nuts and we'll make some walnut taffy--it will be lots nicer than plain taffy." "oh, well, that _does_ put another face upon the matter," laughed lluella fairfax. "but they must all three whistle while they're picking out the nuts," cried heavy. "i know them! the nut meats will never go into the taffy pan if they don't whistle." tom and his chums agreed to this and in a few minutes they were all three sitting gravely on the big settee by the fire, a flatiron in each boy's lap, each with a hammer and the basket of nuts in reach, and all dolefully whistling--with as much discord as possible. the whistling did certainly try the girls' nerves; but the boys were not to be trusted under any other conditions. busy izzy, however--that arch schemer--had not forgiven the girls for laughing at his overset on the toboggan slide the night before. and as he sat whistling "good night, ladies" in a dreadful minor, he evolved such a plan for reprisal in his fertile mind that his eyes began to snap and he could hardly whistle for the grin that wreathed his lips. "keep at it, mr. isadore phelps!" cried ruth, first to detect izzy's defection. "we're watching you." "come! aren't we going to have a chance to eat a single kernel?" izzy growled. "not one," said helen, stoutly. "after you have the nuts cracked and picked out, we'll spread the kernels in the dripping pans, the taffy will then be ready, we'll pour it over, and then set the candy out to cool in the snow. after that we'll give you some--if you're good." "huh!" grunted isadore. "i guess i know a trick worth two of that. we'll get our share, fellows," and he winked at tom and bob. chapter xiii shells and kernels the three boys stuck to their work, with only a whisper or two, until there was a great bowl of nutmeats, and ruth pronounced the quantity sufficient. meanwhile, the taffy was boiling in the big kettle, and ruth and jennie had buttered three dripping pans. they spread the nutmeats evenly in the pans and then set the pans carefully on a snowdrift outside the back door to get thoroughly cold before the taffy was poured thinly over the nuts. everybody was on the _qui vive_ about the candy then. the girls couldn't drive the boys out of the room. the bubbling molasses filled the great kitchen with a rich odor. jennie began popping corn with which to make cornballs of the taffy that could not be run into the three pans of nuts. isadore phelps disappeared for possibly three minutes--no longer; and the girls never missed him. at last the candy could be "spun" and ruth pronounced it ready to pour into the pans outside. isadora said he would help--the kettle was too heavy for the girls to carry. he was adjured to be very, very careful and the girls followed him to the door in a body when he carried out the steaming couldron. "do pour it carefully, izzy!" cried helen. "if that boy spoils it, i'll never forgive him," sighed heavy. ruth ran out after him. but isadore took great care in pouring the mixture into the pans as he had been instructed, and even she had no complaint to make. he hurried back to the kitchen, too, poured the residue of the boiled molasses upon the popcorn and they made up the cornballs at once. "come on, now," said izzy, in a great hurry. "give us fellows our share of the cornballs and we'll beat it. we're going skating. we'll help you eat your old candy when we come back. "maybe it will be all gone by that time," said heavy, slily. "i wish you joy of it, then, miss smartie," returned isadore, chuckling. "come on, fellows." they seized their skates and ran away. isadore could hardly talk for laughter; and he carried a good sized paper bag besides his share of the popcorn balls. the girls "cleaned up"--for that had been the agreement with janey when she let them have her kitchen--and then sat down before the hall fire to make pine pillows, of which they were determined to take a number to briarwood to give to their friends. helen had bought a lot of denim covers stamped and lettered with mottoes, including the ever-favorite "i pine for thee and likewise balsam." but although they were very merry around the fire, heavy could not long be content. the popcorn balls disappeared like magic and the stout girl kept worrying the others with questions about the taffy. "don't you suppose that candy's cool? i declare! those boys might play a joke on us--they might creep back and steal all three pans." "dear me, jennie!" cried ruth fielding. "if you are so anxious, why don't you run and bring a pan in? we'll see if it's brittle enough to break up." heavy sighed, but put down her work and arose. "it's always i who has to do the work," she complained. "bring the pan in here and break the candy," advised madge steele. "we'll have to watch you." heavy came back with one of the candy pans in short order, bringing a hammer, too, with which to crack the brittle taffy. "come! we'll see how it tastes; and if it's good enough," she added, smiling broadly, "we won't let the boys have even a little bit. they were mean enough to go off skating without us." she cracked up a part of the candy, passed the pan around quickly, and popped a piece into her own mouth. in a moment she spat the candy into the fire, with a shriek, and put her hand to her jaw. "oh! oh! oh!" she cried. "what's the matter with you, heavy?" demanded helen, startled. "oh, i've broken a tooth i believe. oh!" "why were you so greedy?" began madge, sedately. and then, suddenly, she stopped chewing the bit of candy she had taken into her mouth, and a sudden flush overspread her face. "why, here's a piece of nutshell!" cried lluella. "how careless those boys were!" helen added. "they got some of the shells in with the meat." "we should have expected it," belle cried. "they never should have been trusted to crack the nuts." "oh, girls!" gasped ruth, who had quickly examined the candy in the pan. her voice was tragic, and the others looked at her (all but madge) in surprise. "what have those horrid boys done?" demanded jennie stone. "they've spoiled it all!" ruth cried. "there's nothing but shells in the candy. they've ruined it!" "oh! oh! oh!" shrieked heavy again. "it can't be true!" "it can be, for it is!" said madge steele, decidedly. "those mean boys! i certainly will fix bob for that." "and tom!" cried helen, almost in tears. "how could he be so mean?" "i don't believe tom did it, helen," said ruth, slowly. "he was just as bad as the others, i venture to say," madge said, sharply. "if he is, i won't speak to him for a month!" cried his twin sister. "we won't have anything more to do with them while we are here--there now! oh, how mean!" "maybe it's only one pan that is this way," suggested heavy, timidly. they all ran out to see. the other pans were just like the first one. the nut meats had been removed and shells scattered in the pans instead. no wonder isadore phelps had wanted to pour the molasses taffy! "and they've got all the meats," said belle tingley. "they are eating them and chuckling over the trick right now, i wager." "it's a mean, mean trick!" gasped helen, in a temper. "i never will forgive tom. and i just hate those other boys." "you're welcome to hate bobbie," said madge. "he deserves it." "_such_ a contemptible joke!" groaned belle. "let's make some more," ruth suggested. "and we won't give them any." "no. i don't want to go all through it again," helen said, shaking her head. at that moment the telephone rang. ruth was nearest and she jumped up and answered the call. at the other end of the wire an excited female voice demanded: "is this snow camp?" "yes," replied ruth, "it is." "mr. cameron's camp?" "yes. but he is not in the house just now." "aren't any of your men-folks there?" queried the excited voice. "i guess most of the men are drawing in logs for the fires," said ruth. "what is the matter?" "i want to warn you all to look out for the panther. it is supposed to be coming your way--towards snow camp. the beast has just killed a pig for us, and was frightened away. it's done other damage to-day among the neighbors' cattle. do you hear me?" "oh, i hear you!" cried ruth, and then held her hand over the mouthpiece and spoke to the other girls: "that panther--that catamount!" she cried. "it is supposed to be coming this way. where is your father, helen? and long jerry todd?" chapter xiv a telephone chase the excited screaming of the other girls brought mrs. murchiston to the hall in a hurry. when she heard what had caused the excitement she called the maids, intending to send one of them for mr. cameron. but just then the woman--a farmer's wife along the road--began talking to ruth again, and the maids learned from her answers into the 'phone the cause of the excitement. go out into the open when the catamount might be within a couple of miles of the lodge? no, indeed! mary threw her apron over her head and sank down on the floor, threatening hysterics. janey was scared both dumb and motionless. these women who had lived all their lives in towns, or near towns, were not fit to cope with the startling incidents of the backwoods. the woman on the wire explained to ruth that she was telephoning all along the line toward scarboro, warning each farmer of the big cat's approach. "but if it keeps on in the same direction it was going when we saw it last, the creature will strike snow camp first," declared the excited lady. "you must get your men out with guns and dogs to stop the beast if you can. it's mad with hunger and it will do some dreadful damage if it is not killed." ruth repeated this to her friends, and asked mrs. murchiston what they should do. "if the baste comes here," cried mary, the maid, "he can jump right into these low winders. we'll be clawed to pieces." "there are heavy shutters for these windows," mrs. murchiston said, faintly. "but they are to heavy for us to handle--and i suppose they are stored in one of the outbuildings, anyway." "why, i wouldn't go out of doors for a fortune!" cried lluella fairfax. "but the creature isn't here yet," ruth said, doubtfully. "how do you know how fast he's traveling?" returned helen, quickly. "but think of the boys down there skating," said her chum. "oh, oh!" gasped jennie. "if that panther eats them up they'll be more than well paid for spoiling our taffy." "hush, jennie!" commanded madge. "this is no time for joking. how are we going to warn them--and the men in the woods?" "and father?" cried helen cameron. "oh, i wouldn't _dare_ go out!" gasped belle tingley. but ruth ran out into the big kitchen and opened the door. the outbuildings were not far away, but not a soul appeared about them. there seemed to be a brooding silence over the whole place. the men were so deep in the woods that she could not hear a sound from them; nor was the ring of skates on the pond apparent to her ear. "come back, ruth! come back!" begged her chum, who had followed her. "suppose that beast should be hiding near?" "i don't suppose he's within a mile of the camp," said ruth, her voice unshaken. "there are all the guns in the hall--even the little shotguns. i don't suppose the men have a gun with them, and of course the boys have not. and both parties should be warned. i'm going----" "oh, ruth! you're mad!" cried helen. "you mustn't go." "who'll go, then?" demanded her friend. "i guess we're all equally scared--mrs. murchiston and all." "nobody will go----" "i'm going!" declared ruth, firmly. "if the panther is coming from that woman's house--the woman who telephoned--then the pond is in the very opposite direction. i'll take tom's rifle and some cartridges." "but you don't know how to shoot!" cried helen. "we ought to know. it's a shame that girls don't learn to handle guns just like boys. i'm going to get long jerry todd to show me how." while she spoke she had run into the hall and caught up tom's light rifle. she knew where his ammunition was, too. and she secured half a dozen cartridges and put them into the magazine, having seen tom load the gun the day before. "you'll shoot yourself!" murmured helen. "i hope not," returned ruth, shaking her head. "but i hope i won't have a chance to shoot the panther. i don't want to see that awful beast again." "i don't see how you dare, ruth fielding!" cried helen. "huh! it isn't because i'm not afraid," admitted her chum. "but somebody must tell those boys, dear." ruth had already seized her coat and cap. she shrugged herself into the former, pulled the other down upon her ears, and catching up the loaded gun ran out of the kitchen just before mrs. murchiston, who had suddenly suspected what she was about, came to forbid the venture. ruth, however, was out of the house and winging her way down the cleared path toward the pond, before the governess could call to her. "oh, she will be killed, mrs. murchiston!" cried helen, in tears. "not likely," declared that lady. "but she should not have gone out without my permission." nor was ruth altogether as courageous as she appeared. she did not suppose that the huge cat that had so frightened her and the strange boy that mr. cameron had brought up from cheslow, was very near snow camp as yet. yet she glanced aside as she ran with expectation in her eyes, and when of a sudden something jumped in the bushes, she almost shrieked and ran the faster. there was a crash beside the path, the bushes parted, and a great, fawn-colored body leaped out into the path. "oh, reno!" ruth cried. "i never _was_ so frightened! you bad dog--i thought you were the cat-o'-mountain." but immediately she felt that her fear was gone. here was tom's faithful mastiff, whose tried courage she knew, and which she knew would not fail her if they came face to face with the panther. she hurried on, nevertheless, to the pond, to warn the boys; but to her surprise, as she approached the ice, she heard nothing of the truants. there was no ring of steel on the ice, nor were their voices audible. when ruth fielding reached the ice, the pond was deserted. "now what could have happened to them? where have they gone?" thought the girl. she hesitated, not alone staring about the open pond, but looking sharply on either side into the snow-mantled woods. reno remained by her and she had a hand upon his collar. should she shout? should she call for tom cameron and his mates? if she called, and the terrible cat was within earshot, it might be attracted to her by the sound. "baby!" she finally apostrophized herself. "i don't suppose that beast is anywhere near. here goes!" and she raised her clear voice in a lusty shout. there came, however, no reply. she shouted again and again, with a like result. "where under the sun could those boys have gone?" was her unspoken question. "could they have returned to the house by some other path?" but she did not believe this was so. rather, she was inclined to think tom and his comrades had gone farther than the pond. there was a good-sized stream through which the waters of this pond emptied into rolling river. that outlet was frozen over, too, and it would be just like the three boys to explore the frozen stream. ruth wished that she had brought her skates instead of the gun with her. she felt now that the boys should indeed be warned of the roaming panther, as they had gone so far from the lodge. here was reno, too. if she told the mastiff to find tom, he would doubtless do so. she could even send some written word to the boys by the dog--had she a pencil and paper. it would not be the first time that reno had played message-bearer. but the warn tom and his companions would not be all ruth had started out to do. tom was a good shot and a steady hand, she knew. with this loaded rifle in his hand the party might feel fit to meet the panther, if it so fell out. without any weapon even the noble mastiff might prove an insufficient protection. chapter xv the battle in the snow it was a fact that ruth was tempted to run back to the house, just as fast as she could go, and from there send reno out to find his young master. whether the dog could have traced tom on the ice, however, is a question, for ruth did not yield to this cowardly suggestion. she had come out with the gun to find the boys, and her hesitation at the edge of the pond was only momentary. she started down the pond toward the stream, seeing the scratches of the boys' skates leading in that direction. there could be no doubt as to where they had gone. ruth only wished that she had brought her skates when she ran so hastily from snow camp. not a sound reached her ears, save the sharp twitter of a sparrow now and then, the patter of reno's feet on the ice, and the rattle of the loaded rifle against the buttons of her sweater-coat. the forest that surrounded the pond seemed uninhabited. the axes of the woodsmen did not echo here, and the boys must indeed be a great way off, for she could distinguish no sound whatever from them. yet she had no doubt that she was following their trail--not even when she came down to the outlet of the pond. the strokes of the skates upon the ice were still visible. the three boys had certainly gone down the frozen stream. "come on, reno!" she exclaimed aloud, encouraging herself in her duty. "we'll find them yet. they certainly could not have gone clear to rolling river--that's ten miles away!" the stream was not ten yards across--nothing more than a creek. the woods and underbrush shut it in closely. there was not a mark in the snow on either hand of footsteps--not that ruth could see. and how heavy the afternoon silence was! ruth had recovered in a measure from the first fear she had felt of the marauding panther. the beast, had he traveled toward snow camp, was likely miles away from the spot. she had determined to go on and find tom and the others, more that they might be warned of peril on approaching snow camp, than for any other reason. and she did wish, now, that tom and the other boys would appear. she was more than a mile--quite two miles, indeed--from the lodge. "i guess mr. cameron will call me reckless again. he suggested that i was that when i followed fred hatfield--or whatever his name was-from the cars at emoryville. he'll surely scold me for this," thought ruth. she kept on down the stream, however, and at last began to shout for her boy friends. her clear voice rang from wall to wall of the forest; but it could not have been heard far into the snowy depths on either hand. suddenly reno growled a little, sniffed, and the hair upon his neck began to rise. "now, there's no use your doing that, boy," ruth declared, clutching the mastiff tight by the collar with her left hand, while she balanced the rifle in her right. "if you hear them, bark! tom will know it's you, then, and your bark will carry farther than my voice, i do believe." reno whined, and looked from side to side, sniffing the keen, still air. it seemed as though he scented danger, but did not know for sure from which direction it was coming. "you're scaring me, acting so, reno!" exclaimed ruth. "i wish you wouldn't. i can't help feeling that the panther is right behind me somewhere. oh!" the end of her soliloquy was a shriek. something flashed through the brush clump on her left hand. reno broke into a savage barking and sprang toward the bank. but ruth did not lose her grip on his collar, and her hand restrained him. "oh, tom! tom!" the girl cried. there was another movement in the bushes. it was between ruth and the way to the camp, had she been so foolish as to try to reach the house directly through the woods. but she did face up stream again, and had reno been willing to accompany her she would have run as hard as ever she could in that direction. "come, reno! come, good dog!" she gasped, tugging at his collar. "let it alone--we must go back----" reno uttered another savage growl and sprang upon the bank. the hard packed snow crunched under him. there sounded a scream from the brush --a sound that ruth knew well. the catamount was really at hand--there could be no mistaking that awful cry, once having heard it. the dog burst through the bushes with such a savage clamor that ruth was indeed terrified. she sprang after him, however, hoping to drag him back from any affray with the panther. what would tom cameron say if anything happened to his brave and beautiful reno? it was past the girl's power, however, to stay the mastiff. with angry barks he broke through the barrier and entered a small glade not a stone's throw from the bank of the stream. before ruth reached this cleared place she saw the tracks of the beast which had so startled her. there could be no mistaking the round impressions of the great, padded paws. unlike the print of the bear, or the dog, that of the cat shows no marks of claws unless it be springing at its prey. and now, when reno burst into the open, the panther uttered another fierce and blood-chilling scream. ruth noted the flash of the great, lithe body as the beast sprang into the air. startled for the moment by the on-rush and savage baying of the dog, the panther had leaped into a low-branching cedar. the tree shook to its very tip, and to the ends of its great limbs. there the panther crouched upon a limb, its eyes balefully glaring down upon the leaping, growling mastiff. as ruth remembered the creature from the time of her dreadful ride on the timber cart with the so-called fred hatfield, it displayed a temper and ferocity that was not to be mistaken. reno's sudden onslaught was all that had driven it to leap into the tree. but there it crouched, squalling and tearing the hard wood into splinters with its unsheathed claws. in a moment it would leap down upon the dog, and ruth was horror-stricken. "oh, reno! good dog!" she moaned. "come back! come back!" the mastiff would not obey and in a moment the huge cat sprang out of the tree directly upon tom cameron's faithful companion. reno was too sharp to be easily caught, however; he leaped aside and the sabre-like claws of the panther missed him. nor was the dog unwise enough to meet the panther face to face. he sprang in and bit the cat shrewdly, and then got away before the beast wheeled, yelling, to strike him. round and round in the snow they went, so fast that it was impossible for ruth to see which was dog and which was cat, their paws throwing up a cloud of snow-dust that almost hid the combatants. "ah!" cried ruth, aloud. "i've missed my chance, i should have tried to shoot the creature while it was in the tree." and that seemed true enough. for had she been the best of shots with the rifle, it looked now as though she was as likely to shoot reno as the panther whilst they battled in the snow. chapter xvi an appearance and a disappearance the dog's snapping barks and the squalling of the catamount stilled every other sound to ruth fielding's ears. she had fallen back to the edge of the clearing, and knew not what to do. she feared desperately for reno's safety; but for the moment did not know what she might do to help the faithful beast. she tripped upon a branch and fell to her knees, and the butt of the rifle which she had clung to, struck her sharply in the side. "oh! if i had only learned to use a gun!" gasped the distracted girl. "_could_ i shoot straight enough to do any good, if i tried? or would i kill the poor dog?" at the moment reno expressed something beside rage in his yelping. he sprang out of the cloud of snow-spray with an agonized cry, and ruth saw that there was blood upon his jaws, and a great gash high up on one shoulder. "oh! the poor fellow! poor reno!" gasped ruth fielding. "he will be killed by that hateful brute." spurred by this thought she did not rise from her knee, but threw the barrel of the gun forward. it chanced to rest in the crook of a branch--the very branch over which she had tripped the moment before. she drew the butt of the gun close to her shoulder; she drew back the hammer and tried to sight along the barrel. suddenly she saw the tawny side of the panther directly before her--seemingly it was at the end of the rifle barrel. the beast was crouching to leap. ruth did not know where reno then was; but she could hear him whimpering. the mastiff had been sorely hurt and the panther was about to finish him. and with this thought in her mind, ruth steadied the rifle as best she could and pulled the trigger. the sharp explosion and the shriek of the panther seemed simultaneous. through the little drift of smoke she saw the creature spring; but it did not spring far. one hind leg hung useless--there was a patch of crimson on the beaten snow--the huge cat, snarling and yowling, was going around and around, snapping at its own leg. but that flurry was past in a moment. the snow-dust subsided. ruth had sprung to her feet, dropping the rifle, delighted for the moment that she should have shot the panther. but she little knew the nature and courage of the beast. on three legs only the huge cat writhed across the clearing, having spied the girl; and now, with a fierce scream of anger, it crouched to spring upon ruth. she seemed devoted to the panther's revenge, for she was smitten with that terror which shackles voice and limb. "oh, reno! reno!" she whispered; but the sound did not pass her own lips. the dog was not in sight he lay somewhere in the bushes, licking his wounds. the fierce panther had bested him, and now crouched, ready to spring upon the helpless girl. with a snarl of pain and rage the beast leaped at her. its broken leg caused it to fall short by several yards, and the pain of the injured limb, when it landed, caused the catamount to howl again and tear up the snow in its agony. ruth could not run; she was rooted to the spot. she had bravely shot at the creature once. better had it been for her had she not used the rifle at all. she had only turned the wrath of the savage cat from reno to herself. and ruth realized that she was now its helpless quarry. she could neither fight nor run. she sank back into the snow and awaited the next leap of the panther. at this very moment of despair--when death seemed inevitable--there was a crash in the bushes behind her and a figure broke through and flung itself past her. a high, shrill, excited voice cried: "give me that gun! is it loaded?" ruth could not speak, but the questioner saw instantly that there were cartridges in the magazine of tom cameron's gun. he leaped upright and faced the crouching cat. the panther, with a fearful snarl, had to change the direction of its leap. it sprang into the air, all four paws spread and its terrible claws unsheathed. but its breast was displayed, too, to the new victim of its rage. bang! the rifle spat a yard of fire, which almost scorched the creature's breast. the impact of the bullet really drove the cat backward--or else the agony of its death throes turned the heavy body from its victim. it threw a back somersault and landed again in the snow, tearing it up for yards around, the crimson tide from its wounds spattering everything thereabout. "oh, it's dead!" cried ruth, with clasped hands, when suddenly the beast's limbs stiffened. "you've killed it!" then she had a chance to look at the person who had saved her. "fred hatfield!" she cried. "is it you? or, who _are_ you? for they all say fred hatfield is dead and buried." "it doesn't matter who i am, ruth fielding," said the strange lad, in no pleasant tone. "never mind. come and see mr. cameron. come to the camp. he will help you----" "i don't want his help," replied the boy. "i'll help myself--with _this_," and he tapped the barrel of the rifle. "but that belongs to tom----" "he'll have to lend it to me, then," declared the boy. "i tell you, i am not going to be bound by anybody. i'm free to do as i please. you can go back to that camp. there's nothing to hurt you now." at the moment ruth heard voices shouting from the frozen stream. the boys were skating back toward the pond, and had heard the rifle shots. "oh, wait till they come!" ruth cried. "no. i'm off--and don't any of you try to stop me," said the boy, threateningly. he slipped on the snowshoes which he had kicked off when he sprang for the rifle, and at once started away from the clearing. "don't go!" begged ruth. "oh, dear! wait! let me thank you." "i don't want your thanks. i hate the whole lot of you!" returned the boy, looking back over his shoulder. the next moment he had disappeared, and ruth was left alone. she made a detour of the spot where the dead panther lay and called to reno. the mastiff dragged himself from under a bush. he was badly cut up, but licked her hand when she knelt beside him. "hello! who's shooting over there?" cried tom cameron from the stream. "oh, tom! tom! come and help me!" replied ruth, and in half a minute the three boys, having kicked off their skates, were in the glade. "merciful goodness!" gasped bob steele. "see what a beast that is!" tom, with a cry of pain, dashed forward and fell beside ruth to examine the mastiff. "my poor dog!" he cried. "is he badly hurt? what's happened to him?" "did she shoot that panther?" demanded isadore phelps. "look at it, tom!" "reno isn't so badly hurt, tom," ruth declared. "i believe he has a broken leg and these cuts. he dashed right in and attacked the panther. what a brave dog he is!" "but he never killed the beast," said bob. "who did that?" "who was shooting here? where's the gun, ruth?" tom demanded, now giving some attention to the dead animal. ruth related the affair in a few words, while she helped tom bind up reno's wounds. the young master tore up his handkerchiefs to do duty as bandages for the wounded dog. "we'll carry him to camp--we can do it, easily enough, old man," said bob steele. "and what about the panther? don't we want his pelt?" cried isadore. "we'll send long jerry after that," tom said. "i wish that fellow hadn't run away with the rifle. but you couldn't help it, ruth." "he certainly is a bad boy," declared the girl. "yet--somehow--i am sorry for him. he must be all alone in these woods. something will happen to him." "never mind. we can forgive him, and hope that he'll pull through all right, after he saved you, ruthie," tom said. "come on, now, bobbins. lend a hand with the poor dog." tom had removed his coat and in that, for a blanket, they carried reno through the woods to the camp. it was a hard journey, for in places the snow had drifted and was quite soft. but in less than an hour they arrived at the lodge. the men had come in with the wood by that time, and mr. cameron with them. mrs. murchiston and the girls were greatly worried over ruth's absence and the absence, too, of the three boys. but the death of the catamount, and the safety of all, quickly put a better face upon the situation. ruth was praised a good bit for her bravery. and mr. cameron said: "there's something in that poor boy whom we tried to return to his friends--if the hatfields _are_ his friends. he does not lack courage, that is sure--courage of a certain kind, anyway. i must see to his business soon. i believe the hatfields live within twenty miles of this place, and in a day or two i will ride over and see them." "oh! let us all go, father," urged helen. "can't we go in the sleighs we came over in from scarboro?" "don't take them, sir," said mrs. murchiston. "i shan't feel safe for them again until we get out of these woods." "why, mis' murchiston," drawled long jerry, who had come into the hall with a great armful of wood, "there ain't a mite of danger now. that panther's killed--deader'n last thanksgivin's turkey. there may not be another around here for half a score of years." "but they say there are bears in the woods," cried the governess. "aw, shucks!" returned the woodsman. "what's a b'ar? b'ar's is us'ally as skeery as rabbits, unless they are mighty hungry. and ye don't often meet a hungry bear this time o' year. they are mostly housed up for the winter in some warm hole." "but what would these girls do if they met a bear, mr. todd?" asked mr. cameron, laughing. "why, this here leetle ruth fielding gal, _she'd_ have pluck enough to shoot him, i reckon," chuckled long jerry. "and she wouldn't be the first girl that's shot a full growed b'ar right in this neighborhood." "i thought you said there wasn't any around here, jerry?" cried helen. "this happened some time ago, miss," returned the woodsman. "and it happened right over yon at bill bennett's farm--not four mile from here. sally bennett was a plucky one, now i tell ye. and pretty--wal, i was a jedge of female loveliness in them days," went on long jerry, with a sly grin. "ye see, i was lookin' 'em all over, tryin' to make up my mind which one of the gals i should pick for my partner through life. and sally was about the best of the bunch." "why didn't you pick her then?" asked tom. "she got in her hand pickin' first," chuckled jerry. "and she picked a feller from town. fac' is, i was so long a-pickin' that i never got nary wife at all, so have lived all my life an old bachelder." "but let's hear about sally and the bear," proposed ruth, eagerly, knowing what a resourceful story-teller long jerry was. "come jerry, sit down and let's have it," agreed mr. cameron, and the party of young folk drew up chairs, before the fire. long jerry squatted down in his usual manner on the hearth, and the story was begun. chapter xvii long jerry's story "ol' man bennett," began jerry todd, "warn't a native of this neck o' woods. he come up from jarsey, or some such place, and bringed his fam'bly with him, and sally bennett. she was his sister, and as he was a pretty upstandin' man, so was she a tall, well-built gal. she sartain made a hit up here around scarboro and along rollin' river. "but she wasn't backwoods bred, and the other girls said she was timid and afraid of her shadder," chuckled long jerry. "she warn't afraid of the boys, and mebbe that's why the other gals said sharp things about her," pursued the philosophical backwoodsman. "you misses know more about that than i do--sure! "howsomever, come the second spring the bennetts had been up here, mis' bennett, old bill's wife, was called down to see her ma, that was sick, they said, and that left miss sally to keep house. come the first saturday thereafter and bennett, _he_ had to go to scarboro to mill. "you know jest how lonesome it is up here now; 'twas a whole sight wuss in them days. there warn't no telephone, and it was more than 'two hoots and a holler,' as the feller said, betwixt neighbors. "but old bill's going to mill left only miss sally and the three little boys at home. bennett had cleared a piece around the house, scratched him a few hills of corn betwixt the stumps the year before, and this spring was tryin' to tear out the roots and small stumps with a pair o' steers and a tam-harrer. "so, from the door of the cabin he'd built, sally could see the virgin forest all about her, while she was a-movin' about the room getting dinner for the young 'uns. while she was at work the littlest feller, johnny, who was building a cobhouse on the floor, yelps up like a terrier: "'aunt sally! aunt sally! looker that big dog!" "miss sally, she turns around, an' what does she see but a big brown bear--oh, a whackin' big feller!--with his very nose at the open door." "oh!" squealed helen. "how awful!" cried belle tingley. "a mighty onexpected visitor," chuckled jerry. "but, if she was scar't, she warn't plumb stunned in her tracks--no, sir! she gave a leap for the door and she swung it shut right against mr. b'ar's nose. and then she barred it." "brave girl," said mrs. murchiston. "i reckon so, ma'am," agreed the guide. "and then she remembered that tom and charlie, the other two boys, were gone down the hill to a spring for a bucket of fresh water. "there were two doors to the cabin, directly opposite each other, and they'd both been open. the spring was reached from the other door and miss sally flew to it and saw the boys just comin' up the hill. "'run, boys, run!' she screams. 'never mind the water! drop it and run! there's a b'ar in the yard! run! run!' "and them boys _did_ run, but they held fast to their bucket and brought most of the water inter the house with 'em. then miss sally barred that door, too, and they all went to the winder and peeped out. there was mister b'ar snoopin' about the yard, and lookin' almost as big as one of the steers. "he went a-sniffin' about the yard, smellin' of everything like b'ars do when they're forragin', s'archin' for somethin' ter tempt his appetite. suddenly he stood stock still, raised his big head, and sniffed the air keen-like. then he growled and went straight for the pig-pen. "'oh, the pigs! the pigs!' squealed one of the boys. 'the nice pigs! he'll eat 'em all up!' "and there was a good reason for their takin' on," said jerry, "for their next winter's meat was in that pen--a sow and five plump little porkers. "'oh, aunty sally,' cries one of the bigger boys, 'what shall we do? what'll father say when he comes back and finds the pigs killed?' "ye see," continued long jerry, shaking his head, "it was a tragedy to them. you folks livin' in town don't understand what it means for a farmer to lose his pigs. old bennett warn't no hunter, and wild meat ain't like hog-meat, anyway. if the b'ar got those porkers them young 'uns would go mighty hungry the next winter. "miss sally, she knew that, all right, and when the boy says: 'what shall we do?' she made up her mind pretty quick that she'd got to _try_ ter do sumpin'--yes, sir-ree! she run for her brother's rifle that hung over the other door. "'i'm goin' to try and shoot that b'ar, boys,' says she, jest as firm as she could speak. "'oh, aunt sally! you can't,' says tom, the oldest. "'i don't know whether i can or not till i try,' says she. she felt like miss ruthie did--eh?" and the long guide chuckled. "no tellin' whether you kin do a thing, or not, till you have a whack at it. "'don't you try it, aunt sally,' says charlie. 'he might kill you.' "'i won't give him a chance at me,' says she. 'now boys, let me out and mind jest what i say. if anything _does_ happen to me, don't you dars't come out, but go in and bar the door again, and stay till your father comes back. now, promise me!' "she made 'em promise before she ventured out of the door, and then she left 'em at the open door, jest about breathless with suspense and terror, while miss sally sped across the yard toward the pig-pen. mister ba'r, he'd torn down some of the pine slabs at one corner and got into the pen. the old sow was singin' out like all kildee, and the little fellers was a-squealin' to the top o' their bent. the b'ar smacked one o' the juicy little fellers and begun to lunch off'n him jest as miss sally come to the other end o' the pen. "his back was towards her and he didn't notice nothin' but his pork vittles," pursued long jerry. "she crept up beside him, poked the barrel of the winchester through the bars of the pen, rested it on one bar, and pulled the trigger. the ball went clear through the old feller's head! "but it takes more'n one lucky shot to kill a full grown brown b'ar," jerry said, shaking his head. "he turned like a flash, and with a horrid roar, made at her, dropping the pig. his huge carcass smashing against the pen fence, snapped a white-oak post right off at the ground, and felled two lengths of the fence. "but miss sally didn't give up. she backed away, but she kept shootin' until she had put three more balls into his big carcass. he sprung through the broke-down fence to get at her; but jest as he got outside, the blood spouted out of his mouth, and he fell down, coughing and dying. 'twas all over in ten seconds, then." "my goodness!" gasped jennie stone. "how dreadful." "but wasn't she a brave girl?" cried helen. "not a bit braver than ruthie," said her twin, stoutly. "i could almost forgive you for spoiling our taffy after that, master tom," declared helen. "is that all the story, mr. todd?" she added, as the long guide rose up to go. "pretty near all, i reckon, missy," he returned. "nobody didn't never say sally bennett was afraid, after she'd saved bill's meat for him. and that ol' b'ar pelt was a coverin' on her bed till she was married, i reckon. but things like that don't happen around here now-a-days. b'ars ain't so common--and mebbe gals ain't so brave," and he went away, chuckling. chapter xviii "the amazon march" there had been no open battle between the girls and the boys over the spoiled taffy; but that night, when the six friends from briarwood hall retired to their big sleeping room, they seriously discussed what course they should take with the three scamps who had played them so mean a trick; for even helen admitted that one boy was probably as guilty as another. "and that isadore phelps had the cheek to ask me how i liked the taffy!" exclaimed heavy. "i could have shaken him!" "the panther scare spoiled their 'gloat' over us, that's a fact," said madge steele. "but i intimated to that brother of mine that i proposed to see the matter squared up before we left snow camp." "i'd like to know how we'll get the best of them?" complained lluella. "that's so! mrs. murchiston won't let us have any freedom," said belle. "she's on the watch." "i expect she would object if we tried anything very 'brash,'" said heavy. "we have got to be sly about it." "i do not know how much at fault tom and mr. steele are," said ruth, quietly. "but so much has happened since they spoiled the candy, that i had all but forgotten the trick." "there now! ruth will forgive, of course," said helen, sharply. "but i won't. they ought to be paid back." "wouldn't it be best to just cut them right out of our good times?" suggested belle. "but won't that cut us out of their good times?" urged heavy. "and boys always do think up better fun than girls." "i never would admit it!" cried madge. "you always have been a regular tom-boy, jennie," said lluella. "you ought to be ashamed to say such a thing, miss stone," added belle. "well, don't they?" demanded the unabashed stout girl. "then it's because we girls don't put ourselves out to think up new and nice things to do," proclaimed madge steele. "perhaps girls are not as naturally inventive as boys," suggested ruth, timidly. "i won't admit it!" cried madge. "at least," said the girl from the red mill, "we don't want to do anything mean to them just because they were mean to us." "why not?" demanded belle, in wonder. "that wouldn't be nice--nor any fun," declared ruth, firmly. "a joke--yes." "do you call it a joke on us--spoiling our taffy and stealing the nutmeats?" wailed heavy. "what else was it? it was a joke to them. there was a sting to it for us. we must pay them back in like manner, but without being mean bout it." "well now!" cried helen. "i'd like to see you do it, ruth." "perhaps we can think of a plan," said ruth, gaily. "i for one shall not lose any sleep over it. but if you want to pay them off by showing how much we disapprove of their actions, and have nothing to do with their schemes to-morrow, i will agree." "we'll begin that way," said madge steele, promptly. "treat them in a dignified manner and refuse to join in any games with them. that is what we _can_ do." "oh, well," sighed the irrepressible heavy. "we're bound to have a dreadfully slow day, then. good-night!" it began by being a gray day, too. the sun hidden and the wind sighed mournfully in the pines. long jerry cocked his head knowingly and said: "it's borne in on me, youngsters, that you'll see a bit of hard weather before the new year--that it do." "a snowstorm, jerry?" queried helen cameron, clapping her hands. "oh, goody!" "dunno about it's being so everlastin' good," returned the guide. "you never see a big snow up in these woods; did ye?" "no, jerry; but i want to. don't you ruth?" "i love the snow," admitted ruth fielding. "but perhaps a snowstorm in the wilderness is different from a storm in more civilized communities." "and you're a good guesser," grunted long jerry. "anyhow, unless i'm much mistook, you'll have means of knowin' afore long." "then," said helen, to ruth, "we must get the balsam to-day for our pillows. it won't snow yet awhile, will it, jerry?" "may not snow at all to-day," replied the guide. "this weather we've had for some days has been storm-breeding, and it's been long comin'. it won't be soon past, i reckon." this conversation occurred right after breakfast. the boys had seen by the way the girls acted that there was "something in the wind." the girls ignored tom, bob and isadore as they chatted at the breakfast table, and at once they went about their own small affairs, leaving the boys by themselves. tom and his mates discussed some plan for a few minutes and then tom sang out: "who'll go sliding? there's a big bob-sled in the barn and we fixed it up yesterday morning. it will hold the whole crowd. how long will it take you girls to get ready?" helen turned her back on him. ruth looked doubtful, and flushed; but madge steele exclaimed: "you can go sliding alone, little boy. we certainly sha'n't accompany you." "aw, speak for yourself, miss," growled her brother. then bob turned deliberately to helen and asked: "will you go sliding, helen?" "no, sir!" snapped helen. "aw, let 'em alone, bob," said isadore. "who wants 'em, anyway?" jennie stone would have replied, only belle and lluella shook her. it took two girls to shake heavy satisfactorily. and the entire six ignored the three boys, who went off growling among themselves. "just for a little old mess of candy," snorted isadore, who was the last to leave the house. "that's the way to treat them!" declared madge, tossing her head, when the boys had gone. "i don't know," said ruth slowly. "we might be glad to have them help us get the pine-needles." "i believe you are too soft-hearted, ruth fielding," declared belle tingley. "it's because she likes tom so well," said lluella, slily. "well, tom never did so mean a thing before yesterday," said tom's sister, sharply. "boys are all alike when they get together," said heavy. "it spoils 'em awfully to flock in crowds." "what does it do to girls?" demanded ruth, smiling. "gives them pluck," declared madge steele. "we've got to keep the boys down--that's the only way to manage them." "my, my!" chuckled jennie stone, the stout girl. "madge is going to be a regular suffragette; isn't she?" "well, i guess girls can flock by themselves and have just as good times without their brothers, as with them." but ruth and helen looked more than doubtful at this point. they knew that tom cameron, at least, had been a loyal friend and mate on many a day of pleasure. they couldn't bear to hear him abused. but the girls felt that they really had reason for showing the boys they were offended. soon after the departure of tom and his friends the girls started out with bags to gather the balsam for the pillows. on the back porch they sat down to put on the snowshoes which, by this time, they were all able to use with some proficiency. the three boys, snowballing behind the barn, espied them. "hullo!" bawled busy izzy. "here come the amazons. they're going on their own hook now--haven't any use for boys at all." he threw a snowball; but tom tripped him into a bank of snow and spoiled his aim. "none o' that, izzy!" he commanded. "let 'em alone," growled bob steele. "if they want to flock by themselves, who cares?" "not i!" declared izzy. "look at the amazon march. my, my! if they should see a squirrel, or a rabbit, they'd come running back in a hurry. they'd think it was another panther. oh, my!" but the girls paid no attention to his gibes and shuffled on into the woods. helen suddenly saw a snow flake upon her jacket sleeve. she called ruth's attention to it. "maybe the snow will come quicker than long jerry thought," declared the girl from the red mill. "see! there's another." "oh, pshaw! what's a little snow?" scoffed belle tingley. but the flakes came faster and faster. great feathery flakes they were at first. the girls went on, laughing and chatting, with never a thought that harm could befall them through the gathering of these fleecy droppings from the lowering clouds. chapter xix besieged by the storm king tom cameron and his two friends were so busy setting up a target and throwing iced snow-balls at it, that they barely noticed the first big flakes of the storm. but by and by these flakes passed and then a wind of deadly chill swept down upon the camp and with it fine pellets of snow--not larger than pin-points--but which blinded one and hid all objects within ten feet. "come on!" roared bob. "this is no fun. let's beat it to the house." "oh, it can't last long this way," said isadore phelps. "my goodness! did you ever see it snow harder in your life?" "that i never did," admitted tom. "i wonder if the girls have come back?" "if they haven't," said bob, "they'd better wait where they are until this flurry is over." "i hope they have returned," muttered tom, as they made their way toward the rear of snow camp. the snow came faster and faster, and thicker and thicker. bob bumped square into the side of one of the out-sheds, and roared because he found blood flowing from his nose. "what do you say about this?" he bellowed. "how do we know we're going right?" "here!" cried isadore. "where are you fellows? i don't want to get lost in the back yard." tom found him (he had already seized the half-blinded bob by the arm) and the three, arm in arm, made their way cautiously to the kitchen porch. they burst in on janey and mary with a whoop. "have the girls got back?" cried tom, eagerly. "i couldn't tell ye, master tom," said mary. "but if they haven't come in, by the looks of you boys, they'd better." tom did not stop to remove the snow, but rushed into the great central hall which was used as a general sitting room. "where's helen--and ruth--and the rest of them?" he demanded. "why, thomas! you're all over snow," said mr. cameron, comfortably reading his paper before the fire, in smoking jacket and slippers. "is it snowing?" queried mrs. murchiston, from the warmest nook beside the hearth. "aren't the girls out with you, tom?" "what's the matter, my son?" demanded his father, getting up quickly. "what has happened?" "i don't know that anything has happened," said tom, swallowing a big lump in his throat, and trying to speak calmly. "the girls have not been with us. they went into the woods somewhere to get stuff for their pillows. and it is snowing harder than i ever knew it to snow before." "oh, tom!" gasped the governess. "come! we'll go out and see about this at once," cried his father, and began to get into his out-of-door clothing, including a pair of great boots. "is it snowing very hard, tom?" queried the lady, anxiously. "what makes you look so?" for tom was scared--and he showed it. he turned short around without answering mrs. murchiston again, and led the way to the kitchen. the other boys had shaken off the snow and were hovering over the range for warmth. "found 'em all right; didn't you?" demanded bob steele. "no. they haven't come in," said tom, shortly, and immediately bob began pulling on his coat again. "oh, pshaw!" said isadore. "they'll be all right." "where are jerry and the others?" mr. cameron asked the maids. "sure, sir," said mary, who was peering wonderingly out of the window at the thick cloud of snow sweeping across the pane, "sure, sir, jerry and the min went down in the swamp to draw up some back-logs. and it's my opinion they'd better be in out of this storm." "i agree with you, mary," returned mr. cameron, grimly, as he opened the door and saw for the first time just what they had to face. "but perhaps they'll pick up the girls on their way home. trust those woodsmen for finding their way." tom and bob followed him out of the house. they faced a wall of falling snow so thick that every object beyond arm's length from them was blotted out. "merciful heavens!" groaned mr. cameron. "your sister and the girls will never find their way through this smother." "nor the men, either," said tom, shortly. "oh, i say!" exclaimed bob, "it can't snow like this for long; can it?" "we have never seen a right good snowstorm in the woods," quoth mr. cameron. "from what the men tell me, this is likely to continue for hours. i am dreadfully worried about the girls--" "what's that?" cried tom, interrupting him. a muffled shout sounded through the driving snow. in chorus mr. cameron and the two boys raised their own voices in an answering shout. "they're coming!" cried bob. "it is long jerry todd and the men--hear the harness rattling?" returned tom, and he started down the steps in the direction of the stables. "wait! we'll keep together," commanded mr. cameron. "i hope they have brought the girls with them." "oh, but the girls didn't go toward the swamp," returned his son. "they started due north." "shout again!" commanded mr. cameron, and the two parties kept shouting back and forth until they met not far beyond the outbuildings belonging to the lodge. the great pair of draught horses were ploughing through the drifts and the three men were whooping loudly beside them. "dangerous work this, for you, sir," cried long jerry. "you'd all better remained indoors. it's come a whole lot quicker than i expected. we're in for a teaser, mr. cameron. couldn't scarce make out the path through the woods." "have you seen the girls, jerry?" cried tom cameron. "bless us!" gasped the tall guide. "you don't mean that any of them gals is out of bounds?" "all six of them went into the woods--toward the north--about two hours ago. they went on snowshoes," said tom. the three woodsmen said never a word, but standing there in the driving snow, at the heads of the horses, they looked at each other for some moments. "well," said jerry, at last, and without commenting further on tom's statement; "we'd best put up the horses and then see what's to be done." "to the north, tom?" said his father, brokenly. "are you sure?" "yes, sir. i am sure of it." "is there any house in that direction--within reasonable distance, jerry?" asked the gentleman. "god bless us, sir!" gasped the guide. "i don't know of one betwixt here and the canadian line. the wind is coming now from the northwest. if they are trying to get back to the camp they'll be drifted towards the southeast and miss us altogether." "don't say that, jerry!" gasped tom. "we _must_ find them. why, if this keeps up for an hour they'll be buried in the drifts." "pray heaven it hold's off soon," groaned his father. the men could offer them no comfort. being old woodsmen themselves, they knew pretty well what the storm foreboded. a veritable blizzard had swept down from the lakes and the whole country might be shrouded for three or four days. meanwhile, as long as the snow kept falling, it would be utterly reckless to make search for those lost in the snow. jerry and his mates said nothing more at the time, however. they all made their way to the stables, kicked the drift away from the door, and got the horses into their stalls. they all went inside out of the storm and closed the doors against the driving snow. in five minutes, when the animals were made secure and fed, and they tried to open the doors again, the wind had heaped the snow to such a height against them that they could not get out. fortunately there was a small door at the other end of the barn, and by this they all got out and made their way speedily across the clearing to the house--long jerry leading the way. tom and bob realized that they might easily have become lost in that short distance had they been left to their own resources. mr. cameron was very pale and his lips trembled when he stood before the three woodsmen in the lodge kitchen. "you mean that to try to seek for the girls now is impossible, jerry?" he asked. "what do you think about it yourself, sir?" returned the guide. "you have been out in it." "i--i don't expect you to attempt what i cannot do myself--" "if mortal man could live in it, we'd make the attempt without ye, sir," declared long jerry, warmly. "but neither dogs nor men could find their way in this smother it looks like it had set in for a big blizzard. you don't know jest what that means up here in the backwoods. logging camps will be snowed under and mules, horses and oxen will have to be shot to save them from starvation. the hunting will be mighty poor next fall, for the deer and other varmints will starve to death, too. "if poor people in the woods don't starve after this storm, it will be lucky. why, the last big one we had the octohac company had a gang of fifty men shoveling out a road for twenty miles so as to get tote teams through with provisions for their camp. and then men had to drag the tote teams instead of horses, the critters were so near starved. ain't that so, ben?" "surest thing you know," agreed one of the other hands. "i remember that time well. i was working for the goodwin & manse company. there was nigh a hundred of us on snow-shoes that dragged fodder from the farmers along rolling river to feed our stock on, and we didn't get out enough logs that winter to pay the company for keeping the camp open." "that's the way on it, mr. cameron," said long jerry. "we got to sit down and wait for a hold-up. nothing else to do. you kin try telephoning up and down the line to see if the girls changed their route and got to any house." but when mr. cameron tried to use the 'phone he found that already there was a break somewhere on the line. he could get no reply. they were besieged by the storm king, and he proved to be a most pitiless enemy. the drifting snow rose higher and higher about the lodge every hour. the day dragged on its weary length into night, and still the wind blew and the snow sifted down, until even the top panes of the first floor windows were buried beneath the white mantle. chapter xx the snow shroud it was rather difficult to find trees with the new and fragrant leaves started, at this time of year; therefore ruth and her companions went rather farther from snow camp than they had at first intended. but the warning flakes of snow served in no manner to startle them. the snow had been floating down, and whitening their clothing and adorning the trees with a beautiful icing, for more than half an hour, before anybody gave the coming storm a serious thought. "perhaps we'd better go back and not get any stuffing for the pillows to-day, helen," said ruth, doubtfully. "see yonder! isn't that more snow coming?" "bah!" exclaimed lluella, interrupting, "what's a little snow?" "cautious ruthie is usually right," said madge steele, frankly. "let's go back." "but we've scarcely got anything in the bags yet!" wailed jennie stone. "all this walk on these clumsy old snowshoes for nothing?" "well, we'll just go as far as that grove of small trees that we found the other day, and no farther," said helen, who naturally-being hostess--had her "say" about it. as yet there was no real sign of danger. at least, in the woods the girls had no means of apprehending the approach of the shroud of thick snow that was sweeping out of the northwest. they could not see far about them through the aisles of the wood. laughing and joking, the jolly party reached the spot of which helen had spoken. they set to work there in good earnest to fill their bags with the pungent new growth of the trees, whose bending branches were easily within their reach. "how this soft snow does clog the snow-shoes," complained belle tingley, removing the racquettes to knock them free. "but the flakes are smaller now," said ruth. "see, girls! it's coming faster and finer. i believe we shall have to hurry back, helen." "ruth is right," added madge steele, who, as the oldest of the party, should have used her authority before this. "why! it's coming in a perfect sheet." "sheet!" repeated jennie stone, with scorn. "call it rather a blanket. and a thick one." "b-r-r-r! how cold it's grown!" cried lluella. "the wind is coming with the snow, girls," shouted helen. "come on! let's bustle along home. this place was never meant for us to be bivouacked in. why! we'll have long jerry todd, and the boys, and the dogs, and all hands out hunting for us. dear me! how the wind blows!" "i can't see, girls!" wailed belle. "wait for me! don't be mean!" "and don't forget little eva!" begged heavy, tramping on behind and carrying one of the bags. "i declare! i can't see ruth and helen." "don't get so far ahead, girls!" sang out madge steele, warningly. "we'll get separated from you." to their surprise ruth answered from their left hand--and not far away. "we're not ahead, girls," said ruth, quietly. "only the snow is falling so thickly that you can't see us. wait! let us all get together and make a fresh start. it wouldn't do to get separated in such a storm." "oh, this won't last--it can't snow so hard for long!" cried jennie. "but we can go on, clinging to each other's jacket-tails." the six had come together, and helen laughingly "counted noses." "though we mustn't even count 'em _hard_," she said, briskly rubbing her own, "or we'll break them off. isn't it cold?" "it's dreadful!" wailed lluella. "the wind cuts right through everything i've got on. i shall freeze if we stand here." "we won't stand here. we'll hurry on to the camp." "which way, girls?" demanded heavy. "i confess i have lost all the points of the compass--and i never did know them too well." "oh, i know the way back," said helen, stoutly. "don't you, ruth?" "i believe so," replied the girl from the red mill. but when they started, ruth was for one direction and helen for another. the fact that they did not all think alike frightened them, and madge called another halt. "this will never do," she said, earnestly. "why, we might be lost in such thick snow as this." "i can't walk any farther with this bag and on these old snow-shoes!" cried heavy. "say! let's get under shelter somewhere and wait for it to hold up--or until they come and dig us out." "we're a nice lot of 'babes in the woods'," sniffed belle. "i wish we'd let the boys come with us," said helen. "won't they have the laugh on us?" observed madge. "i don't care if they do," mourned lluella. "i wish they were here to help us home." "come, come!" said ruth, cheerfully. "we ought to be able to help ourselves. here is a big tree with drooping branches. let's get under it where the snow is not so deep. it may hold up in a little while, and then we can start fresh. come around here where the wind won't get at us." she led the way and the other girls crowded after her. the low-branched tree broke the force of the gale. ruth lifted the end of one sweeping branch and her friends all crawled beneath the shelter, and as she followed them heavy squealed: "oh, oh, oh! suppose there should be a bear under here?" "nonsense! suppose there should be a griffin--or a unicorn. don't be foolish," snapped madge. they at once found the retreat a perfect windbreak, and became comfortable--all hugging together "like a nestful of owlets," helen said, and all declared themselves as "warm as toast." but the wind howled mournfully through the wood, and the snow sifted down with a strange, mysterious "hush--hush--hus-s-sh" that made them feel creepy. although it was not yet midday, the light was very dim under the thick branches of the tree. the snow became banked high behind them, and ruth, who was in front, had to continually break away the drifting snow with her mittened hands so that they could see out. and they could see precious little outside of their den. just the snow drifting down, faster and faster, thicker and thicker, gathering so rapidly that they all were secretly frightened, although at first each girl tried to speak cheerfully of it. "if we'd only thought to get janey to put us up a luncheon," sighed heavy, "i wouldn't have minded staying here all day. it's warm enough, that's sure." "my feet are cold," complained lluella. "i don't believe it will remain warm forever." "and we couldn't make a fire," said helen. "i've matches in my pocket," ruth said quietly. "i've carried them in a bottle ever since we've been in the woods." "for pity's sake! what for?" demanded belle. "well--tom told me to. he does. helen knows," said ruth, hesitating. "goodness me! it's like being cast away on a desert island," cried heavy. "carrying matches!" "tom _did_ tell us to," admitted helen, laughing. "but i didn't pay much attention to what he said. i know he told us that we could never tell when matches would come in handy in the woods." "but we'd set the forest afire--and then see what damage would be done!" cried belle. "not necessarily. especially in this snow," returned ruth, calmly. "if we get very cold, and are delayed for long, we can break the dry branches off underneath this tree--and others like it--and get a fire very easily. tom told us how to do it." "so he did!" cried helen. "i do believe ruth never forgets anything she is told. and we may be glad of those matches." "goodness me!" whined lluella. "don't talk so dreadfully." "how do you mean?" queried helen. "as though we'd have to stay here under this old tree so long! it's _got_ to stop snowing soon. or else the men will come after us." "why, we all believe that we shall soon get home," said madge cheerfully. "but the boys, or the men, either, couldn't find us in this storm. we will have to be patient." patience was hard indeed to cultivate in their present situation. the minutes dragged by with funereal slowness. lluella began to sob, and the most cheerful of the party could not keep up her spirits indefinitely. "oh, but we'll be all right, i am sure!" quoth madge. "don't get down-hearted, girls." helen broke down next and declared that she could not remain idle any longer. "we must move out of this," she said. "we must find our way back. why, they might come this way hunting for us and never find us--go right by the tree. we ought to get outside and shout, at least." "don't let's leave this warm shelter," begged ruth. "it will be really serious if we move farther from the regular camp instead of toward it." "but we cannot hear any rescue party shouting for us, nor can they hear us under this drift," insisted helen. "then we'll go out, one at a time, and shout," declared ruth. "let me try." she sprang up and pushed her way through the drift at the mouth of their burrow. not until she was standing outside did she realize the extent of the storm. the snow was swept across the country in a thick and heavy curtain, with a wind driving it, against which she knew she could not stand. she could not shout into the teeth of the gale, and her cry was driven back into her own ears as weak as the mew of a kitten. "ho!" exclaimed madge steele. "they couldn't hear that if they were a stone's throw off. let _me_ give a warwhoop." "we're all coming out!" cried the dissatisfied lluella. "let's all shout. oh, girls! we've _got_ to get back to the camp. we'll die here." they scrambled out of the burrow. the wind smote full against them when once they were in the open. when they raised their voices in chorus it seemed as though there was an answering shout from a certain direction. "here we are! here we are! father! tom!" shrieked helen, at the top of her voice. "don't go!" begged ruth. "let us stick by the tree. it will shelter us. shout again." but the majority of the girls were for setting off at once toward the sound they thought they had heard in the midst of the storm. again and again they shouted. they clung to each other's hands as they ploughed through the drifts (the snowshoes were of no use to them now) but they did not hear the answering cry again. at last they stopped, all sorely frightened, lluella in tears. "what will we do now?" gasped belle. "we'd better go back to that tree. we were safe there," muttered heavy, her teeth chattering. but they had drifted with the storm, and when they turned to face it they knew at once that never could they make way against the wind and snow. "oh, oh, oh!" wailed helen. "we're lost! we're lost!" "hold up! be brave!" urged her chum. "we must not give up now. some other tree will give us shelter. cling together, girls. we _must_ get somewhere." but where? it was a question none of them could answer. they remained cowering in the driving snow, utterly confused as to direction, and fast becoming buried where they stood. chapter xxi adrift in the storm "we shall freeze to death if we stay here!" madge steele spoke thus, and the situation precluded any doubt as to the truth of the statement. the six girls from snow camp were indeed in peril of death--and all were convinced of the fact. lluella fairfax was in tears, and her chum, belle tingley, was on the verge of weeping, too. helen cameron had hard work to keep back her own sobs; even jennie stone, the stout girl, was past turning the matter into a joke. and madge steele was unable to suggest a single cheerful portent. as they clung to each other in the driving snow they seemed, intuitively, to turn to ruth fielding. she was the youngest of the six girls; but she was at this moment the more assertive and held herself better under control than her mates. it had been against her advice that they had left their temporary shelter under the tree. now they could not beat their way back to it. indeed, none of them now knew the direction of the burrow that had sheltered them for more than an hour. what next should they do? although unspoken, this was the question that the five silently asked of the girl of the red mill. she had displayed her pluck and good sense on more than one occasion, and her friends looked to her for help. particularly did helen cling to her in this emergency, and although ruth was secretly as terrified as any of her mates, she could not give in to the feeling when her chum so depended upon her. "why, we're acting just as silly as we can act!" she cried, speaking loud so that they could all hear her. "we mustn't give up hope. the boys, or mr. cameron, will find us. it can't keep on snowing forever." "but we're freezing to death!" said belle, and broke out sobbing like her chum. "stop, you silly thing!" cried madge, trying to shake her. but she was really so cold herself that she could not do this. indeed, the keen wind would soon make movement impossible if they stood still for long. "let's keep moving!" shouted ruth. "take hold of hands, girls--two by two. helen and i will go ahead. now, belle, you take lluella. madge and heavy in the rear. forward--march!" "this is a regular amazon march; isn't it?" croaked heavy, from behind. "but where shall we march to?" belle queried. "we'll keep going until we find some shelter. that's the best we can do. indeed, it is all we _can_ do," replied ruth. it was impossible to do more than drift before the gale. ruth knew this, and likewise she was confident that they were by no means getting nearer to the camp when they followed such a course. but she hoped to find some shelter before the weakest of the girls gave out. this was lluella fairfax. she was delicately built, and unused to muscular exertion of any kind. she seldom took up any gym work at briarwood, ruth knew; therefore it was not strange that she should be the first to give out. for, although the sextette of girls went but a short distance, and traveled very slowly, it was indeed a fearful task for them. the storm drove them on, and suddenly, when jennie stone gave utterance to a wild whoop and disappeared from view, lluella and belle burst out crying again, and even madge showed signs of weakening. "help! help!" she cried. "she's fallen down a precipice!" "she's smothered in a snow-bank!" gasped helen. heavy uttered another cry, but seemingly from a great way off. ruth scrambled back to madge, and suddenly found her own feet slipping over the brink of some steep descent. she cried out and clung to madge. helen took hold of madge's other hand, and they drew ruth back to safety. "look out!" commanded the older girl. "you'll be down in that hole, too, ruth." "no, no! we must make some attempt to get her up. jennie! jennie! where are you?" shrieked ruth. "right under you. girls! you want to be careful. i've slid down a bank and am standing on what appears to be a narrow shelf along the face of this bank, or hill. and the snow isn't drifted here. come down." "oh, i wouldn't dare!" cried lluella. "if the place will afford us any shelter from this awful wind, why not?" demanded helen. "we might try it." "how deep are you down, jennie?" asked madge. "only a few feet. you couldn't ever haul me up, anyway," and the stout girl laughed, hysterically. "you know how heavy i am." "let me try it," said ruth, eagerly. "here's where jennie slid over. look out, below!" "oh, come on! you can't hurt me," declared the stout one, and in a moment ruth had slipped over the edge of the bank and had landed beside heavy. "it's all right, girls!" shouted ruth at once. she could see that the shelf widened a little way beyond, and was overhung by a huge boulder in the bank, making a really admirable shelter--not exactly a cave, but a large-sized cavity. after some urging, lluella and belle allowed themselves to be lowered by madge and helen over the brink of the bank. then helen herself slid down, and then the oldest girl. when miss steele landed upon the shelf beside them, she cried: "this is just a mercy! another five minutes up there in the wind and snow, and i don't believe i could have walked at all. my, my! ain't i cold!" the six girls cowered together under the overhanging rock. the snow blew in a thick cloud over their heads and they heard it sifting down through the trees below them. they were upon a steep side-hill--the wall of a steep gully, perhaps. how deep it was they had no means of knowing; but several good-sized trees sprouted out of the hill near their refuge. they could see the dim forms of these now and then as the snow-cloud changed. but although they were out of the beat of the storm, they grew no warmer. more than madge steele complained of the cold within the next few minutes. ruth, indeed, felt her extremities growing numb. the terrible, biting frost was gradually overcoming them, now that they were no longer fighting the blast. exertion had fought this deadly coldness off; but ruth fielding knew that their present inaction was beckoning the approach of unconsciousness. chapter xxii the hideout helen had drawn close to her chum and they sat upon the pile of leaves that had blown into this lair under the bank, with their arms about each other's waists. "what do you suppose will become of us, ruthie?" helen whispered. "why, how can we tell? maybe the boys and long jerry are searching for us right now----" "in this dreadful storm? impossible!" declared helen. "well, that they _will_ search for us as soon as it holds up, we can be sure," ruth rejoined. "but, in the meantime? they may be hours finding us. and i am sure i would not know how to start for snow camp, if the storm should stop." "quite true, helen." "we won't an-n-ny of us start for snow camp again!" quavered lluella fairfax. "we'll be frozen dead--that's what'll happen to us." "i _am_ dreadfully cold," said madge. "how are you, heavy?" "stiff as a poker, thank you!" returned the irrepressible. "i haven't any feet at all now. they've frozen and dropped off!" "don't talk so terribly!" wailed belle. "we are freezing to death here. i am sleepy. i've read that when folks get drowsy out in a storm like this they are soon done for. now, isn't that a fact, madge steele?" "nonsense!" exclaimed the older girl; but heavy broke in with: "it strikes me that now is the time to make use of ruth's matches. let's build a rousing fire." "how?" demanded helen. "where can we get fuel? it's all under the snow." "there's plenty of kindling right under _us_" declared jennie stone, vigorously. "and ruth spoke about the under branches of these trees being dry----" "and so they are," declared ruth, struggling to her feet. "we must do something. a rousing fire against this rock will keep us warm. we can heat the rock and then draw the fire out and get behind it. it will be fine!" "oh, i can't move!" wailed lluella. "luella doesn't want to work," said madge. "but you get up and do your share, miss! if you freeze to death here your mother will never forgive me." of course, it would be heavy that got into trouble. she made a misstep off the platform and sunk to her arm-pits in a soft bank of snow, and it was all the others could do to pull her out. but this warmed them, and actually got them to laughing. "i believe that laughing warms one as much as anything," said madge. "ha, ha!" croaked heavy, grimly. "_your_ laughing hasn't warmed _me_ any. i'm wet to my waist, i do believe!" "we shall have to have a fire now to dry jennie," said ruth. "now take care." they had all abandoned their snowshoes long since, and the racquettes would have been of no use to them in the present emergency, anyway. but ruth and madge got to the nearest tree, and fortunately it was half dead. they could break off many of the smaller branches, and soon brought to the platform a great armful of the brush. ruth's matches were dry and they heaped up the leaves and rubbish and started a blaze. the other girls brought more fuel and soon a hot fire was leaping against the side of the rock and its circle of warmth cheered them. they got green branches of spruce and pine and brushed away the snow and banked it up in a wall all about the platform, which served them for a camp. then they scraped the fire out from the rock, threw on more branches (for the green ones would burn now that the fire was so hot) and crowded in between the blaze and the rock. "this is just scrumptious!" declared heavy. "we sha'n't freeze now." "not if we can keep the fire going," said helen. being warm, they all tried to be cheerful thereafter. they told stories, they sang their school songs, and played guessing games. meanwhile, the wind shrieked through the forest above their "hideout," and the snow continued to fall as though it had no intention of ever stopping. the hours dragged by toward dark--and an early dark it would be on this stormy day. "oh, if we only had something to eat!" groaned heavy. "wish i'd saved my snow-shoes." "what for?" demanded bell. "what possible good could they have been to you, silly?" "they were strung with deer-hide, and i have heard that when castaway sailors get very, very hungry, they always chew their boots. i can't spare my boots," quoth jennie stone, trying to joke to the bitter end. the wind wheezed above them, the darkness fell with the snow. beyond the glow of the pile of coals on the rocky ledge, the curtain of snow looked gray--then drab--then actually black. moon and stars were far, far away; none of their light percolated through the mass of clouds and falling snow that mantled these big wastes of the backwoods. "oh! i never realized anything could be so lonely," whispered helen in ruth's ear. "and how worried your father and mrs. murchiston will be," returned her chum. "of course, we shall get out of it all right, helen; but _did_ you ever suppose so much snow could fall at one time?" "never!" "and no sign of it holding up at all," said madge, who had overheard. "sh! belle and lluella have curled up here and gone to sleep," said helen. "lucky infants," observed madge. "i'm going to sleep, too," said heavy, with a yawn. "there is no danger now. we're as warm as can be here," ruth said. "why don't you take a nap, helen? madge and i will keep the first watch--and keep the fire burning." "suppose there should be wolves--or bears," whispered helen. "ridiculous! no self-respecting beast would be out in such a gale. they'd know better," declared madge steele, briskly. "and if one does come here," muttered jennie, sleepily, "i shall kill and eat him." she nodded off the next moment and helen followed her example. madge and ruth talked to keep each other awake. occasionally they fought their way to the half-dead tree and brought back armfuls of its smaller branches. "it's a shame," declared miss steele, "that girls don't carry knives, and such useful things. did you ever know a girl to have anything in her pocket that was worth carrying--if she chanced by good luck to have a pocket at all? now, with a knife, we could get some better wood." "i know," ruth admitted. "i know more about camping out than ever i did before. next time, i'm going to carry things. you never know what is going to happen." as the evening advanced the cold became more biting. they stirred up the fire with a long stick and the glowing coals threw out increased warmth. the four sleeping girls stirred uneasily, and madge, putting her hand against the back wall of rock, found that it had cooled. "when it comes ten o'clock," she said, consulting the watch she carried, "we'll wake them up, make them stir around a bit, and we'll drag all these coals over against the rock again. then we'll heap on the rubbish and heat up the stones once more. we ought to keep warm after that till near daylight." "the smut is spoiling our clothes," said ruth. "i don't know as that matters much. i'd rather spoil everything i've got on than run the risk of freezing," declared madge, with conviction. they did what they could to keep the other girls warm; but before the hour madge had proposed to awaken them, lluella roused and cried a little because she was so chilly. "my goodness me, lu!" yawned heavy, who was awakened, too, "you are just the _leakiest_ person that i ever saw! you must have been born crying!" "i never heard that we came into the world laughing," said madge; "so lluella isn't different from the rest of us on that score." "but thank goodness we're not all such snivelers," grumbled heavy. "want me to get up? what for?" but when madge and ruth explained what they intended to do, all the girls willingly bestirred themselves and helped in the moving of the fire and the gathering of more fuel. "of course we can't expect any help to-night," said helen. "but i know that they'll start out hunting for us at daybreak, no matter whether it keeps on snowing, or not." "and a nice time they'll have finding us down in this hole," complained belle tingley. "lucky i fell into this hole, just the same," remarked heavy. "it just about saved our lives." "but i guess we would have been a whole lot better off if we hadn't moved from the first big tree ruth got us to creep under," helen said, thoughtfully. "we couldn't have been more than two miles from snow camp then. _now_ we don't know where we are." "never mind that, helen," advised madge. "help get in the wood. now, we want a big, rousing fire. we'll just heat that old rock up so that it will stay warm all night. it will be like sleeping as the russian peasants do--on top of their stoves." they had piled the brush on the coals, after scraping the coals back upon the ledge, and the firelight was dancing far up the rock, and shining out into the steadily drifting snow, when suddenly helen seized her chum's hand and cried: "listen! what's that?" the girls grew silent instantly--and showing no little fear. from somewhere out in the storm a cry came to their ears. "there it is again," gasped helen. "i heard it twice before." "i hear it," repeated madge. "wait." again the distant sound came forlornly to their ears. that time they all distinguished it. and they knew that their first hope was quenched. it was no sound of a rescuing party searching for them in the storm, for the word--repeated several times, and unmistakable-they all identified. "_help!_" chapter xxiii a double captivity "it's a ghost!" gasped belle as the voice out of the storm died away down the wind. "so are you!" snapped madge. "what would a ghost want any help for? ridiculous!" "goodness me!" drawled heavy. "seems to me even a disembodied spirit might feel the need of help if it was out in such a gale as this." "i mean that we only thought we heard the voice," chattered belle. "funny we should all think with such unanimity," scoffed ruth. "that was certainly a very able-bodied spirit--there!" again the cry came brokenly through the storm. "somebody lost like ourselves," said lluella, with a shiver. "and he sees the light of our fire," jennie stone urged. "we must help, whoever it is," ruth cried. "shout, girls! maybe he wants to know the way--" "the fire will show him," said madge, quickly. "perhaps he is hurt!" said helen. "shout!" commanded ruth. they raised their voices in a ragged chorus of cries. "again!" cried ruth, and that time they sent their halloo out into the storm with more vigor and unanimity. once more, after they had waited a full minute, they could plainly distinguish the word "help!" "this won't do," said ruth, briskly. "whoever it is cannot get to us." "and we can't get to him!" cried lluella. "i am going to try. i'll go alone. you girls keep hollering. i won't go out of earshot," promised ruth. "don't do it, ruthie! you'll be lost," cried helen. "then whatever should we do?" "i won't get lost--not if you girls continue to shout," returned her chum. she had buttoned her coat about her and pulled the skating cap she wore down over her ears, yet not too low to muffle them. again the cry came wandering through the storm. ruth started down the bank of the gully; the cry came from the other side of the hollow, she was sure--almost directly opposite the ledge on which they had taken shelter. when she plunged off the ledge she at once entered the wall of driving, smothering snow. it almost took her breath, it was so deep under her feet and shrouded her about so much like a mantle. had she ventured this way when first she and her friends had descended to the ledge, ruth must have actually sunk out of sight in the soft drifts. but the sifting snow had packed harder and harder as the storm increased. after all, she sank only to her knees and soon found that she was plunging over rather than through the great drifts that filled the gully. how broad this gully was--or how deep when the snow was out of it--she could not imagine. nor did she give a thought to these things now. again she heard the muffled cry for help; but it sounded louder. she had made no mistake in the direction she had taken. the person needing succor was directly in front of the ledge, but could not get over to the fire. she glanced back over her shoulder. the leaping flames she could not see; but their glow made a round spot of rosy light against the screen of the falling snow. the mystery of the sight terrified her for a moment. would she ever be able to fight her way back to that ledge? "our father, help me!" was her unspoken prayer, and then she plunged on. she heard the shrill cries of her friends behind; ahead the lost one shouted out once more. "here! here! this way! help!" "i'm coming!" responded ruth fielding and, beaten as she was by the gale behind, kept steadily on. the way began to rise before her. she was ascending the other bank of the gully. suddenly through the snow-wreath that surrounded her she saw something waving. she sprang forward with renewed courage, crying again: "i'm coming!" the next moment she seized somebody's gloved hand. "oh, oh!" cried a shrill, terrified voice. "who are you? help me! i am freezing. can't walk--" "fred hatfield!" gasped the amazed girl. "is it you? what is the matter?" "take me to that house. i see the light, but i cannot reach it help me, for god's sake!" cried the boy. she could see his white, pinched face as he lay there more than half buried in the snow. his eyes were feverish and wild and he certainly did not know ruth. "help me out! help me out!" he continued to beg. "my leg is caught." but it was more weakness and exhaustion than aught else that held the boy in the drift, as ruth very soon found out when she laid hold of his shoulders and exerted her strength. in a few moments, what with her pulling and his scrambling, the boy was out of the drift. he had clung to the rifle--tom cameron's weapon, of course--and into his belt was stuck a knife and a camp hatchet. "why, how did you get here in this storm?" demanded ruth, as he lay panting at her feet. "i got lost--from my--my camp," he responded. "i'm frozen! i can't feel my feet at all--" "come across to the fire," urged ruth. "we girls are lost from snow camp. but we're all right so far. my! how the snow blows." facing the storm they could hardly make headway at all. indeed, the youth fell within a few yards and ruth was obliged to drag him through the drifts. her friends continued to shout, and occasionally she stood upright, made a megaphone of her hands, and returned their hail. but her strength--all of it--finally had to be given to the boy. she seized him by the shoulders and fairly dragged him toward the other side of the gully, thus walking against the wind, backwards. occasionally she threw a glance over her shoulder to make sure that she was making straight for the campfire. the girls' voices drew nearer and finally, at the foot of the slope leading up to the camp, she was forced to halt and drop her burden. "come down and help me, madge!" she cried. "it's a boy--a boy! he can't help himself. come quick!" the girls were only a few yards away, but so fiercely did the wind blow that ruth had to repeat her call for help before madge steele understood. then the big girl dropped down off the ledge and plowed her way toward ruth and her burden. "the poor fellow! who is he?" gasped madge, as together they raised the strange boy and started up the sharp ascent. "not tom! oh! it's never tom?" shrieked helen at the top of the hill. "no, no!" gasped ruth. "it's--the--boy--that--ran away." they got him upon the dry ledge of rock before the fire. his cheeks showed frostbitten spots, and jennie began to rub them with snow. "that's the way to treat frostbite," she declared. "take off his boots. if his feet _are_ frosted we'll have to treat them the same way." helen and belle obeyed heavy, who seemed quite practical in this emergency. ruth had no strength, or breath, for the time being, but lay beside the fire herself. meanwhile madge and lluella scrapped the red coals out from the rock and swept the platform clean with green branches. ruth and the runaway boy were drawn into this cozy retreat and soon the boy began to weep and cry out as the heat got into his feet. it was very painful to have the frost drawn out in this manner. it was now after midnight and the storm still raged. madge and jennie floundered out for more fuel. the hatchet the boy carried was of great aid to them in this work and soon they had piled on the ledge sufficient wood to keep the blaze alive until dawn. by this time the strange youth had been thawed out and was dropping asleep against the warm rock. helen and belle agreed to stand the next watch, and to feed the fire. both ruth and madge needed sleep, the former aching in every muscle from her fight to bring the rescued one in. "we're doubly captives now," the girl of the red mill whispered to madge before she dropped asleep. "if it should stop snowing we couldn't try to get back to camp and leave this chap here. and it is certain sure that he could not travel himself, nor could we carry him." "you are right, ruth," returned madge. "this addition to our party makes our situation worse instead of better." "but maybe it will all come out right in the end, dear." "let us hope so." "what a boy of mystery he is!" "yes." "do you think we'll ever get to the bottom of his trouble?" "let us hope so." then both girls turned over, to get what sleep they could under such trying circumstances. chapter xxiv the search it was a most anxious night for everybody at snow camp. the thought of the six girls adrift in the blizzard kept most of the household awake, long jerry todd, the guide, remained in the kitchen, on the watch for the first break in the storm. the others retired, all but mr. cameron and tom, who sat before the fire in the living hall. "i couldn't sleep anyway," said tom, "with helen and ruth out in the cold. it's dreadful, dad. i feel that we boys are partly to blame, too." "how's that?" his father asked him. "why, the girls were mad with us. i let isadore go too far with his joking," and he told mr. cameron about the spoiled taffy. "if we hadn't done that to them of course they wouldn't have gone into the woods without us--" "but i am afraid you lads would have been no more cautious than the girls," interposed mr. cameron. "this storm would have taken you by surprise just the same." "but we could have been with them and helped them." "i have great faith in that little fielding girl's good sense--and madge steele is to be trusted," said his father. "don't blame yourself, boy. it was something entirely unforeseen." several times during the night mr. cameron tried to communicate with the neighbors over the telephone; but some disaster had overtaken the line and it probably could not be repaired until after the storm. about five o'clock long jerry came into the room. he had been out into the storm, for he was covered with snow. "how does it look?" asked mr. cameron, earnestly. "she's going to break with sun-up," prophesied the woodsman. "i've been feeding the cattle and i've got the other men up. if it breaks at all, we three'll start for the neighbors and rouse a gang to help beat the woods." "but hadn't we better try to find the girls at once, jerry?" queried tom. "we'll need a large party, master tom," said the guide. "we must cover a deal of ground, and the more men we have who are used to the trail, the better. if it stops snowing we can get around to the neighbors on snowshoes easier than any other way. the drifts are packed hard. i had to tunnel out of the kitchen door. the snow has banked up to the second story gallery." "they'll be buried yards under this snow," groaned tom. "keep up your courage," said long jerry, cheerfully. "if them gals was sharp at all they'd find some shelter and make a fire." "if they had matches," said mr. cameron, doubtfully. "ruth had matches, i know," said tom. "oh, we'll find them safe and sound," declared the guide. one of long jerry's prophecies was fulfilled within the hour. the storm broke. tom had aroused his friends and the three boys had enlarged the tunnel through the snow from the back porch into the yard, and were shoveling a passageway to the stables. the last flakes of the blizzard fluttered down upon them, and the tail of the gale blew the clouds to tatters and revealed the almost black sky with the stars sparkling like points of living fire. "hurrah!" cried bob steele. "it's over!" the guide and the two other men were already getting on their snowshoes, having eaten hurriedly by the kitchen fire. they started out at once to rouse the neighbors. by sunrise the sky was entirely clear and the visitors to the backwoods could climb to the second floor gallery of the lodge and look out over the great drifts. in places the snow was heaped fifteen feet high; but the men shuffled off over these drifts and back again as easily as they would have walked on six inches of snow. they brought with them six other men, who also sat down to breakfast in the big kitchen, while mr. cameron and the boys and mrs. murchiston finished their meal in the dining-room. to the surprise of the visitors to the camp, one of the men whom long jerry had brought in to help find the girls was the rattlesnake man, as he was called. "we found him poking about the woods by himself, sir," said long jerry, privately, to mr. cameron. "he says there's been a boy staying with him for a while back, and that he started out hunting just before the storm. the old hermit was looking for him. by what he says, i believe it's the same boy you folks was bringing up here-the one that claims to be fred hatfield." "that poor fellow may have lost himself in the blizzard, too, eh?" returned the merchant. "let us hope we will find them all safely." in fifteen minutes the whole party started from the lodge on snowshoes, the boys dragging their toboggans and the men carrying food and hot coffee in vacuum bottles. they separated into four parties; the three boys and jerry todd kept together. jerry believed that the girls would have drifted some with the storm and therefore he struck off due east from the house. in an hour they came back to the bank of the stream near where ruth and reno had their adventure with the panther. "if old reno had been well enough to come with us, he would have scented them in a hurry," declared tom. "see the creek! it's completely smothered in snow." they followed the course of the stream for some distance and found the banks growing more steep. suddenly jerry began to sniff the keen air, and in a moment he cried: "there's a fire near, boys. somebody is burning pine boughs--and there isn't any house near, that i can swear to!" they hurried on. inside of half a mile isadore descried a column of blue smoke ahead. they began to shout at once, and it was not long before answering cries delighted them. "that's madge yelling," declared bob. "i'd know her warwhoop anywhere." tom had set out as fast as he could travel, the toboggan jumping after him over the drifts. even busy izzy grew excited, and yelled like a good fellow as he joined in the chase. they all ran down the bed of the stream and reached a deep cut where the banks were very high on either hand. up the white slope of the left hand bank was a small plateau on which the fire was burning. some sort of a camp had been established, surrounded by an embankment of tramped snow. over this fortress the heads of all six of the girls became visible, all crying out to their rescuers in such a medley of exclamations that no one was understandable. "helen! ruth!" cried tom. "are you all right?" "we're right as right can be, tommy," returned his sister, gaily. "we're not!" squealed jennie stone. "we're almost starved to death. if you haven't brought anything for us to eat, don't dare come up here, for we've turned cannibals and we're just about to cast lots to see who should first be sacrificed to the general good!" but there was more than laughter to season this rescue. some tears of relief were shed, and even isadore phelps showed some shame-faced joy that the catastrophe had resulted in no worse hardships for the girls. he said to heavy: "i'm sorry i spoiled that old taffy. if you'd eaten your full share of _that_ the other day, i expect you wouldn't have suffered so from hunger." the only person who was seriously troubled by the adventure was the strange boy. he had suffered severely in the storm and now he could scarcely move for pains in his back and legs. otherwise it is doubtful if he would not have run when he heard long jerry's voice among the rescuers. "great turtle soup!" roared the guide, when he beheld the shrinking, cowering boy. "how did you get here? do you mean to say you are alive, fred hatfield? why, they buried you--" "no, they didn't!" snarled the boy. "they only thought they did." "and you've let 'em think all this time that you were shot--and poor 'lias in jail? well! you always was a mean little scamp, fred hatfield!" but ruth would not let the guide scold the boy any more. "he's very sick, mr. todd," she said. "he'll have to be carried to the lodge. i believe it is rheumatism, and he ought to have a doctor at once." "lucky he is down and out, then," muttered the guide, "or i'd be tempted to lay him across my knee and spank him right here and now!" the girls were very thankful indeed for the hot drink and the food that had been brought. jerry signaled with his rifle and brought the whole party to the spot within the hour, including the rattlesnake man. but when the old hermit saw that the boy was found he would stop no longer. "let his folks look after him. i gave him shelter; but he's a bad boy, i reckon. and he doesn't like my children. i don't want anybody about my place that doesn't like my children. now, that little girl," he added, pointing to ruth, "_she_ wasn't afraid of them; was you?" "not much," returned ruth, bravely. "and i'm coming to see you again, sir, if i can." "you may come at any time, and welcome," answered the rattlesnake man, with a low bow. "maybe you would like to learn how to handle my pets," he added, with a queer grin. "what, the snakes!" screamed helen. "no, i don't think i'd care to do that," replied ruth. "they would not hurt you-they soon learn to know their friends-and they get to be as friendly as kittens," returned the hermit. "i have a name for each one of them," he went on, somewhat proudly. "maybe i'll--i'll look at them-but i won't want to touch them," answered ruth. a few minutes later the strange rattlesnake man took his departure. fred hatfield and the girls were all packed upon the sleds and drawn over the snow to the camp, where the rescued and rescuers arrived in safety before noon. but the girls had been through such an experience, and were so exhausted, that as soon as dinner was over they were commanded to go to bed, while one of the men started to town for a doctor to attend young hatfield. "and be sure and take this letter to the sheriff," said mr. cameron. "this foolish boy's brother must be released from jail at once. and if his folks want him, they can come here to snow camp and take him home," added the merchant, in some disgust. "i must say that it seems as though pity would be wasted on fred hatfield." chapter xxv certain explanations but the boy was more seriously ill than any of them suspected at the time. before night, when the doctor arrived (walking over on snow-shoes with the guide) fred was in a high fever and was rambling in his speech. none of the girls was seriously injured by the adventure in the snow; but the doctor shook his head over hatfield. mrs. murchiston gave the youth good attention, however, and the doctor promised to come again as soon as a horse could get through the roads. two days passed before anybody got to snow camp saving on snowshoes. the governess was so kind to the sick boy that he broke down and confessed all his wretched story to her. his home life had not been very happy since his father's death. his brother 'lias, and the other big boys, were hard-working woodsmen and thought fred ought to work hard, too, in the woods and on their poor little farm. he had finally had a fierce quarrel with 'lias and the older boy had thrashed him. "i only meant to scare him," fred confessed, "when he shot at me and thought it was a deer. the bullet whistled right by my head. when i jumped i dislodged a stone in the bank, and that rolled down the hill and splashed into rolling river. i hid. "i saw 'lias was frightened, and i thought it served him right-shooting so carelessly. lots of folks are shot for deer up here in the hunting reason, and 'lias is real careless with a gun. so i stayed hid. then i heard two men talking at night and they said they guessed marm would be glad to get rid of me--i was no good. "so i got a ride off on the railroad, and i wasn't going back. i didn't know 'lias had been arrested until mr. cameron brought me back up this way and i heard about it from a logger that didn't know me. he said my body had been found. of course, it wasn't me. somebody else was drowned in rolling river. there's been a little french canadian feller missing since last fall and he was supposed to have been drowned. it was his body they found, i reckon. the man told me the body was so broken and disfigured that nobody could recognize the features--and the clothing was torn all off it. "i don't know what marm and the boys will do to me if they find me," wailed hatfield, who seemed to be more afraid of the rough usage of his big half-brothers than anything else. but the first sled to get through to snow camp brought, besides the doctor, the boy's mother and 'lias hatfield himself. the backwoods woman showed considerable tenderness when she met her lost boy, and the young fellow who had suffered in jail for some weeks held no anger against his brother because of it. "why, mr. cam'ron," he said to the merchant, "i reckon it sarved me out right. i _was_ purty ha'sh with the boy. he ain't naught but a weakling, after all. marm, she does her best by us all, and we stick to her; but if fred ain't fitten to work in the woods, or on the farm, we'll find him something to do in town--if he likes it better. i don't hold no grudge." two days later the boy was well enough to move, and they all went away from snow camp; but mr. cameron had agreed, before they went, to give fred hatfield a chance in his store in the city, if they would send him down there in the spring. "he's not fit for the rough life up here," he told tom and helen and ruth, when they talked it over. "he's not an attractive boy, either. but he needs a chance, and i will give him one. if we only helped those people in the world who really _deserved_ helping, we wouldn't boost many folks." meanwhile the girls had all recovered from their adventure in the blizzard, and the entire party of young folk found plenty of amusement in the snow-bound camp. in one monstrous heap in the yard the boys excavated a good-sized cavern--big enough so that all the girls as well as the boys could enter it at once; and they lit it up at night with candles and held a "party" there, at which plenty of walnut taffy was served--without shells in it! "this is heaping coals of fire on your head, young man," said madge, tartly, as she passed the pan to busy izzy. "all right," he returned, with a grin. "keep on heaping. i can stand it." "if you girls had been right smart," drawled bob steele, "when you were lost the other day, you'd have scooped you out a hole like this in a snowbank and hived up as snug as a bug in a rug till the storm was over." "oh, yes! we all know lots of things to do when we are lost again," returned helen. "but i hope that our next vacation won't have any such unpleasant experience in store for us." "i'm with you in that wish," cried belle tingley. "well, now, yo've all promised to go with me to our cottage at lighthouse point for two weeks next summer," cried heavy. "i guarantee you won't be lost in the snow down there." "not at that time of year, that's sure," laughed ruth. "but we don't know yet, jennie, that we _can_ go with you." however, it is safe to state here that ruth, at least, was able to accept the stout girl's invitation, for we shall meet her next in a story entitled: "ruth fielding at lighthouse point; or, nita, the girl castaway." there was plenty of fun around snow camp for the remainder of the ten days they spent there, and when the time came to go back to civilization both girls and boys assured good mr. cameron that they had had a most delightful time. they traveled as far as cheslow together, where heavy and belle and lluella went to their homes for a day or two, to finish out the tag-end of the vacation, while the steeles and isadore went home with the camerons, and ruth returned to the red mill. and how glad aunt alvirah was to see ruth! uncle jabez didn't display his feelings so openly; but ruth had learned how to take the miller, and how to understand him. she helped him with his accounts, made out his bills for the year, and otherwise made herself of use to him. "you just wait, uncle jabez," she told him, earnestly. "i'm going to make your investment in my schooling at briarwood pay you the biggest dividend of anything you ever speculated in--you see." "i'm sure i hope so, niece ruth," he grumbled. "i don't much expect it, though. they teach you too many folderols up there. what's _this_ now?" he asked, pointing his stubbed forefinger to the little gold and black enamel pin she wore on her blouse. "'s. b.'" "is them the letters?" "yes, sir. my society emblem. we're the sweetbriars, of briarwood hall. and you wait! we're going to be the most popular club in the school before long. we've had mrs. tellingham, the preceptress, at one of our meetings." "what good is that?" he demanded, shaking his grizzled head. "fraternity--fellowship--helpfulness--hope--oh! it stands for lots of things. and then, uncle jabez, i am learning to sing and play. maybe before long i can open the old cottage organ you've got stowed away in the parlor and play for you." "that won't lower the price of wheat, or raise the price of flour," he grumbled. "how do you know it won't, until we've tried it?" she answered him, gaily. and so she made the old mill, and the farmhouse adjoining, a much brighter, gayer, pleasanter place while she was in it. her cheerfulness and sweetness were contagious. aunt alvirah complained less frequently of her back and bones when ruth was about, and in spite of himself, the old miller's step grew lighter. "ah, jabez," aunt alvirah said, as they watched ruth get into the cameron automobile to be whisked away to the station, and so to briarwood for her second half, "that's where our endurin' comfort an' hope is centered for our old age. we've only got ruthie." "she's a mighty expensive piece of property," snarled the old man. "ye don't mean it, jabez, ye don't mean it," she returned, softly. "you're thawin' out--and ruth fielding is the sun that warms up your cold old heart!" but this last was said so low that jabez potter did not hear it as he stumped away toward the red mill. in the automobile the young folks were having a gay time. helen was with ruth, and tom was on the front seat. "say, we sure did have some excitement in snow camp as well as fun," came from tom. "and that catamount!" gasped helen. "and ruth's shot!" broke in her twin brother. "ruth, you ought to try for a marksmanship badge!" "and wasn't it fine how it came out about fred," said ruth, her face beaming with satisfaction. "i am so glad to know he is no longer a homeless wanderer!" "all due to you," said tom. "ruth, you're a wonder!" he added, admiringly. "oh, tom!" she answered. nevertheless, she looked much pleased. and here let us say good-bye. the end ruth fielding of the red mill or jasper parloe's secret by alice b. emerson, 1913 chapter i the red flame in the night the sound of the drumming wheels! it had roared in the ears of ruth fielding for hours as she sat on the comfortably upholstered seat in the last car of the afternoon limited, the train whirling her from the west to the east, through the fertile valleys of upper new york state. this had been a very long journey for the girl, but ruth knew that it would soon come to an end. cheslow was not many miles ahead now; she had searched it out upon the railroad timetable, and upon the map printed on the back of the sheet; and as the stations flew by, she had spelled their names out with her quick eyes, until dusk had fallen and she could no longer see more than the signal lamps and switch targets as the train whirled her on. but she still stared through the window. this last car of the train was fairly well filled, but she had been fortunate in having a seat all to herself; she was glad this was so, for a person in the seat with her might have discovered how hard it was for her to keep back the tears. for ruth fielding was by no means one of the "crying kind," and she had forbidden herself the luxury of tears on this occasion. "we had all that out weeks ago, you know we did!" she whispered, apostrophizing that inner self that really wanted to break the brave compact. "when we knew we had to leave dear old darrowtown, and miss true pettis, and patsy hope, and--and 'all other perspiring friends,' to quote amoskeag lanfell's letter that she wrote home from conference. "no, ruth fielding! uncle jabez potter may be the very nicest kind of an old dear. and to live in a mill--and one painted red, too! that ought to make up for a good many disappointments--" her soliloquy was interrupted by a light tap upon her shoulder. ruth glanced around and up quickly. she saw standing beside her the tall old gentleman who had been sitting two seats behind on the other side of the aisle ever since the train left buffalo. he was a spare old gentleman, with a gaunt, eagle-beaked face, cleanly shaven but for a sweeping iron-gray mustache, his iron-gray hair waved over the collar of his black coat--a regular mane of hair which flowed out from under the brim of his well-brushed, soft-crowned hat. his face would have been very stern in its expression had it not been for the little twinkle in his bright, dark eyes. "why don't you do it?" he asked ruth, softly. "why don't i do what, sir?" she responded, not without a little gulp, for that lump would rise in her throat. "why don't you cry?" questioned the strange old gentleman, still speaking softly and with that little twinkle in his eye. "because i am determined not to cry, sir," and now ruth could call up a little smile, though perhaps the corners of her mouth trembled a bit. the gentleman sat down beside her, although she had not invited him to do so. she was not at all afraid of him and, after all, perhaps she was glad to have him do it. "tell me all about it," he suggested, with such an air of confidence and interest that ruth warmed more and more toward him. but it was a little hard to begin. when he told her, however, that he was going to cheslow, too--indeed, that that was his home--it was easier by far. "i am doctor davison, my dear," he said. "if you are going to live in cheslow you will hear all about doctor davison, and you would better know him at first-hand, to avoid mistakes," and his eyes twinkled more than ever, though his stern mouth never relaxed. "i expect that my new home is some little way outside of cheslow," ruth said, timidly. "they call it the red mill." the humorous light faded out of the dark, bright eyes of the gentleman. yet even then his countenance did not impress her as being unkindly. "jabez potter's mill," he said, thoughtfully. "yes, sir. that is my uncle's name." "your uncle?" "my great uncle, to be exact," said ruth. "he was mother's uncle." "then you," he said, speaking even more gently than before, "are little mary potter's daughter?" "mother was mary potter before she married papa," said ruth, more easily now. "she died four years ago." he nodded, looking away from her out of the window at the fast-darkening landscape which hurried by them. "and poor papa died last winter. i had no claim upon the kind friends who helped me when he died," pursued ruth, bravely. "they wrote to uncle jabez and he--he said i could come and live with him and aunt alvirah boggs." in a flash the twinkle came back into his eyes, and he nodded again. "ah, yes! aunt alviry," he said, giving the name its old-fashioned, homely pronunciation. "i had forgotten aunt alviry," and he seemed quite pleased to remember her. "she keeps house for uncle jabez, i understand," ruth continued. "but she isn't my aunt." "she is everybody's aunt alviry, i think," said doctor davison, encouragingly. for some reason this made ruth feel better. he spoke as though she would love aunt alviry, and ruth had left so many kind friends behind her in darrowtown that she was glad to be assured that somebody in the new home where she was going would be kind, too. miss true pettis had not shown her uncle jabez's letter and she had feared that perhaps her mother's uncle (whom she had never seen nor known much about) might not have written as kindly for his niece to come to the red mill as miss true could have wished. but miss true was poor; most of the darrowtown friends had been poor people. ruth had felt that she could not remain a burden on them. somehow she did not have to explain all this to doctor davison. he seemed to understand it when he nodded and his eyes twinkled so glowingly. "cheslow is a pleasant town. you will like it," he said, cheerfully. "the red mill is five miles out on the lake osago road. it is a pretty country. it will be dark when you ride over it to-night; but you will like it when you see it by daylight." he took it for granted that uncle jabez would come to the station to meet her with a carriage, and that comforted ruth not a little. "you will pass my house on that road," continued doctor davison. "but when you come to town you must not pass it." "sir?" she asked him, surprised. "not without stopping to see me," he explained, his eyes twinkling more than ever. and then he left her and went back to his seat. but ruth found, when he had gone, that the choke came back into her throat again and the sting of unshed tears to her eyes. but she would not let those same tears fall! she stared out of the plate-glass window and saw that it was now quite dark. the whistle of the fast-flying locomotive shrieked its long-drawn warning, and a group of signal lights flashed past. then she heard the loud ringing of a gong at a grade crossing. they must be nearing cheslow now. and then she saw that they were on a curve quite a sharp curve, for she saw the lights of the locomotive and the mail car far ahead upon the gleaming rails. they began to slow down, too, and the wheels wailed under the pressure of the brakes. she could see the signal lights along the tracks ahead and then--with a start, for she knew what it meant--a sharp red flame appeared out of the darkness beyond the rushing engine pilot. danger! that is what that red light meant. the brakes clamped down upon the wheels again so suddenly that the easily-riding coach jarred through all its parts. the red eye was winked out instantly; but the long and heavy train came to an abrupt stop. chapter ii reno but the limited had stopped so that ruth could see along the length of the train. lanterns winked and blinked in the dark as the trainmen carried them forward. something had happened up front of more importance than an ordinary halt for permission to run in on the next block. besides, the afternoon limited was a train of the first-class and was supposed to have the right of way over all other trains. no signal should have stopped it here. "how far are we from cheslow, please?" she asked of the rear brakeman (whom she knew was called the flagman) as he came down the car with his lantern. "not above a mile, miss," he replied. his smile, and his way of speaking, encouraged her to ask: "can you tell me why we have stopped?" "something on the track, miss. i have set out my signal lamp and am going forward to inquire." three or four of the male passengers followed him out of the car. ruth saw that quite a number had disembarked from the cars ahead, that a goodly company was moving forward, and that there were ladies among the curious crowd. if it was perfectly safe for them to satisfy their curiosity, why not she? she arose and hurried out of the car, following the swinging lamp of the brakeman as he strode on. ruth ran a little, seeing well enough to pick her way over the ends of the ties, and arrived to find at least half a hundred people grouped on the track ahead of the locomotive pilot. the great, unblinking, white eye of the huge machine revealed the group clearly--and the object around which the curious passengers, as well as the train crew, had gathered. it was a dog--a great, handsome, fawn-colored mastiff, sleek of coat and well fed, but muddied now along his flanks, evidently having waded through the mire of the wet meadow beside the tracks. he had come under, or through, a barbed wire fence, too, for there was a long scratch upon his shoulder and another raw cut upon his muzzle. to his broad collar was fastened a red lamp. nobody had taken it off, for both the train men and the passengers were excitedly discussing what his presence here might mean; and some of them seemed afraid of the great fellow. but ruth had been used to dogs, and this noble looking fellow had no terrors for her. he seemed so woebegone, his great brown eyes pleaded so earnestly, that she could only pity and fondle him. "look out, miss; maybe he bites," warned the anxious conductor. "i wager this is some boy's trick to stop the train. and yet--" ruth bent down, still patting the dog's head, and turned the great silver plate on his collar so that she could read, in the light of the lanterns, that which was engraved upon it. she read the words aloud: "'this is reno, tom cameron's dog.'" "cameron?" repeated some man behind her. "that tom cameron lives just outside of cheslow. his father is the rich dry-goods merchant, macy cameron. what's his dog doing here?" "and with a red light tied to his collar?" propounded somebody else. "it's some boy's trick, i tell you," stormed the conductor. "i'll have to report this at headquarters." just then ruth made a discovery. wound about the collar was a bit of twisted cloth--a strip of linen--part of a white handkerchief. her nimble fingers unwound it quickly and she spread out the soiled rag. "oh, see here!" she cried, in amazement as well as fear. "see! what can it mean? see what's drawn on this cloth--" it was a single word--a word smeared across the rag in shaking, uneven letters: "help!" "by george!" exclaimed one of the brakemen. "the little girl's right. that spells 'help!' plain enough." "it--it is written in something red, sir," cried ruth, her voice trembling. "see! it is blood!" "i tell you we've wasted a lot of time here," declared the conductor. "i am sorry if anybody is hurt, but we cannot stop for him. get back to the cars, please, gentlemen. do you belong aboard?" he added, to ruth. "get aboard, if you do." "oh, sir! you will not leave the poor dog here?" ruth asked. "not with that red lamp on his collar--no!" exclaimed the conductor. "he will be fooling some other engineer--" he reached to disentangle the wire from the dog's collar; but reno uttered a low growl. "plague take the dog!" ejaculated the conductor, stepping back hastily. "whoever it is that's hurt, or wherever he is, we cannot send him help from here. we'll report the circumstance at the cheslow station. put the dog in the baggage car. he can find the place where his master is hurt, from cheslow as well as from here, it's likely." "you try to make him follow you, miss," added the conductor to ruth. "he doesn't like me, it's plain." "come here, reno!" ruth commanded. "come here, old fellow." the big dog hesitated, stepped a yard or two after her, stopped, looked around and across the track toward the swamp meadow, and whined. ruth went back to him and put both arms about the noble fellow's neck. "come, reno," she said "come with me. we will go to find your master by and by." she started for the cars again, with one hand on the dog's neck. he trotted meekly beside her with head hanging. at the open baggage-car door one of the brakemen lifted her in. "come, reno! come up, sir!" she said, and the great mastiff, crouching for an instant, sprang into the car. even before they were fairly aboard, the train started. they were late enough, indeed! but the engineer dared not speed up much for that last mile of the lap to cheslow. there might be something ahead on the track. "you get out at cheslow; don't you miss?" asked the conductor. "yes, sir," returned ruth, sitting down with an air of possession upon her old-fashioned cowhide trunk that had already been put out by the door ready for discharging at the next station. "and you were sitting in the last car. have you a bag there?" "yes, sir, a small bag. that is all." "i'll send it forward to you," he said, not unkindly, and bustled away. and so ruth fielding was sitting on her own trunk, with her bag in her lap, and the great mastiff lying on the floor of the baggage car beside her, when the train slowed down and stopped beside the cheslow platform. she had not expected to arrive just in this way at her journey's end. chapter iii what has happened? the baggage-car door was wheeled wide open again and the lamps on the platform shone in. there was the forward brakeman to "jump" her down from the high doorway, and reno, with the little red light still hung to his collar, bounded after her. the conductor bustled away to tell the station master about the dog with the red light, and of the word scrawled on the cloth which ruth had found wound around his collar. indeed, ruth herself was very anxious and very much excited regarding this mystery; but she was anxious, too, about herself. was uncle jabez here to meet her? or had he sent somebody to take her to the red mill? he had been informed by miss true pettis the week before on which train to expect his niece. carrying her bag and followed dejectedly by the huge mastiff, ruth started down the long platform. the conductor ran out of the station, signalled the train crew with his hand, and lanterns waved the length of the train. panting, with its huge springs squeaking, the locomotive started the string of cars. faster and faster the train moved, and before ruth reached the pent-house roof of the little brick station, the tail-lights of the last car had passed her. a short, bullet-headed old man, with close-cropped, whitish-yellow hair, atop of which was a boy's baseball cap, his face smoothly shaven and deeply lined, and the stain of tobacco at either corner of his mouth, was standing on the platform. he was not a nice looking old man at all, he was dressed in shabby and patched garments, and his little eyes seemed so sly that they were even trying to hide from each other on either side of a hawksbill nose. he began to eye ruth curiously as the girl approached, and she, seeing that he was the only person who gave her any attention, jumped to the conclusion that this was uncle jabez. the thought shocked her. she instinctively feared and disliked this queer looking old man. the lump in her throat that would not be swallowed almost choked her again, and she winked her eyes fast to keep from crying. she would, in her fear and disappointment, have passed the old man by without speaking had he not stepped in front of her. "where d'ye wanter go, miss?" he whined, looking at her still more sharply out of his narrow eyes. "yeou be a stranger here, eh?" "yes, sir," admitted ruth. "where are you goin'?" asked the man again, and ruth had enough yankee blood in her to answer the query by asking: "are you mr. jabez potter?" "me jabez potter? why, ef i was jabe potter i'd be owing myself money, that's what i'd be doin'. you warn't never lookin' for jabe potter?" much relieved, ruth admitted the fact frankly. "he is my uncle, sir," she said. "i am going to live at the red mill." the strange old man puckered up his lips into a whistle, and shook his head, eyeing her all the time so slily that ruth was more and more thankful that he had not proven to be uncle jabez. "do you know mr. potter?" she asked, undecided what to do. "do i know jabe potter?" repeated the man. "well, i don't know much good of him, i assure ye! i worked for him onct, i did. and i tell ye he owes me money yet. you ax him if he don't owe jasper parloe money-you jest ax him!" he began to get excited and did not seem at all inclined to step out of ruth's path. but just then somebody spoke to her and she turned to see the station master and two or three other men with him. "this is the girl mr. mason spoke to me about, isn't it?" the railroad man asked. "the conductor of the express, i mean. he said the dog would mind you." "he seems to like me," she replied, turning to the mastiff that had stood all this time close to her. "that is tom cameron's dog all right," said one of the other men. "and that lantern is off his motorcycle, i bet anything! he went through town about dark on that contraption, and i shouldn't wonder if he's got a tumble." ruth showed the station master, whose name was curtis, the bit of handkerchief with the appeal for help traced upon it. "that is blood," she said. "you see it's blood, don't you? can't somebody take reno and hunt for him? he must be very badly hurt." "mason said he expected it was nothing but some fool joke of the boys. but it doesn't look like a joke to me," mr. curtis said, gravely. "come, parloe, you know that patch of woods well enough, over beyond the swamp and hiram jennings' big field. isn't there a steep and rocky road down there, that shoots off the osago lake pike?" "the wilkins corners road--yep," said the old man, snappishly. "then, can't you take the dog and see if you can find young tom?" "who's going to pay me for it?" snarled jasper parloe. "i ain't got no love for them camerons. this here tom is as sassy a boy as there is in this county." "but he may be seriously hurt," said ruth, looking angrily at jasper parloe. "'tain't nothin' to me--no more than your goin' out ter live with jabe potter ain't nothin' to me," responded the old man, with an ugly grin. "you're a pretty fellow, you are, jasper!" exclaimed mr. curtis, and turned his back upon the fellow. "i can't leave the station now--ah! here's doctor davison. he'll know what to do." doctor davison came forward and put his hand upon ruth's shoulder most kindly. "what is all this?" he asked. "and there is the mastiff. they tell me you are a dog tamer, miss fielding." he listened very closely to what mr. curtis had to say, and looked, too, at the smeared handkerchief. "the dog can find him--no doubt of that. come, boys, get some lanterns and we'll go right along to the wilkins corners road and search it." then to ruth he said: "you are a brave girl, sure enough." but when the party was ready to start, half a dozen strong, with parloe trailing on behind, and with lanterns and a stretcher, reno would not budge. the man called him, but he looked up at ruth and did not move from her side. "i declare for't," exclaimed one man. "that girl will have to go with us, doctor davison. you see what the dog means to do." ruth spoke to the mastiff, commanded him to leave her and find "tom." but although the dog looked at her intelligently enough, and barked his response--a deep, sudden, explosive bark--he refused to start without her. "it's a long way for the girl," objected doctor davison. "besides, she is waiting to meet her uncle." "i am not tired," she told him, quickly. "remember i've been sitting all the afternoon. and perhaps every minute is precious. we don't know how badly the dog's master may be hurt. i'll go. i'm sure i can keep up with you." reno seemed to understand her words perfectly, and uttered another short, sharp bark. "let us go, then," said doctor davison, hurriedly. so the men picked up their lanterns and the stretcher again. they crossed the tracks and came to a street that soon became a country road. cheslow did not spread itself very far in this direction. doctor davison explained to ruth that the settlement had begun to grow in the parts beyond the railroad and that all this side of the tracks was considered the old part of the town. the street lights were soon behind them and they depended entirely upon the lanterns the men carried. ruth could see very little of the houses they passed; but at one spot--although it was on the other side of the road--there were two green lanterns, one on either side of an arched gate, and there seemed to be a rather large, but gloomy, house behind the hedge before which these lanterns burned. "you will always know my house," doctor davison said, softly, and still retaining her hand, "by its green eyes." so ruth knew she had passed his home, to which he had so kindly invited her. and that made her think for a moment about uncle jabez and aunt alvirah. would she find somebody waiting to take her to the red mill when she got back to the station? chapter iv the gate of the green eyes it was a dark lane, beneath overhanging oaks, that met and intertwined their branches from either side--this was the wilkins corners road. and it was very steep and stony--up hill and down dale--with deep ruts in places and other spots where the spring rains had washed out the gravel and sand and left exposed the very foundations of the world. it seemed as though no bicyclist, or motor-cyclist would have chosen this road to travel after dark. yet there was a narrow path at the side--just wide enough for ruth and doctor davison to walk abreast, and reno to trot by the girl's side which seemed pretty smooth. "we don't want to go by the spot, doctor," said one of the men walking ahead with the lights. "don't the dog show no signs of looking for tom?" "where's tom, reno? where's tom?" asked ruth, earnestly, believing that the dog would recognize his master's name. the mastiff raised his muzzle and barked sharply again, but trotted onward. "he might have fallen down any of these gullies, and we'd miss him, it's so dark," observed the previous speaker. "i don't believe the dog will miss the place," responded doctor davison. just then reno leaped forward with a long-drawn whine. ruth hurried with him, leaving the doctor to come on in the rear. reno took the lead and the girl tried to keep pace with him. it was not for many yards. reno stopped at the brink of a steep bank beside the road. this bank fell away into the darkness, but through the trees, in the far distance, the girl could see several twinkling lights in a row. she knew that they were on the railroad, and that she was looking across the great swamp-meadow. "hullo!" shouted one man, loudly. "something down there, old fellow?" reno answered with a short bark and began to scramble down the rough bank. "here's where somebody has gone down ahead of him," cried another of the searchers, holding his own lantern close to the ground. "see how the bank's all torn up? bet his wheel hit that stone yonder in the dusk and threw him, wheel and all, into this gulley." "wait here, child," ordered doctor davison, quickly. "if he is in bad shape, boys, call me and i'll come down. lift him carefully--" "he's here, sir!" cried the first man to descend. and then reno lifted up his voice in a mournful howl. "oh, dear! oh, dear!" murmured ruth. "i am afraid he is badly hurt." "come, come!" returned doctor davison. "be a brave girl now. if he is badly hurt he'll need us both to keep our wits about us, you know." "ye needn't fret none, leetle gal," said jasper parloe's voice, behind her. "ye couldn't kill that there cameron boy, i tell ye! he is as sassy a young'un as there is in this county." doctor davison turned as though to say something sharp to the mean old man; but just then the men below shouted up to him: "he's hit his head and his arm's twisted under him, doctor. he isn't conscious, but doesn't seem much hurt otherwise." "can you bring him up?" queried the physician. "that's what we mean to do," was the reply. ruth waited beside the old doctor, not without some apprehension. how would this tom cameron look? what kind of a boy was he? according to jasper parloe he was a very bad boy, indeed. she had heard that he was the son of a rich man. while the men were bringing the senseless body up the steep bank her mind ran riot with the possibilities that lay in store for her because of this accident to the dry-goods merchant's son. and now the bearers were at the top of the bank, and she could see the limp form borne by them--a man holding the body under the arms and another by his feet. but, altogether, it looked really as though they carried a limp sack between them. "fust time i ever see that boy still," murmured jasper parloe. "cracky! he's pale; ain't he?" said another man. doctor davison dropped on one knee beside the body as they laid it down. the lanterns were drawn together that their combined light might illuminate the spot. ruth saw that the figure was that of a youth not much older than herself--lean, long limbed, well dressed, and with a face that, had it not been so pale, she would have thought very nice looking indeed. "poor lad!" ruth heard the physician murmur. "he has had a hard fall-and that's a nasty knock on his head." the wound was upon the side of his head above the left ear and was now all clotted with blood. it was from this wound, in some moment of consciousness, that he had traced the word "help" on his torn handkerchief, and fastened the latter, with the lamp of his motorcycle, to the dog's collar. here was the machine, bent and twisted enough, brought up the bank by two of the men. "dunno what you can do for the boy, doctor," said one of them; "but it looks to me as though this contraption warn't scurcely wuth savin'." "oh, we'll bring the boy around all right," said doctor davison, who had felt tom cameron's pulse and now rose quickly. "lift him carefully upon the stretcher. we will get him into bed before i do a thing to him. he's best as he is while we are moving him." "it'll be a mighty long way to his house," grumbled one of the men. "i believe yeou!" rejoined jasper parloe. "three miles beyond jabe potter's mill." "pshaw!" exclaimed doctor davison, in his soft voice. "you know we'll not take him so far. my house is near enough. surely you can carry him there." "if you say the word, doctor," said the fellow, more cheerfully, while old parloe grunted. they were more than half an hour in getting to the turn in the main road where she could observe the two green lights before the doctor's house. there the men put the stretcher down for a moment. jasper parloe grumblingly took his turn at carrying one end. "i never did see the use of boys, noway," he growled. "they's only an aggravation and vexation of speret. and this here one is the aggravatingest and vexationingest of any i ever see." "don't be too hard on the boy, jasper," said doctor davison, passing on ahead, so as to reach his house first. ruth remained behind, for the old gentleman walked too fast for her. before the men picked up the stretcher again there was a movement and a murmur from the injured boy. "hullo!" said one of the men. "he's a-talkin', ain't he?" "jest mutterin'," said parloe, who was at tom's head. "'tain't nothin'" but ruth heard the murmur of the unconscious boy, and the words startled her. they were: "it was jabe potter--he did it! it was jabe potter--he did it!" what did they mean? or, was there no meaning at all to the muttering of the wounded boy? ruth saw that parloe was looking at her in his sly and disagreeable way, and she knew that he, too, had heard the words. "it was jabe potter--he did it!" was it an accusation referring to the boy's present plight? and how could her uncle jabez--the relative she had not as yet seen--be the cause of tom cameron's injury? the spot where the boy was hurt must have been five miles from the red mill, and not even on the osago lake turnpike, on which highway she had been given to understand the red mill stood. not many moments more and the little procession was at the gateway, on either side of which burned the two green lamps. jasper parloe, who had been relieved, shuffled off into the darkness. reno after one pleading look into the face of the hesitating ruth, followed the stretcher on which his master lay, in at the gate. and ruth fielding, beginning again to feel most embarrassed and forsaken, was left alone where the two green eyes winked in the warm, moist darkness of the spring night. chapter v the girl in the automobile the men who had gone in with the unconscious boy and the stretcher hung about the doctor's door, which was some yards from the gateway. everybody seemed to have forgotten the girl, a stranger in cheslow, and for the first day of her life away from kind and indulgent friends. it was only ten minutes walk to the railroad station, and ruth remembered that it was a straight road. she arrived in the waiting room safely enough. sam curtis, the station master, descried her immediately and came out of his office with her bag. "well, and what happened? is that boy really hurt?" he asked. "he has a broken arm and his head is cut. i do not know how seriously, for doctor davison had not finished examining him when i--i came away," she replied, bravely enough, and hiding the fact that she had been overlooked. "they took him to the doctor's house, did they?" asked sam. "yes, sir," said ruth. "but--" "mr. curtis, has there been anybody here for me?" "for you, miss?" the station master returned, somewhat surprised it seemed. "yes, sir. anybody from red mill?" curtis smote one fist into his other palm, exclaiming: "you don't mean to say that you was what jabe potter was after?" "mr. jabez potter, who keeps the red mill, is my uncle," ruth observed, with dignity. "my goodness gracious me, miss! he was here long before your train was due. he's kind of short in his speech, miss. and he asked me if there was anything here for him, and i told him no. and he stumped out again without another word. why, i thought he was looking for an express package, or freight. never had an idea he was expectin' a niece!" ruth still looked at him earnestly. the man did not suspect, by her appearance, how hard a time she was having to keep the tears from overrunning those calm, gray eyes. "and you expected to go out to the red mill to-night, miss?" he continued. "they're country folk out there and they'd all be abed before you could get there, even if you took a carriage." "i don't know that i have enough to pay for carriage hire," ruth said, softly. "is--is there any place i can stop over night in the village? then i can walk out in the morning." "why--there's a hotel. but a young girl like you--you'll excuse me, miss. you're young to be traveling alone." "perhaps i haven't money enough to pay for a lodging there?" suggested ruth. "i have a dollar. it was given me to spend as i liked on the way. but miss true gave me such a big box of luncheon that i did not want anything." "a dollar wouldn't go far at the brick hotel," murmured the station agent. he still stared at her, stroking his lean, shaven jaw. finally he burst out with: "i tell you! we'll go home and see what my wife says." at the moment the station began to jar with the thunder of a coming train and ruth could not make herself heard in reply to his proposal. besides, sam curtis hurried out on the platform. nor was ruth ready to assert her independence and refuse any kind of help the station master might offer. so she sat down patiently and waited for him. there were one or two passengers only to disembark from this train and they went away from the station without even coming into the waiting room. then curtis came back, putting out the lights and locking his ticket office. the baggage room was already locked and ruth's old trunk was in it. "come on now, girl--what's your name?" asked curtis. "ruth fielding." "just so! well, it's only a step to our house and wife will have supper waiting. and there's nobody else there save mercy." ruth was a little curious about "mercy"--whether it referred to abounding grace, or was a person's name. but she asked no questions as they came out of the railroad station and sam curtis locked the door. they did not cross the tracks this time, but went into the new part of the town. turning a corner very soon as they walked up what curtis said was market street, they reached, on a narrow side street, a little, warm-looking cottage, from almost all the lower windows of which the lamplight shone cheerfully. there was a garden beside it, with a big grape arbor arranged like a summer-house with rustic chairs and a table. the light shining on the side porch revealed the arbor to ruth's quick eyes. when they stepped upon this porch ruth heard a very shrill and not at all pleasant voice saying--very rapidly, and over and over again: "i don't want to! i don't want to! i don't want to!" it might have been a parrot, or some other ill-natured talking bird; only ruth saw nothing of the feathered conversationalist when sam opened the door and ushered her in. "here we are, wife!" he exclaimed, cheerfully. "and how's mercy?" the reiterated declaration had stopped instantly. a comely, kind-faced woman with snow-white hair, came forward. ruth saw that she was some years younger than curtis, and he was not yet forty. it was not father time that had powdered mrs. curtis' head so thickly. "mercy is--why, who's this?" she asked espying ruth. "one of the girls come in to see her?" instantly the same whining, shrill voice began: "i don't want her to see me! they come to stare at me! i hate 'em all! all girls do is to run and jump and play tag and ring-around-a-rosy and run errands, and dance! i hate 'em!" this was said very, very fast--almost chattered; and it sounded so ill-natured, so impatient, so altogether mean and hateful, that ruth fell back a step, almost afraid to enter the pleasant room. but then she saw the white-haired lady's face, and it was so grieved, yet looked such a warm welcome to her, that she took heart and stepped farther in, so that sam curtis could shut the door. the father appeared to pay no attention to the fault-finding, shrill declamation of the unhappy voice. he said, in explanation, to his wife: "this is ruth fielding. she has come a long way by train to-day, expecting to meet her uncle, old jabe potter of the red mill. and you know how funny jabe is, wife? he came before the train, and did not wait, but drove right away with his mules and so there was nobody here to meet ruthie. she's marooned here till the morning, you see." "then she shall stay with us to-night," declared mrs. curtis, quickly. "i don't want her to stay here to-night!" ejaculated the same shrill voice. mr. and mrs. curtis paid no attention to what was said by this mysterious third party. ruth, coming farther into the room, found that it was large and pleasant. there was a comfortable look about it all. the supper table was set and the door was opened into the warm kitchen, from which delicious odors of tea and toast with some warm dish of meat, were wafted in. but the shrill and complaining voice had not come from the next room. in the other corner beside the stove, yet not too near it, stood a small canopy bed with the pretty chintz curtains drawn all about it. beside it stood a wheel-chair such as ruth knew was used by invalids who could not walk. it was a tiny chair, too, and it and the small bed went together. but of the occupant of either she saw not a sign. "supper will be ready just as soon as our guest has a chance to remove the traces of travel, sam," said mrs. curtis, briskly. "come with me, ruth." when they returned from the pleasant little bed-chamber which the good-hearted lady told ruth was to be her own for that night, they heard voices in the sitting room--the voice of mr. curtis and the querulous one. but it was not so sharp and strained as it seemed before. however, on opening the door, mr. curtis was revealed sitting alone and there was no sign of the owner of the sharp voice, which ruth supposed must belong to the invalid. "mercy has had her supper; hasn't she, wife?" said the station master as he drew his chair to the table and motioned ruth to the extra place mrs. curtis had set. the woman nodded and went briskly about putting the supper on the table. while they ate mr. curtis told about reno stopping the train, and of the search for and recovery of the injured cameron boy. all the time ruth, who sat sideways to the canopied bed, realized that the curtains at the foot were drawn apart just a crack and that two very bright, pin-point eyes were watching her. so interested did these eyes become as the story progressed, and ruth answered questions, that more of mercy curtis' face was revealed--a sharp, worn little face, with a peaked chin and pale, thin cheeks. ruth was very tired when supper was ended and the kind mrs. curtis suggested that she go to bed and obtain a good night's rest if she was to walk to the red mill in the morning. but even when she bade her entertainers good-night she did not see the child in the canopy bed and she felt diffident about asking mrs. curtis about her. the young traveler slept soundly--almost from the moment her head touched the pillow. yet her last thought was of uncle jabez. he had been in town some time before the train on which she arrived was due and had driven away from the station with his mules, mr. curtis said. had he driven over that dark and dangerous road on which tom cameron met with his accident, and had he run down the injured boy, or forced him over the bank of the deep gully where they had found tom lying unconscious? "it was jabe potter--he did it," the injured lad had murmured, and these words were woven in the pattern of ruth's dreams all night. the little cottage was astir early and ruth was no laggard. she came down to breakfast while the sun was just peeping above the house-tops and as she entered the sitting room she found an occupant at last in the little wheel-chair. it was the sharp, pale little face that confronted her above the warm wrapper and the rug that covered the lower part of the child's body; for child mercy curtis was, and little older than ruth herself, although her face seemed so old. to ruth's surprise the first greeting of the invalid was a most ill-natured one. she made a very unpleasant face at the visitor, ran out her tongue, and then said, in her shrill, discordant voice: "i don't like you at all--i tell you that, miss!" "i am sorry you do not like me," replied ruth, gently. "i think i should like you if you'd let me." "yah!" ejaculated the very unpleasant, but much to be pitied invalid. the mother and father ignored all this ill-nature on the part of the lame girl and were as kind and friendly with their visitor as they had been on the previous evening. once during breakfast time (mercy took hers from a tray that was fastened to her chair before her) the child burst out again, speaking to ruth. there were eggs on the table and, pointing to the golden-brown fried egg that mrs. curtis had just placed upon ruth's plate, mercy snapped: "do you know what's the worst wish i'd wish on my enemy?" ruth looked her astonishment and hesitated to reply. but mercy did not expect a reply, for she continued quickly: "i'd wish my enemy to have to eat every morning for breakfast two soft fried eggs with his best clothes on--that's what i'd wish!" and this is every word she would say to the visitor while ruth remained. but mr. curtis bade ruth good-bye very kindly when he hurried away to the station, and mrs. curtis urged her to come and see them whenever she came to town after getting settled at the red mill. it was a fresh and lovely morning, although to the weather-wise the haze in the west foredoomed the end of the day to disaster. ruth felt more cheerful as she crossed the railroad tracks and struck into the same street she had followed with the searching party the evening before. she could not mistake doctor davison's house when she passed it, and there was a fine big automobile standing before the gate where the two green lanterns were. but there was nobody in the car, nor did she see anybody about the doctor's house. beyond the doctor's abode the houses were far apart--farther and farther apart as she trudged on. nobody noticed or spoke to the girl as she went on with her small bag--the bag that grew heavy, despite its smallness, as she progressed. and so she traveled two miles, or more, along the pleasant road. then she heard the purring of an automobile behind her--the first vehicle that she had seen since leaving town. it was the big gray car that had been standing before doctor davison's house when she had passed, and ruth would have known the girl who sat at the steering wheel and was driving the car alone, even had reno, the big mastiff, not sat in great dignity on the seat beside her. for no girl could look so much like tom cameron without being tom cameron's sister. and the girl, the moment she saw ruth on the road, retarded the speed of the machine. reno, too, lost all semblance of dignity and would not wait for the car to completely stop before bounding into the road and coming to caress her hand. "i know who you are!" cried the girl in the automobile. "you are ruth fielding." she was a brilliant, black-eyed, vivacious girl, perhaps a year or more older than ruth, and really handsome, having her brother's olive complexion with plenty of color in cheeks and lips. and that her nature was impulsive and frank there could be no doubt, for she immediately leaped out of the automobile, when it had stopped, and ran to embrace ruth. "thank you! thank you!" she cried. "doctor davison has told us all about you--and how brave you are! and see how fond reno is of you! he knows who found his master; don't you, reno?" "oh, dear me," said ruth, breathlessly, "doctor davison has been too kind. i did nothing at all toward finding your brother--i suppose he is your brother, miss?" "how dare you 'miss' me?" demanded the other girl, hugging her again. "you're a dear; i knew you must be! and i was running back and intended to stop at the red mill to see you. i took father to town this morning, as he had to take an early train to the city, and we wished to see tom again." "he--he isn't badly hurt, then--your brother, i mean?" said ruth, timidly. "he is going to stay at the doctor's to-day, and then he can come home. but he will carry his arm in a sling for a while, although no bone was broken, after all. his head is badly cut, but his hair will hide that. poor tom! he is always falling down, or getting bumped, or something. and he's just as reckless as he can be. father says he is not to be trusted with the car as much as i am." "how--how did he come to fall over that bank?" asked ruth, anxiously. "why--it was dark, i suppose. that was the way of it. i don't know as he really told me what made him do such a foolish thing. and wasn't it lucky reno was along with him?" cried tom's sister. "now, i see you remained in town over night. they thought somebody had come for yon and taken you out to the mill. is jabez potter really your uncle?" "yes. he was my mother's uncle. and i have no other relative." "well, dear, i am more than sorry for you," declared the girl from the automobile. "and now we will climb right in and i'll take you along to the mill." but whether she was sorry for ruth fielding's friendlessness, or sorry because she was related to jabez potter, the young traveler could not decide. chapter vi the red mill "now, my name's helen, and you are ruth," declared miss cameron, when she had carefully started the car once more. "we are going to be the very best of friends, and we might as well begin by telling each other all about ourselves. tom and i are twins and he is an awful tease! but, then, boys are. he is a good brother generally. we live in the first yellow house on the right--up among the trees--beyond mr. potter's mill--near enough so that we can run back and forth and see each other just lots." ruth found herself warmly drawn toward this vivacious miss. nor was she less frank in giving information about herself, her old home, in darrowtown, that she still wore black for her father, and that she had been sent by her friends to uncle jabez because he was supposed to be better able to take care of and educate her. helen listened very earnestly to the tale, but she shook her head at the end of it. "i don't know," she said. "i don't want to hurt your feelings, ruthie. but jabez potter isn't liked very well by people in general, although i guess he is a good miller. he is stingy--" "i must say it. he isn't given to kind actions, and i am surprised that he should have agreed to take and educate you. of course, he didn't have to." "i don't suppose he did have to," ruth said, slowly. "and it wasn't as though i couldn't have remained in darrowtown. but miss true pettis--" "miss true?" repeated helen, curiously. "short for truthful. her name is rechelsea truthful tomlinson pettis and she is the dearest little old spinster lady--much nicer than her name." "well!" ejaculated the amazed helen. "miss true isn't rich. indeed, she is very poor. so are patsy hope's folks--patsy is really patricia, but that's too long for her. and all the other folks that knew me about darrowtown had a hard time to get along, and most of them had plenty of children without taking another that wasn't any kin to them," concluded ruth, who was worldly wise in some things, and had seen the harder side of life since she had opened her eyes upon this world. "but your uncle is said to be a regular miser," declared helen, earnestly. "and he is so gruff and grim! didn't your friends know him?" "i guess they never saw him, or heard much about him," said ruth, slowly. "i'm sure i never did myself." "but don't you be afraid," said the other, warmly. "if he isn't good to you there are friends enough here to look out for you. i know doctor davison thinks you are very brave, and daddy will do anything for you that tom and i ask him to." "i am quite sure i shall get on nicely with uncle jabez," she said. "and then, there is aunt alvirah." "oh, yes. there is an old lady who keeps house for mr. potter. and she seems kind enough, too. but she acts afraid of mr. potter. i don't blame her, he is so grim." the automobile, wheeling so smoothly over the hard pike, just then was mounting a little hill. they came over the summit of this and there, lying before them, was the beautiful slope of farming country down to the very bank of the lumano river. fenced fields, tilled and untilled, checkered the slope, with here and there a white farmhouse with its group of outbuildings. there was no hamlet in sight, merely scattered farms. the river, swollen and yellow with the spring rains, swept upon its bosom fence rails, hen-coops, and other flotsam of a spring flood. yonder, at a crossing, part of the bridge had been carried away. "if the dam at minturn goes, we shall be flooded all through this low land again," helen cameron explained. "i remember seeing this valley covered with water once during the spring. but we live on the shoulder of mount burgoyne, and you see, even the mill sets on quite high ground." ruth's eyes had already seen and lingered upon the mill. it was a rambling structure, the great, splashing millwheel at the far end, the long warehouse in the middle, and the dwelling attached to the other end. there were barns, corn-cribs and other outbuildings as well, and some little tillable land connected with the mill; and all the buildings were vividly painted with red mineral paint, trimmed with white. so bright and sparkling was the paint that it seemed to have been put on over night. "mr. potter is considered a good miller," said helen, again; "and he does not neglect his property. he is not miserly in that way. there isn't a picket off the fence, or a hinge loose anywhere. he isn't at all what you consider a miser must be and look like; yet he is always hoarding money and never spends any. but indeed i do not tell you this to trouble you, ruthie. i want you to believe, my dear, that if you can't stand it at mr. potter's you can stand it at mr. cameron's--and you'll be welcome there. "our mother is dead. we talk of her a good deal, just as though she were living and had gone on a little journey somewhere, and we should see her again soon. god took her when tom and i were only a few weeks old; but daddy has made himself our playfellow and dear, dear friend; and there has always been nurse babette and mrs. murchiston--at least, mrs. murchiston has been with us since we can remember. but what daddy says is law, and he said this morning that he'd like to have a girl like you come to our house to be company for me. it gets lonely for me sometimes, you see, for tom doesn't want to play with girls much, now he is so big. perhaps next fall i'll go away to boarding school--won't that be fun?" "it will be fun for you, i hope, helen," said ruth, with rather a wistful smile. "i don't know where i shall go to school." "there is your uncle now!" exclaimed miss cameron. "see that man in the old dusty suit?" ruth had already seen the tall, stoop-shouldered figure, who looked as though he had been powdered with flour, coming down the short path from one of the open doors of the mill to the road, where a little, one horse wagon stood. he bore a bag of meal or flour on his shoulder which he pitched into the wagon. the man on the seat was speaking as the automobile came to a stop immediately behind the wagon. "jefers pelters! ef there's one thing yeou know how to do, it's to take toll, jabe. let the flour be poor, or good, there's little enough of it comes back to the man that raises the wheat." "you don't have to bring your wheat here, jasper parloe," said the miller, in a strong, harsh voice. "there is no law compels ye." "yah!" snarled old parloe. "we all know ye, jabe potter. we know what ye be." potter turned away. he had not noticed the two girls in the automobile. but now jasper parloe saw them. "ho!" he cried, "here's somebody else that will l'arn ter know ye, too. didn't know you was ter hev comp'ny; did ye, jabe? here's yer niece, jabe, come ter live on ye an' be an expense to ye," and so, chuckling and screwing up his mean, sly face, parloe drove on, leaving the miller standing with arms akimbo, and staring at ruth, who was slowly alighting from the automobile with her bag. helen squeezed her hand tightly as she got out "don't forget that we are your friends, ruthie," she whispered. "i'm coming by again this afternoon when i drive over to the station for father. if--if anything happens you be out here--now remember!" what could possibly happen to her, ruth could not imagine. she was not really afraid of uncle jabez. she walked directly to him, as he stood there, staring gloomily, in front of the red mill. he was not only tall and stoop-shouldered, and very dusty; but his dusty eyebrows almost met over his light blue eyes. he was lantern-jawed, and it did seem as though his dry, shaven lips had never in all his life wrinkled into a smile. his throat was wrinkled and scraggy and his head was plainly very bald on top, for the miller's cap he wore did not entirely cover the bald spot. "i am ruth fielding, from darrowtown," she said, in a voice that she controlled well. "i have come to--to live with you, uncle jabez." "where was you last night?" demanded the miller, without so much as returning her greeting. "was you with them camerons?" "i stayed all night with the station master," she said, in explanation. "what time did you get to the station?" ruth told him. never once did his voice change or his grim look relax. "i mistook the time of the train," he said, without expressing any sorrow. "i--i hope you will be glad to have me come," the said. "miss true--" "you mean that old maid that wrote to me?" he asked, harshly. "miss true pettis. she said she thought you would like to have me here as we were so near related." "not so near related as some," was all he said in reply to this. after a moment, he added: "you can go along to the house yonder. aunt alviry will show you what to do." ruth could not have said another word just then without breaking down and weeping, so she only nodded and turned to walk up a path toward the house door. "one thing," urged the old man, before she had gone far. she turned to look at him and he continued: "one thing i want you to understand, if you live here you have got to work. i don't like no laggards around me." she could only nod again, for her heart seemed to be right in her throat, and the sting of the tears she wanted to shed, but could not, almost blinded her as she went on slowly to the house door. chapter vii aunt alvirah's back and bones ruth came to the kitchen door and found that the lower half was closed; but she could see over the upper panel that had been flung wide to let in the sweet spring air and sunlight. a little old woman was stooping to brush the rag carpet with a whisk broom and dustpan, and as she hobbled around the big stove and around the table, which was already set neatly for dinner, she was crooning to herself: "oh, my back and oh, my bones! oh, my back and oh, my bones!" she was a very neat-looking old lady, with a kerchief crossed on her breast in the style of the old-fashioned quakeresses. she was not much taller than ruth herself, for when she stood upright--or as upright as she could stand--her eyes were just about on a level with ruth's eyes looking in over the half door. but the face of the old lady seemed, to the lonely, tear-filled girl, almost the gentlest, sweetest face she had ever seen, as it slowly smiled upon her. aunt alviry's welcome was like the daybreak. "bless us and save us!" ejaculated she, rising upright by degrees with her hand upon the back she had been apostrophizing. "if here isn't a pretty little creeter come to see her aunt alviry. how-de-do, girl?" ruth had set down her bag. now she opened the door and stepped in. the smile of the old lady broke down every bit of fortitude the girl had left and she walked directly into aunt alviry's arms and burst into tears. "there! there! deary, deary me!" murmured the little old lady, patting her shoulder. "somebody has been treating you badly, i know. and you've come right to your aunt alviry for comfort. and you've come to the right place, my pretty girl, for i've got tons of comfort for ye." she found a chair and lowered herself into it, not without the formula which ruth had heard before, of "oh, my back and oh, my bones!" ruth dropped on her knees before her, hid her face in the old lady's lap, and had her cry out. meanwhile aunt alvirah seemed to have taken in several things about her guest that were significant. she touched the stuff of which ruth's gown was made, and nodded; even the black hair-ribbon did not go unnoticed. "now," said ruth, rising after a few moments, "i guess that's all of that foolishness. i--i don't usually cry, aunt alvirah." "pshaw, now! i could tell that," said the old lady, comfortably. "i am going right to work to help you," said the girl. "i can stoop better than you can." "i expect you can, you pretty creeter," admitted the old lady. ruth had already taken the brush and pan and was at work upon the floor. the lady said: "you ain't familiar to me, child. you've lost some folks lately, i see. do you live 'round here?" the little girl stopped and looked up at her in surprise. "why, don't you know about it?" she cried. "know about what, child?" "didn't you know i had come here to live with you?" "bless us and save us!" ejaculated aunt alvirah. "how did that happen?" "didn't my uncle tell you?" cried ruth, much more surprised than the old lady. "who's your uncle, child?" "why, mr. potter--uncle jabez." so astonished did the old lady appear to be that she started from her chair and her ejaculation was changed to a moan of pain as she murmured her old formula: "oh, my back and oh, my bones!" "jabez ain't said a word to me about it. why should he take anybody to help me? is he struck with the fear o' his latter end?" she said this in no cross-grained way, but because she was so amazed. she likewise stared harder and harder at her visitor. "you ain't come from the poor farm, child?" she asked, finally. the flush upon ruth's cheek and the expression which came into her face told aunt alviry that she was wrong there. "not that you look like poorhouse breed--not at all. you're too pretty dressed and you're too well fed. i know what they be there, for i have been there myself. yes, ma'am! jabez potter came after me to the poor farm. i was sickly, too. there's them that said he went to doctor davison first to find out if i was goin' to git well before he come arter me; but jabez ain't never treated me noways but kind. starn he is--by natur and by practice; an' clost he is in money matters. but he's been good to an old woman without a home who warn't neither kith nor kin to him." ruth listened to the first good word she had heard of uncle jabez, and the speech comforted her somewhat. perhaps there was something better within the rough husk of uncle jabez, after all. "i did not live near here," ruth said, quietly. "but my papa and mama did. i came from darrowtown." aunt alviry opened wide her bright brown eyes, and still stared in wonder. "my mother's name was mary potter, and she was mr. potter's niece. so he is my great-uncle." "bless us and save us!" ejaculated aunt alviry, again, shaking her head. "i never heard a word of it--never! i 'member mary potter, and a sweet, pretty child she was. but jabez never had no fondness for any of his kin. you--you are all alone in the world, child?" "all alone save for uncle jabez." she had come near to the old woman again. as she dropped quietly on her knees aunt alviry gathered her head close to her bosom; but ruth did not weep any more. she only said: "i know i shall love you very, very much, dear aunt alvirah. and i hope i shall help your back and your bones a great deal, too!" chapter viii hoarding up: passions--money--water this was ruth fielding's introduction to the red mill, its occupants, and its surroundings. the spot was, indeed, beautiful, and an hour after she had arrived she knew that she would love it. the lumano river was a wide stream and from the little window of the chamber that aunt alviry said would be her own, she could look both up and down the river for several miles. uncle jabez had a young man to help him in the mill. it was true, aunt alviry said, that jasper parloe had worked for some time at the red mill; but he was quarrelsome and mr. potter had declared he was not honest. when the mill owner was obliged to be absent and people had come to have corn or wheat ground, paying for the milling instead of giving toll, jasper had sometimes kept the money instead of turning it over to mr. potter. this had finally resulted in a quarrel between the two, and mr. potter had discharged parloe without paying him for his last month's work. the young newcomer had learned a great deal about the big mill and the homestead, and about the work aunt alviry had to do, before the first meal was prepared. she was of much assistance, too, and when uncle jabez came in, after washing at the pump, but bringing a cloud of flour with him on his clothes, the old woman was seated comfortably in her chair and ruth "dished up the dinner." at the end of his meal her uncle spoke just once to ruth. "you have l'arned to work, i see. your aunt alviry has trouble with her back and bones. if you make yourself of use to her you can stay here. i expect all cats to catch mice around the red mill. them that don't goes into the sluice. there's enough to do here. you won't be idle for want of work." and this was every word of his welcome, in a tone that showed neither interest nor care for the girl. it was what help she could be and how much he could save by her. it was plain enough that uncle jabez potter was as saving as a person could possibly be. there was none too much food on the table, and ruth watched the ravenous hunger of the hired man, when he came in, with a feeling as though she were watching a half-starved dog at his meal. jabez potter was not like the misers ruth had read about, save in his personal appearance. he was not well dressed, nor was he very clean. but naturally the mill-dust would stick to him and to his clothing. it seemed to have worked into the very texture of his skin during all the years he had controlled the mill, until he was all of a dead gray. sometimes there were half a dozen wagons or buggies waiting at the mill, and not all of them gave toll for their milling. ruth, in the afternoon, and because it had begun to rain and she could not go out, went into the mill to quench her curiosity regarding it. she saw that there was a tiny office over the water, with a fireproof safe in it. her uncle brought the money he took from his customers and put it in a little locked, japanned box, which he kept upon a shelf. the safe appeared to be full of ledgers. farther down the mill was a wide door and platform overhanging the water (this was below the dam) where flour and meal could be loaded upon barges for transportation to osago lake, some miles away. there were great bins of wheat and corn, many elevator pipes, several mills turning all the time, grinding different grains, and a great corn-sheller that went by power, and which the young man fed when he had nothing else to do. all the time the building trembled and throbbed, and this throbbing was communicated to the house. as she sat with aunt alvirah, and sewed carpet-rags for a braided mat, the distant thunder of the mills and the trembling of the machinery made the whole house vibrate. late in the afternoon ruth heard the honking of an auto horn and ran out upon the covered porch. between the scuds of rain that drove along the valley she saw the gray automobile coming slowly past the mill. there was a man driving it now, and he stopped and let helen cameron out so that she could run up to great ruth under the shelter of the porch. "oh, you dear! how are you getting on?" cried helen, kissing her impulsively and as glad to see ruth as though they had been separated for days instead of for only a few hours. "colfax wanted to drive down to the station alone for daddy--for we won't bring poor tom home in this rain--but i just couldn't resist coming to see how you were getting on." she looked around with big eyes. "how does the ogre treat you?" she whispered. but ruth could laugh now and did so, saying, cheerfully: "he hasn't eaten me up yet! and aunt alvirah is the dearest little lady who ever lived." "she likes you, then?" "of course she does." "i knew she would, she was bound to love you. but i don't know about the ogre," and she shook her head. "but there! i must run. we don't want to be late for the train. that will put daddy out. and i must stop and see tom at the doctor's, too." "i hope you will find your brother ever so mach better," cried ruth, as her friend ran down the walk again. "you'll see him come by here to-morrow, if it quits raining," returned helen, over her shoulder. but it did not stop raining that night, nor for a full week. the scuds of rain, blowing across the river, slapped sharply against the side of the house, and against ruth's window all night. she did not sleep that first night as well as she had in the charitable home of the station master and his good wife. the evening meal had been as stiff and unpleasant as the noon meal. the evening was spent in the same room-the kitchen. aunt alviry knitted and sewed; uncle jabez pored over certain accounts and counted money very softly behind the uplifted cover of the japanned cash-box that he had brought in from the mill. she got in time to know that cash-box very well indeed. it often came into the house under uncle jabez's arm at dinner, too. he scarcely seemed willing to trust it out of his sight. and ruth was sure that he locked himself into his room with it at night. a loaded shotgun lay upon rests over the kitchen door all the time, and there was a big, two-barreled, muzzle-loading pistol on the stand beside uncle jabez's bed. ruth was much more afraid of these loaded weapons than she was of burglars. but the old man evidently expected to be attacked for his wealth at some time although, aunt alvirah told her, nobody had ever troubled him in all the years she had lived at the red mill. so it was not fear of marauders that kept ruth so wakeful on this first night under her uncle's roof. she thought of all the kind friends she had left in darrowtown, and her long journey here, and her cold welcome to what she supposed would be her future home. without helen, and without aunt alvirah, she knew she would have gotten up, put on her clothing, packed her bag, and run away in the rain to some other place. she could not have stood uncle jabez alone. jabez potter was hoarding up something besides money, too. ruth did not understand this until it had already rained several days, and the roaring of the waters fretting against the river banks and against the dam, had become all but deafening in her ears. then, during a lull in the storm, and on the afternoon that tom cameron was taken home from dr. davison's, the old doctor himself stopped at the mill and shouted for jabez to come out. the doctor drove a very fast red and white mare and had difficulty in holding her in, for she was eager to be moving. uncle jabez came out and seemed to look upon the doctor in no very friendly way. ruth, standing at the open door of the kitchen, could hear dr. davison's voice plainly. "jabez," he said, "do you know how the river is at minturn?" "no," returned the miller, briefly. "it's higher than it's ever been. that dam is not safe. why don't you let your water out so that, if minturn should break, she'd have free sweep here and so do less damage below? let this small flood out and when the greater one comes there'll be less danger of a disaster." "and how do i know the minturn dam will burst, dr. davison?" asked mr. potter, tartly. "you don't know it. i'm only advising that precaution." "and if it don't burst i'll have my pains for my trouble--and no water for the summer, perhaps. they wouldn't let me have water later, if i needed it." "but you're risking your own property here." "and it's mine to risk, dr. davison," said potter, in his sullen way. "but there are other people to think of--" "i don't agree with you," interrupted the miller. "i have enough to do to attend to my own concerns. i don't bother about other people's business." "meaning that i do when i speak to you about the water; eh?" said the old doctor, cheerfully. "well, i've done my duty. you'll learn some time, jabez." he let out the impatient mare then, and the mud spattered from his wheels as he flew up the road toward cheslow. chapter ix the crest of the wave the rain could not last forever; nature must cease weeping some time. just as girls, far away from their old homes and their old friends, must cease wetting their pillows with regretful tears after a time, and look forward to the new interests and new friends to which they have come. not that ruth wept much. but the rainy days of that first week were necessarily trying. on saturday, however, came a clear day. the sun shone, the drenched trees shook themselves, and the wind came and blew softly and warmly through their branches to dry the tender foliage. the birds popped out of their hiding-places and began to sing and chirp as though they never could be glad enough for this change in the weather. there was so much to see from the kitchen door at the red mill that ruth did not mind her work that morning. she had learned now to help aunt alvirah in many ways. not often did the old lady have to go about moaning her old refrain: "oh, my back and oh, my bones! oh, my back and oh, my bones!" the housework was all done and the kitchen swept and as neat as a new pin when the gay tooting of the cameron automobile horn called ruth to the porch. there was only helen on the front seat of the car; but in the tonneau was a bundled-up figure surmounted by what looked to be a scarlet cap which ruth knew instantly must be tom's. ruth did not know many boys and, never having had a brother, was not a little bashful. besides, she was afraid tom cameron would make much of her connection with his being found on the wilkins corners road that dark night, after his accident. and there was another thing that made ruth feel diffident about approaching the boy. she had borne it all the time in her mind, and the instant she saw tom in the automobile it bobbed up to the surface of her thought again. "it was jabe potter--he did it." so, for more reasons than one, ruth approached the motor car with hesitation. "oh, ruth!" cried helen, putting out a gauntleted hand to her. "so this horrid rain has not washed you away? you won't like the red mill if the weather keeps this way. and how do you get on?" she added, lowering her voice. "how about the ogre?" "he has not ground me into bread-flour yet," responded ruth, smiling. "i see he hasn't. you're just as plump as ever, so he hasn't starved you, either. now, ruth, i want you to know my brother tom, whom you have met before without his having been aware of it at the time," and she laughed again. tom's left arm was in a sling, and the scarlet bandage around his head made him look like a pirate; but he grinned broadly at ruth and put out his lean brown hand. "when i heard about you, miss fielding, i knew you were a spunky one," he said. "and anybody that reno takes to, the way she did to you, is all right. besides, nell is just spoons on you already, and nell, like reno, doesn't take to every girl." "the doctor said an outing in the car wouldn't hurt tom," went on helen, "and we're going to run up the valley road a way. now ruth fielding, you get your hat and coat and come with us." "i don't know that i may," ruth said, timidly. "i'll believe that he is an ogre then, and that you are kept a prisoner in this awful castle," cried helen. "i'd love to go," murmured ruth. "then run and ask," urged her friend, while tom added, good-naturedly: "yes, why not come along? don't be afraid of nell's driving. she handles the car all right." ruth knew that uncle jabez had gone to town. she had a feeling that he did not like the camerons and might oppose her friendliness with them. but he was not at hand now to interfere with her innocent pleasures. she went in and asked aunt alvirah if she could take the ride. "why not, child? you've been the very best helpmate ever an old woman had--oh, my back and oh, my bones! run along and have your fun, deary. you need not be back till supper time. you have earned your little outing, that's sure and sartain." before helen had picked her up on the road to the red mill that first day, ruth had never ridden in a motor car. on that occasion they had traveled very slowly, while the girls talked. but now, when she was seated beside her new friend, helen ran the auto on its high gear, and they shot away up the level river road at a pace that almost took ruth's breath away. "up here among the foothills is the big minturn pond dam," tom said, leaning forward to speak to their guest. "it's twenty miles above your uncle's dam and is a deal bigger. and some say it is not safe--wait, nell! slow down so that we can see the face of the dam from the overlook." the speed of the car was immediately reduced under helen's manipulation, and then she swerved it into a short side road running toward the river, and they came out upon a little graveled plaza in the center of a tiny park, which gave a splendid view of the valley in both directions. but the young people in the motor car turned their eyes to the west. there the face of the minturn dam could be discerned; and even as they looked at it they seemed to see it changing--dissolving, covered with mist, and spouting geysers of what at first seemed like smoke. but it was tom who realized the truth. "she's burst!" he cried. "the old dam's burst! there she goes in a dozen places!" although they were several miles down the valley, the thunder of the bursting masonry now echoed in their ears. and up from the bottom of the wall, near its center, a great geyser spouted. in a moment the wall crumbled and they saw tons upon tons of the masonry melt away. the waters of the pond burst through in a solid flood and charged down the valley, spreading wider and wider as it charged on, and bearing upon its crest every light and unstable structure found in its path. it was a startling--a terrifying sight. no wonder the two girls cried out in alarm and clung together. the sight of the charging flood fascinated them. but then they were aroused--and that within the first half minute of their terror--by tom. he was trying, crippled as he was, to climb over into their seat. "what are you doing, you foolish boy?" cried helen. "sit down." "we've got to get out of here!" muttered the excited youth. "why, we are safe here. the water will never rise to this height." "i know it! i know it!" groaned tom, falling back in his seat and paling because of the pain from his arm, which he had twisted. "but don't you see? there are many down the valley who won't know of this until too late. why, they can't see it at the bridge--at culm falls-until the flood is right upon them." "it's true!" gasped helen. "what shall we do?" "we must warn them--we can warn them, can't we?" demanded ruth. "this car runs so fast--you control it so well, helen. can't we warn them?" "try it, sis!" shouted tom. "you can do it!" and already his sister, setting her teeth hard upon her lower lip, was backing and turning the motor car. in twenty seconds they were dashing off upon the track over which they had so recently come--on the road down the valley with the flood following fast behind them. chapter x the race the two girls on the front seat of the flying automobile were not prepared for racing. of course, ruth fielding had no proper automobile outfit, and helen had not expected such an emergency when she had started with her crippled brother for this afternoon run. she had no goggles, nor any mask; but she had the presence of mind to raise the wind-shield. already they could have heard the steady roaring of the advancing flood had not the racing motor car drowned all other sounds. there was, however, no need to look behind; they knew the wave was there and that it was sweeping down the valley of the lumano with frightful velocity. indeed, they were not at all sure for those first few miles whether they were traveling as fast as the flood, or not. suppose the wave should reach and sweep away the bridge before they could cross the river? the thought was in the mind of both helen and ruth, whether tom, on the rear seat, considered it or not. when they finally shot out of the woods and turned toward the toll-bridge, all glanced around. from here the upper reaches of the lumano were plainly revealed. and extending clear across the valley was the foam-crested wave charging down upon the lowlands, but a number of miles away. here was the first house, too. they saw a man and woman and several children out front, staring at the automobile as it raced down the road. perhaps they had been called from the house by the vibration of the bursting dam. tom sprang up in the car and pointed behind him, yelling: "the flood! the flood!" it is doubtful if they heard what he said; and they, too, were on a knoll and likely out of the reach of the water. but the three in the automobile saw the whole family turn and run for the higher ground behind their house. they understood the peril which menaced the whole valley. in a flash the auto had turned the bend in the river road, and the occupants saw the toll-bridge and the peaceful hamlet of culm falls. there was no stir there. the toll-bridge keeper was not even out of his cottage, and the light and flimsy gates were down across the driveway at either end of the bridge. the bend in the river hid the advancing wall of water. perhaps, too, it deadened the sound of the bursting dam and the roar of the waters. there was another house at the bend. helen tooted the automobile horn as though it had gone crazy. the raucous notes must of a certainty have awakened anybody but the seven sleepers. but the three in the car saw no sign of life about the premises. helen had started to slow down; but tom stopped her with a hand on her arm. "not here! not here!" he yelled. "get across the river first, nell! that wave is coming!" indeed it was. and the toll-bridge keeper did not appear, and the gates were shut. but helen cameron was excited now and her racing blood was up. she never hesitated at the frail barrier, but drove straight through it, smashing the gate to kindling wood, and smashing their own wind shield as well. out ran the toll-man then; but they were half way across the bridge; he could barely have raised the other gate had he set about it instantly. so they went through that, too, leaving him bawling and shrieking after them, but soon to learn by looking up the river what tom meant by his excited words as the motor car swept by. helen slowed down at the smithy. there were several men there and a number of wagons. the trio in the car screamed at them: "the dam has burst! the flood is coming!" and then started up again and swept through the little village, looking back to see the group at the smithy running in all directions to give the alarm. now the road, clear to the red mill and beyond, ran within sight of the river. the mill was all of ten miles away. the valley was low here and as far as they could see ahead it broadened considerably on this side of the lumano. but the hills arose abruptly on the farther bank and all the force and mass of the flood must sweep across these meadows. as the car moved on, helen tooted the horn constantly. its blasts alone should have warned people of what threatened, without tom's frantic shouts and gesticulations. they were obliged, however, to slow down before several houses to make the occupants understand their danger. they were not half way to the red mill when the roar of the advancing tidal wave was apparent even above the noise of the auto. then they saw the crest of the flood appear around the bend and the already heavily burdened waters dashed themselves upon the toll-bridge. it crumpled up and disappeared like a spider-web bridge, and the flood rolled on, the wave widening and overflowing the lowlands behind the automobile. ahead of them now upon the road there was a single foot-passenger--a man carrying a heavy basket. he seemed so far from the higher ground, and so determined to keep to the road, that ruth cried out and laid her hand upon helen's arm. the latter nodded and shut off the engine so that the automobile ran down and almost stopped by this pedestrian. "here, you!" shouted tom, from the tonneau. "get in here quick! there's no time to lose!" much of what he said was lost in the roaring of the waters; but the fellow understood him well enough, and scrambled into the car with his basket. it was jasper parloe, and the old man was shaking as with palsy. "my goodness gracious!" he croaked, falling back in the seat as the car darted away again. "ain't this awful? ain't this jest awful?" he was too scared, one would have supposed, to think of much else than the peril of the flood sweeping the valley behind them; yet he stared up at tom cameron again and again as the auto hurried them on toward the safety of the higher ground about the red mill, and there was something very sly in his look. "ye warn't hurt so bad then, arter all, was ye, master cameron?" he croaked. "i reckon i shall live to get over it," returned the boy, shortly. "but no thanks to jabe potter--heh? ha! i know, i know!" tom stared in return angrily, but the old man kept shaking his head and smiling up at him slily and in such a significant way that, had the boy not been so disturbed by what was going on behind them, he certainly would have demanded to know what the old fellow meant. but the car was getting close to the long hill that mounted to the crest on which the red mill stood. how much better would it have been for jabez potter and all concerned had he taken doctor davison's advice and let out the water behind his dam! but now he was not even at home to do anything before the thousands upon thousands of tons of water from the minturn reservoir swept through the red mill dam. they saw the foaming, yellow water spread over the country behind them; but within half a mile of the mill it gathered into narrower compass again because of the nature of the land, and the wave grew higher as it rushed down upon potter's dam. the motor car puffed up the hill and halted before the mill door. "will we be safe here, tom?" cried helen, as pale as a ghost now, but too brave to give way. "are we safe?" "we're all right, i believe," said tom. jasper parloe was already out of the car and ran into the mill. only the hired man was there, and he came to the door with a face whiter than it was naturally made by the flour dust. "come in, quick!" he cried to the young people. "this mill can't go-it's too solid." beyond the red mill the ground was low again; had the camerons tried to keep on the road for home the flood would have overtaken the car. and to take the road that branched off for cheslow would have endangered the car, too. in a few seconds the knoll on which the mill stood was an island! the girls and tom ran indoors. they could hardly hear each other shout during the next few minutes. the waters rose and poured over the dam, and part of it was swept out. great waves beat upon the river-wall of the mill. and then, with a tearing crash of rent timbers and masonry, the front of the little office and the storeroom, built out over the river, was torn away. from that quarter jasper parloe ran, yelling wildly. ruth saw him dart out of the far door of the mill, stooping low and with his coat over his head as though he expected the whole structure to fall about his ears. but only that wall and the loading platform for the boats were sliced off by the flood. then the bulk of the angry waters swept past, carrying all sorts of debris before it, and no farther harm was done to the mill, or to mr. potter's other buildings. chapter xi uncle jabez is excited so rapidly had all this taken place that the girls had remained in the mill. but now ruth, crying: "aunt alvirah will be frightened to death, helen!" led the way down the long passage and through the shed into the kitchen porch. the water on this side of the building had swept up the road and actually into the yard; but the automobile stood in a puddle only and was not injured. aunt alviry was sitting in her rocker by the window. the old woman was very pale and wan. she had her bible open on her knees and her lips trembled in a smile of welcome when the girls burst into the room. "oh, my dears! my dears!" she cried. "i am so thankful to see you both safe!" she started to rise, and the old phrase came to her lips: "oh, my back and oh, my bones!" then she rose and hobbled across the room. her bright little, birdlike eyes, that had never yet known spectacles, had seen something up the cheslow road. "who's this a-coming? for the land's sake, what recklessness! is that jabez and his mules, ruthie? bless us and save us! what's he going to try and do?" the two girls ran to the door. down the hill thundered a farm wagon drawn by a pair of mules, said mules being on the dead run while their driver stood in the wagon and snapped his long, blacksnake whip over their ears. such a descent of the hill was reckless enough in any case; but now, at the foot, rolled the deep water. it had washed away a little bridge that spanned what was usually a rill, but the banks of this stream being overflowed for yards on either side, the channel was at least ten feet deep. it was jabez potter driving so recklessly down the hill from cheslow. "oh, oh!" screamed the old lady. "jabez will be killed! oh, my back and oh, my bones! oh, deary, deary me!" she had crossed the porch and was hobbling down the steps. her rheumatic twinges evidently caused her excruciating pain, but the fear she felt for the miller's safety spurred her to get as far as the fence. and there ruth and helen kept her from splashing into the muddy water that covered the road. "you can do no good, aunt alvirah!" cried ruth. "the mules are not running away with him, mrs. boggs," urged helen. "they'll kill him! he's crazy! it's his money--the poor, poor man!" it was evident that aunt alvirah read the miller's excitement aright. ruth remembered the cash-box and wondered if it had been left in the mill while her uncle went to cheslow? however that might be, her attention--indeed, the attention of everybody about the mill--was held by the reckless actions of mr. potter. it was not fifteen minutes after the wave had hit the mill and torn away a part of the outer office wall and the loading platform, or wharf, when the racing mules came down to the turbulent stream that lay between the cheslow road and the red mill. the frightened animals would have balked at the stream, but the miller, still standing in the wagon, coiled the whip around his head and then lashed out with it, laying it, like a tongue of living fire, across the mules' backs. they were young animals and they had been unused, until this day, to the touch of the blacksnake. they leaped forward with almost force enough to break out of their harness, but landing in the deep water with the wagon behind them. so far out did they leap that they went completely under and the wagon dipped until the body was full of water. but there stood the miller, upright and silent, plying the whip when they came to the surface, and urging them on. ruth had noticed before this that uncle jabez was not cruel to his team, or to his other animals; but this was actual brutality. however, the mules won through the flood. the turgid stream was not wide and it was not a long fight. but there was the peril of mules, wagon and man being swept out into the main stream of the flood and carried over the dam. "he is awful! awful!" murmured helen, in ruth's ear, as they clung together and watched the miller and his outfit come through and the mules scramble out upon solid ground. the miller had brought his half-mad team to the mill and pulled the mules down right beside the cameron's automobile. already the young fellow who worked for him had flown out of the mill to jabez's assistance. he seized the frightened mules by their bits. "how much has gone, boy?" cried jabez, in a strained, hoarse voice. "not much, boss. only a part of the office an'--" the miller was already in at the door. in a moment, it seemed, he was back again, having seen the damage done by the flood to his building. but that damage was comparatively slight. it should not have caused the old man to display such profound despair. he wrung his hands, tore off his hat and stamped upon it on the walk, and behaved in such a manner that it was little wonder helen cameron was vastly frightened. he seemed beside himself with rage and despair. ruth, herself torn by conflicting emotions, could not bear to see the old man so convulsed with what seemed to be anguish of spirit, without offering her sympathy. during this week that she had been at the red mill it could not be said that she had gained uncle jabez's confidence--that she had drawn close to him at all. but it was not for a will on her part to do so. the girl now left aunt alvirah and helen on the porch and walked straight down to the old man. she was beside him, with a hand upon his arm, before he was aware of her coming. he stared at her so angrily--with such an expression of rage and hopelessness upon his face--that she was held speechless for a moment. "what do you know about it, girl?" he demanded, hoarsely. "about what, uncle?" she returned. "the box--the cash-box--my money!" he cried, in a low voice. "do you know anything about it? was it saved?" "oh, uncle! we only got here in the automobile just in time to escape the flood. the office was wrecked at that very moment. was the box there?" "gone! gone!" he murmured, shaking his head; and turning on his heel, he strode into the mill. the boy had taken the mules around to the stable. ruth hesitated, then followed the old man into the mill. there jabez confronted tom cameron, sitting on a sack of meal and watching the turbid waters falling over the dam. "ha! young cameron," muttered uncle jabez. "you didn't see the cash-box, of course?" "where was it?" asked tom, quietly. "in that office--on a shelf, with an old coat thrown over it. i believed it to be as safe there as in the house with nobody but an old woman to guard it." "better put your money in the bank, sir," said tom, coolly. "and have some sleek and oily scoundrel steal it, eh?" snarled uncle jabez. "well, the water stole it, i reckon," tom said. "i'm sorry for you if there was much money in the box. but i know nothing about it. jasper parloe might have saved the box had he known about it; he was over there by the office when the water tore away the wall." "jasper parloe!" ejaculated uncle jabez, starting. "was he here?" "he wasn't here long," chuckled tom. "he thought the mill was going and he lit out in a hurry." uncle jabez made another despairing gesture and walked away. ruth followed him and her hands closed upon the toil-hardened fist clenched at his side. "i'm sorry, uncle," she whispered. he suddenly stared down at her. "there! i believe you be, child. but your being sorry can't help it none. the money's gone--hard it come and it's hard to part with in this way." "was it a large sum, uncle?" "all the ready cash i had in the world. every cent i owned. that boy said, put it in a bank. i lost money when the cheslow bank failed forty year ago. i don't get caught twice in the same trap--no, sir! i've lost more this time; but no dishonest blackleg will have the benefit of it, that's sure. the river's got it, and nobody will ever be a cent the better off for it. all! all gone!" he jerked his hand away from ruth's sympathetic pressure and walked moodily away. chapter xii the catastrophe this was the beginning of some little confidence between ruth and uncle jabez. he had not been quite so stern and unbending, even in his passion, as before. he said nothing more about the lost cash-box-aunt alviry dared not even broach the subject--but ruth tried to show him in quiet ways that she was sorry for his loss. uncle jabez was not a gentle man, however; his voice being so seldom heard did not make it the less rough and passionate. there were times when, because of his black looks, ruth did not even dare address him. and there was one topic she longed to address him upon very much indeed. she wanted to go to school. she had always been quick at her books, and had stood well in the graded school of darrowtown. there was a schoolhouse up the road from the red mill--not half a mile away; this district school was a very good one and the teacher had called on aunt alvirah and ruth liked her very much. the flood had long since subsided and the repairs to the mill and the dam were under way. uncle jabez grew no more pleasant, however, for the freshet had damaged his dam so that all the water had to be let out and he might go into midsummer with such low pressure behind the dam that he could not run the mill through the drouth. this possibility, together with the loss of the cash-box, made him--even aunt alvirah admitted--"like a dog with a sore head." nevertheless ruth determined to speak to him about the school. she chose an evening when the kitchen was particularly bright and homelike and her uncle had eaten his supper as though he very much enjoyed it. there was no cash-box for him to be absorbed in now; but every evening he made countless calculations in an old ledger which he took to bed with him with as much care as he had the money-box. before he opened his ledger on this evening, however, ruth stood beside him and put a hand upon his arm. "uncle," she said, bravely, "can i go to school?" he stared at her directly for a moment, from under his heavy brows; but her own gaze never wavered. "how much schoolin' do you want?" he demanded, harshly. "if you please uncle jabez, all i can get," replied ruth. "ha! readin', writin', an' mighty little 'rithmatic--we called 'em 'the three r's '--did for me when i was a boy. the school tax they put onto me ev'ry year is something wicked. and i never had chick nor child to go to their blamed old school." "let me go, uncle, and so get some of your money back that way," ruth said, quickly, and smiling in her little, birdlike way with her head on one side. "ha! i don't know about that," he growled, shaking his head. "i don't see what i'll be makin' out of it." "perhaps i can help you later, if you'll let me learn enough," she urged. "i can learn enough arithmetic to keep your books. i'll try real hard." "i don't know about that," he said, again, eyeing her suspiciously. "the little money i make i kin keep watch of--when i'm here to watch it, that is. there ain't no book-keeping necessary in my business. and then--there's your aunt alviry. she needs you." "don't you go for to say that, jabez," interposed the old woman, briskly. "that child's the greatest help that ever was; but she can do all that's necessary before and arter school, and on saturdays. she's a good smart child, jabez. let her have a chance to l'arn." "ain't no good ever come of books," muttered the miller. "oh, uncle! just let me show you," begged the girl, in her earnestness clinging to his arm with both hands. he looked down for a moment at her hands as though he would fling off her hold. but he thought better of it, and waited fully a minute before he spoke. "you know your aunt alviry needs ye," he said. "if you kin fix it with her, why i don't see as i need object." "will it be too much trouble for you to get my trunk, uncle, so that i can begin going to school next week?" ruth asked. "ain't you got nothin' to wear to school?" he said. "it's dress; is it? beginning that trouble airly; ain't ye?" he seemed to be quite cross again, and the girl looked at him in surprise. "dear uncle! you will get the trunk from the station, won't you?" "no i won't," he said. "because why? because i can't." "you can't?" she gasped, and even aunt alvirah looked startled. "that's what i said." "why--why can't you?" cried ruth. "has something happened to my trunk?" "that's jest it--and it warn't no fault o' mine," said the miller. "i got the trunk like i said i would and it was in the wagon when we came down the hill yonder. "oh, oh!" gasped ruth, her hands clasped. "you don't mean when you ran the mules into the water, uncle?" "i had to get to my mill. i didn't know what was being done over here," he said, uglily. "and didn't i lose enough? what's the loss of some old rags, and a trunk, 'side of my money?" he said it with such force, and with so angry a gesture, that she shrank back from him. but her pain and disappointment were so strong that she had to speak. "and the trunk was washed out of the wagon, uncle jabez? it's gone?" "that's what happened to it, i suppose," he grunted, and dropping his head, opened the ledger and began to study the long lines of figures there displayed. not a word to show that he was sorry for her loss. no appreciation of the girl's pain and sorrow. he selfishly hugged to him the misfortune of his own loss and gave no heed to ruth. but aunt alvirah caught her hand as she passed swiftly. the old woman carried the plump little hand to her lips in mute sympathy, and then ruth broke away even from her and ran upstairs to her room. there she cast herself upon the bed and, with her sobs smothered in the pillows, gave way to the grief that had long been swelling her heart to the bursting point. chapter xiii butter and buttercups such little keepsakes as remained of her father and mother--their photographs, a thin old bracelet, her mother's wedding ring, her father's battered silver watch had fortunately been in ruth's bag. those keepsakes had been too precious to risk in the trunk and in the baggage car. and how glad the girl was now that she had thus treasured these things. but the loss of the trunk, with all her clothing --common though that clothing had been--was a disaster that ruth could not easily get over. she cried herself to sleep that night and in the morning came down with a woebegone face indeed. uncle jabez did not notice her, and even aunt alvirah did not comment upon her swollen eyes and tear-streaked countenance. but the old woman, if anything, was kinder than ever to her. it was saturday, and butter day. uncle jabez owned one cow, and since ruth had come to the mill it was her work twice a week to churn the butter. the churn was a stone crock with a wooden dasher and ruth had just emptied in the thick cream when helen cameron ran in. "oh, ruth!" she cried. "you're always busy--especially if i chance to want you at all particularly." "if you will be a drone yourself, helen, you must expect to be always hunting company," laughed ruth. "just what is troubling miss cameron at present?" "we're going to dress the cove chapel for to-morrow. you know, i told you our guild attends to the decoration of the chapel and i've just set my heart on making a great pillow of buttercups. the fields are full of them. and tom says he'll help. now, you'll come; won't you?" "if i come for buttercups it will have to be after the butter comes!" returned ruth, laughing. she had begun to beat the dasher up and down and little particles of cream sprayed up through the hole in the cover of the jar, around the handle of the dasher. helen looked on with growing interest. "and is that the way to make butter?" she asked. "and the cream's almost white. our butter is yellow--golden. just as golden as the buttercups. do you color it?" "not at this time of year. i used to help miss true make butter. she had a cow. she said i was a good butter maker. you see, it's all in the washing after the butter comes. you wait and see." "but i want to pick buttercups--and tom is waiting down by the bridge." "can't help it. butter before buttercups," declared ruth, keeping the dasher steadily at work. "and then, aunt alvirah may want me for something else before dinner." "we've got dinner with us--or, tom has. at least, babette put us up a basket of lunch." "oh! a picnic!" cried ruth, flushing with pleasure. this visit had driven out of her mind --for the time, at least--her trouble of overnight. "i'm going to ask aunt alviry for you," went on helen, and skipped away to find the little old woman who, despite the drawback of "her back and her bones" was a very neat and particular housekeeper. she was back in a few moments. "she says you can go, just as soon as you get the butter made. now, hurry up, and let us get into the buttercup field, which is a whole lot nicer than the butter churn and--oh! it smells much nicer, too. why, ruth, that cream actually smells sour!" "i expect it is sour," laughed her friend. "didn't you know that sweet butter comes from sour cream? and that most nice things are the result of hard work? the sweet from the bitter, you know." "my! how philosophical we are this morning. isn't that butter ever coming?" "impatience! didn't you ever have to wait for anything you wanted in your life?" "why, i've got to wait till next fall before i go to briarwood hall. that's a rhyme, ruthie; it's been singing itself over and over in my mind for days. i'm really going to boarding school in the autumn. it's decided. tom is going to the military academy on the other side of osago lake. he'll be within ten miles of briarwood." ruth's face had lost its brightness as helen said this. the word "school" had brought again to the girl's mind her own unfortunate position and uncle jabez's unkindness. "i hope you will have a delightful time at briarwood," ruth said, softly. "i expect i shall miss you dreadfully." "oh, suppose the ogre should send you to school there, too!" cried helen, with clasped hands. "wouldn't that be splendid!" "that would be beyond all imagination," said ruth, shaking her head. "i--i don't know that i shall be able to attend the balance of the term here." "why not?" demanded helen. "won't he let you?" "he has said i could." ruth could say no more just then. she hid her face from her friend, but made believe that it was the butter that occupied her attention. the dasher began to slap, slap, slap suggestively in the churn and little particles of beaten cream began to gather on the handle of the dasher. "oh!" cried helen. "it's getting hard!" "the butter is coming. now a little cold water to help it separate. and then you shall have a most delicious glass of buttermilk." "no, thank you!" cried helen. "they say it's good for one to drink it. but i never do like anything that's good for me." "give it to me, ruth," interposed another voice, and tom put a smiling face around the corner of the well. "i thought you were never coming, miss flyaway," he said, to his sister. "butter before buttercups, young man," responded helen, primly. "we must wait for ruth to--er--wash the butter, is it?" "yes," said her friend, seriously, opening the churn and beginning to ladle out the now yellow butter into a wooden bowl. "may i assist at the butter's toilet?" queried tom, grinning. "you may sit down and watch," said his sister, in a tone intended to quell any undue levity on her brother's part. ruth had rolled her sleeves above her elbows, so displaying her pretty plump arms, and now worked and worked the butter in cold water right "from the north side of the well" as though she were kneading bread. first she had poured tom a pitcher of the fresh buttermilk, and given him a glass. even helen tasted a little of the tart drink. "oh, it's ever so nice, i suppose," she said, with a little grimace; "but i much prefer my milk sweet." again and again ruth poured off the milky water and ran fresh, cold water upon her butter until no amount of kneading and washing would subtract another particle of milk from the yellow ball. the water was perfectly clear. "now i'll salt it," she said; "and put it away until this afternoon, and then i'll work it again and put it down in the butter-jar. when i grow up and get rich i am going to have a great, big dairy; with a herd of registered cattle, and i'm going to make all the butter myself." "and tom's going to raise horses. he's going to own a stock farm--so he says. you'd better combine interests," said helen, with some scorn. "i like horses to ride, and butter to eat, but--well, i prefer buttercups just now. hurry up, miss slow-poke! we'll never get enough flowers for a pillow." so ruth cleaned her face, taking a peep into the glass in the kitchen to make sure, before going out to her friends. tom looked at her with plain approval, and helen jumped up to squeeze her again. "no wonder aunt alvirah calls you 'pretty creetur'," she whispered in ruth's ear. "for that's what you are." then to tom: "now young man, have you the lunch basket?" "what there is left of it is in charge of reno down at the bridge," he replied, coolly. they found the huge mastiff lying with the napkin-covered basket between his forepaws, on the grass by the water side. reno was growling warningly and had his eyes fixed upon a figure leaning upon the bridge railing. "that there dawg don't seem ter take to me," drawled jasper parloe, who was the person on the bridge. "he needn't be afraid. i wouldn't touch the basket." "you won't be likely to touch it while reno has charge of it," said tom, quietly, while the girls passed on swiftly. neither ruth nor helen liked to have anything to do with parloe. when tom released reno from his watch and ward, the dog trotted after ruth and put his nose into her hand. "ye been up ter the mill, hev ye?" queried parloe, eyeing tom cameron aslant, "ye oughter be gre't friends with jabe potter. or has he squared hisself with ye?" "say, mister parloe," said tom, sharply, "you've been hinting something about the miller every time you've seen me lately. "only since yeou was knocked down that bank inter the gully, an' yer arm an' head hurt. there warn't nothin' about jabe ter interest yeou afore that," returned parloe, quickly. tom flushed suddenly and he looked at the old fellow with new interest. "just what do you mean?" he asked, slowly. "ye know well enough. your dad, tom cameron, is mighty riled up over your bein' hurt. i heered him say that he'd give a ten-dollar note ter know who it was drove by ye that night and crowded ye inter the ditch. would you give more than that not ter have it known who done it?" "what do you mean?" exclaimed tom, angrily. "i guess ye like this here gal that's cone to live on jabez, purty well; don't ye--yeou an' yer sister?" croaked old parloe. "wal, if your dad an' the miller gits inter a row--comes ter a clinch, as ye might say--yeou an' yer sister won't be let ter hev much ter do with ruth, eh, now?" "i don't know that that's so," tom said doggedly. "oh, yes, ye do. think it over. old jabe will put his foot right down an' he'll stop ruth havin' anything ter do with ye--ye know it! wal, now; think it over. i got a conscience, i have," pursued parloe, cringing and rubbing his hands together, his sly little eyes sparkling. "i r'ally feel as though i'd oughter tell yer dad who it was almost run ye down that night and made ye fall into the gully." "you mean, you'd like to handle dad's ten dollars!" cried tom, angrily. parloe smirked and still rubbed his hands together. "don't matter a mite whose ten dollars i handle," he said, suggestively. "your ten dollars would be jest as welcome to me as your dad's, master cameron." "ten dollars is a lot of money," said tom. "yes. it's right smart. i could make use of it i'm a poor man, an' i could use it nicely," admitted the sly and furtive parloe. "i haven't got so much money now," growled the boy. "yeou kin get it, i warrant." "i suppose i can." he drew his purse from his pocket. "i've got three dollars and a half here. i'll have the rest for you on monday." "quite correct," said jasper parloe, clutching eagerly at the money. "i'll trust ye till then--oh, yes! i'll trust ye till then." chapter xiv just a matter of a dress "well, i really believe, tommy cameron!" cried his sister helen, when he overtook the girls and reno, swinging the basket recklessly, "that you are developing a love for low company. i don't see how you can bear to talk with that jasper parloe." "i don't see how i can, either," muttered tom, and he was rather silent--for him--until they were well off the road and the incident at the bridge was some minutes behind them. but the day was such a glorious one, and the fields and woods were so beautiful, that no healthy boy could long be gloomy. besides, tom cameron had assured his sister that he thought ruth fielding "just immense," and he was determined to give the girl of the red mill as pleasant a time as possible. he worked like a trojan to gather buttercups, and after they had eaten the luncheon old babette had put up for them (and it was the very nicest and daintiest luncheon that ruth fielding had ever tasted) he told the girls to remain seated on the flat stone he had found for them and weave the foundation for the pillow while he picked bushels upon bushels of buttercups. "you'll need a two-horse load, anyway to have enough for a pillow of the size nell has planned," he said, grinning. "and perhaps she'll finish it if you help her, ruth. she's always trying to do some big thing and 'falling down' on it." "that's not so, master sauce-box!" cried his sister. tom went off laughing, and the two girls set to work on the great mass of buttercups they had already picked. they grew so large, and were so dewey and golden, that a more brilliant bed of color one could scarce imagine than the pillow, as it began to grow under the dexterous hands of helen and ruth. and, being alone together now, they began to grow confidential. "and how does the ogre treat you?" asked helen. "i thought, when i came this morning, that you had been feeling badly." "i am not very happy," admitted ruth. "it's that horrid ogre!" cried helen. "it isn't right to call uncle jabez names," said ruth, quietly. "he is greatly to be pitied, i do believe. and just now, particularly so." "you mean because of the loss of that cash-box?" "yes." "do you suppose there was much in it?" "he told me that it contained every cent he had saved in all these years." "my!" cried helen. "then he must have lost a fortune! he has been a miser for forty years, so they say." "i do not know about that," ruth pursued. "he is harsh and--and he seems to be very selfish. he--he says i can go to school, though." "well, i should hope so!" cried helen. "but i don't know that i can go," ruth continued, shaking her head. "for pity's sake i why not?" asked her friend. then, out came the story of the lost trunk. nor could ruth keep back the tears as she told her friend about uncle jabez's cruelty. "oh, oh, oh!" cried helen, almost weeping herself. "the mean, mean thing! no, i won't call him ogre again; he isn't as good as an ogre. i--i don't know what to call him!" "calling him names won't bring back my trunk, helen," sobbed ruth. "that's so. i--i'd make him pay for it! i'd make him get me dresses for those that were lost." "uncle is giving me a home; i suppose he will give me to wear all that he thinks i need. but i shall have to wear this dress to school, and it will soon not be fit to wear anywhere else." "it's just too mean for anything, ruth! i just wish--" what miss cameron wished she did not proceed to explain. she stopped and bit her lip, looking at her friend all the time and nodding. ruth was busily wiping her eyes and did not notice the very wise expression on helen's face. "look out! here comes tom," whispered helen, suddenly, and ruth made a last dab at her eyes and put away her handkerchief in a hurry. "say! ain't you ever going to get that thing done?" demanded tom. "seems to me you haven't done anything at all since i was here last." the girls became very busy then and worked swiftly until the pillow was completed. by that time it was late afternoon and they started homeward. ruth separated from helen and tom at the main road and walked alone toward the red mill. she came to the bridge, which was at the corner of her uncle's farm, and climbed the stile, intending to follow the path up through the orchard to the rear of the house--the same path by which she and her friends had started on their little jaunt in the morning. the brook which ran into the river, and bounded this lower end of mr. potter's place, was screened by clumps of willows. just beyond the first group of saplings ruth heard a rough voice say: "and i tell you to git out! go on the other side of the crick, jasper parloe, if ye wanter fish. that ain't my land, but this is." "ain't ye mighty brash, jabe?" demanded the snarling voice of parloe, and ruth knew the first speaker to be her uncle. "who are yeou ter drive me away?" "the last time ye was at the mill i lost something--i lost more than i kin afford to lose again," continued uncle jabez. "i don't say ye took it. they tell me the flood took it. but i'm going to know the right of it some time, and if you know more about it than you ought--" "what air ye talkin' about, jabe potter?" shrilled parloe. "i've lost money by you; ye ain't never paid me for the last month i worked for ye." "ye paid yerself--ye paid yerself," said jabe, tartly. "and if ye stole once ye would again--" "now stop right there, jabe potter!" cried parloe, and ruth knew that he had stepped closer to mr. potter, and was speaking in a trembling rage. "don't ye intermate an' insinerate; for if ye do, i kin fling out some insinerations likewise. yeou jest open yer mouth about me stealin' an' i'll put a flea in old man cameron's ear. ha! ye know what i mean. better hev a care, jabe potter--better hev a care!" there was silence. her uncle made no reply, and ruth, fearing she would be seen, and not wishing to be thought an eavesdropper (although the conversation had so surprised and terrified her that she had not thought what she did, before) the girl ran lightly up the hill, leaving the two old men to their wrangle. when uncle jabez came in to supper that evening his scowl was heavier than usual, if that were possible, and he did not speak to either ruth or aunt alvirah all the evening. chapter xv in school ruth thought it all over, and she came to this conclusion: uncle jabez had given his permission--albeit a grumpy one--and she would begin school on monday. the black cloth dress that was so shabby and would look so odd and proverty-stricken among the frocks of the other girls (for she had watched them going to and from school, and already knew some of them to speak to) would have to be worn, if possible, through the term. perhaps uncle jabez might notice how shabby she looked, finally, and give her something more appropriate to wear. especially as it had been through him that her other frocks were lost. but it was not an easy thing to face a whole schoolroom full of girls and boys--and most of them strangers to her--looking so "dowdyish." ruth's love of pretty things was born in her. she had always taken pride in her appearance, and she felt her shortcomings in this line quicker and more acutely than most girls of her age. she faced the school on monday morning and found it not so hard as she had supposed. miss cramp welcomed her kindly, and put her through quite a thorough examination to decide her grade. the darrowtown schools had been so good that ruth was able to take a high place in this one, and the teacher seated her among the most advanced of her pupils, although ruth was younger than some of them. the fact that ruth was well grounded in the same studies that the scholars at this district school were engaged in, made a difficulty for her at the start. but she did not know it then. she only knew that miss cramp, seating her pupils according to their grade, sent her to an empty seat beside one of the largest girls--julia semple. a good many of the girls stared at the new-comer with more than ordinary attention; but julia immediately turned her back on her new seatmate. ruth did not, however, give julia much attention at the time. she was quite as bashful as most girls of her age; and, too, there were many things during that first session to hold her attention. but at recess she found that julia walked away from her without a word and that most of the girls who seemed to be in her grade kept aloof, too. as a stranger in the school the girl from the red mill felt no little unhappiness at this evident slight; but she was too proud to show her disappointment. she made friends with the younger girls and was warmly welcomed in their games and pastimes. "julia's mad at you, you see," one of her new acquaintances confided to ruth. "mad at me? what for?" asked the surprised new scholar. "why, that seat was rosy ball's. rosy has gone away to see her sister married and she's coming back to-morrow. if you hadn't come in to take her place, rosy would have been let sit beside julia again, of course, although like enough she's fallen behind the class. miss cramp is very strict." "but i didn't know that. i couldn't help it," cried ruth. "just the same, julia says she doesn't like you and that you're a nobody--that jabe potter has taken you in out of charity. and julia pretty nearly bosses everything and everybody around this school. her father, mr. semple, you see, is chairman of the school board." her plain-spoken friend never realized how much she was hurting ruth by telling her this. ruth's pride kept her up, nor would she make further overtures toward friendship with her classmates. she determined, during those first few days at the district school, that she would do her very best to get ahead and to win the commendation of her teacher. there was a splendid high school at cheslow, and she learned that miss cramp could graduate pupils from her school directly into the cheslow high. it was possible, the teacher assured her, for ruth to fit herself for such advancement between that time and the fall term. it seemed as though ruth could never make her crotchety old uncle love her. as time passed, the loss of his cash-box seemed to prey upon the miller's mind more and more. he never spoke of it in the house again; it is doubtful if he spoke of it elsewhere. but the loss of the money increased (were that possible) his moroseness. he often spoke to neither the girl nor aunt alvirah from sunrise to sunset. but although uncle jabez was so moody and so unkind to her, in the little old woman, whose back and whose bones gave her so much trouble, ruth found a loving and thoughtful friend. aunt alvirah was as troubled at first about ruth's lack of frocks as the girl was herself. but before ruth had been attending school a week, she suddenly became very light-hearted upon the question of dress. "now, don't you fret about it, deary," said aunt alviry, wagging her head knowingly. "gals like you has jest got ter hev frocks, an' the good lord knows it, jest the same as he knows when a sparrer falls. there'll be a way pervided--there'll be a way pervided. ef i can't make ye a purty dress, 'cause o' my back an' my bones, there's them that kin. we'll hev miss 'cretia lock in by the day, and we'll make 'em." "but, dear," said ruth, wonderingly, "how will we get the goods--and the trimmings--and pay miss lock for her work?" "don't you fret about that. jest you wait and see," declared aunt alvirah, mysteriously. ruth knew very well that the old woman had not a penny of her own. uncle jabez would never have given her a cent without knowing just what it was for, and haggling over the expenditure then, a good deal. to his view, aunt alviry was an object of his charity, too, although for more than ten years the old woman had kept his house like wax and had saved him the wages of a housekeeper. this very day, on coming home from school, ruth had met doctor davison coming away from the red mill. she thought the red and white mare, that was so spirited and handsome, had been tied to the post in front of the kitchen door, and that the physician must have called upon aunt alvirah. "so this is the young lady who wouldn't stop at my house but went to sam curtis' to stay all night," he said, holding in the mare and looking down at ruth. "and you haven't been past the gate with the green eyes since?" "no, sir," ruth said, timidly. "i have never even been to town." "no. or you would not have failed to see the curtises again. at least, i hope you'll see them. mercy has never ceased talking about you." "the lame girl, sir?" cried ruth, in wonder. "why, she spoke awfully unkindly to me, and i thought her mother only thought i would feel bad and wanted to smooth it over, when she asked me to come again." "no," said the doctor, seriously, shaking his head. "nobody knows mercy like her mother. that's not to be expected. she's a poor, unfortunate, cramp-minded child. i've done what i can for her back-she has spinal trouble; but i can do little for mercy's twisted and warped mind. she tells me she has cramps in her back and legs and i tell her she has worse cramps in her mind. bright! why, child, she knows more than most grown folks. reads every book she can get hold of; there is scarcely a child in the cheslow high school who could compete with her for a month in any study she had a mind to take hold of. but," and the doctor shook his head again, "her mind's warped and cramped because of her affliction." "i pitied her," said ruth, quietly. "but don't tell her so. go and see her again--that's all. and mind you don't come to town without turning in at the gate with the green eyes;" and so saying he let the eager mare out and she swiftly carried him away. it was after this aunt alvirah seemed so confident that a way would be provided for ruth to get the frocks that she so sadly needed. on the very next day, when ruth came home from school, she found the little old lady in a flutter of excitement. "now, ruthie," she whispered, "you mustn't ask too many questions, and i'll surely tell ye a gre't secret, child." "it must be something very nice, aunt alviry, or you'd never be like this. what is it?" "now ruthie, you mustn't ask too many questions, i tell you. but to make no secret of it, for secrets i do despise, somebody's made you a present." "made me a present?" gasped ruth. "now, careful about questions," warned aunt alvirah. "i told you that a way would be pervided for you to have frocks. and it is true. you are a-goin' to have 'em." "auntie! new frocks!" "just as good as new. ev'ry bit as good as new. somebody that's-that's seen ye, deary, and knows how badly you want to go to school, and that you need dresses, has given you three." "my goodness me!" cried ruth, clasping her hands. "not three?" "yes, my dear. and they're jest as good as new--about. 'cretia lock won't be two days fixin' 'em over to fit you. and you won't mind, deary, if the little girl who wore them before you is--is--well, deary, she won't never want them any more." "oh, my dear!" cried ruth. "three frocks all at once! and--and i'm not to ask who gave them to me?" "that's it. you're not to ask that. i'll git 'em and show you--oh, my back and oh, my bones! oh, my back and oh, my bones!" the old lady added, starting from her chair and hobbling out of the room. ruth was so amazed that she hardly knew what her other feelings at the moment might be. but there had sprung into her mind, full-fledged, the suspicion that doctor davison had been the donor of the frocks. perhaps he had had a little girl sometime, who had died. for ruth had quite decided, from what aunt alvirah said, that the girl who had formerly worn the frocks in question was no longer upon earth. chapter xvi behind the green lamps aunt alvirah returned in a short time with such a pile of pretty colors over her arm that ruth gasped with delight, she couldn't help it the dresses were all nice ginghams, each of a different color, nicely trimmed and delightfully made. they were not too fancy for school wear, and they were good, practical frocks. ruth had worn her little black and white frocks at school while she was still in darrowtown, and had she remained longer miss true pettis would have helped her to make other frocks in colors. it is a sad thing to see a child in black, or black and white, and ruth's father had been dead now six months. "ye needn't be scart at the colors, child," said old aunt alviry. "here's this pretty lavender. we'll make that over first. 'cretia lock will be here to-morrow and we'll make a big beginnin'." "but what will uncle say?" gasped ruth, almost bursting with questions, but being debarred from asking the most important ones. "don't you fret about your uncle jabez. he ain't got nothin' ter do with it," declared the little old woman, firmly. "nor he won't say nothin'." which was very true. uncle jabez seldom spoke to his niece now. his moodiness grew upon him as time passed. and in the evening, as he sat over his endless calculations at the kitchen table, the girl and the old woman scarcely dared speak to each other save in whispers. miss lock worked three days, instead of two, at the red mill, helping aunt alvirah "dress-make." how she was paid, ruth did not know; but she feared that the pennies aunt alvirah saved from her egg and chicken money had done this. however, the shabby black frock was put away and ruth blossomed out into as pretty an appearance as any girl attending miss cramp's school. but she did not make friends among her classmates. julia semple had such influence that she seemed to have set all the girls of the higher class in the district school against ruth. julia herself could not pass ruth without tossing her head and staring at her haughtily; and sometimes she would whisper to her companions and look at the girl from the red mill in so scornful a way that ruth could not help feeling uncomfortable. indeed, ruth would have lacked almost all young company had it not been for helen cameron and tom. tom didn't think much of "playing with girls;" but he could always be depended upon to do anything ruth and helen wanted him to. helen was at the red mill often after ruth's school hours, and seldom did a saturday pass that the two chums did not spend at least half the day together. aunt alvirah declared ruth should have saturday afternoons to herself, and often helen came in her little pony carriage and drove ruth about the country. there was a fat old pony named tubby that drew the phaeton, and tubby jogged along the pleasant country roads with them in a most delightfully gypsyish way. one saturday afternoon they went to town. ruth had never seen cheslow save on the night of her arrival and on the following morning, when she had started directly after breakfast at the station master's house to walk to the red mill. "why, you'll like cheslow," declared helen, in her enthusiastic way. "it's just as pretty as it can be--you'll love it! i often drive in to shop, and sometimes mrs. murchiston goes with me. get up, tubby!" tubby had to be urged incessantly; exertion was not loved by him. he would rather walk than trot; he would rather stand than walk; and he always had the appearance of being asleep--save when he was at his manger. ruth remembered that she had been warned not to go past "the gate with the green eyes" and she told helen of her promise to doctor davison. "oh, splendid!" cried her chum. "i don't know anybody whom i like to call upon in cheslow ahead of doctor davison. it's almost as good as having him come to see you when you're sick." "but i don't think," ruth objected, "that it's any fun to have any doctor come to see one on business." "you don't half mind being ill when doctor davison calls," declared helen, with unabated enthusiasm. "and when you call there! well," concluded helen, with a sigh of anticipation, "you'll soon know what that means. he's got a colored mammy for cook who makes the most wonderful jumbles and cakes that you ever tasted--they about melt in pour mouth!" ruth soon had the opportunity of judging mammy 'liza's goodies for herself, for the doctor was at home, and the girls had scarcely become seated in his consultation room when a little colored girl with her wool "done" in innumerable pigtails, like tiny horns, and sticking out all over her brown head in every direction, came in with a tray on which was a plate piled high with fancy cakes and two tall glasses of yellow-gold beaten egg and milk with a dust of nutmeg floating upon the surface of each glassful. "'liza done sez as how yo'-all might be hongry aftah yo' ride," said the child, timidly, and then darted out of the room before ruth and helen could thank her. they were munching the goodies when doctor davison came smilingly in. "that's mammy 'liza all over," he said, shaking his head, but with his dark eyes twinkling. "i try to keep my young folk in good digestion and she is bound to make a patient of everybody who comes to see me. cookies and cakes and sweets are what she believes girls live for; or else she is trying to make customers for my nasty drugs." doctor davison seemed to have plenty of time to give to the society of young folk who called upon him. and he showed an interest in ruth and her affairs which warmed our heroine's heart. he wanted to know how she got along at school, and if it was true that she was trying to "make" the high by the opening of the fall term. "not that i want any of my young folk to travel the road to knowledge too steadily, or travel it when their bodily condition is not the best. but you are strong and well, ruthie, and you can do a deal that other girls of your age would find irksome. i shall be proud if you prepare to enter the high at your age." and this made ruth feel more and more sure that doctor davison had taken interest enough in her career at school to supply the pretty frocks, one of which she was then wearing. but aunt alvirah had warned her that the frocks were to remain a mystery by the special request of the donor, and she could not ask the good old doctor anything about them. his interest in her progress seemed to infer that he expected ruth to accomplish a great deal in her school, and the girl from the red mill determined not to disappoint him. when helen told doctor davison where else they intended to call, he nodded understandingly. "that is," he added, "ruth will call on mercy while you do your shopping, miss cameron. oh, yes! that is the better plan. you know very well that mercy curtis won't want to see you, helen." "i don't know why not," said helen, pouting. "i know she never treats anyone nicely, but i don't mind. if it does her good to do what tom calls 'bully-ragging,' i can stand it as well as ruth--better, perhaps." "no," said the doctor, gravely. "i have told you before why you shouldn't call there. you have everything that mercy can possibly desire. comparisons with poor mercy certainly are odious. ruth, she knows, is not so fortunately placed in life as yourself. she is not so fortunately placed, indeed, as mercy is. and mercy is in an extremely nervous state just now, and i do not wish her to excite herself beyond reason." "well, i declare," exclaimed helen, but good-naturedly after all. "i don't like to be told i'm not wanted anywhere. but if you say so, i'll not go with ruth to the house." doctor davison opened a new topic of conversation by asking after tom. "oh, his head is all healed up--you can just barely see the scar," helen declared. "and his arm is only a little tender. we think he got out of it very lucky indeed--thanks to ruth here." "yes, thanks to ruth," repeated the doctor, his eyes twinkling. ruth was "on pins and needles," as the saying is, for she very well remembered what the injured boy had murmured, in his half conscious state, when they brought him along the road on the stretcher. had it been jabez potter who ran down tom cameron and forced him down the embankment with his motorcycle? this thought had been bobbing up in ruth's mind ever since she had come to the red mill. she had seen her uncle driving his team of mules in one of his reckless moods. she would never forget how the team tore down the long hill and was forced through the flood the day the minturn dam had burst. had jabez potter been driving through the dark road where tom cameron was hurt, in any such way as that, he would have run down a dozen cyclists without noticing them. fortunately tom's injury had not been permanent. he was all right now. ruth felt that she must be loyal to her uncle and say nothing about her own suspicions; but as long as the matter was discussed between helen and doctor davison she was anxious. therefore she hurried their departure from the kind physician's office, by rising and saying: "i think we would better go, helen. you know how slow tubby is, and perhaps i can give the little curtis girl some pleasure by calling on her." "without doubt she'll have pleasure," observed helen, somewhat bitingly. "she is likely to scold and 'bullyrag' to her heart's content. you're such a meek thing that you'll let her." "if that's what gives her pleasure, helen," said ruth, with a quiet smile, "why, i guess i can stand it for an hour." doctor davison had risen likewise, and he went to the front door with them, his hand resting lightly on ruth's shoulder. "you have the right idea of it, ruthie," he said. "let mercy take her pleasure in that way if it's all the pleasure she can get. but perhaps a better mind as well as a better body may come to the poor child in time." then to ruth he added, more personally: "remember you have a friend in here behind the green lamps. don't forget to come to him with any troubles you may have. perhaps i do not look it, but i am something like a fairy godmother--i have a wonderful power of transmogrification. i can often turn dark clouds inside out and show you the silver on the other side." "i believe that, doctor davison," she whispered, and squeezed his hand hard, running after helen the next moment down the walk. chapter xvii tormenting mercy after they had awakened tubby and urged him into something resembling a trot they got into cheslow proper by degrees. by the light of the very sunshiny afternoon ruth thought the town looked far prettier than any place she had ever seen. this side of the railroad the houses were mostly old-fashioned, and there were few stores. there were many lawns and pretty, old-time gardens, while the elms and maples met in green arches overhead so that many of the streets were like rustic tunnels, the sun sifting through the thick branches to make only a fine, lacework pattern upon the walks and driveway. they crossed the railroad near the station and struck into market street. ruth would not allow helen to drive her directly to the curtis cottage. she had remembered doctor davison's words, and she thought that perhaps mercy curtis might be looking from the window and see her visitor arrive in the pony cart. so she got down at the corner, promising to meet her friend at that spot in an hour. she could see the pretty cottage belonging to the railroad station agent before she had walked far. its garden on the side was already a bower. but the rustic arbor on which the grape vines were trained was not yet sufficiently covered to yield any shelter from the street; therefore ruth did not expect to find it occupied. just before she reached the cottage, however, she saw two little girls ahead of her, hesitating on the walk. they were talking seriously together when ruth approached within earshot, and she heard one say to the other: "now, she'll be there in the window. we mustn't notice her, no matter what she does or says. you know what mamma said." the other child was sobbing softly. "but she made me, oh, such a face! and she chopped her teeth at me just as though she'd bite me! i think she's the very hatefulest thing--" "hush! she's greatly to be pitied," said the older sister, with an air and in a tone that showed she copied it from the "grown-ups" whom she had heard discussing poor mercy curtis. "i wish we'd gone 'round the other way," complained the other child. "now, come on. you needn't look into the window and smile. i'll do that." "no," said the little one, stubbornly. "i'll go by on the opposite side of the way. and you must come, too, anna. she--she'd bite me if she could get the chance." "oh, well! come on, little silly!" said her sister, and the two crossed over and ruth, who watched them interestedly, saw them hurry by the cottage with scarcely a glance at the front windows. but ruth could see the outline of the lame girl's figure at one of the windows and she saw a lean fist shaken in the air at the two children going by. she could imagine the face mercy curtis "pulled," as well, and did not wonder that the two little ones took to their heels and ran away as fast as ever they could. but, thus prepared for an unpleasant greeting from, the unfortunate and much to be pitied mercy, ruth smiled happily herself and waved her hand at the lame girl's window. mercy saw her and, for a moment, was stricken with surprise so that she could neither greet her with frown or smile. she knew the girl from the red mill, although she had seen her so many weeks before; but ruth ran into the yard and up the porch steps at the side of the house, and knocked at the door before the lame girl recovered from her amazement. the motherly mrs. curtis came to the door and, the moment she saw who it was, received ruth with open arms. "you dear child! i am so glad you have come again. did doctor davison tell you?" she whispered. "he told me that mercy would be glad to see me again; but i should have come before, as i promised, if i could have gotten in," ruth said. "will she see me?" "she is not so well to-day," sighed the harassed mother. "this is one of her days of torment. i do not know how she will treat you, ruth fielding; but don't mind what she says to you, dear. your being here will take her mind off her pain and off her own self." ruth laid aside her hat and coat and went into the sitting room. the crippled girl was in her wheel chair by the window. the instant ruth entered she seized the wheels on either side and propelled the chair across the room in a sudden dash that threatened to run her visitor down. and her face was screwed up into such a mean look, and her eyes flashed so angrily, that ruth was startled for a moment. but she stood her ground and instead of colliding with her, the nervous hands brought the chair to a sudden stop right before her. "thought you were going to be run down; didn't you?" snapped mercy. "i'd ought to break your legs--you run on them so fine. showing off; wasn't you?" she was offended because ruth had run so lightly into the cottage and the girl from the red mill made a decision there and then that she would never come in to see mercy again saving at a sedate walk. but she laughed lightly, and said: "do you want me to come on crutches, mercy? that wouldn't help you a bit." she put out her hand to take the lame girl's, but mercy struck it smartly with her own, then whirled her chair around and returned to her former position by the window. she handled the wheel chair with remarkable dexterity, and ruth, following her and taking a neighboring chair said: "how quick you are! you get around your room so nicely. i think that's fine." "you do; do you?" snapped the cripple. "if you'd been tied to this chair like i have, you'd be quick, too. i suppose it's something for me to be grateful for; eh?" "it must be a lot better than lying abed all the time," said ruth, quietly. "oh, yes! i suppose so!" snapped mercy. her conversation was mostly made up of snaps and snarls. "everybody tells me all about how happy i ought to be because i'm not worse off than i am. that's their tormenting ways--i know 'em! there!" she added, looking out of the window. "here's another of those dratted young ones!" ruth glanced out, too. a lady was coming along the walk holding a little boy by the hand. before they reached the cottage the little boy said something to his mother and then broke away from her hand and went to the other side of her, nearest the curb. "there! he's hiding from me," said mercy, bitterly. the lady looked up and smiled pleasantly, but the cripple only returned her pleasant salutation with a cold nod. the child peeped out from around his mother's skirt. "there! go along, you nasty little thing!" muttered mercy. "see him trot on his little fat legs. i wish a dog would bite 'em!" it was useless, ruth saw, to try and bring the cripple to a better mind. but she ignored her sallies at people who went by the window, and began to talk about the red mill and all that had happened to her since she had come to live with uncle jabez. gradually she drew mercy's attention from the street. she told about the flood, and how she, with helen and tom, had raced in the big automobile down the river road to warn the people that the water was coming. mercy's eyes grew big with wonder and she listened with increasing interest. "that's a nice place to live--that mill," the cripple finally admitted, grudgingly. "and it's right on the river, too!" "i can look 'way up and down the river from my window the first thing when i get up in the morning," ruth said. "it's very pretty at sunrise. and then, the orchard and the fields are pretty. and i like to see the men ploughing and working the land. and the garden stuff is all coming up so pretty and green." "i've got a garden, too. but it's not warm enough yet to plant many flower seeds," said mercy. "i suppose, when it comes warm, you can sit out in the arbor?" "when the grape leaves get big enough to hide me--yes," said mercy. "i don't go into the garden excepting in schooltime. then the young ones aren't always running by and tormenting me," snapped the cripple, chopping off her speech at the end. she was a self-tormentor. it was plain that the poor child made herself very miserable by believing that everybody possessing a strong back and lively legs felt his or her superiority to her and delighted in "showing off" before her. the girl of the red mill felt only pity for a sufferer possessing such an unfortunate disposition. she tried to turn the conversation always into pleasant channels. she held mercy's interest in the red mill and her life there. she told her of the broods of downy chicks that she cared for, and the butter-making, and the household tasks she was able to help aunt alviry about. "and don't you go to school?" demanded mercy. "i am going now. i hope this spring and summer to prepare myself for entering the cheslow high." "and then you'll be in town every day?" said mercy, with one of her occasional wistful looks. "i hope to. i don't know how i will get here. but i mean to try. miss cramp says if i'll come two or three times a week this summer, after our school closes, that she will help me to prepare for the high school exams., so i can enter at the beginning of the fall term. "i know miss cramp," said mercy. "she lives on this street. you'll be so busy then that you'll never get in to see me at all, i suppose." "why, i can come much oftener," cried ruth. "of course i will." if mercy was pleased by this statement, she would not show it. "i studied to enter high," she said, after a little silence. "but what's the use? i'll never go to school again. reading books isn't any fun. just studying, and studying, and studying doesn't get you anywhere." "why, i should think that would be nice," ruth declared. "you've got so much chance to study. you see, you don't have to work around the house, or outside, and so you have all your time to devote to study. i should like that." "yah!" snarled mercy, in her most unpleasant way. "that's what you say. i wish you were here to try it, and i could be out to the red mill." then she paid more softly: "i'd like to see that mill and the river--and all the things you tell about." "you wait!" cried ruth. "i'll ask uncle jabez and aunt alviry. maybe we can fix it so you could come out and see me. wouldn't that be fine?" "yah!" snarled the cripple again. "i'll never get that far away from this old chair." "perhaps not; but you might bring the chair with you," returned ruth, unshaken. "wait till vacation. i'll not give up the idea until i've seen if it can't be arranged." that the thought pleased mercy, the cripple could not deny. her eyes shone and a warmth of unusual color appeared in her thin cheeks. her mother came in with a tray of cakes and lemonade, and mercy became quite pleasant as she did the honors. having already eaten her fill at the doctor's, ruth found it a little difficult to do justice to this collation; but she would not hurt mercy's feelings by refusing. the hour passed in more pleasant converse. the cripple's mind was evidently coaxed from its wrong and unhappy thoughts. when ruth rose to leave, promising to come again as soon as she could get into town, mercy was plainly softened. "you just hate to come--i know you do!" she said, but she said it wistfully. "everybody hates to come to see me. but i don't mind having you come as much as i do them. oh, yes; you can come again if you will," and she gave ruth her hand at parting. mrs. curtis put her arms about the girl from the red mill and kissed her warmly at the door. "dear, dear!" said the cripple's mother, "how your own mother would have loved you, if she had lived until now. you are like sunshine in the house." so, after waving her hand and smiling at the cripple in the window, ruth went slowly back to the corner to meet helen, and found herself wiping some tender tears from her eyes because of mrs. curtis's words. chapter xviii the spelling bee in spite of the fact that the big girls at the district school, led by julia semple, whose father was the chairman of the board of trustees, had very little to say to ruth fielding, and shunned her almost altogether outside of the schoolroom, ruth was glad of her chance to study and learn. she brought home no complaints to aunt alvirah regarding the treatment she received from the girls of her own class, and of course uncle jabez never spoke to her about her schooling, nor she to him. at school ruth pleased miss cramp very much. she had gradually worked her way toward the top of the class--and this fact did not make her any more friends. for a new scholar to come into the school and show herself to be quicker and more thorough in her preparation for recitations than the older scholars naturally made some of the latter more than a little jealous. up to this time ruth had never been to the big yellow house on the hill--"overlook," as mr. macy cameron called his estate. always something had intervened when ruth was about to go. but helen and tom insisted upon the very next saturday following the girls' trip to cheslow as the date when ruth must come to the big house to luncheon. the camerons lived all of three miles from the red mill; otherwise ruth would in all probability have been to her chum's home before. tom agreed to run down in the machine for his sister's guest at half-past eleven on the day in question, and ruth hurried her tasks as much as possible so as to be all ready when he appeared in the big drab automobile. she even rose a little earlier, and the way she flew about the kitchen and porch at her usual saturday morning tasks was, as aunt alvirah said, "a caution." but before tom appeared ruth saw, on one of her excursions into the yard, the old, dock-tailed, bony horse of jasper parloe drawing that gentleman in his rickety wagon up to the mill door. "hi, jabe!" called jasper, in his cracked voice. "hi, jabe! here's a grindin' for ye. and for massy's sake don't take out a double toll as you us'ally do. remember i'm a poor man--i ain't got lashin's of money like you to count ev'ry night of my life--he, he, he!" the boy had appeared at the mill door first, and he stepped down and would have taken the bag of grain out of the wagon, had not the miller himself suddenly appeared and said, in his stern way: "let it be." "hi, jabe!" cackled jasper. "don't be mean about it. he's younger than me, or you. let him shoulder the sack into the mill." "the sack isn't coming into the mill," said jabez, shortly. "what? what?" cried parloe. "you haven't retired from business; have you, miller? ye ain't got so wealthy that ye ain't goin' to grind any more?" "i grind for those whom it pleases me to grind for," said the miller, sternly. "then take in the bag, boy," said jasper, still grinning. but mr. potter waved the boy away, and stood looking at jasper with folded arms and a heavy frown upon his face. "come, come, jabe! you keep a mill. you grind for the public, you know," said jasper. "i grind no more for you," rejoined the miller. "i have told you so. get you gone, jasper parloe." "no," said the latter, obstinately. "i am going to have my meal." "not here," said the miller. "now, that's all nonsense, jabe," exclaimed jasper parloe, wagging his head. "ye know ye can't refuse me." "i do refuse you." "then ye'll take the consequences, jabe--ye'll take the consequences. ye know very well if i say the word to mr. cameron--" "get away from here!" commanded potter, interrupting. "i want nothing to do with you." "you mean to dare me; do ye, jabe?" demanded jasper, with an evil smile. "i don't mean to have anything to do with a thief," growled the miller, and turning on his heel went back into the mill. it was just then that ruth spied the automobile coming down the road with tom cameron at the steering wheel. ruth bobbed into the house in a hurry, with a single wave of her hand to tom, for she was not yet quite ready. when she came down five minutes later, with a fresh ribbon in her hair and one of the new frocks that she had never worn before looking its very trimmest, jasper parloe had alighted from his ramshackle wagon and was talking with tom, who still sat in the automobile. and as ruth stood in the porch a moment, while aunt alvirah proudly looked her over to see that she was all right, the girl saw by the expression on tom's face that whatever parloe talked about was not pleasing the lad in the least. she saw, too, that tom pulled something from his pocket hastily and thrust it into parloe's hand. the old man chuckled slily, said something else to the boy, and then turned away and climbed into his wagon again. he drove away as ruth ran down the path to the waiting auto. "hullo, tom!" she cried. "i told you i wouldn't keep you waiting long." "how-do, ruth," he returned; but it must be confessed that he was not as bright and smiling as usual, and he looked away from ruth and after parloe the next moment. as the girl reached the machine uncle jabez came to the mill door again. he observed ruth about to get in and he came down the steps and strode toward the cameron automobile. jasper parloe had clucked to his old nag and was now rattling away from the place. "where are you going, ruth?" the miller demanded, sternly eyeing tom cameron, and without returning the lad's polite greeting. "she is going up to our house to lunch with my sister, mr. potter," tom hastened to say before ruth could reply. "she will do nothing of the kind," said uncle jabez, shortly. "ruth, go back to the house and help your aunt alvirah. you are going about too much and leaving your aunt to do everything." this was not so, and ruth knew very well that her uncle knew it was not so. she flushed and hesitated, and he said: "do you hear me? i expect to be obeyed if you remain here at the red mill. just because i lay few commands upon you, is no reason why you should consider it the part of wisdom to be disobedient when i do give an order." "oh, uncle! do let me go," begged ruth, fairly crying. "helen has been so kind to me--and aunt alvirah did not suppose you would object. they come here--" "but i do not propose that they shall come here any more," declared uncle jabez, in the same stern tone. "you can drive on, young man. the less i see of any of you camerons the better i shall like it." "but, mr. potter--" began tom. the old man raised his hand and stopped him. "i won't hear any talk about it. i know just how much these camerons have done for you," he said to ruth. "they've done enough--altogether too much. we will stop this intimacy right here and now. at least, you will not go to their house, ruth. do as i tell you--go in to your aunt alviry." then, as the weeping girl turned away, she heard him say, even more harshly than he had spoken to her: "i don't want anything to do with people who are hand and glove with that jasper parloe. he's a thief-a bigger thief, perhaps, than people generally know. at least, he's cost me enough. now, you drive on and don't let me see you or your sister about here again." he turned on his heel and went back to the mill without giving tom time to say a word. the boy, angry enough, it was evident from his expression of countenance, hesitated several minutes after the miller was gone. once he arose, as though he would get out of the car and follow jabez into the mill. but finally he started the engine, turned the car, and drove slowly away. this was a dreadful day indeed for the girl of the red mill. never in her life had she been so hurt--never had she felt herself so ill-used since coming to this place to live. uncle jabez had never been really kind to her; but aside from the matter of the loss of her trunk he had never before been actually cruel. he could have selected no way that would have hurt her more keenly. to refuse to let her go to see the girl she loved--her only close friend and playmate! and to refuse to allow helen and tom to come here to see her! this intimacy was all (and ruth admitted it now, in a torrent of tears, as she lay upon her little bed) that made life at the red mill endurable. had she not met helen and found her such a dear girl and so kind a companion, ruth told herself now that she never could have borne the dull existence of this house. she heard aunt alvirah's halting step upon the stair and before the old woman reached the top of the flight, ruth plainly heard her moaning to herself: "oh, my back! and oh, my bones!" thus groaning and halting, aunt alvirah came to ruth's door and pushed it open. "oh, deary, deary, me!" she whispered, limping into the room. "don't-ee cry no more, poor lamb. old aunt alviry knows jest how it hurts--she wishes she could bear it for ye! now, now, my pretty creetur--don't-ee take on so. things will turn out all right yet. don't lose hope." she had reached the bed ere this and had gathered the sobbing girl into her arms. she sat upon the side of the bed and rocked ruth to and fro, with her arms about her. she did not say much more, but her unspoken sympathy was wonderfully comforting. aunt alvirah did not criticise uncle jabez's course. she never did. but she gave ruth in her sorrow all the sympathy of which her great nature was capable. she seemed to understand just how the girl felt, without a spoken word on her part. she did not seek to explain the miller's reason for acting as he did. perhaps she had less idea than had ruth why jabez potter should have taken such a violent dislike to the camerons. for ruth half believed that she held the key to that mystery. when she came to think it over afterward she put what she had heard between the two old men--jabez and parloe--down at the brook, with what had occurred at the mill just before tom cameron had come in sight; and putting these two incidents together and remembering that jasper parloe had overheard tom in his delirium accuse the miller of being the cause of his injury, ruth was pretty sure that in that combination of circumstances was the true explanation of uncle jabez's cruel decision. ruth was not the girl to lie on her bed and weep for long. she was sensible enough to know very well that such a display of disappointment and sorrow would not better the circumstances. while she remained at the red mill she must obey uncle jabez, and his decisions could not be controverted. she had never won a place near enough to the miller's real nature to coax him, or to reason with him regarding this gruff decision he had made. she had to make up her mind that, unless something unexpected happened to change uncle jabez, she was cut off from much future association with her dear chum, helen cameron. she got up in a little while, bathed her face and eyes, and kissed aunt alvirah warmly. "you are a dear!" she declared, hugging the little old woman. "come! i won't cry any more. i'll come down stairs with you, auntie, and help get dinner." but ruth could eat none herself. she did not feel as though she could even sit at the table with uncle jabez that noon, and remained outside while the miller ate. he never remarked upon her absence, or paid her the least attention. oh, how heartily ruth wished now that she had never come away from darrowtown and had never seen the red mill. the next monday morning the rural mail carrier brought her a long letter from helen. uncle jabez had not said anything against a correspondence; indeed, ruth did not consider that he had more than refused to have the camerons come to see her or she to return their visits. if she met them on the road, or away from the house, she did not consider that it would be disobeying uncle jabez to associate with helen and tom. this letter from helen was very bitter against the miller and wildly proposed that ruth should run away from the red mill and come to overlook to live. she declared that her papa would not object-indeed, that everybody would warmly welcome the appearance of ruth fielding "even if she came like a tramp "; and that tom would linger about the red mill for an hour or two every evening so that ruth could slip out and communicate with her friends, or could be helped away if she wanted to leave without the miller's permission. but ruth, coming now to consider her situation more dispassionately, simply wrote a loving letter in reply to helen's, entrusting it to the post, and went on upon her usual way, helping aunt alviry, going to school, and studying harder than ever. she missed helen's companionship vastly; she often wet her pillow with tears at night (and that was not like ruth) and felt very miserable indeed at times. but school and its routine took up a deal of the girl's thought. her studies confined her more and more as the end of the term approached. and in addition to the extra work assigned the girl at the red mill by miss cramp, there was a special study which ruth wished to excel in. miss cramp was old-fashioned enough to believe that spelling was the very best training for the mind and the memory and that it was a positive crime for any child to grow up to be a slovenly speller. four times a year miss cramp held an old-fashioned "spelling-bee" at the schoolhouse, on designated friday evenings; and now came the last of the four for this school year. ruth had never been an extra good speller, but because her kind teacher was so insistent upon the point, the girl from the red mill put forth special efforts to please miss cramp in this particular. she had given much spare time to the study of the spelling book, and particularly did she devote herself to that study now that she hadn't her chum to associate with. the spelling-bees were attended by the parents of the pupils and all the neighbors thereabout, and helen wrote that she and tom were going to attend on the evening in question and that tom said he hoped to see ruth "just eat up those other girls" when it came to spelling. but ruth fielding much doubted her cannibalistic ability in this line. julia semple had borne off the honors on two occasions during the winter, and her particular friend rosa ball, had won the odd trial. now it was generally considered that the final spelling-bee would be the occasion of a personal trial of strength between the two friendly rivals. either julia or rosa must win. but ruth was the kind of a person who, in attempting a thing, did her very best to accomplish it. she had given some time and thought to the spelling book. she was not likely to "go down" before any easy, or well-known word. indeed, she believed herself letter perfect in the very hardest page of the spelling-book some time before the fateful evening. "oh, perhaps you think you know them all, ruth fielding!" exclaimed one of the little girls one day when the spelling-bee was being discussed at recess. "but miss cramp doesn't stick to the speller. you just wait till she tackles the dictionary." "the dictionary!" cried ruth. "that's what miss cramp does," the child assured her. "if she can't spell them down out of the speller, she begins at the beginning of the dictionary and gives words out until she finds one that floors them all. you wait and see!" so ruth thought it would do no harm to study the dictionary a little, and taking her cue from what the little girls said, she remained in between sessions and began with "aperse," committing to memory as well as she could those words that looked to be "puzzlers." before the day of the spelling-bee she believed that, if miss cramp didn't go beyond the first letter of the alphabet, she would be fairly well grounded in the words as they came in rotation. ruth knew that every other pupil in the school would have friends in the audience that evening save herself. she wished that aunt alvirah could have attended the spelling-bee; but of course her back and her bones precluded her walking so far, and neither of them dared ask uncle jabez to hitch up and take them to the schoolhouse in his wagon. the schoolhouse was crowded, all the extra seats that could be provided were arranged in rows, and, it being a mild evening, the men and bigger boys stood outside the open windows. there was a great bustle and whispering until miss cramp's tinkling bell called the audience as well as the pupils to order. the scholars took their places according to their class standing in a long row around the room. as one was spelled down he or she took a seat again, and so the class was rapidly thinned out, for many of the little folk missed on the very easiest words in the speller. ruth stood within ten pupils of the head of the line at the beginning and when the spelling began she had an encouraging smile and nod from helen, who, with her brother, sat where they could see the girl from the red mill ruth determined to do her best. chapter xix the sting of poverty at first miss cramp's "giving out" of the words was like repeated volleys of small-arms in this orthographical battle. every pupil well knew the pages of two-syllable words beginning, "baker, maker, poker, broker, quaker, shaker" and even the boys rattled these off, grinning the while in a most sheepish fashion at their elder brothers or their women-folk, who beamed in pride upon them until such lists as "food, soup, meat, bread, dough, butter" bowled over the more shaky ones. the first failures (and usually upon comparatively easy words) were greeted with some laughter, and the ridiculed spellers sought their seats with hanging heads. by and by, however, the failures were not all at the bottom of the class; here and there such lists as "inane, profane, humane, insane, mundane, urbane," or, "staid, unlaid, mermaid, prayed, weighed, portrayed" began to pick out uncertain ones the entire length of the line. miss cramp shot out word after word, her spectacles gleaming and her eyes twinkling. the grim little smile upon her lips when one big girl above ruth went down before "forswear," spelling it with an extra "e," showed that the teacher considered the miss deserved to fail because of her heedlessness. then, when she reached the list ending in "ay, ey and eigh" they fell like ripe huckleberries all down the line. "inveigh" dropped so many that it was indeed a massacre, and some of the nervous spellers got together such weird combinations of letters to represent that single word that the audience was soon in a very hilarious state. "move up," commanded miss cramp to the pupils left standing, and there was a great clumping of feet as the line closed up. not more than two dozen were standing by this time, and half an hour had not passed. but after that it was another story. the good spellers remained. they spelled carefully and quietly and a hush fell upon the whole room as miss cramp gave out the words with less haste and more precision. the "seeds," as all the children called the puzzling list, floored two, and several of the best spellers had to think carefully while the list was being given out: "proceed, succeed, exceed, accede, secede, recede, impede, precede, concede, antecede, intercede, supersede." fortunately ruth, who now kept her eyes upon miss cramp's face, spelled carefully and correctly, without any sign of hesitancy. the match went on then, for page after page, without a pupil failing. perhaps there was hesitation at times, but miss cramp gave any deserving scholar ample time. page after page of the spelling-book was turned. that tricksey little list of "goblin, problem, conduct, rocket, pontiff, compact, prospect, ostrich" finally left but three scholars between ruth and julia at the head of the class. one of these was oliver shortsleeves, a french canadian lad whose parents had anglicised their name when they came down into new york state. he was as sharp as could be and he had pushed julia semple and rosa ball hard before in the spelling matches. but he was the only boy left standing within the next few minutes, and again the pupils moved up. there were but fifteen of them. rosa ball came next to ruth, below her, and the girl from the red mill knew very well that miss ball would only be too delighted to spell her, ruth, down. indeed, when ruth waited a moment before spelling "seraglio," rosa in her haste blurted out the word, and julia smiled and there was a little rustle of expectancy. it was evident that many of the scholars, as well as the audience, thought ruth had failed. "wait!" exclaimed miss cramp, sharply. "did i pass that word to you, rosa?" "no, ma'am; but i thought..." "never mind what you thought. you know the rule well enough," said miss cramp. "that will be your word, and i will give ruth fielding another. spell 'seraglio' again, rosa." "'s e r a l g i o'," spelled rosa. "i thought in your haste to get ahead of ruth you spelled it wrongly, rosa," said miss cramp, calmly. "you may go down. next--'seraglio.'" miss ball went down in tears--angry tears--but there was not much sympathy shown her by the audience, and little by her fellow-pupils. it was soon seen that there was some sort of rivalry between ruth and julia, and that the girl from the red mill had not been treated fairly. oliver shortsleeves became sadly twisted up after hearing those immediately before him spell in succession "schooner, tetrarch, pibroch and anarchy" and tried to spell "architrave" with so many letters that he would have needed no more to have spelled it twice over. so ruth then became fourth in the line. she continued to spell carefully and serenely. nothing disturbed her poise, for she neither looked around the room nor gave heed to anything that went on save miss cramp's distinctly uttered words. on and on went the steady voice of miss cramp. she bowled over one pupil with "microcosm," another the next minute with "metonymy "; "nymphean" and "naphtha" sent two more to their seats; while the silent "m" in "mnemonics" cut a most fearful swath in the remainder, so that after the smoke of that bomb was dissipated only julia, ruth, and two others stood of all the class. julia semple had darted many angry glances et ruth since the cutting down of her friend, rosa ball, and her flaunting of the girl from the red mill, and her scornful looks, might easily have disturbed ruth had the latter not been wise enough to keep her own gaze fixed upon the teacher. helen and tom were delighted and plainly showed their enjoyment of ruth's success. now, as the situation became more strained, the audience applauded when one of the spellers overcame a more than ordinarily difficult word. so that when the girl next to ruth missed "tergiversation" and it passed to the girl from the red mill, who spelled it without hesitation, and correctly, helen applauded softly, while tom audibly exclaimed: "good for ruthie!" this did not make julia semple any more pleasant. she actually looked across at helen and tom and scowled at them. it had already begun to be whispered about the room that the match was easily julia's--that she was sure to win; and mr. semple, the chairman of the trustees, who sat on the platform with the teacher, looked very well satisfied indeed. but miss cramp had come down now to the final words in the speller-down to "zenith" and "zoology." and still there were three standing. miss cramp looked for a moment as though she would like to announce the match a tie between the trio, for it was plain there would be hard feelings engendered among some of the audience, as well as the pupils, if the match continued. her custom had been, however, to go on to the bitter end--to spell down the very last one, and she could not easily make a change in her method now. a general sigh and whispering went around when she was seen to reach for the academic dictionary which was always the foundation of the tower of books upon the northeast corner of miss cramp's desk. she opened the volume and shot out the word: "aperse." the girl standing between ruth and julia staggered along until they reached "abstinence"; she put an "e" instead of an "i" in the middle syllable, and went down. but the audience applauded her. julia semple began to hesitate now. the end was near. perhaps she had never taken the time to follow down the rows of words in the dictionary. at "acalycal" she stumbled, started twice, then stopped and asked to have it repeated. "'acalycal,'" said miss cramp, steadily. "'a c a l l y c a l,'" stammered julia. "wrong," said miss cramp, dispassionately. "next. 'acalycal'?" ruth spelled it with two 'l's' only and miss cramp looked up quickly. "right," she said. "you may step down, julia. it has been our custom to keep on until the winner is spelled down, too. next word, ruth: 'acalycine.'" but there was such a buzz of comment that miss cramp looked up again. julia semple had seemed half stunned for the moment. then she wheeled on ruth and said, in a sharp whisper: "i saw that cameron girl spell it for you! she's been helping you all the time! everybody knows she's patronizing and helping you. why, you're wearing her old, cast-off clothes. you've got one of her dresses on now! pauper!" ruth started back, her face turned red, then white, as though she had been struck. the smarting tears started to her eyes, and blinded her. "julia! take your seat instantly!" said miss cramp, more sharply. "ruth! spell 'acalycine.'" but ruth could not open her lips. had she done so she would have burst into tears. and she could not have spelled the word right--nor any other word right--at that moment. she merely shook her head and followed julia to her seat, stumblingly, while a dead silence fell upon the room. chapter xx uncle jabez is mysterious miss cramp was in the habit of calling upon some trustee to speak at the close of the exercises--usually mr. semple--and then there was a little social time before the assemblage broke up. but the frown on the chairman's face did not suggest that that gentleman had anything very jovial to say at the moment, and the teacher closed the exercises herself in a few words that were not at all personal to the winner of the spelling-match. when the stir of people moving about aroused ruth, her only thought was to get away from the schoolhouse. perhaps not more than two dozen people had distinctly heard what julia so cruelly said to her; but it seemed to the girl from the red mill as though everybody in that throng knew that she was a charity child--that, as julia said, the very frock she had on belonged to somebody else. and to helen! she had never for a moment suspected that helen had been the donor of the three frocks. of course everybody in the neighborhood had known all the time that she was wearing helen's cast-off clothing. everybody but ruth herself would have recognized the dresses; she had been in the neighborhood so short a time that, of course, she was not very well acquainted with helen's wardrobe. at the moment she could not feel thankful to her chum. she could only remember julia's cutting words, and feel the sting to her pride that she should have shown herself before all beholders the recipient of her friend's alms. nobody spoke to her as she glided through the moving crowd and reached the door. miss cramp was delayed in getting to her; helen and tom did not see her go, for they were across the room and farthest from the door. and so she reached the exit and slipped out. the men and boys from outside thronged the tiny anteroom and the steps. as she pushed through them one man said: "why, here's the smart leetle gal that took semple's gal down a peg-eh? she'd oughter have a prize for that, that's what she ought!" but ruth could not reply to this, although she knew it was meant kindly. she went out into the darkness. there were many horses hitched about the schoolhouse, but she reached the clear road in safety and ran toward the red mill. the girl came to the mill and went quietly into the kitchen. she had got the best of her tears now, but aunt alviry's bright eyes discovered at once that she was unhappy. uncle jabez did not even raise his eyes when she came in. "what is the matter with my pretty leetle creetur?" whispered the old woman, creeping close to ruth. "nothing is the matter now," returned ruth, in the same low tone. "didn't you do well?" asked the old woman, wistfully. "i won the spelling match," replied ruth. "i stood up longer than anybody else." "is that so!" exclaimed aunt alvirah, with pride. "i told ye so, ruthie. and ye beat that semple gal?" "she was the last one to fail before me," ruth returned. "well, well! d'ye hear that, jabez? our ruth won the spellin'-match." the miller did not raise his head from his accounts; only grunted and nodded. "but something went wrong wi' ye, deary?" persisted aunt alvirah, watching ruth's face closely. "oh, auntie! why didn't you tell me that helen gave me the frocks?" "deary, deary, me!" ejaculated aunt alvirah. "how did you know?" "julia semple told me--she told me before everybody!" gasped ruth, fighting hard to keep back the tears. "she called me a pauper! she called it out before them all, and said that i wore helen's cast-off clothes!" "the mean thing!" said aunt alvirah, with more sharpness then she usually expressed. "isn't that jest like the semples? they're all that way. got mad with you because you beat her at spelling; eh?" "yes. but she has known it right along, of course." "deary me!" said aunt alvirah. "nobody supposed them frocks would be reckernized--least of all helen. she meant it kindly, ruthie. it was kindly meant." "i wish i'd worn my old black dress to rags!" cried ruth, who was too hurt to be sensible or just. "i suppose helen meant it kindly. and you did what you thought was right, auntie. but all the girls have turned up their noses at me--" "let 'em stay turned up--what do you care?" suddenly growled uncle jabez. for the moment ruth had forgotten his presence and she and aunt alvirah had been talking more loudly. they both fell suddenly silent and stared at him. "are ye too proud to wear dresses that's give to ye?" demanded uncle jabez. "ye ain't too proud to take food and shelter from me. and i'm a poorer man than macy cameron an' less able to give." the tone and the words were both cruel--or seemed to be to ruth's mind. but she said, bravely: "people know that you're my uncle--" "i was yer mother's uncle; that's all. the relationship ain't much," declared uncle jabez. "jabez," said the little old woman, solemnly, "you've been a good friend to me--ye've borne with me in sickness and in weakness. ye took me from the a'mshouse when i didn't have a penny to my name and nobody else to turn to, it seemed. i've tried ter do for ye faithfully. but i ain't done my duty by you no more than this child here has since she's come here to the red mill. you know that well yourself, too. don't blame the pretty leetle creetur for havin' the nateral vanity that all young things hez. remember, jabez, that it was through you that she has had to accept clothing from outsiders." "through me?" growled the miller, raising his countenance and scowling at the brave old woman--for it took courage for aunt alvirah to speak to him in this way. "helen cam'ron wouldn't have been called on to give ruthie her frocks which she only wore last year, and outgrew, if you hadn't lost ruthie's trunk. ye know that, jabez," urged aunt alvirah. "i s'pose i'm never to hear the last of that!" stormed the miller. "you are still to hear the first word from ruthie about it, jabez," admonished his housekeeper. "well!" "well," repeated aunt alvirah, still speaking quietly but earnestly. "you know it ain't my way to interfere in your affairs, jabez. but right is right. it was you lost ruthie's trunk. i never knew ye ter be dishonest--" "what's that?" gasped mr. potter, the red mantling his gray cheek dully. "i never knew ye ter do a dishonest thing afore, jabez," pursued aunt alvirah, with her voice shaking now. "but it's dishonest for ye to never even perpose ter make good what ye lost. if you'd lost a sack of grain for a neighbor ye'd made it up to him; wouldn't ye?" "what's thet gotter do with a lot of foolish fal-lals an' rigamagigs belonging to a gal that i've taken in--" "to help us. and she does help us," declared the old woman, quickly. "she more'n airns her keep, jabez. ye know she does." "well!" grunted the miller again, but he actually looked somewhat abashed and dropped his gaze to the ledger. "well, then, jabez potter," said the old housekeeper, "you think it over--think it over, jabez. and as sure as my name's alviry boggs, if you do think it over, something will come of it!" this seemed like a rather mysterious saying, and there seemed to be nothing for the miller to observe in answer to it. ruth had ere this dried her eyes and it was soon bedtime. it is a long time from friday night to monday morning--especially to young folk. the hurt that ruth had felt over julia semple's unkind words had lost its keenness in ruth's mind ere school began again. so ruth took up her school duties quite as usual, wearing one of the pretty frocks in which, however, she could no longer take such pride and delight. there was really nothing for her to do but wear them. she realized that. she felt, however, that whenever any girl looked at her she remembered that it was helen cameron's cast-off dress she wore; so she was glad that the big girls were no more friendly than before and that they seldom looked at her. besides, all the school was very busy now. in a fortnight would came graduation. about all ruth heard at recess and between sessions, even among the smaller girls, was the discussion of what they were to wear on the last day of the term. it was a great day at this school, and miss cramp was to graduate from her care seven pupils--four girls and three boys--all of whom would go to the cheslow high the coming year. ruth would not be ready to graduate; but before fall, if she was faithful to the tasks miss cramp set her, that kind teacher assured the girl from the red mill that she would be able to enter the higher school with this graduating class. all the older girls and many of the others were to wear white. miss cramp approved of this, for even a simple white dress would look pretty and nice and was within the means of most of the girl pupils. nobody asked ruth what she would wear; and she was glad of that, for she knew that she had no choice but to don the shabby black cloth frock she had worn at first, or one of the "charity" frocks. in this first week after the spelling-bee she did not see helen or tom, and only received a brief note from helen which she tried to answer with her usual cheerfulness. helen and tom were going to the city for a few days, therefore ruth was not likely to see either until the end of the term. at the red mill matters went much the same as usual. if uncle jabez had taken to heart anything that aunt alvirah had said, he did not show it. he was as moody as ever and spoke no more to ruth than before. but once or twice the girl found him looking at her with a puzzled frown which she did not understand. on saturday, however, at dinner, mr. potter said: "alviry, if the gal has got her work done she can go to town with me this afternoon." ruth shrank a little and looked appealingly at the old woman. but aunt alvirah would not or did not, understand ruth's pleading, and said, briskly: "she shall be ready when you've shaved and ben's harnessed the mules, jabez." "oh, auntie!" whispered ruth, when the miller had gone out, "i don't want to go with him! i don't really!" "now, don't say that, child," said aunt alvirah. "don't do nothing to make him feel that ye air afraid of him. go 'long. ye can call on that leetle lame gal ye was tellin' us about while jabez does his errands. now hurry, deary." ruth felt quite confused by this. it seemed that there must be some private understanding between aunt alvirah and the miller. she went slowly and changed her frock. the old lady, crying up the stairway after her, advised her to look her smartest--so as to please jabez, forsooth! indeed, she finally hobbled up stairs, with many ejaculations of "oh, my back and oh, my bones!" for the purpose of satisfying herself that ruth was as nicely dressed as she could be. and uncle jabez--or no other man--need have been ashamed of the appearance of ruth fielding when the mules came around hitched to the heavy farm-wagon which mr. potter usually drove. it was piled high with bags of flour and meal, which he proposed to exchange at the cheslow stores for such supplies as he might need. the load seemed heavier than usual this day. it was not a bad wagon to ride in, though dusty; for there was a spring seat and over it a new hood to shield the riders from the sun. ruth followed uncle jabez out of the house and climbed up over the wheel and into the seat when he nodded for her to do so. he followed her, took up the reins, and the boy, ben, stood away from the mules' heads. aunt alvirah stood on the porch and waved her apron at ruth every time the girl turned around, until the wagon had crossed the bridge and was way up the long hill on the cheslow road. it was a delightful june afternoon and had ruth been traversing this pleasant highway in almost any other way, she would have enjoyed the ride mightily. chapter xxi the end of the term but the companionship of the grim and glum proprietor of the red mill was not conducive--in ruth's case, at least--to any feeling of pleasure. uncle jabez seemed about to speak to her a dozen times before they were out of sight of the mill; but every time ruth turned toward him, half expecting to be addressed, his lips were grimly set and he was looking straight ahead over the mules' ears. it is doubtful if uncle jabez saw anything of the beauty of the day or the variety of the landscape. looking as he did he could not have observed by his eyes of flesh much but the brown ribbon of road before them, for miles. and it is doubtful if, spiritually, he appreciated much of the beauty of the june day. the mules toiled up the long hill, straining in their collars; but they began to trot upon the other side of the ridge and the five miles to cheslow were covered in a comparatively short time. finally, when uncle jabez drew up before one of the largest stores, she felt that she must break the awful silence. and stumblingly she preferred her request: "if you are going to be some time trading, uncle jabez, can't i go down to call on mercy curtis? i can come here again and meet you at any time you say." "who's that? sam curtis' gal--the cripple?" asked uncle jabez, shortly. "yes, sir. she likes to have me come and see her." "can't you find nothing more interestin' to do when ye come to town than go to see a sick gal?" was the miller's surprising inquiry. "i--i promised to call on her if i could whenever i was in town. she really likes to have me come," explained ruth. "well, you can go," grunted uncle jabez. "i'll stop there for ye when i'm done tradin'." he had already climbed down from the high seat. ruth came lightly down after him and he actually turned and jumped her over the wheel so that her dress should not be soiled. then, suddenly, he said: "wait. i want you to go into this store with me first." he turned away abruptly, so that ruth could not see what his countenance expressed. he carefully tied his mules to a hitching post and then stumped into the store without again glancing in her direction. ruth followed him timidly. it was a big store with many departments, and on one side were dry goods and clothing, where the clerks were women, or young girls, while the groceries, provisions, hardware and agricultural tools were displayed upon the other side of the long room. uncle jabez strode straight to the first woman he saw who was disengaged. "this girl wants a dress to wear to the school graduating," he said, in his harsh voice. "it must be white. let her pick out the goods, all the fal-lals that go with it, and a pattern to make it by. ye understand?" "yes, sir," said the woman, smiling. "you know me?" asked uncle jabez. "yes? then send the bill to the other side of the store and i'll pay it when i sell my meal and flour." then to the astounded ruth he said: "i'll come to sam curtis' for you when i'm done. see you don't keep me waiting." he wheeled and strode away before ruth could find her voice. she was so amazed that she actually felt faint she could not understand it. a white dress! and she to make her choice alone, without regard to material, or price! she could have been no more stunned had uncle jabez suddenly run mad and been caught by the authorities and sent to an asylum. but the shop woman awoke her, having asked her twice what kind of white goods she wanted to see. the repeated query brought ruth to her senses. she put the astonishing fact that uncle jabez had done this, behind her, and remembered at once the importance of the task before her. she had not listened to the talk of the other girls at school for nothing. she knew just what was the most popular fabric that season for simple white dresses that could be "done up" when soiled. she had even found the style of a dress she liked in a fashion magazine that one of the girls had had at school. ruth was self-posessed at once. she went about her shopping as carefully and with as little haste as though she had been buying for herself for years; whereas this was the very first frock that she had ever been allowed to have the choice of. there were costlier goods, and some of the girls of the graduating class were to have them; but ruth chose something so durable and at so low a price that she hoped uncle jabez would not be sorry for his generosity. she saw the goods, and lace, and buttons, and all the rest, made up into a neat package and sent across to the other counter with the bill, and then went out of the store and up market street toward the railroad. she saw uncle jabez nowhere, or she would have run to him to thank him for the present. and she had been in mercy curtis' front window for quite an hour before the mules turned the corner into the street and the wagon rattled up to the house and stopped. "and is that ugly old man your uncle?" demanded mercy, who had been less crusty and exacting herself on this occasion. "that is uncle jabez;" admitted ruth, hastening to put on her hat. "he is an ugly one; isn't he? i'd like to know him, i would," declared the odd child. "he ain't one that's always smirking and smiling, i bet you!" "he isn't given much to smiling, i must admit," laughed ruth, stooping to kiss the crippled girl. "there! go along with you," said mercy, sharply. "you tell that ugly, dusty man--dusty miller, that's what he is--that i'm coming out to the red mill, whether he wants me to or not." and when ruth got out upon the street mercy had her window open and cried through the opening, shaking her little fist the while: "remember! you tell dusty miller what i told you! i'm coming out there." "what's the matter with that young one?" growled uncle jabez, as ruth climbed aboard and the mules started at a trot before she was really seated beside him. ruth told him, smiling, that mercy had taken a fancy to his looks, and a fancy, too, to the red mill from her description of it. "she wants very much to come out there this summer--if she can be moved that far." then ruth tried to thank the miller for the frock--which bundle she saw carefully placed among the other packages in the body of the wagon--but uncle jabez listened very grumpily to her broken words. "i don't know how to thank you, sir; for of all the things i wanted most, i believe this is the very first thing," ruth said, stumblingly. "i really don't know how to thank you." "don't try, then," he growled, but without looking at her. "i reckon you can thank alviry boggs as much as anybody. she says i owed it to you." "oh, uncle--" "there, there! i don't wanter hear no more about it," declared the miller. but after they had rattled on for a while in silence, he said, pursuing the former topic: "there ain't no reason, i s'pose, why that gal can't come out an' see you bimeby, if you want her to." "oh, thank you, uncle jabez!" cried ruth, feeling as though something very strange indeed must have happened to the miller to make him so agreeable. and she tried to be chatty and pleasant with him for the rest of the way home. but uncle jabez was short on conversation--he seemed to have hoarded that up, too, and was unable to get at his stores of small-talk. most of his observations were mere grunts and nods, and that evening he was just as glum and silent as ever over his money and accounts. miss 'cretia lock arrived early on monday morning and when ruth came home from school in the afternoon the wonderful dress was cut out. they made it in two days and aunt alvirah washed and starched and ironed it herself and it was ready for appearance on the last friday afternoon of the term, when the district school held its graduating exercises. chapter xxii mercy ruth felt that she was not very successful at miss cramp's school. not that she had fallen behind in her studies, or failed to please her kind instructor; but among the pupils of the upper grade she was all but unconsidered. perhaps, had time been given her, ruth might have won her way with some of the fairer-minded girls; but in the few short weeks she had been in the district she had only managed to make enemies among the members of her own class. there was probably no girl in the graduating class, from julia semple and rosa ball, down the line, who was not glad that the girl from the red mill--a charity child!--was not numbered in the regular class and had no part in the graduating exercises. nevertheless, ruth proposed, if it were possible, to enter the cheslow high school in the fall, and to that end she was determined to work at her books--with miss cramp's help--all summer. when it came to the last day, however, and it was known that ruth would not come back to that school again in the autumn, the smaller girls gathered about her and were really sorry that she was to go. forced out of any part with her own grade of pupils, ruth had taken the little ones about her and played and taught them games, had told them stories on rainy days, and otherwise endeared herself to them. and now the little folk made much of her on this last day, bringing her flowers, and little presents, and clinging about her before the afternoon session began and their parents and friends came to listen to the exercises, in a way that was very pretty to behold. aunt alvirah wanted to come to the closing exercises of the school; but to expect uncle jabez to leave the mill in business hours for any such thing as that was altogether ridiculous to contemplate. uncle jabez had, however, paid some small attention to ruth in her new dress. before she started for school that last day she went to the mill door and showed herself to the miller. "well, i don't see but you look as fine as the rest of 'em," he said, slowly. "and the price ain't much. you used judgment in buying, niece ruth. i'll say that much for ye." this being the first word of approval the miller had ever given her, the girl appreciated it to its full value. since he had given her the dress she had wished more than ever to become friendly with him. but he was so moody and so given up to his accounts and the hoarding of wealth, that it seemed next to impossible for the girl to get near uncle jabez. besides, he had never recovered from the bitterness engendered by the loss of the cash-box. a heavy scowl rested upon his brow all the time. sometimes he sighed and shook his head when he sat idle at the table, or on the porch in the evening; and ruth believed he must be mourning the money which the flood was supposed to have swept away. but although neither of the old folks at the red mill came to see the graduating exercises, ruth was not exactly unhappy. the little children showing her that they liked her so well, could not fail to be a lasting pleasure to ruth. and helen and tom, with their governess, mrs. murchiston, attended the exercises, and helen sat with ruth. "and we're going to take you home; the carriage will come for us," helen whispered in her ear. "no," ruth said, shaking her head, "i cannot go home with you. you know, uncle--" "he is an ogre," whispered helen, with vigor. that made ruth smile a little, and she told helen what mercy curtis called the owner of the red mill, and of the fancy the lame girl had taken for uncle jabez. "he is 'dusty miller' to mercy, and i shouldn't be surprised if uncle jabez had her out for a day or two, if the doctor will let her come. and you mustn't call him names, i tell you. see how good he has been to me. he gave me this new dress." "that must have hurt him awfully," said helen, sharply. "not but that the dress is becoming and pretty, dear. but that's the only thing he's ever given you, i warrant--and he lost your trunk!" the camerons insisted upon driving ruth as far as the red mill, just the same. mrs. murchiston was a very pleasant lady, and helen and tom evidently thought a good deal of her. "i should have been glad to have you for helen's playmate this summer, my dear," said the governess to ruth. "and i wish you were fortunate enough to be able to go with helen this fall. you have just the characteristics in your nature to balance dear helen's impetuosity." "oh, i wish indeed she was going to briarwood hall," cried helen. "i shall be satisfied if the way is opened for me to go to high school," ruth declared, smiling. "uncle has said nothing against it, and i shall begin next week walking in to miss cramp's to recite." helen asked very minutely about ruth's plans for going to cheslow to recite, and the very first day of the next week, when the girl of the red mill started for town, who should overtake her within half a mile of the mill, but helen and her governess going to cheslow on a shopping errand, and drawn by tubby, the pony. of course, there was room for ruth in the phaeton, and helen and mrs. murchiston remained in town as long as ruth did and brought her back with them. ruth had time to run in and see mercy curtis. "i'm coming out to the red mill, so now!" declared the lame girl. "i asked doctor davison, and he says yes. and if he says so, that uncle of yours, dusty miller, will have to let me. folks have to do as doctor davison says, you know. and your uncle--isn't he just an ugly dear? does he look just that cross all the time? i bet he never forgives his enemy!" this novel reason for liking uncle jabez would have been amusing had there not been a serious side to it. this odd child, with her warped and twisted fancies, was to be pitied, and ruth secretly pitied her with all her heart. but she was careful now not to show mercy that she commiserated her condition; that way was not the way to the cripple's heart. nevertheless, being a little less afraid of uncle jabez than she once was, that very evening she mentioned mercy's desire to him. uncle jabez never smiled, but it could be said that his face relaxed when she called up the memory of sam curtis' crippled daughter. "yes; why not?" rejoined aunt alvirah. "have the poor leetle creetur out here, jabez. she'll be no bother to you. and she kin sleep with ruthie." "how'll she get up and down stairs?" demanded the miller, quite surprising ruth and aunt alvirah by considering this phase of the matter. "you'll have to open the east bedroom, alviry." "jest as you say, jabez," answered the old woman, very meekly, but her bright eyes sparkling as she glanced aside at ruth. "she kin roll herself in her chair in and out of that room, and onto the porch." "i'll see doc. davison when he drives by to-morrer," promised uncle jabez, with his usual bruskness. "if he says it's all right, she can come. i'll bring her chair and her luggage out in the wagon on saturday. the doc. will arrange about her being brought out comfortably." all this was so amazing that ruth could not speak. except when he had been angry, or at the time his cash-box was lost when the flood came down the river, she had never heard uncle jabez make so long a speech. aunt alvirah was no person with whom she could discuss this great change in the miller; and when doctor davison was hailed by mr. potter the next day and stopped at the mill for quite half an hour to confer with him, ruth was still more amazed. every other day ruth was to go to town, if it was fair. uncle jabez made no comment upon her absence; nor did he put himself out in the least to arrange for any means of transportation for his niece. he seldom went to cheslow himself, save on saturdays. ruth's next trip to miss cramp's was on a very hot day indeed. there was a glare of hot sun on the long hill and just enough fitful breeze to sift the road-dust all over her as she walked. but--and how fortunate that was!--before she had gone far the purring of a motor-car engine aroused her attention and tom cameron ran along beside her in his father's auto and stopped. "ain't i lucky?" he cried. "get in here, ruthie, and i'll take you to town in a jiffy." "i'm the lucky one, i think," said ruth, smiling in return as she slipped into the seat beside him. "and i almost believe, tommy cameron, that you knew i was starting for town and came along just to give me a lift." he grinned at her. "don't you think you're mighty important?" he teased. "suppose i haven't anything else to think about but you girls?" just the same, ruth stuck to this belief. but she had to confess that she was glad of the ride to town. it would have been very, very hot in the sun and dust. "and it's real summer, now," she said. "it will be hot in town. i'm so glad mercy is going to get out of it." "what do you mean?" demanded tom. "is she going to be taken away?" ruth told him of the remarkable interest uncle jabez had taken in the crippled girl. tom could scarcely have been more surprised. "why, the old curmudgeon has got a decent streak in him, after all; hasn't he?" he exclaimed, rather thoughtlessly. "don't speak that way of him, tom," urged ruth. "i know you've got reason for disliking him--" "what do you mean?" demanded tom, turning on her sharply. "oh, i--well, tom, you know i believe i could easily find the man who almost drove the team over you the night you were hurt? and you've known it all the time, and kept still about it!" "that mean, contemptible jasper parloe! he's told!" gasped tom. "jasper parloe told?" repeated ruth. "not me." "then--" "you muttered it when they carried you to the doctor's house that night. you said it was my uncle," said ruth, quietly. "i have known it all along, and so has parloe, i suppose. he and i were the only persons who heard what you said when you were but half conscious. you've kept still about it so as to shield uncle, and i thank you." tom looked abashed; but he was angry, too. "confound that parloe!" he exclaimed again. "he's been bleeding me, too! threatened to go to my father and tell about it--and dad would have been pretty hot with your uncle, i expect." "it was just fine of you, tommy," ruth said, admiringly. "but i'd let that parloe tell anything he liked. uncle jabez never meant to run you down, i'm sure." "i tell you what," said tom. "i'll go to him myself and talk with him. guess i can do a little bargaining on my own hook. if i don't make him any trouble about my accident, he ought to let you and helen be spoons again. she's just about worrying herself sick over you." "it will come right, tom, in the end," returned ruth, quietly, and repeating aunt alvirah's favorite word of cheer. "uncle is changed, i believe. think of his taking so much interest in mercy!" "i'll see doctor davison," said tom, eagerly; "and perhaps i'll bring the sick girl out on saturday. she ought to be very comfortable in this machine. helen would be glad to do something for her, too." "but you don't want to make any show of doing anything for mercy," returned ruth, shaking her head as she got out before the station master's cottage. "there she is at the window. she'll be curious about you, i've no doubt." she only ran in for a few moments to see mercy before going on to miss cramp's. "that's that cameron boy," said the crippled girl, in her sharp way. "i see him and that sister of his whizzing through this street before in their car. wish it'd blow up some day when they're showing off." ruth had got so now that she never showed surprise at mercy's harsh speeches. she refused to admit that she took the lame girl seriously in her ugly moods. "now, you'd better not wish that, mercy," she laughed. "tom wants to take you out to the red mill on saturday in that same automobile. uncle jabez is going to take the wheel chair and your baggage. you'll like riding in the car well enough." for a moment the cripple was silent and her eyes fell before ruth's gaze. suddenly the guest saw that mercy's shoulders shook and that tears were actually dropping from mercy's eyes. "my dear!" she cried. "go away!" murmured the crippled girl. "i want to be alone. i ain't never believed," she went on, with more vigor than grammar, "that i'd ever get out to your house. is--is it really so that i can?" "uncle jabez is determined you shall come. so is doctor davison. so am i. everybody is helping. why, mercy, you'd have to come to the red mill on a visit now, even if you didn't want to!" cried ruth, laughing happily. chapter xxiii in olakah glen and mercy curtis really came to the red mill. perhaps it was because of doctor davison, for it was notorious that when the good physician set out to do a thing, or to have it done, it was accomplished. yet in this case it seemed as though the miller himself had as much to do with the successful outcome of the plan as anybody. he had little to say about it--or little to say at first to the crippled girl. but he saw that aunt alvirah and ruth had the east bedroom ready for mercy's occupancy before he started to town with his usual load of flour and meal on saturday afternoon; and he was at home in good season for supper with the empty grain sacks, the fruits of his saturday's trading, and mercy's wheel chair in the wagon. but before he returned to the red mill the camerons' big car, with helen and tom and the chauffeur, flashed past the red mill on its way to town and in a remarkably short time reappeared with mercy sitting beside helen in the tonneau. doctor davison arrived at about the same time, too, and superintended the removal of the cripple into the house. mercy was as excited as she could be. there was actually color in her face. she was so excited that she forgot to be snappy, and thanked them all for their kindness to her. "into bed you go at once, mercy," commanded doctor davison; "and in the morning you may get up as early as you please--or as early as ruth gets up." for ruth was to sleep on the couch in the sick girl's room during her visit to the red mill. the doctor drove the camerons away then, and adjured mercy to be quiet, leaving her to the tender nursing of ruth and aunt alvirah. mercy was in a mood to be friendly with everybody--for once. she was delighted with aunt alvirah. when uncle jabez arrived with the wheelchair she actually made him do errands for her and talked to him with a freedom that astonished both ruth and mrs. alvirah boggs. "there! i knew you'd do it, dusty miller," mercy said to the old man, tartly. "you men are all alike--just as forgetful as you can be. it's all very well to bring this old wheelchair; but where are my two sticks? didn't they give you my canes, dusty miller? i assure you i have to move around a bit now and then without using this horseless carriage. i've got to have something to hobble on. i'm goody two-sticks, i am. you know very well that one of my legs isn't worth anything at all." "ha!" croaked jabez potter, eyeing her with his usual frown, "i didn't bring any canes; because why? there weren't any given me. they're not in the wagon." "my! do you always frown just like that?" demanded mercy curtis, in a manner which would have been impertinent in any other person, but was her natural way of speaking. "you don't waste your time in smiling and smirking; do you?" "i never saw any use in it--unless ye had something perticular to smile for," admitted mr. potter. "then it won't spoil your smile if i tell you that you'll have to find me canes somewhere if i'm to help myself at all," she said. he gravely brought two rough staffs, measured them off at just the right height for her, and spent the bulk of the evening in smoothing the rough sticks and tacking on bits of leather at the small ends of the canes in lieu of ferrules. the east bedroom was at the end of the passage leading from the kitchen. it was right next to uncle jabez's own room. they all sat in the east room that evening, for its windows opened upon the wide, honeysuckle-shaded porch, and the breeze was cool. it was the beginning of many such evenings, for although uncle jabez sometimes retired to his bedroom where a lamp burned, and made up his cash-book and counted his money (or so ruth supposed) not an evening went by that the miller was not, for a time at least, in the cripple's room. he did not talk much. indeed, if he talked to anyone more than to another it was to ruth; but he seemed to take a quizzical interest in watching mercy's wry faces when she was in one of her ugly moods, and in listening to her sharp speeches. the outdoor air and sun, and the plentiful supply of fresh milk and vegetables and farm cooking, began to make another girl of mercy before a week went over her head. she had actually some natural color, her hands became less like bird-claws, and her hollow cheeks began to fill out. on sunday mr. and mrs. curtis drove out to see her. the red mill had not been so lively a place since ruth came to it, she knew, and, she could imagine; for many a long year before. doctor davison was there every day. other neighbors were continually running in to see mercy, or to bring something for the invalid. at first, in her old, snappy, snarly way, mercy would say: "old cat! just wanted to see how humpy and mean i look. thought i was as ugly as a bullfrog, i s'pose. i know what they're after!" but as she really began to feel better, and slept long and sweetly at night, and altogether to gain in health, she dropped such sharp speeches and had a smile when visitors came and when they left. everybody who drove by and saw her sitting on the porch, or wheeling herself, or being wheeled by ruth, about the paths, had something to say to her, or waved a hand at her, and mercy curtis began to be pleasant mannered. she hobbled around her room more on the "two-sticks" uncle jabez had made for her; but she never liked to have even ruth see her at these exercises. she certainly did get about in a very queer manner--"just like a crab with the st. vitus dance," so she herself said. the doctor watched her closely. he was more attentive than he had been when she was much worse off in health; and finally, after mercy had been at the red mill for nearly a month, he brought a strange physician to see her. this gentleman was a great surgeon from new york, who asked mercy a few questions, but who watched her with so intent a look that the little crippled girl was half frightened at him. he inspired confidence, however, and when he said to her, on departing: "you are going to see me again before long," mercy was quite excited about it. she never asked a question of doctor davison, or of anybody else, about the strange surgeon, or his opinion of her case; but ruth often heard her humming an odd little song (she often made up little tunes and put words to them herself) of which ruth did not catch the burden for some days. when mercy was singing it she mumbled the words, or dropped her voice to a whisper whenever anybody came near. but one morning ruth was bringing the beaten egg and milk that she drank as a "pick-me-up" between breakfast and dinner, and mercy did not hear her coming, and the odd little song came clearly to the ears of the girl of the red mill: "he's going to cure me! oh, my back and oh, my bones! he's going to cure me! oh, my back and oh, my bones!" ruth knew instantly to what the little doggerel song referred. it is true mercy had filched aunt alvirah's phrase and made it her own--and it applied to the poor child as well as to the rheumatic old woman. but it was a song of joy--a song of expectation. ruth tried to be even more kind to mercy after that. she was with her almost all the time. but there were occasions when helen and tom cameron really made her come out with them on some little jaunt. since mercy's arrival at the red mill the camerons had fallen into the habit of calling occasionally, and uncle jabez had said nothing about it. ostensibly they called on mercy; but it was ruth that they came for with the pony carriage one day and took away for a visit to olakah glen. this beautiful spot was not so very far away, but it called for a picnic lunch, and tubby was quite two hours in getting them there. it was a wild hollow, with great beech trees, and a noisy stream chaffing in a rocky bed down the middle of the glen. there were some farms thereabout; but many of the farmers were no more than squatters, for a vast tract of field and forest, including the glen, belonged to an estate which had long been in the courts for settlement. just before leaving all signs of civilization behind, tom had pointed out a shanty and several outbuildings on a high hillock overlooking the road, and told the girls that that was where jasper parloe lived, all alone. "i came up here fishing with some of the other fellows once, and jasper tried to drive us out of the glen. said he owned it. likely story! he won't trouble us to-day." indeed, wild as the spot was, there was little likelihood of anybody troubling the young people, for they had reno along. this faithful creature watched over the trio most jealously and, as they were eating on the grass, he found some sudden reason to become excited. he rose up, stiffening his back, the hair rising on his neck, and a low growl issuing from his throat. the girls were a little startled, but tom sprang up, motioned to helen and ruth to keep still, and ran to the angry mastiff. "what's the matter with you, reno?" demanded tom, softly, but putting a restraining hand upon his collar. reno lurched forward, and tom gripped the collar tightly as he was dragged directly toward a thick dump of shrubbery not many yards away. chapter xxiv the initials there was no sound that tom cameron or the girls could hear from the shrubbery; but reno evidently knew that somebody was lurking there. and by the dog's actions tom thought it must be somebody whom reno disliked. "oh, don't leave us, tom!" begged helen, running behind her brother and the mastiff. "come on--both of you!" muttered tom. "we'll see what this means. stick close to me." he had picked up a stout club; but it was in the huge and intelligent mastiff that they all put their confidence. the dog, although he snuffed now and then as though the scent that had first disturbed him still came down the wind, had ceased to growl. they came to a path in the thicket and followed it for a few yards only, when reno stopped and stiffened again. "hush!" whispered tom, and parted the bushes with one hand, his other still clinging to the mastic's collar. there was a tiny opening in the shrubbery. it surrounded the foot of a huge beech tree. in some past day a careless hunter had built a fire close to the trunk of this tree. it was now hollow at the base, but vines and creepers growing up the tall tree had hidden the opening. a man was on his knees at the foot of the tree and had drawn the matted curtain of creepers aside with one hand while with the other he reached in to the full length of his arm. he had no suspicion of the presence of the young people and reno. out of the hollow in the tree trunk he drew something wrapped in an old pair of overalls. he unwrapped it, still with his back to the spot where the dog and his master and the girls stood. but the three friends could see over his shoulder as he knelt on the ground, and saw plainly that the object he had withdrawn from the tree trunk was a flat black box, evidently japanned, and there was a fair-sized brass padlock which fastened it. "ha, ha, ha!" chuckled the man to himself, as he wrapped the box up again in the old clothes, and then thrust it hastily into the hollow tree. "safe yet! safe yet!" he rose up then and without even looking about him, started directly away from the glen. he plainly had no suspicion of the presence of the dog and the trio of young folks. when he was quite out of sight and sound, tom whispered, patting reno: "i declare, girls! that was jasper parloe!" "that mean thing!" returned his sister. "i guess he's a miser as well as a hermit; isn't he?" "looks like it. i've a good mind to take that thing he put in there and hide it somewhere else. he wouldn't be so sure about it's being safe then; would he?" "no! don't you touch his nasty things, tom," advised helen, turning away. but ruth still stared at the hidden hollow in the tree and suddenly she darted forward and knelt where parloe had knelt. "what are you going to do, ruth?" demanded her chum. "i want to see that box--i must see it!" cried the girl from the red mill. "hold on!" said tom. "i'll get it for you. you'll get your dress dirty." "i wouldn't touch it," cried helen, warningly. "i must!" gasped ruth, greatly excited. "it don't belong to you," quoth helen. "and i'm very sure it doesn't belong to jasper parloe," declared ruth, earnestly. tom glanced at the girl from the red mill suddenly, and with close attention. he seemed to understand her excitement. "let me in there," said the youth. "i can reach it, ruthie." he pushed her gently, and while ruth and helen held aside the mass of vines the boy crawled in and reached the bundle of rags. he carefully hauled it all forth and the japanned box tumbled out of its loose wrappings. "there it is!" grunted tom, getting up and wiping his hands on a tuft of grass. "what do you make of it?" ruth had the box in her hands. helen, looking over her shoulder, pointed to two faded letters painted on the cover of the box. "that belongs to jasper parloe. his initials are on the box," she said. "'j. p.'--that's right, i guess," muttered tom. it could not be gainsaid that parloe's initials were there. ruth stared at them for some moments in silence. "better put it back. i don't know what he can possibly have to hide in this way," tom said. "but we wouldn't want to get into trouble with him. he's a mean customer." "it isn't his box!" said ruth, quietly. "why isn't it?" cried helen, in amazement. "i never noticed the letters on the box before. the box has been cleaned since i saw it--" "you don't mean that it is your uncle's cash-box, ruth?" interrupted tom, in excitement. "why, you ridiculous boy!" declared helen. "you know that was lost in the flood." "i don't know. do you?" tom demanded, shortly. "but, ruth!" gasped helen. "it looks like uncle jabez's box," ruth whispered. "but the letters! jasper parloe's initials," cried the hard-to-be-convinced helen cameron. "they're uncle's initials, too," explained ruth, quietly. "whew!" ejaculated tom. "so they are. 'j. p.--jabez potter.' can't get around that." "well, i never!" gasped helen. "do you suppose all old jabe's money is in this?" muttered tom, weighing the cash-box in his hands. "it can't be in coin." "i do not know that he had much money in coin," said ruth. "i think he used to change the gold and silver for notes, quite frequently. at least, aunt alvirah says so." "but suppose it should be parloe's after all?" objected helen. "let's find that out," said tom, vigorously. "come on, girls. we'll finish eating, pack up, and start back. we'll drive right up to parloe's and show him this box, and ask him if it is his. if he says yes, we'll make him come along to the mill and face mr. potter, and then if there is any doubt of it, let them go before a magistrate and fight it out!" the girls were impressed with the wisdom of this declaration, and all went back to rescue the remains of their luncheon from the birds and from a saucy gray squirrel that had already dropped down to the lowest limb of the tree under which they had spread their cloth, and who sat there and chattered angrily while they remained thereafter, as though he considered that he had been personally cheated out of a banquet. the girls and tom were so excited that they could not enjoy the remainder of the nice things that babette had packed in their lunch basket they were soon in the carriage, and tubby was startled out of a pleasant dream and urged up the hilly road that led through the woods to the squatter's cabin, where jasper parloe had taken up his quarters after he had been discharged from employment at the red mill. chapter xxv endings and beginnings when the pony carriage drove into the little clearing about the squatter's hut, parloe was pottering about the yard and he stood up and looked at them with arms akimbo and a growing grin upon his sly face. "well, well, well!" he croaked. "all together, air ye? havin' a picnic?" "we've been down yonder in the glen," said tom, sternly. for an instant jasper parloe changed color and looked a bit worried. but it was only for an instant. then he grinned again and his little eyes twinkled just as though he were amused. but tom kept on, bluntly, saying: "we found something there, parloe, and we came up here to see if it belongs to you." "what's that?" asked the man, drawing nearer. "i ain't lost nothing." "don't say that," said tom, quickly. "at least, don't say you haven't hidden something." but he could not catch mr. parloe again. the man shook his head slowly and looked as though he hadn't the least idea of what tom was driving at. "look here," continued the boy, and drew forth the japanned box. "well! well!" and jasper's mean little eyes twinkled more than ever. "you don't mean to say you found that down yonder?" "we did," said tom, tartly. "now, where was it?" "where it had been hidden," snapped tom, quite disgusted with the old man. "where it was supposed to be very safe, i reckon." "like enough, tom," said jasper, mildly. "what do you reckon on doing with it?" "you don't claim it to be yours, then?" demanded tom, in some surprise. "no-o," said parloe, slowly. "it has your initials on it," said helen, quickly. "that's odd, ain't it?" returned parloe, standing where he was and not offering to touch the box. "but other people have the same initials that i have." his grin grew to huge proportions, and he looked so sly that nothing but his high, bony nose kept his two little eyes from running together and making one eye of it. "jabe potter, for instance." "then you think this is likely to be mr. potter's?" queried tom. "couldn't say. jabe will probably claim it. he would take advantage of the initials, sure enough." "and why don't you?" asked helen. "'cause me and jabe are two different men," declared parloe, righteously. "nobody ever could say, with proof, that jasper parloe took what warn't his own." "this is my uncle's cash-box, i am very sure," interposed ruth, with some anger. "it was not swept away the day of the flood. you were there in his little office at the very moment the waters struck the mill, and we saw you running from the place as though you were scared." "jefers-pelters!" croaked jasper. "it was enough to scare anybody!" "that may be. but you weren't too scared to grab this box when you ran. and you must have hidden it under your coat as you left the mill. i am going to tell my uncle all about it--and how we saw you down the hill yonder, looking at this very box before you thrust it back in its hiding place." jasper parloe grew enraged rather than frightened by this threat. "tell!" he barked. "you tell what ye please. provin's another thing. i don't know nothin' about the box. i never opened it. i don't know what's in it. and you kin tell jabe that if he tries to make me trouble over it i'll make him trouble in a certain locality--he knows where and what about." "i shall give him the box and tell him how it came into my possession," repeated ruth, firmly, and then she and her friends drove away. they hurried tubby back to the red mill and ruth ran in ahead of her friends with the cash-box in her hands. the moment uncle jabez saw it he started forward with a loud cry. he almost tore the box from her grasp; but then became gentle again in a moment. "gal!" he ejaculated, softly, "how'd ye git this away from parloe?" "oh, uncle! how did you know he had it?" "i've been suspicious. he couldn't scarce keep it to hisself. he ain't opened it, i see." "i don't think he has." "we'll see. tell me about it," urged the miller, staring at helen and tom as they approached. ruth told him all about it. she pointed, too, to the fact that helen and tom--and especially tom's dog--had had more to do with the recovery of the cash-box than she had. uncle jabez listened and nodded as though he appreciated that fact. meanwhile, however, he hunted up the key to the japanned box and unlocked it. it was plain that the contents of the box were for the most part securities in the shape of stocks and bonds, with a good deal of currency in small notes. there was a little coin--gold and silver-packed into one compartment. uncle jabez counted it all with feverish anxiety. "right to a penny!" he gasped, when he had finished, and mopped the perspiration from his brow. "the rascal didn't touch it. he didn't dare!" "but he'll dare something else, uncle," said ruth, hastily. "i believe he's going right to mr. cameron to make you trouble." "ah-ha!" exclaimed uncle jabez, and looked hard at tom. "i'm sorry if he makes trouble about that old thing, mr. potter," said tom, stumblingly. "i've tried to keep his mouth shut--" "ah-ha!" said uncle jabez, again. then he added: "and i shouldn't be at all surprised, young man, if you'd given jasper money to keep his mouth shut--eh?" tom flushed and nodded "i didn't want any row--especially when helen and i think so much of ruth." "you wouldn't have bought jasper off for my sake, i reckon," said jabez, sharply. "you wouldn't have done it for my sake?" "why should i?" returned tom, coolly. "you never have been any too friendly towards me." "hah!" said the miller, nodding. "that's true. but let me tell you, young man, that i saw your father about the time i ran you down. we don't get along very well, i admit. i ain't got much use for you camerons. but i had no intention of doing you harm. you can believe that, or not. if you will remember, the evening you went over that embankment on the wilkins corners road, i came up behind you. my mules were young, and your dog jumped out at them and scared them. they bolted, and i never knew till next day that you had been knocked over the embankment." "we'll let bygones be bygones, mr. potter," said tom, good-humoredly. "i came out of it all right." "but you had no business to pay jasper parloe money for keeping still about it," said the miller, sourly. "being bled by a blackmailer is never the action of a wise man. when he threatened me i went to your father at once and got ahead of parloe. we agreed to say nothing about it--that's about all we did agree on, however," added mr. potter, grimly. "now you children run along. ruth, come here. i figger i owe you something because of the finding of this box. yes! i know how much the others had to do with it, too. but they'd never been over there in olakah glen if it hadn't been for you. i'll make this up to you. i never yet owed a debt that i didn't repay in full. i'll remember this one, gal." but so much happened in those next two weeks, following the finding of the cash-box, that ruth quite forgot this promise on her uncle's part. she realized, however, that he seemed really desirous of being kind to her, and that much of his grimness had disappeared. everybody at the red mill--and many other people, too--had their thoughts fixed upon mercy curtis at this time. she had been getting stronger all the while. she had been able to hobble on her two sticks from her bedroom to the porch. she had been to ride half a dozen times in the camerons' automobile. and then, suddenly, without other warning, doctor davison and the strange surgeon who had once examined mercy, appeared in a big limousine car, with a couch arranged inside, and they whisked mercy off to a sanitarium some miles away, where she was operated on by the famous surgeon, with doctor davison's help, and from which place the report came back in a few days that the operation had been successful and that mercy curtis would--in time--walk again! meanwhile, ruth had kept up her recitations to miss cramp, often walking back and forth to town, but sometimes getting "a lift," and the teacher pronounced her prepared to enter the cheslow high school. she had taken the studies that helen cameron had taken, and, on comparing notes, the chums found that they were in much the same condition of advancement. "oh, if you were only going to briarwood with me, instead of to cheslow high!" wailed helen, one day, as they sat on the porch of the red mill house. "ah, dear!" said ruth, quietly, "don't talk about it. i want to go with you more than i ever wanted to do anything in my whole life--" "what's that?" exclaimed uncle jabez's gruff voice behind them. "what's that you want to do, ruth?" "to--to go to boarding school, uncle," stammered his niece. "hah!" grunted the miller. "ain't you calculatin' on going to high school?" "oh, mr. potter!" broke in helen, frightened by her own temerity. "that isn't the school ruth wants to go to. i am going to briarwood hall, and she wants to go, too. do, do let her. it would be--it would be just heavenly, if she could go there, and we could be together!" jabez potter came out upon the porch and looked down upon his niece. the grim lines of his face could not relax, it seemed; but his eyes did seem to twinkle as he said: "and that's the greatest wish of your life; is it, ruth?" "i--i believe it is, uncle jabez," she whispered, looking at him in wonder. "well, well!" he said, gruffly, dropping his gaze. "mebbe i owe it ye. my savin's of years was in that cash-box, ruth. i--i--well, i'll think it over and see if it can be arranged about this briarwood business. i'll--i'll see your aunt alvirah." and that uncle jabez potter "saw about it" to some purpose is proven by the fact that the reader may meet ruth and her friends again in the next volume of this series to be entitled "ruth fielding at briarwood hall; or, solving the campus mystery." "perhaps he isn't such an ogre after all," whispered helen, when she and ruth were alone. "not after you get to know him," replied the girl of the red mill, with a quiet smile. the end ruth fielding at college or the missing examination papers by alice b. emerson author of "ruth fielding of the red mill," "ruth fielding on cliff island," etc. _illustrated_ new york cupples & leon company publishers copyright, 1917, by cupples & leon company ruth fielding at college printed in u. s. a. [illustration: "ashore! put us ashore!" ruth gasped.] contents i. looking collegeward ii. maggie iii. expectations iv. first impressions v. getting settled vi. miss cullam's trouble vii. fame is not always an asset viii. the stone face ix. getting on x. a tempest in a teapot xi. the one rebel xii. ruth is not satisfied xiii. the girl in the storm xiv. "oft in the stilly night" xv. an odd adventure xvi. what was in rebecca's trunk xvii. what was in rebecca's heart xviii. bearding the lions xix. a deep, dark plot xx. two surprises xxi. many things happen xxii. can it be a clue? xxiii. the squall xxiv. treasure hunting xxv. the end of a perfect year ruth fielding at college chapter i looking collegeward "oh, my back! and oh, my bones!" by no possibility could aunt alvirah boggs have risen from her low rocking chair in the red mill kitchen without murmuring this complaint. she was a little, hoop-backed woman, with crippled limbs; but she possessed a countenance that was very much alive, nut-brown and innumerably wrinkled though it was. she had been mr. jabez potter's housekeeper at the red mill for more than fifteen years, and if anybody knew the "moods and tenses" of the miserly miller, it must have been aunt alvirah. she even professed to know the miller's feelings toward his grand-niece, ruth fielding, better than ruth knew them herself. the little old woman was expecting the return of ruth now, and she went to the porch to see if she could spy her down the road, and thus be warned in time to set the tea to draw. ruth and her friends, who had gone for a tramp in the september woods, would come in ravenous for tea and cakes and bread-and-butter sandwiches. aunt alvirah looked out upon a very beautiful autumn landscape when she opened the farmhouse door. the valley of the lumano was attractive at all times--in storm or sunshine. now it was a riot of color, from the deep crimson of the sumac to the pale amber of certain maple leaves which fell in showers whenever the wanton breeze shook the boughs. "here they come!" murmured aunt alvirah. "here's my pretty!" she identified the trio striding up the roadway, distant as they were. ruth, her cheeks rosy, her hair flying, came on ahead, while the black-haired and black-eyed twins, helen and tom cameron, walked hand-in-hand behind her. this was their final outing together in the vicinity of the red mill for many months. helen and tom were always very close companions, and although they had already been separated during school terms, tom had run over from seven oaks to see his sister at briarwood for almost every week-end. "no more of 'sich doin's now, old man," helen said to him, smiling rather tremulously. "and even when you get to harvard next year, you will not be allowed often at ardmore. they say there is a sign 'no boys allowed' stuck up beside every 'keep off the grass' sign on the ardmore lawns." "nonsense!" laughed tom. "oh, i only repeat what i've been told." "well, sis, you won't be entirely alone," tom said kindly. "ruth will be with you. you and she will have your usual good times." "of course. but _you'll_ be awfully lonely, tommy." "true enough," agreed tom. then ruth's gay voice hailed them from the porch upon which she had mounted yards ahead of them. "come on, slow-pokes. aunt alvirah has put on the tea. i smell it!" ruth fielding did not possess her chum's measure of beauty. helen was a dainty, compelling brunette with flashing eyes--eyes she had already learned to use to the undoing of what ruth called "the youthful male of the species." as for ruth herself, she considered boys no mystery. she was fond of tom, for he was the first friend she had made in that long-ago time when she arrived, a little girl and a stranger, at the red mill. other boys did not interest ruth in the least. without helen's beauty, she was, nevertheless, a decidedly attractive girl. her figure was well rounded, her eyes shone, her hair was just wavy enough to be pretty, and she was very, very much alive. if ruth fielding took an interest in anything that thing, tom declared, "went with a bang!" she was positive, energetic, and usually finished anything that she began. she had already done some things that few girls of her age could have accomplished. the trio of friends trooped into aunt alvirah's clean and shining kitchen. "dear me! dear me!" murmured the little old woman, "i sha'n't have the pleasure of your company for long. i'll miss my pretty," and she smiled fondly at ruth. "that's the only drawback about coming home from school," grumbled tom, looking really forlorn, even with his mouth full of aunt alvirah's pound cake. "what's the drawback?" demanded his twin. "going away again. just think! we sha'n't see each other for so long." he was staring at ruth, and helen, with a roguish twinkle in her eye, passed him her pocket-handkerchief--a wee and useless bit of lace--saying: "weep, if you must, tommy; but get it over with. ruth and i are not gnashing _our_ teeth about going away. just to think! ardmore!" nothing but capital letters would fully express the delight she put into the name of the college she and ruth were to attend. "huh!" grunted tom. aunt alvirah said: "it wouldn't matter, deary, if you was both goin' off to be queens of sheby; it's the goin' away that hurts." ruth had her arms about the little old woman and her own voice was caressing if not lachrymose. "don't take it so to heart, aunt alvirah. we shall not forget you. you shall send us a box of goodies once in a while as you always do; and i will write to you and to uncle jabez. keep up your heart, dear." "easy said, my pretty," sighed the old woman. "not so easy follered out. an' jabe potter is dreadful tryin' when you ain't here." "poor uncle jabez," murmured ruth. "poor aunt alvirah, you'd better say!" exclaimed helen, sharply, for she had not the patience with the miserly miller that his niece possessed. at the moment the back door was pushed open. helen jumped. she feared that uncle jabez had overheard her criticism. but it was only ben, the hired man, who thrust his face bashfully around the edge of the door. the young people hailed him gaily, and ruth offered him a piece of cake. "thank'e, miss ruth," ben said. "i can't come in. jest came to the shed for the oars." "is uncle going across the river in the punt?" asked ruth. "no, miss ruth. there's a boat adrift on the river." "what kind of boat?" asked tom, jumping up. "what d'you mean?" "she's gone adrift, mr. tom," said ben. "looks like she come from one o' them camps upstream." "oh! let's go and see!" cried helen, likewise eager for something new. neither of the cameron twins ever remained in one position or were interested solely in one thing for long. the young folk trooped out after ben through the long, covered passage to the rear door of the red mill. the water-wheel was turning and the jar of the stones set every beam and plank in the structure to trembling. the air was a haze of fine white particles. uncle jabez came forward, as dusty and crusty an old miller as one might ever expect to see. he was a tall, crabbed looking man, the dust of the mill seemingly so ground into the lines of his face that it was grey all over and one wondered if it could ever be washed clean again. he only nodded to his niece and her friends, seizing the oars ben had brought with the observation: "go 'tend to gil martin, ben. he's waitin' for his flour. where ye been all this time? that boat'll drift by." ben knew better than to reply as he hastened to the shipping door where mr. martin waited with his wagon for the sacks of flour. the miller went to the platform on the riverside, ruth and her friends following him. "i see it!" cried tom. "can't be anybody in it for it's sailing broadside." uncle jabez put the oars in the punt and began to untie the painter. "all the more reason we should get it," he said drily. "salvage, ye know." "you mustn't go alone, uncle jabez," ruth said mildly. "huh! why not?" snarled the old miller. "something might happen. if ben can't go, i will take an oar." he knew she was quite capable of handling the punt, even in the rapids, so he merely growled his acquiescence. at that moment ruth discovered something. "why! the boat isn't empty!" she cried. "you're right, ruth! i see something in it," said tom. uncle jabez straightened up, holding the painter doubtfully. "aw, well," he grunted. "if there's somebody in it----" he saw no reason for going after the drifting boat if it were manned. he could not claim the boat or claim salvage for it under such circumstances. but the strange boat was drifting toward the rapids of the lumano that began just below the mill. in the present state of the river this "white water," as lumbermen call it, was dangerous. "why, how foolish!" helen cried. "whoever is in that boat is lying in the bottom of it." "and drifting right toward the middle of the river!" added her twin. "hurry up, uncle jabez!" urged ruth. "we must go out there." "what fur, i'd like to know?" demanded the miller sharply. "we ain't hired ter go out an' wake up every reckless fule that goes driftin' by." "of course not. but maybe he's not asleep," ruth said quickly. "maybe he's hurt. maybe he has fainted. why, a dozen things might have happened!" "an' a dozen things might _not_ have happened," said old jabez potter, coolly retying the painter. "uncle! we mustn't do that!" cried his niece. "we must go out in the punt and make sure all is right with that boat." "who says so?" demanded the miller. "of course we must. i'll go with you. come, do! there is somebody in danger." ruth fielding, as she spoke, leaped into the punt. tom would have been glad to go with her, but she had motioned him back before he could speak. she was ashamed to have the miller so display the mean side of his nature before her friends. grumblingly he climbed into the heavy boat after her. tom cast off and ruth pushed the boat's nose upstream, then settled herself to one of the oars while uncle jabez took the other. "huh! they ain't anything in it for us," grumbled mr. potter as the punt slanted toward mid-stream. chapter ii maggie ruth fielding knew very well the treacherous current of the lumano. she saw that the drifting boat with its single occupant was very near to the point where the fierce pull of the mid-stream current would seize it. so she rowed her best and having the stroke oar, uncle jabez was obliged to pull _his_ best to keep up with her. "huh!" he snorted, "it ain't so pertic'lar, is it, niece ruth? that feller----" she made no reply, but in a few minutes they were near enough to the drifting boat for ruth to glance over her shoulder and see into it. at once she uttered a little cry of pity. "what now?" gruffly demanded uncle jabez. "oh, uncle! it's a girl!" ruth gasped. "a gal! _another gal?_" exclaimed the old miller. "i swanny! the red mill is allus littered up with gals when you're to hum." this was a favorite complaint of his; but he pulled more vigorously, nevertheless, and the punt was quickly beside the drifting boat. a girl in very commonplace garments--although she was not at all a commonplace looking girl--lay in the bottom of the boat. her eyes were closed and she was very pale. "she's fainted," ruth whispered. "who in 'tarnation let a gal like that go out in a boat alone, and without airy oar?" demanded uncle jabez, crossly. "here! hold steady. i'll take that painter and 'tach it to the boat. we'll tow her in. but lemme tell ye," added uncle jabez, decidedly, "somebody's got ter pay me fur my time, or else they don't git the boat back. she seems to be all right." "why, she isn't conscious!" cried ruth. "huh!" grunted uncle jabez, "i mean the boat, not the gal." ruth always suspected that uncle jabez potter made a pretense of being really worse than he was. when a little girl she had been almost afraid of her cross-grained relative--the only relative she had in the world. but there were times when the ugly crust of the old man's character was rubbed off and his niece believed she saw the true gold beneath. she was frequently afraid that others would hear and not understand him. now that she was financially independent of uncle jabez ruth was not so sensitive for herself. they towed the boat back to the mill landing. tom and ben carried the strange girl, still unconscious into the red mill farmhouse, and bustling little aunt alvirah had her put at once to bed. "shall i hustle right over to cheslow for the doctor?" tom asked. "who's goin' to pay him?" growled uncle jabez, who heard this. "don't let that worry you, mr. potter," said the youth, his black eyes flashing. "if i hire a doctor i always pay him." "it's a good thing to have that repertation," uncle jabez said drily. "one should pay the debts he contracts." but aunt alvirah scoffed at the need of a doctor. "the gal's only fainted. scare't it's likely, findin' herself adrift in that boat. you needn't trouble yourself about it, jabez." thus reassured the miller went back to examine the boat. although it was somewhat marred, it was not damaged, and uncle jabez was satisfied that if nobody claimed the boat he would be amply repaid for his trouble. naturally, the two girls fluttered about the stranger a good deal when aunt alvirah had brought her out of her faint. ruth was particularly attracted by "maggie" as the stranger announced her name to be. "i was working at one of those summer-folks' camps up the river. mr. bender's, it was," she explained to ruth, later. "but all the folks went last night, and this morning i was going across the river with my bag--oh, did you find my bag, miss?" "surely," ruth laughed. "it is here, beside your bed." "oh, thank you," said the girl. "mr. bender paid me last night. one of the men was to take me across the river, and i sat down and waited, and nobody came, and by and by i fell into a nap and when i woke up i was out in the river, all alone. my! i was frightened." "then you have no reason for going back to the camp?" asked ruth, thoughtfully. "no--miss. i'm through up there for the season. i'll look for another situation--i--i mean job," she added stammeringly. "we will telephone up the river and tell them you are all right," ruth said. "oh, thank you--miss." ruth asked her several other questions, and although maggie was reserved, her answers were satisfactory. "but what's goin' to become of the gal?" uncle jabez asked that evening after supper, when he and his niece were in the farmhouse kitchen alone. aunt alvirah had carried tea and toast in to the patient and was sitting by her. the girl of the red mill thought maggie did not seem like the usual "hired help" whom she had seen. she seemed much more refined than one might expect a girl to be of the class to which she claimed to belong. ruth looked across the table at her cross-grained old relative and made no direct reply to his question. she was very sure that, after all, he would be kind to the strange girl if maggie actually needed to be helped. but ruth had an idea that maggie was quite capable of helping herself. "uncle jabez," the girl of the red mill said to the old man, softly, "do you know something?" "huh?" grunted uncle jabez. "i know a hull lot more than you young sprigs gimme credit for knowin'." "oh! i didn't mean it that way," and ruth laughed cheerily at him. "i mean that i have discovered something, and i wondered if you had discovered the same thing?" "out with it, niece ruth," he ordered, eyeing her curiously. "i'll tell ye if it's anything i already know." "well, aunt alvirah is growing old." "ye don't say!" snapped the miller. "and who ain't, i'd like to know?" "her rheumatism is much worse, and it will soon be winter." "say! what air ye tryin' to do?" he demanded. "tellin' me these here puffictly obvious things! of course she's gittin' older; and of course her rheumatiz is bound to grow wuss. doctors ain't never yet found nothin' to cure rheumatiz. and winter us'ally follers fall--even in this here tarnation climate." "well, but the combination is going to be very bad for aunt alvirah," ruth said gently, determined to pursue her idea to the finish, no matter how cross he appeared to be. "wal, is it _my_ fault?" asked uncle jabez. "it's nobody's fault," ruth told him, shaking her head, and very serious. "but it's aunt alvirah's misfortune." "huh!" "and we must do something about it." "huh! must we? what, i'd like to have ye tell me?" said the old miller, eyeing ruth much as one strange dog might another that he suspected was after his best marrow bone. "we must get somebody to help her do the work while i am at college," ruth said firmly. the dull red flooded into uncle jabez's cheeks, and for once gave him a little color. his narrow eyes sparkled, too. "there's one thing i've allus said, niece ruth," he declared hotly. "ye air a great one for spending other folks' money." it was ruth's turn to flush now, and although she might not possess what aunt alvirah called "the potter economical streak," she did own to a spark of the potter temper. ruth fielding was not namby-pamby, although she was far from quarrelsome. "uncle jabez," she returned rather tartly, "have i been spending much of _your_ money lately?" "no," he growled. "but ye ain't l'arnt how to take proper keer of yer own--trapsin' 'round the country the way you do." she laughed then. "i'm getting knowledge. some of it comes high, i have found; but it will all help me _live_." "huh! i've lived without that brand of l'arnin'," grunted uncle jabez. ruth looked at him amusedly. she was tempted to tell him that he had not lived, only existed. but she was not impudent, and merely went on to say: "aunt alvirah is getting too old to do all the work here----" "i send ben in to help her some when she's alone," said the miller. "and by so doing put extra work on poor ben," ruth told him, decidedly. "no, aunt alvirah must have another woman around, or a girl." "where ye goin' to find the gal?" snapped the miller. "work gals don't like to stay in the country." "she's found, i believe," ruth told him. "huh?" "this maggie we just got out of the river. she has no job, she says, and she wants one. i believe she'll stay." "who's goin' to pay her wages?" demanded uncle jabez, getting back to "first principles" again. "i'll pay the girl's wages, uncle jabez," ruth said seriously. "but you must feed her. and she must be fed well, too. i can see that part of her trouble is malnutrition." "huh? has she got some ketchin' disease?" uncle jabez demanded. "it isn't contagious," ruth replied drily. "but unless she is well fed she cannot be cured of it." "wal, there's plenty of milk and eggs," the miller said. "but you must not hide the key of the meat-house, uncle," and now ruth laughed outright at him. "four people at table means a depletion of your smoked meat and a dipping occasionally into the corned-beef barrel." "wal----" "now, if i pay the girl's wages, you must supply the food," his niece said, firmly, "otherwise, aunt alvirah will go without help, and then she will break down, and _then_----" "huh!" grunted the miller. "i couldn't let her go back to the poorfarm, i s'pose?" he actually made it a question; but ruth could not see his face, for he had turned aside. "no. she could not return to the poorhouse--after fifteen years!" exclaimed the girl. "do you know what _i_ should do?" and she asked the question warmly. "somethin' fullish, i allow." "i should take her to ardmore with me, and find a tiny cottage for her, and maybe she would keep house for helen and me." "that'd be jest like ye, niece ruth," he responded coolly. "you think you have all the money in the world. that's because ye didn't aim what ye got--it was give to ye." the statement was in large part true, and for the moment ruth's lips were closed. tears stood in her eyes, too. she realized that she could not be independent of the old miller had not chance and kind-hearted and grateful mrs. rachel parsons given her the bulk of the amount now deposited in her name in the bank. ruth fielding's circumstances had been very different when she had first come to cheslow and the red mill. then she was a little, homeless, orphan girl who was "taken in out of charity" by uncle jabez. and very keenly and bitterly had she been made to feel during those first few months her dependence upon the crabbed old miller. the introductory volume of this series, "ruth fielding of the red mill, or, jacob parloe's secret," details in full the little girl's trials and triumphs under these unfortunate conditions--how she makes friends, smooths over difficulties, and in a measure wins old uncle jabez's approval. the miller was a very honest man and always paid his debts. because of something ruth did for him he felt it to be his duty to pay her first year's tuition at boarding school, where she went with her new friend, helen cameron. in "ruth fielding at briarwood hall," the red mill girl really begins her school career, and begins, too, to satisfy that inbred longing for independence which was so strong a part of her character. in succeeding volumes of the "ruth fielding series," we follow ruth's adventures in snow camp, a winter lodge in the adirondack wilderness; at lighthouse point, the summer home of a girl friend on the atlantic coast; at silver ranch, in montana; at cliff island; at sunrise farm; with the gypsies, which was a very important adventure, indeed, for ruth fielding. in this eighth story ruth was able to recover for mrs. rachel parsons, an aunt of one of her school friends, a very valuable pearl necklace, and as a reward of five thousand dollars had been offered for the recovery of the necklace, the entire sum came to ruth. this money made ruth financially independent of uncle jabez. the ninth volume of the series, entitled, "ruth fielding in moving pictures; or, helping the dormitory fund," shows ruth and her chums engaged in film production. ruth discovered that she could write a good scenario--a very good scenario, indeed. mr. hammond, president of the alectrion film corporation, encouraged her to write others. when the west dormitory of briarwood hall was burned and it was discovered that there had been no insurance on the building, the girls determined to do all in their power to rebuild the structure. ruth was inspired to write a scenario, a five-reel drama of schoolgirl life, and mr. hammond produced it, ruth's share of the profits going toward the building fund. "the heart of a schoolgirl" was not only locally famous, but was shown all over the country and was even now, after six months, paying the final construction bills of the west dormitory, at briarwood. in this ninth volume of the series, ruth and helen and many of their chums graduated from briarwood hall. immediately after the graduation the girl of the red mill and helen cameron were taken south by nettie parsons and her aunt rachel to visit the merredith plantation in south carolina. their adventures were fully related in the story immediately preceding the present narrative, the tenth of the "ruth fielding series," entitled, "ruth fielding down in dixie; or, great times in the land of cotton." home again, after that delightful journey, ruth had spent most of the remaining weeks of her vacation quietly at the red mill. she was engaged upon another scenario for mr. hammond, in which the beautiful old mill on the lumano would figure largely. she also had had many preparations to make for her freshman year at ardmore. ruth and helen were quite "young ladies" now, so tom scoffingly said. and going to college was quite another thing from looking forward to a term at a preparatory school. nevertheless, ruth had found plenty of time to help aunt alvirah during the past few weeks. she had noted how much feebler the old woman was becoming. therefore, she was determined to win uncle jabez to her plan of securing help in the red mill kitchen. the coming of the girl, maggie, though a strange coincidence, ruth looked upon as providential. she urged uncle jabez to agree to her proposal, and the very next morning she sounded maggie upon the subject. the strange girl was sitting up, but aunt alvirah would not hear to her doing anything as yet. ruth found maggie in the sitting-room, engaged in looking at the ardmore year book which ruth had left upon the sitting-room table. "pretty landscapes about the college, aren't they?" ruth suggested. "oh yes--miss. very pretty," agreed maggie. "that is where i am going to college," ruth explained. "i enter as a freshman next week." "is that so--miss?" hesitated maggie. her heretofore colorless face flushed warmly. "i've heard of that--that place," she added. "indeed, have you?" maggie was looking at the photograph of lake remona, with a part of bliss island at one side. she continued to stare at the picture while ruth put before her the suggestion of work at the red mill. "oh, of course, miss fielding, i'd be glad of the work. and you're very liberal. but you don't know anything about me." "no. and i shouldn't know much more about you if you brought a dozen recommendations," laughed ruth. "i suppose not--miss." it seemed hard for the girl to get out that "miss," and ruth, who was keenly observant, wondered if she really had been accustomed to using it. they talked it over and finally reached an agreement. aunt alvirah was sweetly grateful to ruth, knowing full well that there must have been a "battle royal" between the miller and his niece before the former had agreed to the new arrangement. ruth was quite sure that maggie was a nice girl, even if she was queer. at least, she gave deference to the quaint little old housekeeper, and seemed to like aunt alvirah very much. and who would not love the woman, who was everybody's aunt but nobody's relative? once or twice ruth found maggie poring over the year book of ardmore college, rather an odd interest for a girl of her class. but maggie was rather an odd girl anyway, and ruth forgot the matter in her final preparations for departure. chapter iii expectations "i expect she'll be a haughty, stuck-up thing," declared edith phelps, with vigor. "'just like _that_,'" drawled may macgreggor. "we should worry about the famous authoress of canned drama! a budding lady hack writer, i fancy." "oh, dear me, no!" cried edith. "didn't you see 'the heart of a schoolgirl' she wrote? why, it was a good photo-play, i assure you." "and put out by the alectrion film corporation," joined in another of the group of girls standing upon the wide porch of dare hall, one of the four large dormitories of ardmore college. the college buildings were set most artistically upon the slope of college hill, each building facing sparkling lake remona. save the boathouse and the bathing pavilions, dare and dorrance halls at the east side of the grounds, and hoskin and hemmingway halls at the west side, were the structures nearest to the lake. farther to the east an open grove intervened between the dormitories and the meadows along the remona river where bog hay was cut, and which were sometimes flooded in the freshet season. to the west the lake extended as far as the girls on the porch could see, a part of its sparkling surface being hidden by the green and hilly bulk of bliss island. the shaded green lawns of the campus between dare and hoskin halls were crossed by winding paths. a fleshy girl who was near the group but not of it, had been viewing this lovely landscape with pleasure. now she frankly listened to the chatter of the "inquisitors." "well," edith phelps insisted, "this ruth fielding was so petted at that backwoods' school where she has been that i suppose there will be no living in the same house with her." edith was one of the older sophomores--quite old, indeed, to the eyes of the plump girl who was listening. but the latter smiled quietly, nevertheless, as she listened to the sophomore's speech. "we shall have to take her down a peg or two, of course. it's bad enough to have the place littered up with a lot of freshies----" "just as we littered it up last year at this time, edie," suggested may, with a chuckle. "well," edith said, laughing, "if i don't put this ruth fielding, the authoress, in her place in a hurry, it won't be because i sha'n't try." "have a care, dearie," admonished one quiet girl who had not spoken before. "remember the warning we had at commencement." "about what?" demanded two or three. "about that rolff girl, you know," said the thoughtful girl. "oh! i know what you mean," edith said. "but that was a warning to the sororities." "to everybody," put in may. "at any rate," dora parton said, "dr. milroth forbade anything in the line of hazing." "pooh!" said edith. "who mentioned hazing? that's old-fashioned. we're too ladylike at ardmore, i should hope, to _haze_--my!" "'my heye, blokey!'" drawled may. "you are positively coarse, miss macgreggor," dora said, severely. "and edie is so awfully emphatic," laughed the scotch girl. "but she will have to take it out in threatenings, i fear. we can't haze this fielding chit, and that's all there is to it." "positively," said the quiet girl, "that was a terrible thing they did to margaret rolff. she was a nervous girl, anyway. do you remember her, may?" "of course. and i remember being jealous because she was chosen by the kappa alpha as a candidate. glad _i_ wasn't one if they put all their new members through the same rigmarole." "that is irreverent!" gasped edith. "the kappa alpha!" "i see dr. milroth took them down all right, all right!" remarked another of the group. "and now none of the sororities can solicit members among either the sophs or the freshies." "and it's a shame!" cried edith. "the sorority girls have such fun." "half murdering innocents--yes," drawled may. "that margaret rolff was just about scared out of her wits, they say. they found her wandering about bliss island----" "sh! we're not to talk of it," advised edith, with a glance at the fat girl in the background who, although taking no part in the discussion, was very much amused, especially every time ruth fielding's name was brought up. "well, i don't know why we shouldn't speak of it," said dora parton, who was likewise a sophomore. "the whole college knew it at the time. when margaret rolff left they discovered that the beautiful silver vase was gone, too, from the library----" "oh, hush!" exclaimed may macgreggor, sharply. "won't hush--so now!" said the other girl, smartly, making a face at the scotch lassie. "didn't miss cullam go wailing all over the college about it?" "that's so," edith agreed. "you'd have thought it was her vase that had been stolen." "i don't believe the vase was stolen at all," may said. "it was mixed up in that initiation and lost. i know that the kappa alpha girls are raising a fund to pay for it." "pay for it!" scoffed some one. "why, they couldn't do that in a thousand years. that was an egyptian curio--very old and very valuable. pay for it, indeed! those kappa alphas, as well as the other sororities, are paying for their fun in another way." "but, anyway," said the quiet girl, "it was a terrible experience for miss rolff." "unless she 'put it on' and got away with the loot herself," said edith. "oh, scissors! _now_ who's coarse?" demanded may macgreggor. but the conversation came back to the expected ruth fielding. these girls had all arrived at ardmore several days in advance of the opening of the semester. indeed, it is always advisable for freshmen, especially, to be on hand at least two days before the opening, for there is much preparation for newcomers. the fleshy girl who had thus far taken no part in the conversation recorded, save to be amused by it, had already been on the ground long enough to know her way about. but she was not yet acquainted with any of her classmates or with the sophomores. if she knew ruth fielding, she said nothing about it when edith phelps began to discuss the girl of the red mill again. "miss cullam spoke to me about this fielding. it seems she has an acquaintance who teaches at that backwoods' school the child went to----" "briarwood a backwoods' school!" said may. "not much!" "well, it's somewhere up in new york state among the yaps," declared edith. "and cullam's friend wrote her that fielding is a wonder. dear me! how i _do_ abominate wonders." "perhaps we are maligning the girl," said dora. "perhaps ruth fielding is quite modest." "what? after writing a moving picture drama? is there anything modest about the motion picture business in _any_ of its branches?" "oh, dear me, edie!" cried one of her listeners, "you're dreadful." "i presume this canned drama authoress," pursued edith, "will have ink-stains on her fingers and her hair will be eternally flying about her careworn features. well! and what are _you_ laughing at?" she suddenly and tartly demanded of the plump girl in the background. "at you," chuckled the stranger. "am i so funny to look at?" "no. but you are the funniest-talking girl i ever listened to. let me laugh, won't you?" before this observation could be more particularly inquired into, some one shouted: "oh, look who's here! and in style, bless us!" "and see the freight! excess baggage, for a fact," may macgreggor said, under her breath. "who _can_ she be?" "the queen of sheba in all her glory had nothing on this lady," cried edith with conviction. it was not often that any of the ardmore girls, and especially a freshman, arrived during the opening week of the term in a private equipage. this car that came chugging down the hill to the entrance of dare hall was a very fine touring automobile. the girl in the tonneau, barricaded with a huge trunk and several bags, besides a huge leather hat-box perched beside the chauffeur, was very gaily appareled as well. "goodness! look at the labels on that trunk," whispered dora parton. "why, that girl must have been all over europe." "the trunk has, at any rate," chuckled may. "hist!" now came from the excited edith phelps. "see the initials, 'r. f.' what did i tell you? it is that fielding girl!" "oh, my aunt!" groaned the plump girl in the background, and she actually had to stuff her handkerchief in her mouth to keep from laughing outright again. the car had halted and the chauffeur got down promptly, for he had to remove some of the "excess baggage" before the girl in the tonneau could alight. "i guess she must think she belongs here," whispered dora. "more likely she thinks she owns the whole place," snapped edith, who had evidently made up her mind not to like the new girl whose baggage was marked "r. f." the girl got out and shook out her draperies. a close inspection would have revealed the fact that, although dressed in the very height of fashion (whatever _that_ may mean), the materials of which the stranger's costume were made were rather cheap. "this is dare hall, isn't it?" she asked the group of girls above her on the porch. "i suppose there is a porter to help--er--the man with my baggage?" "it is a rule of the college," said edith, promptly, "that each girl shall carry her own baggage to her room. no male person is allowed within the dormitory building." there was a chorused, if whispered, "oh!" from the other girls, and the newcomer looked at edith, suspiciously. "i guess you are spoofing me, aren't you?" she inquired. "help! help!" murmured may macgreggor. "that's the very latest english slang." "she's brought it direct from 'dear ol' lunnon'," gasped one of the other sophomores. "dear me!" said edith, addressing her friends, "wouldn't it be nice to have a 'close up' taken of that heap of luggage? it really needs a camera man and a director to make this arrival a success." the girl who had just come looked very much puzzled. the chauffeur seemed eager to be gone. "if i can't help take in the boxes, miss, i might as well be going," he said to the new arrival. "very well," she rejoined, stiffly, and opening her purse gave him a bill. he lifted his cap, entered the car, touched the starter and in a moment the car whisked away. "i declare!" said may macgreggor, "she looks just like a castaway on the shore of a desert island, with all the salvage she has been able to recover from the wreck." and perhaps the mysterious r. f. felt a good deal that way. chapter iv first impressions greenburg was the station on the n. y. f. & b. railroad nearest to ardmore college. it was a small city of some thirty or forty thousand inhabitants. the people, not alone in the city but in the surrounding country, were a rather wealthy class. ardmore was a mile from the outskirts of the town. ruth fielding and helen cameron, her chum, had arrived with other girls bound for the college on the noon train. of course, the chums knew none of their fellow pupils by name, but it was easily seen which of those alighting from the train were bound for ardmore. there were two large auto-stages in waiting, and ruth and helen followed the crowd of girls briskly getting aboard the buses. as they saw other girls do, the two chums from cheslow gave their trunk checks to a man on the platform, but they clung to their hand-baggage. "such a nice looking lot of girls," murmured helen in ruth's ear. "it's fine! i'm sure we shall have a delightful time at college, ruthie." "and some hard work," observed ruth, laughing, "if we expect to keep up with them. there are no dunces in this crowd, my dear." "goodness, no!" agreed her friend. "they all look as sharp as needles." there were girls of all the classes at the station, as was easily seen. ruth and helen chanced to get into a seat with two of the seniors, who seemed most awfully sophisticated to the recent graduates of briarwood hall. "you are just entering, are you not--you and your friend?" asked the nearest senior of ruth. "yes," admitted the girl of the red mill, feeling and looking very shy. the young women smiled quietly, saying: "i am miss dexter, and am beginning my senior year. i am glad to be the first to welcome you to ardmore." "thank you so much!" ruth said, recovering her self-possession. then she told miss dexter her own name and introduced helen. "you girls have drawn your room numbers, i presume?" "they were drawn for us," ruth said. "we are to be in dare hall and hope to have adjoining rooms." "that is nice," said miss dexter. "it is so much pleasanter when two friends enter together. i am at hoskin hall myself. i shall be glad to have you two freshmen look me up when you are once settled." "thank you," ruth said again, and helen found her voice to ask: "are all the seniors in hoskin hall, and all the freshmen at dare hall?" "oh, no. there are members of each class in all four of the dormitories," miss dexter explained. "i suppose there will be much for us to learn," sighed ruth. "it is different from a boarding school." "do you both come from a boarding school?" asked their new acquaintance. "we are graduates of briarwood hall," helen said, with pride. "oh, indeed?" miss dexter looked sharply at ruth again. "did you say your name was ruth fielding?" "yes, miss dexter." "why, you must be the girl who wrote a picture play to help build a dormitory for your school!" exclaimed the senior. "really, how nice." "there, ruth!" said helen, teasingly, "see what it is to be famous." "i--i hope my reputation will not be held against me," ruth said, laughing. "let me tell you, miss dexter, we all at briarwood helped to swell that dormitory fund." "i fancy so," said the senior. "but all of your schoolmates could not have written a scenario which would have been approved by the alectrion film corporation." "i should say not!" cried helen, warmly. "and it was a great picture, too." "it was clever, indeed," agreed miss dexter. "i saw it on the screen." miss dexter introduced the girl at the other end of the seat--another senior, miss purvis. the two entering freshmen felt flattered--how could they help it? they had expected, as freshmen, to be quite haughtily ignored by the seniors and juniors. but there were other matters to interest ruth and helen as the auto-bus rolled out of the city. the way was very pleasant; there were beautiful homes in the suburbs of greenburg. and after they were passed, there were lovely fields and groves on either hand. the chums thought they had seldom seen more attractive country, although they had traveled more than most girls of their age. the road over which the auto-bus rolled was wide and well oiled--a splendid automobile track. but only one private equipage passed them on the ride to ardmore. that car came along, going the same way as themselves, just as they reached the first of the row of faculty dwellings. there was but one passenger in the car--a girl; and she was packed around with baggage in a most surprising way. "oh!" gasped helen, in ruth's ear, "i guess there goes one of the real fancy girls--the kind that sets the pace at college." ruth noticed that miss dexter and miss purvis craned their necks to see the car and the girl, and she ventured to ask who she was. "i can't tell you," miss dexter said briskly. "i never saw her before." "oh! perhaps, then, she isn't going to the college." "yes; she must be. this road goes nowhere else. but she is a freshman, of course." "an eccentric, i fancy," drawled miss purvis. "you must know that each freshman class is bound to have numbered with it some most surprising individuals. _rarae aves_, as it were." miss dexter laughed. "but the corners are soon rubbed off and their peculiarities fade into the background. when i was a freshman, there entered a woman over fifty, with perfectly white hair. she was a _dear_; but, of course, she was an anomaly at college." "my!" exclaimed helen. "what did she want to go to college for?" "the poor thing had always wanted to go to college. when she was young there were few women's colleges. and she had a big family to help, and finally a bedridden sister to care for. so she remained faithful to her home duties, but each year kept up with the graduating class of a local preparatory school. she was really a very well educated and bright woman; only peculiar." "and what happened when she came to ardmore?" asked ruth, interested, "is she still here?" "oh, no. she remained only a short time. she found, she said, that her mind was not nimble enough, at her age, to keep up with the classes. which was very probably true, you know. unless one is constantly engaged in hard mental labor, one's mind must get into ruts by the time one is fifty. but she was very lovely, and quite popular--while she lasted." helen was more interested just then in the row of cottages occupied by the members of the faculty, and here strung along the left side of the highway. they were pretty houses, set in pretty grounds. "oh, look, helen!" cried ruth, suddenly. "the lake!" responded helen. the dancing blue waters of lake remona were visible for a minute between two of the houses. ruth, too, caught a glimpse of the small island which raised its hilly head in the middle of the lake. "is that bliss island?" she inquired of miss dexter. "yes. you can see it from here. that doesn't belong to the college." "no?" said ruth, in surprise: "but, of course, the girls can go there?" "it is 'no man's land,' i believe. belongs to none of the estates surrounding the lake. we go there--yes," miss dexter told her. "the stone face is there." "what is that, please?" asked ruth, interested. "what is the stone face?" "a landmark, miss fielding. that stone face was quite an important spot last may--wasn't it, purvis?" the senior asked the other girl. "oh, goodness me, yes!" said miss purvis. "don't mention it. think what it has done to our kappa alpha." "what do you suppose ever became of that girl?" murmured miss dexter, thoughtfully. "i can't imagine. it was a sorry time, take it all in all. let's not talk of it, merry. our sorority has a setback from which it will never recover." all this was literally greek to ruth, of course. nor did she listen with any attention. there were other things for her and helen to be interested in, for the main building of the college had come into view. they had been gradually climbing the easy slope of college hill from the east. the main edifice of ardmore did not stand upon the summit of the eminence. behind and above the big, winged building the hill rose to a wooded, rounding summit, sheltering the whole estate from the north winds. just upon the edge of the forest at the top was an octagon-shaped observatory. ruth had read about it in the year book. from the balcony of this observatory one could see, on a clear day, to the extreme west end of lake remona--quite twenty-five miles away. the newcomers, however, were more interested at present in the big building which faced the lake, half-way down the southern slope of college hill, and which contained the hall and classrooms, as well as the principal offices. the beautiful campus was in front of this building. "all off for dare and dorrance," shouted the stage driver, stopping his vehicle. the driveway here split, one branch descending the hill, while the main thread wound on past the front of the main building. ruth and helen scrambled down with their bags. "good-bye," said miss dexter smiling on them. "perhaps i shall see you when you come over to the registrar's office. we seniors have to do the honors for you freshies." miss purvis, too, bade them a pleasant good-bye. the chums set off down the driveway. on their left was the great, sandstone, glass-roofed bulk of the gymnasium, and they caught a glimpse of the fenced athletic field behind it. ahead were the two big dormitories upon this side of the campus--dare and dorrance halls. the driveway curved around to the front of these buildings, and now the private touring car the girls had before noticed, came shooting around from the lake side of the dormitories, passing ruth and helen, empty save for the chauffeur. "goodness!" exclaimed helen. "i wonder if that dressy girl with all the goods and chattels is bunked in _our_ dormitory?" "'our' dormitory, no less!" laughed ruth. "do you feel as much at home already as _that_?" "goodness! no. i'm only trying to make myself believe it. ruth, what an e-_nor_-mous place this is! i feel just as small as--as a little mouse in an elephant's stall." ruth laughed, but before she could reply they rounded the corner of the building nearest to the campus and saw the group of girls upon its broad porch, the stranger at the foot of the steps, and the heap of baggage piled where the chauffeur had left it. "hello!" may macgreggor said, aloud, "here are a couple more kittens. look at the pretty girl with the brown eyes and hair. and the smart-looking, black-eyed one. now! _here_ are freshies after my own heart." edith phelps refused to be called off from the girl and the baggage, however. she said coolly: "i really don't know what you will do with all that truck, miss fielding. the rooms at dare are rather small. you could not possibly get all those bags and the trunk--and certainly not that hat-box--into one of these rooms." "my name isn't fielding," said the strange girl, paling now, but whether from anger or as a forerunner to tears it would have been hard to tell. her face was not one to be easily read. "your name isn't _fielding_?" gasped edie phelps, while the latter's friends burst into laughter. "'r. f.'! what does that stand for, pray?" at this moment the fleshy girl who had been all this time in the background on the porch, flung herself forward, burst through the group, and ran down the steps. she had spied ruth and helen approaching. "ruthie! helen! _ruth fielding!_ isn't this delightsome?" the fleshy girl tried to hug both the chums from cheslow at once. edie phelps and the rest of the girls on the porch gazed and listened in amazement. edie turned upon the girl with the heap of baggage, accusingly. "you're a good one! what do you mean by coming here and fooling us all in this way? what's your name?" "rebecca frayne--if you think you have a right to ask," said the new girl, sharply. "and you're not the canned drama authoress?" "i don't know what you mean, i'm sure," said rebecca frayne. "but i _would_ like to know what i'm to do with this baggage." ruth had come to the foot of the steps now with helen and the fleshy girl, whom the chums had hailed gladly as "jennie stone." the girl of the red mill heard the speech of the stranger and noted her woebegone accent. she turned with a smile to rebecca frayne. "oh! i know about that," she said. "just leave your trunk and bags here and put your card and the number of your room on them. the men will be along very soon to carry them up for you. i read that in the year book." "thank you," said rebecca frayne. the group of sophomores and freshmen on the porch opened a way for the briarwood trio to enter the house, and said never a word. jennie stone was, as she confessed, grinning broadly. chapter v getting settled "what does this mean, heavy jennie?" demanded helen, pinching the very comfortable arm of their fleshy friend. "what does that mean? ouch, helen! you know you're pinching something when you pinch _me_." "that's why i like to. no fun in trying to make an impression on bones, you know." "but it doesn't hurt bones so much," grumbled jennie. "remember what the fruit-stand man printed on his sign: 'if you musta pincha da fruit, pincha da cocoanut.' you can't so easy bruise bony folk, helen." "you are dodging the issue, heavy," declared helen. "what does this mean?" "what does what mean?" demanded the fleshy girl, grinning widely again. "how came you here, of course?" ruth put in, smiling upon their gay and usually thoughtless friend. "you said you did not think you could come to ardmore." "and you had conditions to make up if you did come," declared helen. "i made 'em up," said jennie, laughing. "and you're here ahead of us! oh, heavy, what sport!" cried helen, undertaking to pinch the plump girl again. "now, that's enough of that," said jennie stone. "i have feelings, as well as other folk, helen cameron, despite my name. have a heart!" "we are so glad to see you, heavy," said ruth. "you mustn't mind helen's exuberance." "and you never said a word about coming here when you wrote to us down south," helen said, eyeing the fleshy girl curiously. "i didn't know what to do," confessed jennie stone. "i talked it over with aunt kate. she agreed with me that, if i had finished school, i'd put on about five pounds a month, and that's all i _would_ do." "goodness!" gasped ruth and helen, together. "yes," said heavy, nodding with emphasis. "that's what i did the first month. nothing to do, you see, but eat and sleep. if i'd had to go to work----" "but couldn't you find something to do?" demanded the energetic ruth. "at lighthouse point? you know just how lazy a spot that is. and in winter in the city it would be worse. so i determined to come here." "to keep from getting fatter!" cried helen. "a new reason for coming to college." "well," said jennie, seriously, "i missed the gym work and i missed being uncomfortable." "uncomfortable?" gasped ruth and helen. "yes. you know, my father's a big man, and so are my older brothers big. everything in our house is big and well stuffed and comfortable--chairs and beds and all. i never was comfortable in my bed at briarwood." "horrible!" cried helen, while ruth laughed heartily. "and _here_!" went on heavy, lugubriously. "wait till you see. do you know, all they give us here is _cots_ to sleep on? _cots_, mind! goodness! when i try to turn over i roll right out on the floor. you ought to see my sides already, how black-and-blue they are. i've been here two nights." "why did you come so early?" "so as to try to get used to the food and the beds," groaned heavy. "but i never will. one teacher already has advised me about my diet. she says vegetables are best for me. i ate a peck of string beans this noon for lunch--strings and all--and i expect you can pick basting threads out of me almost anywhere!" "the teacher didn't advise you to eat _all_ the vegetables there were, did she?" asked ruth, as they climbed the stairs. "she did not signify the amount. i just ate till i couldn't get down another one. i sha'n't want to see another string bean for some time." ruth and helen easily found the rooms that had been drawn for them the june previous. of course, they were not the best rooms in the hall, for the seniors had first choice, and then the juniors and sophomores had their innings before the freshmen had a chance. but there was a door between ruth's and helen's rooms, as they had hoped, and jennie's room was just across the corridor. "we sweetbriars will stick together, all right," said the fleshy girl. "for defence and offence, if necessary." "you evidently expect to have a strenuous time here, heavy," laughed ruth. "no telling," returned jennie stone, wagging her head. "i fancy there are some 'cut-ups' among the sophs who will try to make our sweet young lives miserable. that edie phelps, for instance." she told them how the sophomores had met the new girl, rebecca frayne, and why. "oh, dear!" said ruth. "but that was all on _my_ account. we shall have to be particularly nice to miss frayne. i hope she's on our corridor." "do you suppose they will haze you, ruth, just because you wrote that scenario?" asked helen, somewhat troubled. "there's no hazing at ardmore," laughed ruth. "they can't bother me. 'sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me!'" she singsonged. "just the same," jennie said, morosely, "that edie phelps has a sharp tongue." "we, too, have tongues," proclaimed helen, who had no intention of being put upon. "now, girls, we want to take just what is handed us good-naturedly," ruth advised. "we are freshmen. next year we will be sophomores, and can take it out on the new girls then," and she laughed. "you know, we've all been through it at briarwood." "goodness, yes!" agreed helen. "it can't be as bad at college as it was during our first term at briarwood hall." "this edie phelps can't be as mean as the fox 'useter was,' i suppose," added jennie stone. "besides, i fancy the sophs need us freshmen--our good will and help, i mean. the two lower classes here have to line up against the juniors and seniors." "oh, dear, me," sighed ruth. "i hoped we had come here to study, not to fight." "pooh!" said the fleshy girl, "where do you go in this world that you don't have to fight for your rights? you never get something for nothing." however, the possibility of trouble disturbed their minds but slightly. for the rest of the day the trio were very busy. at least, ruth and helen were busy arranging their rooms and unpacking, and jennie stone was busy watching them. they went to the registrar's office that day, as this was required. otherwise, they were in their rooms, after their baggage was delivered, occupied until almost dinner time. heavy had been on the ground long enough, as she said, to know most of the ropes. they were supposed to dress rather formally for dinner, although not more than two-thirds of the girls had arrived. there were in dare hall alone as many pupils as had attended briarwood altogether. this was, indeed, a much larger school life on which they were entering. so many of the girls they saw were older than themselves--and the trio of girls had been among the oldest girls at briarwood during their last semester. "why, we're only _kids_," sighed helen. "there's a girl on this corridor--at the other end, thank goodness!--who looks old enough to be a teacher." "miss comstock," said heavy. "i know. she's a senior. there are no teachers rooming at dare. only the housekeeper downstairs. but you'll find a senior at the head of each table--and miss comstock looks awfully stern." ruth and helen found the rooms they were to occupy rather different from those they had chummed in at briarwood. in the first place, these rooms were smaller, and the furniture was very plain. as jennie had warned them, there were only cots to sleep upon--very nice cots, it was true, and there was a heavy coverlet for each, to turn the cots into divans in the daytime. "i tell you what we can do," ruth suggested at the start. "let's make one room the study, and both sleep in the other." "bully idea," agreed helen. they proceeded to do this, the result being a very plain sleeping room, indeed, but a well-furnished study. they had brought with them all the pennants and other keepsakes from briarwood, and sofa pillows and cushions for the chairs, and innumerable pictures. before night the study looked as homelike as the old room had at the preparatory school. they had rugs, too, and one big lounging chair, purchased second-hand, that heavy had, of course, occupied most of the afternoon. "well! i hope you've finished at last," sighed the fleshy girl when the warning bell for dinner rang. "i'm about tired out." "you should be," agreed ruth, commiseratingly. "you've helped so much." "advising is harder than moving furniture and tacking up pictures," proclaimed jennie. "brain-fag is the trouble with me and hunger." "we admit the final symptom," said helen. "but if your brain is ever fagged, heavy, it will only be from thinking up new and touching menus. come on, now, we're going to scramble into some fresh frocks. you go and do the same, miss lazybones." chapter vi miss cullam's trouble ruth and helen were much more amply supplied with frocks of a somewhat dressy order than when they began a semester at briarwood hall. their wardrobes here were well filled, and of course there was no supervision of what they wore as there had been at the preparatory school. when they went downstairs to the dining-room with jennie stone, they found they had made no mistake in "putting their best foot forward," as helen called it. "my! i feel quite as though i were going to a party," ruth confessed. the girls rustled through the corridors and down the wide stairways, laughing and talking, many of the freshmen, it was evident, already having made friends. "there's that girl," whispered jennie stone, suddenly. "what girl?" asked helen. "oh! the girl with all the luggage," laughed ruth. "yes," said the fleshy girl. "what was her name?" "rebecca frayne," said ruth, who had a good memory. she bowed to the rather over-dressed freshman. she saw that nobody was walking with rebecca frayne. "i hope she sits at our table," ruth added. "of course," helen rejoined, with a smile, "ruth has already spied somebody to be good to." "shucks!" said jennie. "i don't think she'd make a particularly pleasant addition to our party." "what does _that_ matter?" demanded helen, roguishly. "ruth is always picking up the sore-eyed kittens." "i think that is unkind," returned ruth, shaking her head. "maybe miss frayne is a very nice girl." "i wonder what she's got in all those bags and the big trunk?" said jennie. "i see she's wearing the same dress she traveled in." "i wager she misses her maid," sighed helen. "can't dress without one, i s'pose." but there were too many other girls to watch and to comment on for the trio to give much attention to rebecca frayne. ruth, however, said, with a little laugh: "i must feel some interest in her. her initials are the same as mine." "and her arrival certainly took the curse off yours, my dear," jennie agreed. "edie phelps and her crowd were laying for you and no mistake." "i wonder if we shouldn't eschew all slang now that we have come to ardmore?" helen suggested demurely. "you set the example then, my lady!" cried heavy. miss comstock, the very severe looking senior, sat at the table at which the briarwood trio of freshmen found their numbers; but miss frayne was at the housekeeper's table. there were ten or twelve girls at each table and throughout the meal a pleasant hum of voices filled the room. ruth and helen, not to mention their fleshy chum, were soon at their ease with their neighbors; nor did miss comstock prove such a bugaboo as they feared. although the senior was a particularly silent girl, she had a pleasant smile and was no wet blanket upon the enjoyment of the dinner. at least, she did not serve as a wet blanket upon jennie stone. the fleshy girl's appetite betrayed the fact that she had been stinted at noon, and that a diet of string beans was scarcely a satisfactory one. as they left the dining-room and came out into the wide, well-lighted entrance hall of the house, a lady just entering bowed to jennie stone. "there she is!" groaned the fleshy girl. "caught in the act!" "who is she, heavy?" demanded helen, in an undertone. "she looks nice," observed ruth. "miss cullam. she's the one that advised the string beans," declared jennie out of the corner of her mouth. then she added, most cordially: "oh! how do you do! these are my two chums from briarwood--ruth fielding and helen cameron. miss cullam, girls." the teacher, who was rather elderly, but very brisk and neat, if not wholly attractive, approached smiling. "you will meet me in mathematics, young ladies," she said, shaking hands with the two introduced freshmen. "and how are you to-night, miss stone? have you stuck to your vegetable diet, as i advised?" heavy made her jolly, round face seem as long as possible, and groaned hollowly. "oh, miss cullam!" she said, "i believe i could have stuck to the diet, if----" "well, if what?" demanded the teacher. "if the diet would only stick to _me_. but it doesn't. i ate _pecks_ of string beans for lunch, and by the middle of the afternoon i felt like a castaway after two weeks upon a desert island." "nonsense, miss stone!" exclaimed the teacher, yet laughing too. heavy was so ridiculous that it was impossible not to be amused. "you should practise abstinence. really, you are the very fattest girl at ardmore, i do believe." "that sounds horrid!" declared jennie with sudden vigor, and she did not look pleased. "you may as well face the truth, my dear," said the mathematics teacher, eyeing the distressing curves of the fleshy girl without prejudice. "here are upwards of a thousand girls--or will be when all have arrived and registered. and you will be locally famous." "oh, don't!" groaned ruth. "poor heavy!" gasped helen. miss cullam uttered a short laugh. "your friends evidently love you, my dear," she said, patting the fleshy girl's plump cheek. "but you want to make new friends--you wish to be admired, i know. it will not be pleasant to gain the reputation of being ardmore's heavyweight, will it?" "it sounds pretty bad," admitted heavy, coming out of her momentary slough of despond. "but we all have our little troubles, don't we, miss cullam?" somehow this question seemed to quench the teacher of mathematics' good spirits. a cloud settled upon her countenance, and she nodded seriously. "we all have; true enough, miss stone," she said. "and i hope you, as pupils at ardmore, will never suffer such disturbance of mind as i, a teacher, sometimes do." ruth, who had started up the stairway next to the teacher, put a friendly hand upon miss cullam's arm. "i hope we three will never add to your burdens, my dear miss cullam," she whispered. the instructor flashed a rather wondering look at the girl of the red mill; then she smiled. it was a grouty person, indeed, who could look into ruth fielding's frank countenance and not return her smile. "bless you! i have heard of you already, ruth fielding. i have no idea i shall be troubled by you or your friends." they had fallen behind the others a few steps. "but we never can tell. since last term--well!" much, evidently, was on miss cullam's mind; yet she kept step with ruth when they came to the corridor on which the rooms of the three briarwoods opened. ruth could always find something pleasant to say. this woman with the care-graved countenance smiled whimsically as she listened, keeping at the girl's shoulder. evidently somewhat oppressed by the attentions of the instructor, helen and heavy had disappeared into the fleshy girl's room. "do come in and see how nicely we have fixed our sitting-room--study, i mean, of course," and ruth laughed, opening the door. "looks homelike," confessed miss cullam. then, with a startled glance around the room, she murmured: "why, it's the very room!" "what is that you say?" asked ruth, curiously. "do you know who had this room last year?" "of course i haven't the first idea," returned the girl of the red mill. "miss rolff." "do i know her?" asked ruth, somewhat puzzled. "she left before the end of the term. i--i am not sure just what the matter was with her. but she is connected in my mind with a great misfortune." "indeed, miss cullam?" said the sympathetic ruth. it was, perhaps, the sympathy in her tone that urged the instructor to confide her trouble to a strange girl--a freshman, at that! "i hope i shall never have the same fears and doubts regarding you and your friends, miss fielding, that i have felt about some of these girls who are now sophomores--and some of the juniors, too." "oh, miss cullam! what do you mean?" "well, i'll tell you, my dear," the teacher said, taking the comfortable chair at ruth's gestured recommendation, as the girl switched on the electricity. "you seem like an above-the-average sensible girl----" ruth laughed at that, but she dimpled, too, and miss cullam joined in the laughter. "some of these girls were mere flyaways," she said. "but not many, after all. girls who come as far as college, even to the freshman course in college, usually have something in their pretty noddles besides ideas for dressing their hair. "well, i will confide in you, as i say, because i have a fancy to. i like you. listen to the troubles of a poor mathematics instructor." "yes, miss cullam," said ruth, demurely. "you see, my dear," said miss cullam, who had a whimsical way about her that ruth had begun to delight in, "after all, we college instructors are all necessarily of the race of watch dogs." "oh, miss cullam!" "our girls are put upon their honor and are in the main worthy of our confidence. but we have experiences that show us how frail human virtue is. "for instance, there are examinations. a most trying necessity are examinations. they come mainly toward the close of the college year, and a few of our girls are not prepared to pass. "last year i felt that some of my freshmen and sophomores could not possibly comply with the mathematical requirements. when i received from the printers my copies of the questions to be proposed to the classes i really felt that a few of my girls were going to have a hard time," and she smiled again, yet there was still trouble in her eyes. "i chanced to be in the library when i received the papers. you have not seen our library yet, have you, miss fielding?" "no, miss cullam. you know, helen and i arrived only this afternoon at ardmore." "that is so. well, the library is a very beautifully furnished building. it was a gift from certain alumni. i was alone in the reception-room when i examined the papers, and being called suddenly to a duty and not wishing to take the papers with me, i rolled them up and thrust them into a vase standing upon the table. when i returned in a few minutes, still hurried by a task before me, i found that i had thrust the papers so far into the small-mouthed vase that i could not reach them. quite a ridiculous situation, was it not? "but now the plot thickens," went on the teacher, with a sigh. "the papers were safe enough there, of course. the vase was a very beautiful and valuable silver one, and had its place of honor on that table. i could not stop to retrieve the question papers with a pair of tongs--as i might, had i not been hurried. when i returned armed with the tongs in the morning----" "yes, miss cullam?" rejoined ruth, interestedly, as the teacher paused in her story. "the vase--and, of course, the question papers--was gone," said the lady, in a sepulchral tone. "oh!" "and almost all the girls i had marked for failure in mathematics went through the examination with colors flying!" "oh!" exclaimed ruth again, and quite blankly. "do you see the terrible suspicion that has been eating at my mind ever since? there happened to be other unfortunate matters connected with the disappearance of the vase, too. _it_ has never been found. one of the very freshmen who i feared would fail in the examination left the college under a cloud." "oh, miss cullam!" gasped ruth. "is she suspected of stealing the vase--and the examination papers?" "i scarcely know what to say in answer to that," said miss cullam, gravely. "it seems that one of the sororities was initiating candidates on that night. one of the--er--'stunts,' as they call their ridiculous ceremonies, included the filching of this vase after dark and its burial somewhere on bliss island. so dr. milroth later informed me. "the girl chosen for this ridiculous performance, miss rolff, who occupied this very room, was found at daybreak wandering alone upon the island in a hysterical condition. she insisted upon leaving the college immediately, before i had discovered the absence of the vase and the missing papers. "i felt that i could not arouse suspicion in dr. milroth's mind by mentioning the papers. i secured copies from the printer. of course, it is all ancient history now, my dear," ended the mathematics teacher, with a sigh. "but you see, suspicion once fastened upon my mind, it still troubles me." "but what became of the poor girl?" asked ruth, sympathetically. "that i cannot tell you," miss cullam said, rising. "she has not returned this year, and i understand that dr. milroth lost trace of her." chapter vii fame is not always an asset just why the teacher of mathematics had taken ruth fielding into her confidence upon this rather curious event, it would be hard to say. teachers are human like other people, and perhaps sometimes prone to gossip. however, ruth felt that it was a confidence, and she did not mention the matter of the missing examination papers to her chum or to jennie stone. the other briarwood girls were the only members of the freshman class ruth was likely to be intimate with for some days. friendships are not made so quickly at college as at smaller schools. there were so many girls that it took some time for the trio to adjust themselves and to become acquainted with their mates. in the morning they went again to the registrar's office, and there they met miss dexter, who was appointed to escort them about, show them the college offices, the bookstore, and introduce them to such of the instructors as came in the path of the new girls. of course, their tuition fees--one hundred and seventy-five dollars each--for the year had been already paid. their board would be nine dollars weekly, and all books, stationery, gymnastic suits and supplies, as well as medical and hospital fees (if they chanced to be ill) would be extra. there were only a few simple rules of behavior to note. if a girl is not well trained in ladylike demeanor before arriving at the college age she is, of course, hopeless. the faculty have other things to do besides watching the manners as well as the mental attributes, of the students. ruth and her friends learned that they were not to leave the college grounds before six in the morning. "and who'd want to?" demanded heavy. "that's the best time to sleep." however, the fleshy girl soon learned that if she was to have a reasonable time for breakfast she must be up betimes. the meal was served from seven to a quarter to eight. chapel was at eight-thirty, but not compulsory. recitations began at nine and lunch was at twelve. recitations and lectures (these latter did not interest our freshmen, for they had no lectures the first year) ended at three-thirty, when, all the girls were supposed to take gymnastics of some kind. otherwise, their time was their own until dinner at six o'clock. the girls had the time free from seven till seven-thirty. the following two hours were those devoted to quiet study (or should be) in their own rooms, or in the reference department of the library. at ten all were supposed to retire. the students might leave the grounds at any time during the day, but never in the evening without a chaperon. these rules and requirements seemed easy enough to the trio from briarwood hall, used as they were to the far stricter oversight of the teachers in the preparatory institution. more girls appeared at ardmore that day, and the one following would see the opening of the semester and, as jennie stone said, "the buckling down to real work." a notice was posted on the bulletin boards already commanding all freshmen to meet at hoskin hall after dinner that evening, signed by the president of the sophomore class. "what's _she_ got to do with _us_?" helen demanded, with a sniff. "aren't we allowed to run our own class affairs here?" heavy asked. "i fancy not," ruth rejoined. "miss dexter told me that the sophs and freshies were usually lined up against the two older classes. the sophs need us, and we need them." "i have an idea," said heavy, with a warning shake of her head, "that some of the sophs don't care so much for us." the trio were returning from the college hall as they chatted. helen suddenly exclaimed: "girls! did you ever see so many tam-o'-shanters in your little lives? and such a wealth of colors?" it was true that every girl in sight (and there were "just hundreds!" to quote heavy again), unless she were bareheaded, wore a tam-o'-shanter. "the most popular thing in head covering at ardmore this year, that is sure," said ruth. "oh! will you look at the one that frayne girl is wearing?" helen gasped. "goodness!" said heavy. "looks like an italian sunset." "or a badly scrambled egg," put in helen. "there! i believe that girl would look a fright whatever she put on." "she can't help her taste, poor girl," ruth said. "my!" sighed heavy. "i like to hear you talk, ruth. you're as full of excuses for everybody criticised as a chestnut is of meat," and she nibbled one of the nuts in question as she spoke. then: "wow! oh, the nasty thing!" helen laughed uproariously. "something besides meat in that chestnut, heavy. did it squirm much?" "don't ask me," said the fleshy girl, gloomily. "of such is life! 'i never owned a gay gazelle----'" "cut it out. you never owned a gazelle of any kind," said helen. "you know you never did." it was just here that the trio came upon a group of girls of whom edith phelps was evidently the leader. it was opposite the gymnasium, under the wide-spreading oaks that gave shade to that quarter of the campus. the briarwood girls had been about to enter the gymnasium building to look around. edith and her friends were mostly in gymnasium costumes. they had been tossing the medicine ball; but it was plain that they had gathered here near the path the three freshmen friends followed, for a purpose. "oh, here comes the leading lady!" cried edith phelps, in a high and affected voice. "get set! camera!" the girls, or most of them, struck most ridiculous attitudes at edie's word, while an oblong, black box suddenly appeared, affixed upon a tripod, and may macgreggor, who was out for fun as much as any of the sophomores, began to turn a tiny crank on one side of the box. "hi! what are you trying to do--you fat person there?" demanded edie, excitedly, imitating a movie director, and waving back the amazed and somewhat angry jennie stone. "want to crab the film?" "oh, the mean things!" gasped helen, growing as red as though the joke were aimed directly at herself. "cracky!" murmured the fleshy girl, who couldn't help seeing the ridiculous side of it. "isn't that funny?" at the moment, too, a thin little tune began to wander from the black box, none other than "the wearing of the green." inside the box was one of those little, old-fashioned swiss music boxes, and may was industriously turning the crank. "register fear, miss fielding!" shouted edith, energetically. "fear, i say! don't you realize that you are about to be flung over a cliff and that a mad bull is waiting bel-o-o-w to catch you on his horns? close up of the bull, please!" ruth had been first surprised, then not a little displeased; but she knew instinctively if she showed that this buffoonry offended and troubled her it would only be repeated again and again. much better able than her chum, helen cameron, to control her features, she began now to smile broadly. "girls!" she said aloud to her two friends, "it must be that that girl knows mr. grimes personally or has seen him at work. you remember mr. grimes, the alectrion director who filmed our play at briarwood?" "and was so nasty to hazel gray? i should say!" exclaimed jennie, instantly falling in with ruth's attempt to pass the incident off as a joke. "i think _she's_ nasty-mean," muttered helen, her black eyes snapping. "if you played that tune while making a film for me, miss macgreggor, i should want to jig," heavy cried, and started to do a few ridiculous steps in front of the black box. ruth continued to smile, too, saying to edith phelps: "you might have warned us of this. i'd have liked to primp a little before posing for the camera." the other girls laughed. it did not take much to make them laugh, and it is possible that they laughed as much at edie as with her. but as the trio of freshmen went on toward dare hall, ruth shook her head doubtfully. "what's the matter, ruthie?" asked helen, squeezing her arm. "the mean things!" "i wonder," murmured ruth. "you wonder what?" demanded helen. ruth sighed. "i guess fame isn't always an asset," she said. chapter viii the stone face ruth knew better than to show anger over any such silly joke. if she was to be made the laughing stock of her class by the sophomores, she might as well face it and bear the cross good-naturedly. ruth was as sensitive as any refined girl. it hurt her to be ridiculed. but she had not spent years at boarding school without learning that the best way--indeed, the only way--to bear successfully such indignity is to ignore it. that is, to ignore the fun poked at one as far as possible. to bear the jokes with a smile. so she would not allow her friends to comment much upon this scene before the gymnasium building. she had never given herself airs because of her success in writing scenarios. another girl might have done so. but ruth was naturally modest, and had never really ceased to be surprised at her own success. the new scenario she was at work upon, the scenes of which were laid at the red mill, was born of an idea she had evolved when her attention had first been turned to motion-picture writing. mr. hammond, her kind friend and the president of the alectrion film corporation, had advised her to postpone the use of this idea until she had tried her apprentice hand on other and simpler scenarios. the time seemed ripe now, however, for the writing of "crossed wires," and he had encouraged her to go ahead. all the visible effect edith phelps' joke had upon ruth was to send her to the unfinished scenario. after returning from the college offices on this occasion she worked on her play until lunch time. "there's too much new to see and to do for you to pore over letter writing, ruth," helen declared, misunderstanding her friend's occupation. "we want to see ardmore. we want to go out on the lake if we can get a boat. we've got to see the gym and the library. and to-night we must turn up at this meeting, it seems, and see what miss dunstan, the soph president, has to say to us freshies." "oh, i want to go out on the lake!" cried ruth, agreeing. "and i want to explore that island." "what island?" demanded jennie, coming into the chums' study. "bliss island." "'tisn't part of the college grounds," said the fleshy girl. "don't care. want to see it," declared ruth. "i hope we can get a boat. i didn't see many in use this morning." "some of the girls own their own. especially canoes," said jennie stone. "but it's _the_ thing to make the 'eight.' let me tell you, us ardmores are supposed to be some rowists! our first eight beat the gillings college first eight last june." "we'll all try for the eight then," helen said. "and _you_, jennie?" asked ruth, mildly. "oh, _me_!" "string beans for yours, heavy," helen cried, clapping her hands. "you'll have to diet on them until you have reduced to little more than a string yourself if you expect to make the eight." "bet i could do it," grumbled heavy. "a bet's a bet!" cried helen. "i take you." "don't be rude, girls," advised ruth. "you sound like regular, sure-enough gamblers. and, anyway, heavy will never be able to make the eight. she might as well pay her wager now." "oh! oh! oh!" laughed helen. "a palpable hit!" "you just see!" said heavy, firmly. "i'll show you." "my dear," ruth said, "if you show us a sylph-like form in time to make the freshman eight----" "it will be the eighth wonder of the world," finished helen. jennie tossed her head. "i don't know about the sylph-like form, but at least i mean to possess a slender figure when i have followed miss cullam's advice on diet. you'll see!" "poor heavy!" groaned helen. "she is letting herself in for a most awful time, and no mistake." after luncheon the three girls set forth to explore the place. "if i keep this up i'll need nothing else to get me thin. we have tramped miles," the fleshy girl announced at length. "oh! my poor, poor feet!" "wear sensible shoes, then," said helen, who was the very last person to follow her own advice on this point. "easy enough to say," groaned jennie. "there ain't any such an animal! you know that in this day and generation shoe makers have ceased to make sensible shoes. i look at 'em in the shop windows," pursued the aching girl, "and i wonder what sort of foot the human pedal extremity will become in a generation or two. those pointed toes! "why," declared the suddenly warmed up jennie stone, "they tell us about a two-toed sloth living in central and south america. believe _me_! the present-day shoemaker seems to have secured a last to fit a _one_-toed sloth." "i don't know about the number of their toes," ruth said, laughing; "but many of those who wear the fancy shoes are _sloths_, all right." they had looked over the library before this, and walked down past hoskin and hemmingway halls on the west side of the campus, and so reached the lake. there were some girls at the boathouse, and a few craft were out. it was possible for the three friends to get a boat and ruth and helen rowed, with heavy lazily reclining in the stern. "beginning that strenuous life that is to reduce your weight, heavy?" questioned helen. "i am practising deep breathing," jennie said. "they say that helps a lot." they headed the light skiff directly for bliss island. it was not more than a mile off shore, and was a beautiful place. at the landing they saw several girls whom they knew were sophomores, for among them was may macgreggor. "here are some more of cook's trippers," said the scotch girl, gaily. "seeing the sights, _mes infantes_?" "trying to," jennie announced. "but you're really not so bad looking, miss macgreggor. i wouldn't call you a 'sight.'" "now, that will be all of that, miss stone!" exclaimed the sophomore, but her brown eyes danced as the other girls laughed. "i believe you three girls are briarwoods, are you not?" "yes," helen said. "i can believe it," said may. "i have felt the briers. now, let us call a truce." "with all my heart, miss macgreggor," ruth said quickly. "you're a good little thing!" returned the scotch girl. "i know your heart is big enough. and we sophs really shouldn't nag you freshies, you know, for we must pull together against the seniors and juniors. but you'll hear about that to-night." "thank you, miss macgreggor," ruth said. "and now that we are at this island, would you mind telling us where the stone face is situated?" "ah! one of the wonders of the place," said may. "and who told you about the stone face, freshie?" "i have heard it is well worth seeing," said ruth, demurely. "i will be your escort," said may. they found the scotch girl very companionable. she led them up a rugged path through the trees and around the rocks. "and did that girl have to come up here--_and in the dark_?" murmured ruth at last. "what girl?" helen asked. "who are you talking about, miss fielding?" asked the sophomore. "that girl--miss rolff." "oh! don't mention her name!" groaned may macgreggor. "if it hadn't been for _her_, you-uns and we-uns wouldn't be cut out of the sororities. a wicked shame!" "oh, i've heard about that," said jennie, puffing because of the hard climb. "did she really have to come here, and _alone_, when she was initiated?" "she started for here," said may, gloomily. "with a flashlight, i believe. but she lost her nerve---"there! there's the rock you're looking for." it was a huge boulder in an open field. at the angle from which they viewed it, the face of the rock really bore some semblance to a human countenance--the features of an old, old woman. "ugly old hag!" was may macgreggor's comment upon the odd boulder. chapter ix getting on the three freshmen friends from briarwood learned a good deal more that evening than the year book would ever have taught them. the girls began to crowd into the hoskin hall dining-room right after dinner. the seniors and the juniors disappeared, but there were a large number of sophomores present, besides the president of that class who addressed the freshmen. the latter learned that in athletics especially the rivalry between the two lower and the two upper classes was intense. it was hardly possible, of course, for any of the freshmen, and for few of the sophomores to gain positions on any of the first college teams in basket ball, rowing, tennis, archery, or other important activities of a physical nature. all athletic sports, which included, as well as those named above, running and jumping and other track work, were under the direct supervision of the college athletic association. all the girls could belong to that. indeed, they were expected to, and the fees were small. but for a freshman to show sufficient athletic training to make any of the first teams, would almost seem impossible. they could get on the scrubs and possess their souls with patience, hoping to win places on the first teams perhaps in their sophomore year. however, there had once been a girl in a freshman class at ardmore who succeeded in throwing the hammer a record-making distance; and once a freshman had been bow oar in the first eight. these were targets to aim for, miss dunstan, the sophomore president, told the new girls. she was, of course, a member of the athletic committee, and having told the new girls all about the sports she proceeded to advise them about organizing their class and electing officers. this should be done by the end of the first fortnight. meanwhile, the freshman should get together, become acquainted, and electioneer for the election of officers. class politics at ardmore meant something. there were already groups and cliques forming among the freshmen. it was an honor to hold office in the class, and those who were ambitious, or who wished to control the policy of the class, were already at work. ruth and her friends were so ambitious in quite another direction--in two, in fact--that they rather overlooked these class activities. the following day actually opened the work of the semester, and as they already had their books the trio settled immediately to their lessons. they were taking the classical course, a four-years' course. during this first year their studies would be english, a language (their choice of french or german) besides the never-to-be-escaped latin; mathematics, including geometry, trigonometry and higher algebra. they had not yet decided whether to take botany or chemistry as the additional study. "we want to keep together as much as possible, in classes as well as out," helen said. "let's take the same specials, too." "i vote for botany," ruth suggested. "that will take us into the woods and fields more." "you mean, it will give us an excuse for going into the woods and fields," jennie said. "i'm with you. and if i have to walk much to cut down weight, it will help." "my goodness!" exclaimed helen. "heavy really _has_ come to college to get rid of her superabundance of fat." "surest thing you know," agreed the fleshy girl. the freshmen learned that they would have from fifteen to eighteen recitation periods weekly, of forty-five minutes each. the recitation periods occurred between nine and twelve in the forenoon and one and three-thirty in the afternoon. it took several days to get all these things arranged rightly; the three friends managed to get together in all classes. the classes numbered from twenty to forty students and the girls began to get acquainted with the teachers very quickly. trust youth for judging middle-age almost immediately. "i like dr. mccurdy," helen said, speaking of their english instructor, who was a man. "he knows what he's about and goes right at it. no fooling with him. none of this, 'now young ladies, i hope you are pleasantly situated and that we are going to be good friends.' pah!" ruth laughed. "the dear old things!" she said gaily. "they mean well--even that miss mara, whom you are imitating. and she _does_ have a beautiful french accent, if she _is_ irish." they liked dr. frances milroth. her talk in chapel was an inspiration, and that first morning some of the girls came out into the sunshine with wet eyelashes. they began to realize that they were here at college for something besides either play or ordinary study. they were at ardmore to learn to get a grip on life. instrumental and vocal music could be taken at any time which did not interfere with the regular recitations, and of course ruth took the latter as a special, while helen did not neglect her violin. "i guess i'll take up the study of the oboe," grumbled jennie stone. "i don't seem to know just what to do with myself while you girls are making sweet sounds." "why don't you roll, heavy?" demanded helen. "roll _what_? roll a hoop?" asked the fleshy girl. "no. roll a barrel, i should say would be nearer to it," helen responded, eyeing jennie's plump waistline reflectively. "get down and roll. move back the furniture, give yourself plenty of room, and _roll_. they say that will reduce one's curves." "wow! and what would the girl say downstairs under me?" asked jennie stone. "i'd begin by being the most unpopular girl in this freshman class." these first few days were busy ones; but the girls of the freshman class were fast learning just where they stood. then happened something that awoke most of the class to the fact that they needed to get together, that they must, after all, take up cudgels for themselves. "just like a flock of silly sheep, running together when they see a dog," helen at first said. "i guess there is a good reason in nature for sheep to do that," ruth said, on reflection. "sheep fear wolves more than any other animal, and a dog is a wolf, after all, only domesticated." "huh!" grunted jennie. "then we are sheep and the seniors are wolves, are they? i could eat up most of these seniors i've seen, myself. i will be a savage sheep--woof! woof!" the matter that had made the disturbance, however, was not to be ignored. chapter x a tempest in a teapot arrangements for the organization of the freshman class had lagged. this fact may have been behind the notice put upon the bulletin boards all over the ardmore grounds some time after bedtime one evening and before the rising bell rang the next morning. it intimated a bit of hazing, but hazing of a quality that the faculty could only wink at. the notice was as follows: freshmen _it is the command of the senior class of ardmore that no freshman shall appear within the college grounds wearing a tam-o'-shanter of any other hue save the herewith designated color, to wit: baby blue. this order is for the mental and spiritual good of the incoming class of freshmen. any member of said class refusing to obey this order will be summarily dealt with by the upper classes of ardmore._ groups gathered immediately after breakfast about the bulletin boards. of course, the seniors and juniors passed by with dignified bearing, and without comment. the sophomores remained upon the outskirts of the groups of excited freshmen to laugh and jeer. "a disturbed bumblebees' nest could have hummed no louder," helen declared, as the three friends walked up to chapel, which they made a point of attending. "why! to think of the _cheek_ of those seniors!" ejaculated jennie. "and the juniors are just as bad!" "what are you going to do about that tam of yours, heavy?" asked ruth, slily. "it's a gay thing--nothing like baby blue." "oh well," growled the fleshy girl, "baby blue is one of my favorite colors." "mine, too," said ruth, drily. "oh, girls! are you going to give right in--_so_ easy?" gasped helen. "i don't feel like making myself conspicuous," ruth said. "you can wager that most of our class will hustle right off and get the proper hue in tams." "then we'd better go to town this very afternoon," jennie cried, in haste, "and see if we can find three of baby blue shade. the stores will be drained of them by to-morrow." "but to give--right--in!" wailed helen, who dearly loved a fight. "no. it isn't that. but, as the advertisements say: 'eventually, so why not now?' we'll have to come to it. let's get our tams while the tamming's good." helen could not see the reason for obeying the senior order; but she could see no reason, either, for not following her chum's lead. the three girls telephoned for a taxicab, which came to dare hall for them at half past three. they were not the only girls going to town; but some of the freshmen, like helen, wished to display their independence and refused--as yet--to obey the senior command. a line at the bottom of the notice announced that three days were allowed the freshmen to obtain their proper tam-o'-shanters. "three days!" gasped heavy, as they started off in the little car. "why, it will take the stores in greenburg two weeks to supply sufficient tams of the proper color." "then if we don't get ours," laughed ruth, "we'd better go bareheaded until the new tams can be sent us from home." "i won't do that!" cried the annoyed helen. "oh! oh!" she exclaimed, the next moment, and before they were out of the grounds. "see miss frayne! she has her scrambled-egg tam on." "don't you suppose she has read the notice?" worried ruth. "why hasn't she?" "well, she seems to flock together with herself so much. nobody seems to be chummy with her--yet," ruth explained. "now, old mother worry!" exclaimed helen, "bother about _her_, will you?" "yes, ma'am," said ruth, demurely. "i shall, i suppose." "goodness, ruth!" cried jennie. they discovered a rather strange thing when they arrived in greenburg and entered the first store that dealt in ladies' apparel. oh, yes, indeed! the proprietor had tam-o'-shanters of just the required shade, baby blue. the friends bought immediately for fear some of the other girls who had come to town would find these and buy the proprietor out. and then, prone to the usual feminine frailty, they went "window shopping." and in every store seeking trade from the college girls they found the baby blue tam-o'-shanters. "it's the most astonishing thing!" gasped helen. "what do you suppose it means? did you ever see so many caps of one kind and color in all your life?" "it is amazing," agreed ruth. yet she was reflective. jennie began to laugh. "wonder if the seniors are just helping out their friends among the tradespeople? it looks as though the storekeepers had bought a superabundance of baby blue caps and the seniors were putting it up to us to save the stores from bankruptcy." ruth, however, thought it must be something other than that. was it that the storekeepers had been notified by the senior "powers that be" to be ready to supply a sudden large demand for tam-o'-shanters of that particular hue? at least, one little hebrew asked the three friends if they had already bought their tam-o'-shanters. "for vy, i haf a whole case of your class colors, ladies, that my poy iss opening." "what class color?" demanded helen, grumpily enough. "oh, mees! a peau-ti-ful plue!" "they're all doing it! they're all doing it!" murmured jennie, staggering out of the "emporium." "this is going to affect my brain, girls. _did_ the seniors know the storekeepers had the tams in stock, or have the storekeepers been put wise by our elder sisters at ardmore?" "what's the odds?" finally laughed helen, as they got into the waiting car. "we've got _our_ tams. i only hope there are enough to go around." the appearance of more than a score of baby-blue caps on the campus before evening showed that our trio of freshmen were not the only members of their class who considered it wise to obey the mandate of the lordly seniors, and without question. the tempest in the teapot, however, continued to rage. many girls declared they had not come to ardmore to "be made monkeys of." "no," may macgreggor was heard to say. "some of you were already assisted by nature. but get together, freshies! can't you read the handwriting on the wall?" "we can read the typewriting on the billboards," sniffed helen cameron. "don't ask us to strain our eyesight farther." perhaps this was really the intention behind the senior order--that the entering girls should become more quickly riveted into a compact body. how the rooms occupied by the more popular freshmen buzzed during the next few days! our trio of friends, ruth, helen and jennie, had been in danger of establishing a clique of three, if they had but known it. now they were forced to extend their borders of acquaintanceship. as they were three, and were usually seen about the study-room ruth and helen had established, it was natural that other girls of their class on that corridor of dale hall should flock to them. they thus became the nucleus at this side of the campus of the freshman class. from discussing the rule of the haughty seniors, the freshmen began to talk of their own organization and the approaching election. had ruth allowed her friends to do so, there would have been started a boom by helen and jennie stone for the girl of the red mill for president of the freshman class. this honor ruth did not desire. there were several girls whom she had noted already among her mates, older than she, and who evidently possessed qualities for the position. besides, ruth fielding felt that if she became unduly prominent at first at ardmore, girls like edith phelps would consider her a particularly bright target. she told herself again, but this time in private, that fame was not always an asset. chapter xi the one rebel however much the natural independence of the freshmen balked at the mandate promulgated by the seniors, baby-blue tam-o'-shanters grew more numerous every hour on the ardmore campus. the sophomores were evidently filled with glee; the juniors and seniors smiled significantly, but said nothing. the freshmen had been put in their place at once, it was considered. but the attack upon them had made the newcomers eager for an organization of their own. "if we are going to be bossed this way--and it is disgraceful!--we must be prepared to withstand imposition," helen announced. so they began busily settling the matter of the organization of the class and the choosing of its officers. before these matters were arranged completely, however, there was an incident of note. the freshmen, as a body, were invited to attend a sophomore "roar." it was to be the first out-of-door "roar" of the year and occurred right after classes and lectures one afternoon. the two lower classes scamped their gymnasium work to make it a success. now, a "roar" at ardmore was much nicer than it sounds. it was merely an open-air singing festival, and this one was for the purpose of making the freshmen familiar with the popular songs of the college. professor leidenburg, the musical director, himself led the outdoor concert. the sophomores stood in a compact body before the main entrance to the college hall. massed in the background, and in a half circle, were the freshmen. the weather had become cool and all the girls wore their tam-o'-shanters. for the first time it was noticeable how pretty the pale blue caps on the freshmen's heads looked. and the new girls likewise noted that most of the tam-o'-shanters worn-by their sophomore hostesses were pale yellow. it was whispered then (and strange none of the freshmen had discovered it before) that the class preceding theirs at ardmore--the present sophomores--had been forced to wear caps of a distinctive color, too. these pale yellow ones were their old caps, left over from the previous winter. the open-air assemblages of the college were made more attractive by this scheme of a particular class color in head-wear. there was a blot in the assembly of the freshmen on this occasion. it was not discovered in the beginning. soon, however, there was much whispering, and looking about and pointing. "do you see _that_?" gasped jennie, who had been straining her neck and hopping up and down on her toes to see what the other girls were looking at. "what _are_ you rubbering at, heavy?" demanded helen, inelegantly. "yes; what's all the disturbance?" asked ruth. "that girl!" ejaculated the fleshy one. "what girl now? any particular girl?" "she's not very particular, i guess," returned jennie, "or she wouldn't do it." "jennie!" demanded helen. "_who_ do _what_?" "that frayne girl," explained her plump friend. rebecca frayne stood well back in the lines of freshmen. it could not be said that she thrust herself forward, or sought to gain the attention of the crowd. nevertheless, among the mass of pale blue tam-o'-shanters, her parti-colored one was very prominent. "goodness!" gasped ruth. "doesn't she know better?" "do you suppose she is one of those stubborn girls who just 'won't be driv'?" giggled helen. it was no laughing matter. the three days of grace written upon the seniors' order regarding the caps had now passed. there seemed no good reason for one member of the freshman class to refuse to obey the command. indeed, they had all tacitly agreed to do as they were told--upon this single point, at least. "there certainly are enough of them left in town so that she can buy one," jennie stone said. "goodness!" snapped helen. "if _my_ complexion can stand such a silly color, _hers_ certainly can." before the out-of-doors concert was over, news of this rebellion on the part of a single freshman had run through the crowd like a breath of wind over ripe wheat. it almost broke up the "roar." as the last verse of the last song was ended and the company began to disperse, the freshmen themselves, and the sophomores as well, stared at rebecca frayne in open wonder. she started for her room, which was in dare hall on the same corridor as that of the three girls from briarwood, and ruth and helen and jennie were right behind her. "that certainly is an awful tam," groaned jennie. "what do you suppose makes her wear it, anyway? let alone the trouble----" she broke off. miss dexter, the first senior who had spoken to ruth and helen coming over from the railway station on the auto-bus, stopped the strange girl whose initials were the same as those of the girl of the red mill. "will you tell me, please, why you are wearing that tam-o'-shanter?" asked miss dexter. rebecca frayne's head came up and a spot of vivid red appeared in either of her sallow cheeks. "is that _your_ business?" she demanded, slowly. "do you know that i am a senior?" asked miss dexter, levelly. "i don't care if you are two seniors," returned rebecca frayne, saucily. miss dexter turned her back upon the freshman and walked promptly away. the listeners were appalled. none of them cared to go forward and speak to rebecca frayne. "cracky!" gasped helen. "she's an awful spitfire." "she's an awful chump!" groaned jennie. "the seniors won't do a thing to her!" but nothing came at once of rebecca's refusal to obey the seniors' command regarding tam-o'-shanters. it was known, however, that the executive committees of both the senior and junior classes met that next night and supposedly took the matter up. "oh, no! they don't haze any more at ardmore," said jennie, shaking her head. "but just wait!" chapter xii ruth is not satisfied ruth fielding was not at all satisfied. not that her experiences in these first few weeks of college were not wholly "up to sample," as the slangy jennie stone remarked. ruth was getting personally all out of college life that she could expect. the mere fact that a little handful of the girls looked at her somewhat askance because of her success as a motion picture writer, did not greatly trouble the girl of the red mill. she could wait for them to forget her small "fame" or for them to learn that she was quite as simple and unaffected as any other girl of her age. it was about rebecca frayne that ruth was disturbed in her mind. here was the case of a student who, ruth believed, was much misunderstood. she could not imagine a girl deliberately making trouble for herself. rebecca frayne by the expenditure of a couple of dollars in the purchase of a new tam-o'-shanter might have easily overcome this dislike that had been bred not alone in the minds of the girls of the two upper classes, but among the sophomores and her own classmates as well. the sophomores thought her ridiculous; the freshmen themselves felt that she was bringing upon the whole class unmerited criticism. ruth looked deeper. she saw the strange girl walk past her mates unnoticed, scarcely spoken to, indeed, by the freshmen and ignored completely by members of the other classes. and yet, to ruth's mind, there seemed to be an air about rebecca frayne--a look in her eyes, perhaps--that seemed to beg for sympathy. it was no hardship for ruth to speak to the girl and try to be friendly with her. but opportunities for this were not frequent. in the first place ruth's own time was much occupied with her studies, her own personal friends, helen and jennie, and the new scenario on which she worked during every odd hour. several times ruth went to the door of rebecca's room and knocked. she positively knew the girl was at home, but there had been no answer to her summons and the door was locked. the situation troubled ruth. when she was among her classmates, rebecca seemed nervously anxious to please and eager to be spoken to, although she had little to say. here, on the other hand, once alone in her room, she deliberately shut herself away from all society. soon after the outdoor song festival that had been so successful, and immediately following the organization of the freshman class and its election of officers, ruth and helen went over to the library one evening to consult some reference books. the reference room was well filled with busy girls of all classes, who came bustling in, got down the books they required, dipped into them for a minute and then departed to their own studies, or else settled down to work on their topics for a more extended period. it was a cold evening, and whenever a girl entered from the hall a breath of frosty air came with her, and most of those gathered in the room were likely to look up and shiver. few of those assembled failed to notice rebecca frayne when she came in. "goodness! see who has came," whispered helen. "oh, rebecca!" murmured ruth, looking up as the girl in question crossed the room. "hasn't she the cheek of all cheeks to breeze in here this way?" helen went on to say with more force than elegance. "that awful tam again." one could not fail to see the tam-o'-shanter very well. it was noticeable in any assembly. perhaps half of the girls in the reference room were seniors and juniors. several of the members of the younger classes nodded to the newcomer, though not many noticed her in this way. there was, however, almost immediately a general movement by the girls belonging to the senior and junior classes. they got up grimly, put away the books they were at work upon, and filed out, one by one, and without saying a word. helen stared after them, and nudged ruth. "what is it?" asked her chum, who had been too busy to notice. "did you see that?" asked helen. "did i see what?" "there isn't a senior or a jun left in the room. that--that's something more than a coincidence." ruth was puzzled. "i really wish you would explain," she said. helen was not the only girl remaining who had noticed the immediate departure of the members of the two older classes. some of the sophomores were whispering together. rebecca's fellow-classmen glanced at her sharply to see if she had noticed what had occurred. "i can't believe it," ruth said worriedly, after helen explained. "they would not go out because she came in." the next day, however, the matter was more marked. rebecca could sing; she evidently loved singing. in the classes for vocal music there was often a mixture of all grades, some of the seniors and juniors attending with the sophomores and freshmen. ruth fielding, of course, never missed these classes. she hoped to be noticed and have her voice tried out for the glee club. professor leidenburg was to give a little talk on this day that would be helpful, and the class was well attended. but when rebecca frayne came into the small hall just before the professor himself appeared, there was a stir throughout the audience. the girls, of course, were hatless here; but that morning rebecca had been seen wearing the "scrambled-egg tam," as helen insisted upon calling it. there was an intake of breath all over the room. rebecca walked down the aisle in search of an empty seat. and suddenly half the seats were empty. she could have her choice--and a large one. "goodness!" helen gasped. every senior and junior in the room had arisen and had left her seat. not a word had been spoken, nor had they glanced at rebecca frayne, who at first was unaware of what it portended. the older girls filed out silently. professor leidenburg entered by the door beside the organ just in time to see the last of them disappear. he looked a bit surprised, but said nothing and took up the matter at hand with but half an audience. rebecca frayne had seen and understood at last. she sat still in her seat, and ruth saw that she did not open her lips when, later, the choruses were sung. her face was very pale. nobody spoke to her when the class was dismissed. this was not an intentional slight on the part of her mates; simply, the girls did not know what to say. the seniors and juniors were showing rebecca that she was taboo. their attitude could not be mistaken. and so great was the influence of these older girls of ardmore upon the whole college that rebecca walked entirely alone. ruth and helen walked down the hill behind rebecca that afternoon. ruth was very silent, while helen buzzed about a dozen things. "i--i wonder how that poor girl feels?" murmured the girl of the red mill after a while. "cold, i imagine!" declared her chum, vigorously. "i'm half frozen myself, ruth. there's going to be a big frost to-night and the lake is already skimmed over. say, ruth!" "well?" asked her friend, absently. "let's take our skates first thing in the morning down to that man who sharpens things at the boathouse; will you?" chapter xiii the girl in the storm ruth fielding was quite as eager for fun between lessons as either helen or jennie, and the prospect of skating on such a large lake as remona delighted her. the second day following the incident in the chorus class, the ice which had bound lake remona was officially pronounced safe. gymnasium athletics lost their charm for those girls who were truly active and could skate. there were luxurious damsels who preferred to be pushed about in ice-chairs by more active girls or by hired attendants; but our trio of friends did not look upon that as enjoyment. even jennie stone was a vigorous skater. after a day or two on the ice, when their ankles had become strong enough, the three made a circuit of bliss island--and that was "some skate," to quote jennie. the island was more than a mile from the boathouse, and it was five or six miles in circumference. therefore, the task was quite all of an eight-mile jaunt. "but 'do or die' is our motto," remarked helen, as they set forth on this determined journey. "let's show these pussy girls what it means to have trained at briarwood." "that's all right! that's all right!" grumbled jennie. "but your motto is altogether too grim and significant. let's limit it. i want to _do_ if i can; but mercy me! i don't want to _die_ yet. you girls have got to stop and rest when i say so, or i won't go at all." ruth and helen agreed. that is why it took them until almost dinner-time to encircle the island. jennie stone was determined to rest upon the least provocation. "we'll be starved to death before we get back," helen began to complain while they were upon the south side of the island. "i should think you would feel the pinch of privation, heavy." "i do," admitted the other hollowly. "well, why didn't you escape it by refusing to come, or else by bringing a lunch?" demanded the black-eyed girl. "no. this is a part of the system," groaned jennie. "what system, i'd like to know?" ruth asked, in surprise. "system of martyrdom, i guess," sniffed helen. "you've said it," agreed the plump girl. "that is the truest word yet spoken. martyrdom! that is what it means for me." "what means to you?" snapped helen, exasperated because she could not understand. "this dieting and exercising," jennie said more cheerfully. "i deliberately came so far and without food to see if i couldn't really lose some weight. do you know, girls, i am so hollow and so tired right now, that i believe i must have lost a few ounces, anyway." "you ridiculous thing!" laughed helen, recovering her good nature. "should we sacrifice ourselves for your benefit, do you think, jennie?" ruth asked. "why not? 'love thy neighbor as thyself,' only more so. i need the inspiration of you girls to help me," jennie declared. "do you know, sometimes i am almost discouraged?" "about what?" asked helen. "about my weight. i watch the bathroom scales with eagle eye. but instead of coming down by pounds, i only fall by ounces. it is awfully discouraging. and then," added the fleshy girl, "the other day when we had such a scrumptuous dinner--was it columbus day? i believe so--i was tempted to eat one of my old-time 'full and plenty' meals, and what do you think?" "you had the nightmare," said helen. "not a chance! but i went up _two pounds and a half_--or else the scales were crazy!" "girls!" exclaimed ruth, suddenly. "do you know it is snowing?" "my! i never expected that," cried helen, as a feathery flake lit upon the very point of her pretty nose. "ow!" "well, we'd better go on, i guess," ruth observed. "put your best foot forward, please, miss jennie." "i don't know which is my best foot now," complained the heavy girl. "they are both getting lame." "we'll just have to make you sit down on the ice while we drag you," announced helen, increasing the length of her stroke. "not much you won't!" exclaimed jennie stone, "i'm cold enough as it is." "shall we take off our skates and walk over the island, girls?" suggested ruth. "that will save some time and more than a little work for heavy." "don't worry about me," put in jennie. "i need the exercise. and walking would be worse than skating, i do believe." it was snowing quite thickly now; but the shore of the island was not far away. the trio hugged it closely in encircling the wooded and hilly piece of land. "say!" helen cried, "we're not the only girls out here to-day." "huh?" grunted jennie, head down and skating doggedly. "see there, ruth!" called the black-eyed girl. ruth turned her face to one side and looked under the shade of her hand, which she held above her eyes. there was a figure moving along the shore of bliss island just abreast of them. "it's a girl," she said. "but she's not skating." "who is it? a freshie?" asked jennie, but little interested. ruth did not reply. she seemed wonderfully interested by the appearance of the girl on shore. she fell behind her mates while she watched the figure. the snow was increasing; and that with the abruptly rising island, furnished a background for the strange girl which threw her into relief. at first ruth was attracted only by her figure. she could not see her face. "who can she be? not one of the girls at dare hall----" this idea spun to nothingness very quickly. no! the figure ashore reminded ruth fielding of nobody whom she had seen recently. the feeling, however, that she knew the person grew. the snow blew sharply into the faces of the skating girls; but she on shore was somewhat sheltered from the gale. the wind was out of the north and west and the highland of the island broke the zest of the gale for the strange girl. "and yet she isn't strange--i _know_ she isn't," murmured ruth fielding, casting another glance back at the figure on the shore. "come on, ruth! _do_ hurry!" cried helen, looking back. "even heavy is beating you." ruth quickened her efforts. the strange girl disappeared, mounting a path it seemed toward the center of the island. ruth, head bent and lips tightly closed, skated on intent upon her mystifying thoughts. the trio rounded the island at last. they got the wind somewhat at their backs and on a long slant made for the boathouse landing. it was growing dusk, but there was a fire at the landing that beckoned them on. "glad it isn't any farther," helen panted. "this snow is gathering so fast it clogs one's skates." "oh, i must be losing pounds!" puffed jennie stone. "i bet none of my clothes will fit me to-morrow. i shall have to throw them all away." "oh, heavy!" giggled helen. "that lovely new silk?" "oh--well--i shall take _that_ in!" drawled jennie. "i've got it!" exclaimed ruth, in a most startling way. "goodness me! are you hurt?" demanded helen. "what you got? a cramp?" asked jennie, quite as solicitous. "i know now who that girl looked like," declared ruth. "what girl?" rejoined helen cameron. "the one over yonder, on the other side of the island?" "yes. she looks just like that maggie who came to the mill, helen. you remember, don't you? the girl i left to help aunt alvirah when i came to college." "well, for the land's sake!" said jennie stone. "if she's up there at the red mill, how can she possibly be down here, too? you're talking out of order, miss fielding. sit down!" chapter xiv "oft in the stilly night" ruth fielding could not get that surprising, that almost unbelievable, discovery out of her mind. it seemed ridiculous to think that girl could be maggie, "the waif," she had seen on bliss island. aunt alvirah had written ruth a letter only a few days before and in it she said that maggie was very helpful and seemed wholly content. "only," the little old housekeeper at the red mill wrote, "i don't know a mite more about the child now than i did when mr. tom cameron and our ben brought her in, all white and fainty-like." the girls had to hurry on or be late to dinner. but the very first thing ruth did when she reached their rooms in dare hall was to look up aunt alvirah's letter and see when it was dated and mailed. "it's obvious," ruth told herself, "that maggie could have reached here almost as soon as the letter if she had wished to. but why come at all? if it was maggie over on that island, why was she there?" of course, these ruminations were all in private. ruth knew better than to take her two close friends into her confidence. if she did the mystery would have been the chief topic of conversation after dinner, instead of the studies slated for that evening. an incident occurred, however, at dinner which served to take ruth's mind, too, from the mystery. there were a number of seniors and juniors quartered at dare hall. nor were all the seniors table-captains at dinner. this evening the dining hall had filled early. perhaps the brisk air and their outdoor exercise had given the girls sharper appetites than usual. it had the three girls from briarwood. they were wearied after their long skate around the island and as ravenous as wolves. they could scarcely wait for miss comstock, at the head of their particular table, to begin eating so they might do so, too. and just at this moment, as the pleasant bustle of dinner began, and the lightly tripping waitresses were stepping hither and yon with their trays, the door opened and a single belated girl entered the dining hall. as though the entrance of this girl were expected, a hush fell over the room. everybody but jennie looked up, their soup spoons poised as they watched rebecca frayne walk down the long room to her place at the housekeeper's table. "sh!" hissed helen, admonishing jennie stone. "what's the matter?" demanded the fleshy girl in surprise. "is my soup noisy? i'll have to train it better." but nobody laughed. all eyes were fastened on the girl who had made herself so obnoxious to the seniors and the juniors of ardmore. she sat down and a waitress put her soup before her. before poor rebecca could lift her spoon there was a stir all over the room. every senior and junior (and there were more than half a hundred in the dining hall) arose, save those acting as table-captains or monitors. the rustle of their rising was subdued; they murmured their excuses to the heads of their several tables in a perfectly polite manner; and not a glance from their eyes turned toward rebecca frayne. but as they walked out of the dining hall, their dinners scarcely tasted, the slight put upon the freshman who would not obey was too direct and obvious to be mistaken. even jennie stone was at length aroused from her enjoyment of the very good soup. "what do you know about _that_?" she demanded of ruth and helen. ruth said not a word. to tell the truth she felt so sorry for rebecca frayne that she lost taste for her own meal, hungry though she had been when she sat down. how rebecca herself felt could only be imagined. she had already shown herself to be a painful mixture of sensitiveness and carelessness of criticism that made ruth fielding, at least, wonder greatly. now she ate her dinner without seeming to observe the attitude the members of the older classes had taken. "cracky!" murmured jennie, in the middle of dinner. "she's got all the best of it--believe me! the seniors and the juns go hungry." "for a principle," snapped the girl beside her, who chanced to be a sophomore. "well," said jennie, smiling, "principles are far from filling. they're a good deal like the only part of the doughnut that agreed with the dyspeptic--the hole. please pass the bread, dear. somebody must have eaten mine--and it was nicely buttered, too." "goodness! nothing disturbs your calm, does it, miss stone?" cried another girl. few of the girls in the dining hall, however, could keep their minds or their gaze off rebecca frayne. in whispers all through the meal she was discussed by her close neighbors. girls at tables farther away talked of the situation frankly. and the consensus of opinion was against her. it was the general feeling that she was entirely in the wrong. the very law which she had essayed to flaunt was that which had brought the freshmen together as a class, and was welding them into a homogeneous whole. "she's a goose!" exclaimed helen cameron. and perhaps this was true. it did look foolish. yet ruth felt that there must be some misunderstanding back of it all. it should be explained. the girl could not go on in this way. "first we know she'll be packing up and leaving ardmore," ruth said worriedly. "she'll leave nobody in tears, i guess," declared one girl within hearing. "but she's one of us--she's a freshman!" ruth murmured. "she doesn't seem to desire our company or friendship," said another and more thoughtful girl. "and she won't pack up in a hurry," drawled jennie, still eating. "remember all those bags and that enormous trunk she brought?" "but, say," began helen, slowly, "where are all the frocks and things she was supposed to bring with her? we supposed she'd be the peacock of the class, and i don't believe i've seen her in more than three different dresses and only two hats, including that indescribably brilliant tam." ruth said nothing. she was thinking. she planned to get out of the dining hall at the same time rebecca did, but just as the dessert was being passed the odd girl rose quickly, bowed her excuses to the housekeeper, and almost ran out of the hall. "she was crying!" gasped ruth, feeling both helpless and sympathetic. "i wager she bit her tongue, then," remarked jennie. ruth hurried through her dessert and left the dining hall ahead of most of the girls. she glanced through the long windows and saw that it was still snowing. "i wonder if that girl is over on the island yet?" she reflected as she ran upstairs. her first thought just then was of an entirely different girl. she went to rebecca's door and knocked. she knocked twice, then again. but no answer was returned. no light came through the keyhole, or from under the door; yet ruth felt sure that rebecca frayne was in the room, and weeping. it was a situation in which ruth fielding longed to help, yet there seemed positively nothing she could do as long as the stubborn girl would not meet her half way. with a sigh she went to the study she and helen jointly occupied. before switching on the light she went to one of the windows that looked out on the lake. bliss island was easily visible from this point. the snow was still falling, but not heavily enough to obstruct her vision much. the white bulk of the island rose in the midst of the field of snow-covered ice. it seemed nearer than it ordinarily appeared. as ruth gazed she saw a spark of light on the island, high up from the shore, but evidently among the trees, for it was intermittent. now it was visible and again only a red glow showed there. she was still gazing upon this puzzling light when helen opened the door. "hello, ruthie!" she cried. "all in the dark? oh! isn't the outside world beautiful to-night?" she came to the window and put her arm about ruth's waist. "see how solemnly the snow is falling--and the whole world is white," murmured the black-eyed girl. "'oft in the stilly night'----or is it 'oft in the silly night'?" and she laughed, for it was not often nor for long that the sentiment that lay deep in helen's heart rose to the surface. "oh! what's that light over there, ruth?" she added, with quick apprehension. "that is what i have been looking at," ruth said. "but you don't tell me what it is!" cried helen. "because i don't know. but i suspect." "suspect what?" "that it is a campfire," said ruth. "yes. it seems to be in one spot. only the wind makes the flames leap, and at one time they are plainly visible while again they are partly obscured." "who ever would camp over on bliss island on a night like this?" gasped helen. "i don't see why you put such mysteries up to me," returned ruth, with a shrug. "i'm no prophet. but----" "but what?" "do you remember that girl we saw on the island this afternoon?" "goodness! yes." "well, mightn't it be she, or a party she may be with?" "campers on the island in a snow storm? no girls from this college would be so silly," helen declared. "i'm not at all sure she was an ardmore girl," said ruth, reflectively. "who under the sun could she be, then?" "almost anybody else," laughed ruth. "it is going to stop snowing altogether soon, helen. see! the moon is breaking through the clouds." "it will be lovely out," sighed helen. "but hard walking." ruth gestured towards their two pairs of snowshoes crossed upon the wall. "not on those," she said. "oh, ruthie! would you?" "all we have to do is to tighten them and sally forth." "gracious! i'd be willing to be sally fifth for a spark of fun," declared helen, eagerly. "how about heavy?" asked ruth, as helen hastened to take down the snowshoes which both girls had learned to use years before at snow camp, in the adirondacks. "dead to the world already, i imagine," laughed helen. "i saw her to her room, and i believe she was so tired and so full of dinner that she tumbled into bed almost before she got her clothes off. you'd never get her out on such a crazy venture!" helen was as happy as a lark over the chance of "fun." the two girls skilfully tightened the stringing of the shoes, and then, having put on coats, mittens, and drawn the tam-o'-shanters down over their ears, they crept out of their rooms and hastened downstairs and out of the dormitory building. there was not a moving object in sight upon the campus or the sloping white lawns to the level of the frozen lake. the two chums thrust their toes into the straps of their snowshoes and set forth. chapter xv an odd adventure six inches or more of snow had fallen. it was feathery and packed well under the snowshoes. the girls sank about two inches into the fleecy mass and there the shoes made a complete bed for themselves and the weight of their wearers. "you know what i'd love to do this winter?" said helen, as they trudged on. "what, my dear?" asked ruth, who seemed much distraught. "i'd like to try skiing. the slope of college hill would be just splendiferous for _that_! away from the observatory to the lake--and then some!" "we'll start a skiing club among the freshies," ruth said, warmly accepting the idea. "wonder nobody has thought of it before." "ardmore hasn't waked up yet to all its possibilities," said helen, demurely. "but this umpty-umph class of freshmen will show the college a thing or two before we pass from out its scholastic halls." "question!" cried ruth, laughing. then: "there! you can see that light again." "goodness! you're never going over to that island?" cried helen. "what did we come out for?" asked ruth. "and scamp our study hour?" "goodness!" cried helen, again, "just for _fun_." "well, it may be fun to find out just who built that fire and what for," said ruth. "and then again," objected her chum, "it may be no fun at all, but _serious_." "i have a serious reason for finding out--if i can," ruth declared. "what is it, dear?" "i'll tell you later," said ruth. "follow me now." "if i do i'll not wear diamonds, and i may get into trouble," objected helen. "you've never got into very serious trouble yet by following my leadership," laughed ruth. "come on, fraid-cat." "ain't! but we don't know who is over there. just to think! a camp in the snow!" "well, we have camped in the snow ourselves," laughed ruth, harking back to an adventure at snow camp that neither of them would ever be likely to forget. they scuffed along on the snowshoes, soon reaching the edge of the lake. nobody was about the boathouse, for the ice would have to be swept and scraped by the horse-drawn machines before the girls could go skating again. the moon was pushing through the scurrying clouds, and the snow had ceased falling. "look back!" crowed helen. "looks as though two enormous animals had come down the hillside, doesn't it?" "the girls will wake up and view our tracks with wonder in the morning," said ruth, with a smile. "perhaps they'll think that some curious monsters have visited ardmore." "that would cause more wonderment than the case of rebecca frayne. what do you suppose is finally going to happen to that foolish girl?" "i really cannot guess," ruth returned, shaking her head sadly. "poor thing!" "why! she can't be _poor_," gasped helen. "look at all those trunks she brought with her to ardmore. and her dresses are tremendously fancy--although we've not seen many of them yet." ruth stared at her chum for a moment without replying. it was right there and then that she came near to guessing the secret of rebecca frayne's trouble. but she forbore to say anything about it at the time, and went on beside her chum toward the white island, much disturbed in her mind. now and then they caught sight of the dancing flames of the campfire. but when they were nearer the island, the hill was so steep that they lost sight completely of the light. "suppose it's a _man_?" breathed helen, suddenly, as they began to climb the shore of bliss island. "he won't eat us," returned ruth. "no. they don't often. only cannibals, and they are not prevalent in this locality," giggled helen. "but if it _is_ a man----" "then we'll turn around and go back," said ruth, coolly. "i haven't come out here to get acquainted with any male person." "bluie! suppose he's a real nice boy?" "there's no such an animal," laughed ruth. "that is, not around here at the present moment." "oh yes. i see," helen rejoined drily. "the nearest _nice_ one is at the seven oaks military academy." "so you say," ruth said demurely. "but if it were tom?" "dear old tom and some of his chums!" cried helen. "wouldn't it be great? this adamless eden is rather palling on me, chum. the other girls have visitors, but our friends are too far away." "hush!" advised ruth. "whoever it is up there will hear you." helen was evidently not at all enamored of this adventure. she lagged behind a little. yet she would not allow ruth to go on alone to interview the mysterious camper. "i tell you what," the black-eyed girl said, after a moment and in a whisper. "i believe that fire is up near the big boulder we looked at--you remember? the stone face, do they call it?" "quite possibly," ruth rejoined briskly. "come on if you're coming. i'm sure the stone face won't hurt us." "not unless it falls on us," giggled helen. the grove of big trees that covered this part of the hillside was open, and the chums very easily made their way toward the fire, even on snowshoes. but the shoes naturally made some noise as they scuffed over the snow, and in a minute ruth stopped and slipped her feet out of the straps, motioning helen to do the same. they wore overshoes so there was no danger of their getting their feet wet in the snow. hand in hand, ruth and helen crept forward. they saw the fire flickering just before them. there was a single figure between the fire and the very boulder of which helen had spoken. reaching the edge of the grove the girls gazed without discovery at the camp in the snow. the boulder stood in a small open space, and it was so high and bulky that it sheltered the fire and the camper quite comfortably. as ruth had suspected, the latter was the girl she had seen walking upon the southern shore of bliss island. she knew her by her figure, if not by her face, which was at the moment hidden. "she's alone," whispered helen, making the words with her lips more than with her voice. "what _can_ she be doing out here?" was the black-eyed girl's next demand. her chum put out a hand in a gesture of warning and at once walked out of the shelter of the trees and approached the fire. helen lingered behind. after all, it was so strange a situation that she did not feel very courageous. the moon had quite broken through the clouds now and as ruth drew nearer to the fire and the girl, her shadow was projected before her upon the snow. the girl who looked like maggie suddenly espied this shadow, raised her head, and leaped up with a cry. "don't be frightened, maggie," said ruth. "it's only us two girls." "my--my name is--isn't maggie," stammered the strange girl. and sure enough, having once seen her closely, ruth fielding saw that she was quite wrong in her identification. this was not the girl who had drifted down the lumano river to the red mill and taken refuge with aunt alvirah. this was a much more assertive person than maggie--a girl with plenty of health, both of body and mind. maggie impressed one as being mentally or nervously deficient. not so this girl who was camping here in the snow on bliss island. yet there was a resemblance to maggie in the figure of the stranger, and ruth noted a resemblance in her features, too. "my goodness me!" she said, laughing pleasantly. "if you're not our maggie you look near enough like her to be her sister." "well, i haven't any sister in that college," said the strange girl, shortly. "you're from ardmore, aren't you?" "yes," ruth said, helen now having joined them. "and we saw your light----" "my _what_?" demanded the camping girl, who was warmly, though plainly dressed. "your campfire. you see," explained ruth, finding it rather difficult after all to talk to this very self-possessed girl, "we skated around the island to-day----" "i saw you," said the stranger gruffly. "there were three of you." "yes. and i thought you looked like maggie, then." "isn't this maggie one of you?" sharply demanded the stranger. "she's a girl whom--whom i know," ruth said quickly. "a really nice girl. and you do look like her. doesn't she, helen?" "why--yes--something like," drawled helen. "and did you have to come out here to see if i were your friend?" asked the other girl. "when i saw the campfire--yes," ruth admitted. "it seemed so strange, you know." "what seemed strange?" demanded the girl, very tartly. it was plain that she considered their visit an intrusion. "why, think of it yourself," ruth cried, while helen sniffed audibly. "a girl camping alone on this island--and in a snowstorm." "it isn't snowing now," said the girl, smiling grimly. "but it was when we saw the fire at first," ruth hastened to say. "you know yourself you would be interested." "not enough to come clear out here--must be over a mile!--to see about it," was the rejoinder. "i usually mind my own business." "so do we, you may be sure!" spoke up helen, quick to take offence. "come away, ruth." but the girl of the red mill was not at all satisfied. she said, frankly: "i do wish that you would tell us why you are here? surely, you won't remain all night in this lonely place? there is nobody else on the island, is there?" "i should hope not!" exclaimed the girl. "only you two busybodies." "but, really, we came because we were interested in what went on here. it seems so strange for a girl, alone----" "you've said that before," was the dry reply. "i am a girl alone. i am here on my own business. and _that_ isn't yours." "oh!" ejaculated helen, angrily. "well, if you don't like being spoken to plainly, you needn't stay," the strange girl flung at her. "i see that very well," returned helen, tossing her head. "_do_ come away, ruth." "ha!" exclaimed the strange girl, suddenly looking at ruth more intently. "are you called ruth?" "yes. ruth fielding is my name." "oh!" and the girl's face changed in its expression and a little flush came into her cheeks. "i've--i've heard of you." "indeed! how?" cried ruth, eagerly. she felt that this girl must really have some connection with maggie at the mill, she looked so much like the waif. "oh," said the other girl slowly, looking away, "i heard you wrote picture plays. i saw one of them. that's all." ruth was silent for a moment. helen kept tugging at her arm and urging her to go. "we--we can do nothing for you?" queried the girl of the red mill at last. "you can get off the island--that's as much as i care," said the strange girl, with a harsh laugh. "you're only intruding where you're not wanted." "well, i do declare!" burst out helen again. "she is the most impolite thing. _do_ come away, ruthie." "we really came with the best intentions," ruth added, as she turned away with her chum. "it--it doesn't look right for a girl to be alone at a campfire on this island--and at night, too." "i sha'n't stay here all night," the girl said shortly. "you needn't fret. if you want to know, i just built the fire to get warm by before i started back." "back where?" ruth could not help asking. "_that_ you don't know--and you won't know," returned the strange girl, and turned her back upon them. chapter xvi what was in rebecca's trunk the two chums did not speak a word to each other until they had recovered their snowshoes and set out down the rough side of bliss island for the ice. then helen sputtered: "people like _that_! did you ever see such a person? i never was so insulted----" "pshaw! she was right--in a way," ruth said coolly. "we had no real business to pry into her affairs." "well!" "i got you into it. i'm sorry," the girl of the red mill said. "i thought it really was maggie, or i wouldn't have come over here." "she's something like that maggie girl," proclaimed helen. "_she_ was nice, i thought." "maybe this girl is nice, taken under other circumstances," laughed ruth. "i really would like to know what she is over here for." "no good, i'll be bound," said the pessimistic helen. "and another thing," ruth went on to say, as she and her chum reached the level of the frozen lake, "did you notice that pick handle?" "that what?" demanded helen, in amazement. "pickaxe handle--i believe it was," ruth said thoughtfully. "it was thrust out of the snow pile she had scraped away from the boulder. and, moreover, the ground looked as though it had been dug into." "why, the ground is as hard as the rock itself," helen cried. "there are six or eight inches of frost right now." "i guess that's so," agreed ruth. "perhaps that's why she built such a big fire." "what _do_ you mean, ruth fielding?" cried her chum. "i think she wanted to dig there for something," ruth replied reflectively. "i wonder what for?" when they had returned to dare hall and had got their things off and were warm again, they looked out of the window. the campfire on the island had died out. "she's gone away, of course," sighed ruth. "but i would like to know what she was there for." "one of the mysteries of life," said helen, as she made ready for bed. "dear me, but i'm tired!" she was asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. not so ruth. the latter lay awake some time wondering about the odd girl on the island and her errand there. ruth fielding had another girl's troubles on her mind, however--and a girl much closer to her. the girl on the island merely teased her imagination. rebecca frayne's difficulties seemed much more important to ruth. of course, there was no real reason for ruth to take up cudgels for her odd classmate. indeed, she did not feel that she could do that, for she was quite convinced that rebecca frayne was wrong. nevertheless, she was very sorry for the girl. the trouble over the tam-o'-shanter had become the most talked-of incident of the school term. for the several following days rebecca was scarcely seen outside her room, save in going to and from her classes. she did not again appear in the dining hall. how she arranged about meals ruth and her friends could not imagine. then the housekeeper admitted to ruth that she had allowed the lonely girl to get her own little meals in her room, as she had cooking utensils and an alcohol lamp. "it is not usually allowed, i know. but miss frayne seems to have come to college prepared to live in just that way. she is a small eater, anyway. and--well, anything to avoid friction." "of course," ruth said to helen and jennie stone, "lots of girls live in furnished rooms and get their own meals--working girls and students. but it is not a system generally allowed at college, and at ardmore especially. we shall hear from the faculty about it before the matter is done with." "well, we're not doing it," scoffed jennie. "and that rebecca frayne is behaving like a chump." "but how she does stick to that awful tam!" groaned helen. "stubborn as a mule," agreed jennie. "i saw her with another hat on to-day," said ruth, reflectively. "that's so! it was the one she wore the day she arrived," helen said quickly. "a summer hat. i wonder what she did bring in that trunk, anyway? she has displayed no such charming array of finery as i expected." ruth did not discuss this point. she was more interested in the state of rebecca's mind, though, of course, there was not much time for her to give to anything but her studies and regular duties now, for as the term advanced the freshmen found their hours pretty well filled. scrub teams for certain indoor sports had been made up, and even jennie stone took up the playing of basketball with vigor. she was really losing flesh. she kept a card tacked upon her door on which she set down the fluctuations of her bodily changes daily. when she lost a whole pound in weight she wrote it down in red ink. their activities kept the three friends well occupied, both physically and mentally. yet ruth fielding could not feel wholly satisfied or content when she knew that one of her mates was in trouble. she had taken an interest in rebecca frayne at the beginning of the semester; yet of all the freshmen rebecca was the one whom she knew the least. "and that poor girl needs somebody for a friend--i feel it!" ruth told herself. "of course, she is to blame for the situation in which she now is. but for that very reason she ought to have somebody with whom to talk it over." ruth determined to be that confidant of the girl who seemed to wish no associate and no confidant. she began to loiter in the corridors between recitation hours and at odd times. whenever she knocked on rebecca's door there was no reply. other girls who had tried it quickly gave up their sympathetic attentions. if the foolish girl wished for no friends, let her go her own way. that became the attitude of the freshman class. of course, the sophomores followed the lead of the seniors and the juniors, having as little to do with the unfortunate girl as possible. but the day and hour came at last when ruth chanced to be right at hand when rebecca frayne came in and unlocked her room door. her arms were full of small packages. ruth knew that she had walked all the way to the grocery store on the edge of greenburg, which the college girls often patronized. it had been a long, cold walk, and rebecca's fingers were numb. she dropped a paper bag--and it contained eggs! now, it is quite impossible to hide the fact of a dropped egg. at another time ruth might have laughed; but now she soberly retrieved the paper bag before the broken eggs could do much damage, and stepped into the room after the nervous rebecca. "oh, thank you!" gasped the girl. "put--put them down anywhere. thank you!" "my goodness!" said ruth, laughing, "you can't put broken eggs down _anywhere_. don't you see they are runny?" "never mind, miss fielding----" "oh! you've a regular kitchenette here, haven't you?" said ruth, emboldened to look behind a curtain. "how cunning. i'll put these eggs in this clean dish. mercy, but they are scrambled!" "don't trouble, miss fielding. you are very kind." "but scrambled eggs are pretty good, at that," ruth went on, unheeding the other girl's nervousness. "if you can only get the broken shells out of them," and she began coolly to do this with a fork. "i should think you would not like eating alone, rebecca." the other girl stared at her. "how can i help it?" she asked harshly. "just by getting a proper tam and stop being stubborn," ruth told her. "miss fielding!" cried rebecca, her face flushing. "do you think i do this for--for fun?" "you must. it isn't a disease, is it?" and ruth laughed aloud, determined to refuse to take the other's tragic words seriously. "you--you are unbearable!" gasped rebecca. "no, i'm not. i want to be your friend," ruth declared boldly. "i want you to have other friends, too. no use flocking by one's self at college. why, my dear girl! you are missing all that is best in college life." "i'd like to know what _is_ best in college life!" burst out rebecca frayne, sullenly. "friendship. companionship. the rubbing of one mind against another," ruth said promptly. "pooh!" returned the startled rebecca. "i wouldn't want to rub my mind against some of these girls' minds. all i ever hear them talk about is dress or amusements." "i don't think you know many of the other girls well enough to judge the calibre of their minds," said ruth, gently. "and why don't i?" demanded rebecca, still with a sort of suppressed fury. "we all judge more or less by appearances," ruth admitted slowly. "i presume _you_, too, were judged that way." "what do you mean, miss fielding?" asked rebecca, more mildly. "when you came here to ardmore you made a first impression. we all do," ruth said. "yes," rebecca admitted, with a slight curl of her lip. she was naturally a proud-looking girl, and she seemed actually haughty now. "i was mistaken for _you_, i believe." ruth laughed heartily at that. "i should be a good friend of yours," she said. "it was a great sell on those sophomores. they had determined to make poor little me suffer for some small notoriety i had gained at boarding school." "i never went to boarding school," snapped rebecca. "i never was _anywhere_ till i came to college. just to our local schools. i worked hard, let me tell you, to pass the examinations to get in here." "and why don't you let your mind broaden and get the best there is to be had at ardmore?" ruth demanded, quickly. "the girls misunderstand you. i can see that. we freshmen have got to bow our heads to the will of the upper classes. it doesn't hurt--much," and she laughed again. "do you think i am wearing this old tam because i am stubborn?" demanded the other girl, again with that fierceness that seemed so strange in one so young. "why--aren't you?" "no." "why do you wear it, then?" asked ruth, wonderingly. "_because i cannot afford to buy another!_" rebecca frayne said this in so tense a voice that ruth was fairly staggered. the girl of the red mill gazed upon the other's flaming face for a full minute without making any reply. then, faintly, she said: "i--i didn't understand, rebecca. we none of us do, i guess. you came here in such style! that heavy trunk and those bags----" "all out of our attic," said the other, sharply. "did you think them filled with frocks and furbelows? see here!" ruth had already noticed the packages of papers piled along one wall of the room. rebecca pointed to them. "out of our attic, too," she said, with a scornful laugh that was really no laugh at all. "old papers that have lain there since the civil war." "but, rebecca----" "why did i do it?" put in the other, in the same hard voice. "because i was a little fool. because i did not understand. "i didn't know just what college was like. i never talked with a girl from college in my life. i thought this was a place where only rich girls were welcome." "oh, rebecca!" cried ruth. "that isn't so." "i see it now," agreed the other girl, shortly. "but we always have had to make a bluff at our house. since _i_ can remember, at least. grandfather was wealthy; but our generation is as poor as job's turkey. "i didn't want to appear poor when i arrived here; so i got out the old bags and the big trunk, filled them with papers, and brought them along. a friend lent me that car i arrived in. i--i thought i'd make a splurge right at first, and then my social standing would not be questioned." "oh, rebecca! how foolish," murmured ruth. "don't say that!" stormed the girl. "i see that i started all wrong. but i can't help it now," and suddenly she burst into a passion of weeping. chapter xvii what was in rebecca's heart it was some time before ruth could quiet the almost hysterical girl. rebecca frayne had held herself in check so long, and the bitterness of her position had so festered in her mind, that now the barriers were burst she could not control herself. but ruth fielding was sympathetic. and her heart went out to this lonely and foolish girl as it seldom had to any person in distress. she felt, too, did ruth, as though it was partly her fault and the fault of the other freshmen that rebecca was in this state of mind. she was fearful that having actually forced herself upon rebecca that the girl might, when she came to herself, turn against her. but at present rebecca's heart was so full that it spilled over, once having found a confidant. in ruth fielding's arms the unfortunate girl told a story that, if supremely silly from one standpoint, was a perfectly natural and not uncommon story. she was a girl, born and brought up in a quiet, small town, living in the biggest and finest house in that town, yet having suffered actual privations all her life for the sake of keeping up appearances. the frayne family was supposed to be wealthy. not as wealthy as a generation or so before; still, the fraynes were looked upon as the leaders in local society. there was now only an aunt, rebecca, a younger sister, and a brother who was in new york struggling upward in a commission house. "and if it were not for the little fred can spare me and sends me twice a month, i couldn't stay here," rebecca confessed during this long talk with ruth. "he's the best boy who ever lived." "he must be," ruth agreed. "i'd be glad to have a brother like that." rebecca had been hungry for books. she had always hoped to take a college course. "but i was ignorant of everything," she sighed. ruth gathered, too, that the aunt, who was at the nominal head of the frayne household, was also ignorant. this aunt emmy seemed to be an empty-headed creature who thought that the most essential thing for a girl in life was to be fancifully dressed, and to attain a position in society. aunt emmy had evidently filled rebecca's head with such notions. the girl had come to ardmore with a totally wrong idea of what it meant to be in college. "why! some of these girls act as waitresses," said rebecca. "i couldn't do _that_ even to obtain the education i want so much. oh! aunt emmy would never hear to it." "it's a perfectly legitimate way of helping earn one's tuition," ruth said. "the fraynes have never done such things," the other girl said haughtily. and right there and then ruth decided that rebecca frayne was going to have a very hard time, indeed, at ardmore unless she learned to look upon life quite differently from the way she had been taught at home. already ruth fielding had seen enough at ardmore to know that many of the very girls whose duties rebecca scorned, were getting more out of their college life than rebecca frayne could possibly get unless she took a radically different view of life and its comparative values from that her present standards gave her. the girls who were waitresses, and did other work to help pay for their tuition or for their board were busy and happy and were respected by their mates. in addition, they were often the best scholars in the classes. rebecca was wrong in scorning those who combined domestic service with an attempt to obtain an education. but ruth was wise enough to see that this feeling was inbred in rebecca. it was useless to try to change her opinion upon it. if rebecca were poverty-stricken, her purse could not be replenished by any such means as these other girls found to help them over the hard places. in this matter of the tam-o'-shanter, for instance, it would be very difficult to help the girl. ruth knew better than to offer to pay for the new tam-o'-shanter the freshman could not afford to buy. to make such an offer would immediately close the door of the strange girl's friendship to ruth. so she did not hint at such a thing. she talked on, beginning to laugh and joke with rebecca, and finally brought her out of her tears. "cheer up," ruth said. "you are making the worst possible use of your time here--keeping to yourself and being so afraid of making friends. we're not all rich girls, i assure you. and the girls on this corridor are particularly nice." "i suppose that may be. but if everywhere i go they show so plainly they don't want me----" "that will stop!" cried ruth, vigorously. "if i have to go to dr. milroth myself, it shall be stopped. it is hazing of the crudest kind. oh! what a prettily crocheted table-mat. it's old-fas