Madge said, in something like perplexity: "You _do_ pick up the
strangest acquaintances, Ruth Fielding. She really does, Ma. But that
has always been Ruth's way."
Mrs. Steele was first disturbed over her husband's condition. "Go right
away and change into dry garments--do, Father," she urged. "You will get
your death of cold standing there. And shut the door. Oh! that
lightning!"
They had to wait for the thunder to roll away before they could hear her
again, although Mr. Steele hurried upstairs without another glance at
the bedrabbled child he had brought in out of the storm.
"This--this girl must go somewhere and dry herself," hesitated Mrs.
Steele, when next she spoke. "My! isn't she a sight? Call one of the
maids, someone----"
"Oh, dear Mrs. Steele!" exclaimed Ruth, eagerly, "let me take Sadie
upstairs and look after her. I am sure I have something she can put on."
"So have I, if you haven't," interposed Helen. "And my clothes will come
nearer fitting her than Ruth's. Ruth is getting almost as fat as Heavy!"
"There is no need of either of you sacrificing your clothes," said Mrs.
Steele, slowly. "Of course, I have plenty of outgrown garments of my own
daughters' put away. Yes. You take care of her if you wish, Ruth, and I
will hunt out the things."
Here the strange girl interposed. She had been darting quick, shrewd
glances about the hall at the girls and boys there gathered, and now she
said:
"Ye don't hafter do nothing for me. A little rainwater won't hurt me--I
ain't neither sugar nor salt. All I wants to know is where them fresh
air kids is stayin'. I ain't afraid of the rain--it's the thunder and
lightning that scares me."
"Goodness knows," laughed Madge, "I guess the water wouldn't hurt you.
But we'll fix you up a little better, I guess."
"Let Ruth do it," said Mrs. Steele, sharply. "She says she knows the
girl."
"She's a friend of mine," said the girl of the Red Mill, frankly. "You
surely remember me, Sadie Raby?"
"Oh, I remember ye, Miss," returned the runaway. "You was kind to me,
too."
"Come on, then," said Ruth, briskly. "I'm only going to be kind to you
again--and so is Mrs. Steele going to be kind. Come on!"
An hour later an entirely different looking girl appeared with Ruth in
the big room at the top of the house which the visiting girls occupied.
Some of them had come upstairs, for the tempest was over now, and were
making ready for dinner by slow stages, it still being some time off,
and there was nothing else to do.
"This is Sadie Raby, girls," explained Ruth, quietly. "She is the sister
of those cute little twins that are staying at the Caslons' place. She
has had a hard time getting here, and because she hasn't seen Willie and
Dickie for eight months, or more, she is very anxious to see them. They
are all she has in the world."
"And I reckon they're a handful," laughed Heavy. "Come on! tell us all
about it, Sadie."
It was because of the "terrible twins" that Ruth had gotten Sadie to
talk at all. The girl, since leaving "them Perkinses," near Briarwood,
had had a most distressful time in many ways, and she was reticent about
her adventures.
But she warmed toward Ruth and the others when she found that they
really were sincerely interested in her trials, and were, likewise,
interested in the twins.
"Them kids must ha' growed lots since I seen 'em," she said, wistfully.
"I wrote a letter to a girl that works right near the orphanage. She
wrote back that the twins was coming out here for a while. So I throwed
up my job at Campton and hiked over here."
"Dear me! all that way?" cried Helen, pityingly.
"I walked farther than that after I left them Perkinses," declared
Sadie, promptly. "I walked clean from Lumberton to Cheslow--followed the
railroad most of the way. Then I struck off through the fields and went
to a mill on the river, and worked there for a week, for an old lady.
She was nice----"
"I guess she is!" cried Ruth, quickly. "Didn't you know that was _my_
home you went to? And you worked for Aunt Alvirah and Uncle Jabez."
No, Sadie had not known that. The little old woman had spoken of there
being a girl at the Red Mill sometimes, but Sadie had not suspected the
identity of that girl.
"And then, when you were still near Cheslow, my brother Tom, and his
dog, rescued you from the tramps," cried Helen.
"Was that your brother, Miss?" responded Sadie. "Well! he's a nice
feller. He got me a ride clear to Campton. I've been workin' there and
earnin' my board and keep. But I couldn't save much, and it's all gone
now."
"But what do you really expect to do here?" asked Madge Steele,
curiously.
"I gotter see them kids," declared Sadie, doggedly. "Seems to me,
sometimes, as though something would bust right inside of me here," and
she clutched her dress at its bosom, "if I don't see Willie and Dickie.
I thought this big house was likely where the fresh airs was."
"I should say not!" murmured Madge.
"They're all right--don't you be afraid," said Ruth, softly.
"I thought mebbe the folks that was keepin' the kids would let me work
for them," said Sadie, presently. "For kids is a lot of trouble, and I'm
used to 'em. The matron at the home said I had a way with young'uns."
She told them a good deal more about her adventures within the next half
hour, but Madge had left the room just after making her last speech.
While the girls were still listening to the runaway, a maid rapped at
the door.
"Mr. Steele will see this--this strange girl in the library," announced
the servant.
Sadie looked a little scared for a moment, and glanced wildly around the
big room for some way of escape.
"Gee! I ain't got to talk with that man, have I?" she whispered.
"He won't bite you," laughed Heavy.
"He's just as kind as kind can be," declared Helen.
"I'll go down with you," said Ruth, decisively. "You have plenty of
friends now, Sadie. You mustn't be expecting to run away all the time."
Sadie Raby went with Ruth doubtfully. The latter was somewhat disturbed
herself when she saw Mr. Steele's serious visage.
"You'll excuse me, Mr. Steele?" suggested Ruth, timidly. "But she is all
alone--and I thought it would encourage her to have me here----"
"That is like your kind heart, Ruth," said the gentleman, nodding. "I
don't mind. Madge has told me her story. It seems that the child is
rather wild--er--flighty, as it were. I suppose she wants to run away from
us, too?"
"I ain't figurin' to stay here," said Sadie, doggedly. "I'm obleeged to
you, but this ain't the house I was aimin' for."
"Humph! no. But I am not sure at all that you would be in good hands
down there at Caslon's."
Ruth was sorry to hear him say this. But Sadie broke in with: "I don't
keer how they treat me as long as I'm with my brothers. And _they_ are
down there, this Ruth girl says."
"Yes. I quite understand that. But we all have our duty to perform in
this world," said Mr. Steele, gravely. "I wonder that you have fallen in
with nobody before who has seen the enormity of letting you run wild
throughout the country. It is preposterous--wrong--impossible! I never
heard of the like before--a child of your age tramping in the open."
"I didn't do no harm," began Sadie, half fearful of him again.
"Of course it is not your fault," said Mr. Steele, quickly. "But you
were put in the hands of people who are responsible to the institution
you came from for their treatment of you----"
"Them Perkinses?" exclaimed Sadie, fearfully. "I won't never go back to
them--not while I'm alive I won't! I don't care! I jest won't!"
She spoke wildly. She turned to run from the room and would have done
so, had not Ruth been there to stop her and hold her in her arms.