Tom Cameron thought a great deal of Ruth, and for that reason alone was
sorry he had not stayed the departure of the runaway girl, Sadie Raby,
from the vicinity of Cheslow. Then, as he thought of it more, and heard
the girls talk about the tramping girl's circumstances as _they_ knew
them, Tom was even more disturbed.
He and Reno had gotten into the tonneau of the car, which rolled away
toward the Red Mill at a slower pace. He leaned his arms on the back of
the front seat and listened to Ruth's story of her meeting with Sadie
Raby, and her experience with Sim Perkins, and of her surprise at
finding that Sadie had worked for a while at the Red Mill.
"If we had only been a few days earlier in getting home from school,
there she would have been," finished Ruth, with a sigh.
"That's so," agreed her chum. "And she even stayed night before last
with Mercy's mother. My! but she's as elusive as a will-o'-the-wisp."
"We could telegraph to Campton and have her stopped," suggested Tom.
"By the police?" demanded his sister.
"Oh! what for?" asked Ruth.
"There! nothing _I_ suggest is any good," said the boy.
"Not unless you suggest something better than that," laughed Ruth. "The
poor thing doesn't need to be arrested. And she might refuse any help we
could give her. She's very independent."
"She sure is," admitted Tom, ruefully.
"And we don't know _why_ she wanted to go to Campton," his sister
remarked.
"Nor if she got there safely," added Ruth.
"Pshaw! if that's worrying you two, I'll find out for sure to-morrow,"
quoth Master Tom.
He knew the conductor of the freight train with whom he had entrusted
the strange girl. The next day he went over to the tank at the right
hour and met the conductor again.
"Sure, I got her on to Campton--poor kid," said the man. "She's a smart
one, too. When the boys wanted to know who she was, I said she was my
niece, and she nodded and agreed to it. We had a big feed back here in
the hack while she was aboard, and she had her share."
"But where was she going?" asked Tom.
"Didn't get much out of her," admitted the conductor. "But she'd lived
in Harburg, and I reckon she had folks in or near Campton. But I'm not
sure at all."
This was rather unsatisfactory; but whatever point the strange girl was
journeying to, she had arrived safely at Campton. This Tom told Ruth and
the latter had to be content with this information.
The incident of the runaway girl was two or three days old when Ruth
received a letter from Madge Steele urging them all to come on soon--that
Sunrise Farm was ready for them, and that she was writing all the girls
to start on Monday.
The train would take them to Darrowtown. There a conveyance would meet
and transport the visitors fifteen miles through the country to Mr.
Steele's big estate.
Mercy Curtis joined the Camerons and Ruth at the Cheslow Station, and on
the train they boarded were Heavy Stone and The Fox. The girls greeted
each other as though they had been separated for a year.
"Never was such a clatter of tongues," declared the plump girl, "since
the workmen struck on the tower of Babel. Here we are--off for the
sunrise--and traveling due west. How do you make that out?"
"That's easy--anybody could see it with half an eye," said The Fox.
"Half an eye, eh?" demanded Heavy. "And Cyclops had a whole one. Say!
did you hear about the boy in school who was asked by his teacher (he
must have been in Tommy's class) 'Who was Cyclops?' He was a bright boy.
He answered: 'The man who wrote the encyclopædia.' The association of
ideas was something fierce--eh?"
"Dear me, Jennie," admonished The Fox, "you are getting slangier every
day."
"Never mind; I'm not losing flesh over it. Don't you," returned the
careless "heavyweight."
It was a long, but not a tedious, ride to Darrowtown. The young folk had
left Cheslow just before dark, and their sleeper was sidetracked at the
end of the journey, some time in the very early morning. When Ruth first
opened her eyes she could scarcely--for the moment--think where she was.
Then she peered out of the narrow window above her berth and saw a
section of the railroad yard and one side of Railroad Avenue beyond. The
right of way split Darrowtown in two halves and there were grade
crossings at the intersections of the principal cross streets.
Long as she had been away from the place, the girl recognized the houses
and the stores, and every other landmark she could see. No further sleep
for her, although it was scarcely dawn.
She hopped softly out of the berth, disturbed none of her companions or
even the porter nodding in his corner, and dressed hurriedly. She made
her toilette and then went into the vestibule and from thence climbed
down to the cinder path.
There was an opening in the picket fence, and she slipped through in a
moment. Dear old Darrowtown! Ruth's heart throbbed exultantly and she
smiled, although there were tears in her eyes.
There was the Brick Church on the corner. The pastor and his wife had
been so kind to her! And up this next street was the way to the quiet
cemetery where her father and mother were buried. Ruth turned her steps
in that direction first of all.
The sun came up, red and jovial; the birds twittered and sang in the
great maples along the way; even in the graveyard a great flock of
blackbirds "pumped" and squeaked in noisy, joyous chorus.
The dew sparkled on leaf and bush, the flowers were fragrant, the cool
breeze fanned her cheek, and the bird chorus rose higher and higher. How
could one be sad long on such a beautiful, God-made morning?
Impossible! Ruth plucked a spray of a flowering shrub for both graves,
and laid them on the mounds tenderly, with a little prayer. Here slept
the dead peacefully, and God had raised her up many, many friends!
The early chimneys were smoking in the suburbs of the town. A
screen-door slammed now and then. One man whom she knew slightly, but
who did not remember her, was currying his horse in an alley by his
stable. Mrs. Barnsworth, notably the smartest housewife in Darrowtown,
was starting already with her basket for market--and woe be to the grocer
or marketman if the shops were not open when she arrived!
Stray cats ran along the back fences. A dog ran out of a yard to bark at
Ruth, but then thought better of it and came to be patted instead.
And then, suddenly, she came in sight of the back garden of Miss True
Pettis!
It was with that kind-hearted but peculiar spinster lady that Ruth had
lived previous to being sent to the Red Mill. Miss Pettis was the
neighborhood seamstress and, as she often had told Ruth, she worked hard
"with both tongue and needle" for every dollar she earned.
For Miss True Pettis had something more than dressmaking to do when she
went out "by the day" to cut and fit and run the sewing machine.
Darrowtown folk expected that the seamstress should have all the latest
gossip at her tongue's end when she came to sew!
Now, Miss True Pettis often laid down the law. "There's two kinds of
gossip. One the Bible calls the seventh abomination, an' I guess that's
right. But for shut-in folks like most housekeepers in Darrowtown, a
dish of harmless gossip is more inspiritin' than a bowl of boneset tea!
"Lemme have somethin' new to tell folks about folks--that's all. But it
must be somethin' kind," Miss Pettis declared. "No backbitin', or church
scandal, or neighborhood rows. If Si Lumpkin's cat has scratched
Amoskeag Lanfell's dog, let the cat and the dog fight it out, I say; no
need for Si and Amoskeag, who have been friends and neighbors for years
an' years, gettin' into a ruction over it.
"I never take sides in any controversy--no, ma'am! If ye can't say a good
word for a neighbor, don't say nothin' to _me_. That's what I tell 'em.
But if ye know anythin' good about 'em, or they've had any streak o'
good luck, or the like, tell me. For the folks in this town--'specially
the wimmen folks that don't git out much--is just a-honin' for news, and
True Pettis, when she goes out by the day, has gotter have a full and
plenty supply of it."
Ruth, smiling quietly to herself, remembered how the thin, sallow, quick
spoken lady looked when she said all this. Miss Pettis's eyes were black
and snapping; her nose was a beak; she bit off threads as though her
temper was biting, too. But Ruth knew better. A kinder-hearted mortal
never lived than the little old seamstress.
Now the visitor ran across the garden--neatly bedded and with graveled
paths in which the tiniest weed dared not show its head--and reached the
kitchen porch. Miss Pettis was always an early riser, and the smoke of
her chimney was now only a faint blue column rising into the clear air.
Yes! there was a rattle of dishes in the kitchen. Ruth tiptoed up the
steps. Then she--to her amazement--heard somebody groan. The sound was
repeated, and then the seamstress's voice murmured:
"Oh, dear, oh, dear! Oh, dear, oh, dear! whatever shall I do----"
Ruth, who had intended opening the door softly and announcing that she
had come to breakfast, forgot all about the little surprise she was bent
on giving Miss Pettis. Now she peered fearfully in at the nearest
window.
Miss Pettis was just sitting down in her rocker, and she rocked to and
fro, holding one hand with the other, continuing to groan.
"Oh, dear, me!" cried Ruth, bursting in at the door. "What in the world
is the matter, my dear?"
"It's that dratted felon---- Why, Ruthie Fielding! Did you drop from the
sky, or pop up out o' the ground? I never!"
The dressmaker got up quickly, but struck her hand against the
chair-arm. Instantly she fell back with a scream, and Ruth feared she
had fainted. A felon is a terribly painful thing!
Ruth ran for a glass of water, but before she could sprinkle any of it
on Miss Pettis' pale face the lady's eyes opened and she exclaimed:
"Don't drop any of that on my dress, child--it'll spot. I'm all right
now. My mercy! how that hurt."
"A felon, Miss Pettis? How very dreadful," cried Ruth, setting down the
glass of water.
"And I ain't been able to use my needle for a week, and the
dishwashin'--well, it jest about kills me to put my hands in water. You
can see--the sight this kitchen is."
"Now, isn't it lucky that I came this morning--and came so early, too?"
cried Ruth. "I was going to take breakfast with you. Now I'll get the
breakfast myself and fix up the house---- Oh, yes, I shall! I'll send word
down to the hotel to my friends--they'll take breakfast there--and we can
have a nice visit, Miss True," and Ruth very carefully hugged the thin
shoulders of the seamstress, so as not to even jar the felon on her
right fore-finger.