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RUTH FIELDING DOWN EAST
Or
The Hermit of Beach Plum Point
by
ALICE B. EMERSON
Author of "Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill," "Ruth
Fielding at Sunrise Farm," "Ruth Fielding
Homeward Bound," Etc.
Illustrated
[Illustration: TOM CAST ASIDE HIS SWEATER AND PLUNGED INTO THE TIDE.
_Ruth Fielding Down East Page 113_]
New York
Cupples & Leon Company
Publishers
Books for Girls
BY ALICE B. EMERSON
RUTH FIELDING SERIES
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
RUTH FIELDING OF THE RED MILL
RUTH FIELDING AT BRIARWOOD HALL
RUTH FIELDING AT SNOW CAMP
RUTH FIELDING AT LIGHTHOUSE POINT
RUTH FIELDING AT SILVER RANCH
RUTH FIELDING ON CLIFF ISLAND
RUTH FIELDING AT SUNRISE FARM
RUTH FIELDING AND THE GYPSIES
RUTH FIELDING IN MOVING PICTURES
RUTH FIELDING DOWN IN DIXIE
RUTH FIELDING AT COLLEGE
RUTH FIELDING IN THE SADDLE
RUTH FIELDING IN THE RED CROSS
RUTH FIELDING AT THE WAR FRONT
RUTH FIELDING HOMEWARD BOUND
RUTH FIELDING DOWN EAST
CUPPLES & LEON CO., PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK.
Copyright, 1920, by
Cupples & Leon Company
Ruth Fielding Down East
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE WIND STORM 1
II. THE MYSTERY OF IT 7
III. THE DERELICT 14
IV. THE CRYING NEED 22
V. OFF AT LAST 29
VI. "THE NEVERGETOVERS" 35
VII. MOVIE STUNTS 43
VIII. THE AUCTION BLOCK 52
IX. A DISMAYING DISCOVERY 67
X. A WILD AFTERNOON 77
XI. MR. PETERBY PAUL--AND "WHOSIS" 86
XII. ALONGSHORE 95
XIII. THE HERMIT 104
XIV. A QUOTATION 113
XV. AN AMAZING SITUATION 122
XVI. RUTH SOLVES ONE PROBLEM 129
XVII. JOHN, THE HERMIT'S, CONTRIBUTION 136
XVIII. UNCERTAINTIES 144
XIX. COUNTERCLAIMS 152
XX. THE GRILL 159
XXI. A HERMIT FOR REVENUE ONLY 171
XXII. AN ARRIVAL 180
XXIII. TROUBLE--PLENTY 186
XXIV. ABOUT "PLAIN MARY" 193
XXV. LIFTING THE CURTAIN 199
RUTH FIELDING DOWN EAST
CHAPTER I
THE WIND STORM
Across the now placidly flowing Lumano where it widened into almost the
proportions of a lake just below the picturesque Red Mill, a bank of
tempestuous clouds was shouldering into view above the sky line of the
rugged and wooded hills. These slate-colored clouds, edged with pallid
light, foredoomed the continuance of the peaceful summer afternoon.
Not a breath of air stirred on the near side of the river. The huge old
elms shading the Red Mill and the farmhouse connected with it belonging to
Mr. Jabez Potter, the miller, were like painted trees, so still were they.
The brooding heat of midday, however, had presaged the coming storm, and
it had been prepared for at mill and farmhouse. The tempest was due soon.
The backyard of the farmhouse--a beautiful lawn of short grass--sloped
down to the river. On the bank and over the stream itself was set a
summer-house of fair proportions, covered with vines--a cool and shady
retreat on the very hottest day of midsummer.
A big robin redbreast had been calling his raucous weather warning from
the top of one of the trees near the house; but, with her back to the
river and the coming storm, the girl in the pavilion gave little heed to
this good-intentioned weather prophet.
She did raise her eyes, however, at the querulous whistle of a striped
creeper that was wriggling through the intertwined branches of the
trumpet-vine in search of insects. Ruth Fielding was always interested in
those busy, helpful little songsters.
"You cute little thing!" she murmured, at last catching sight of the
flashing bird between the stems of the old vine. "I wish I could put _you_
into my scenario."
On the table at which she was sitting was a packet of typewritten sheets
which she had been annotating, and two fat note books. She laid down her
gold-mounted fountain pen as she uttered these words, and then sighed and
pushed her chair back from the table.
Then she stood up suddenly. A sound had startled her. She looked all about
the summer-house--a sharp, suspicious glance. Then she tiptoed to the door
and peered out.
The creeper fluttered away. The robin continued to shout his warning. Had
it really been a rustling in the vines she had heard? Was there somebody
lurking about the summer-house?
She stepped out and looked on both sides. It was then she saw how
threatening the aspect of the clouds on the other side of the river were.
The sight drove from her thoughts for the moment the strange sound she had
heard. She did not take pains to look beneath the summer-house on the
water side.
Instead, another sound assailed her ears. This time one that she could not
mistake for anything but just what it was--the musical horn of Tom
Cameron's automobile. Ruth turned swiftly to look up the road. A dark
maroon car, long and low-hung like a racer, was coming along the road,
leaving a funnel of dust behind it. There were two people in the car.
The girl beside the driver--black-haired and petite--fluttered her
handkerchief in greeting when she saw Ruth standing by the summer-house.
At once the latter ran across the yard, over the gentle rise, and down to
the front gate of the Potter farmhouse. She ran splendidly with a free
stride of untrammeled limbs, but she held one shoulder rather stiffly.
"Oh, Ruth!"
"Oh, Helen!"
The car was at the gate, and Tom brought it to a prompt stop. Helen, his
twin sister, was out of it instantly and almost leaped into the bigger
girl's arms.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" sobbed Helen. "You _are_ alive after all that horrible
experience coming home from Europe."
"And you are alive and safe, dear Helen," responded Ruth Fielding, quite
as deeply moved.
It was the first time they had met since separating in Paris a month
before. And in these times of war, with peace still an uncertainty, there
were many perils to fear between the port of Brest and that of New York.
Tom, in uniform and with a ribbon and medal on his breast, grinned
teasingly at the two girls.
"Come, come! Break away! Only twenty seconds allowed in a clinch. Don't
Helen look fine, Ruth? How's the shoulder?"
"Just a bit stiff yet," replied the girl of the Red Mill, kissing her chum
again.
At this moment the first sudden swoop of the tempest arrived. The tall
elms writhed as though taken with St. Vitus's dance. The hens began to
screech and run to cover. Thunder muttered in the distance.
"Oh, dear me!" gasped Ruth, paling unwontedly, for she was not by nature
a nervous girl. "Come right into the house, Helen. You could not get to
Cheslow or back home before this storm breaks. Put your car under the
shed, Tom."
She dragged her friend into the yard and up the warped flag stones to the
side door of the cottage. A little old woman who had been sitting on the
porch in a low rocking chair arose with difficulty, leaning on a cane.
"Oh, my back, and oh, my bones!" murmured Aunt Alvirah Boggs, who was not
long out of a sick bed herself and would never again be as "spry" as she
once had been. "Do come in, dearies. It is a wind storm."
Ruth stopped to help the little old woman. She continued pale, but her
thought for Aunt Alvirah's comfort caused her to put aside her own fear.
The trio entered the house and closed the door.
In a moment there was a sharp patter against the house. The rain had begun
in big drops. The rear door was opened, and Tom, laughing and shaking the
water from his cap, dashed into the living room. He wore the insignia of a
captain under his dust-coat and the distinguishing marks of a very famous
division of the A. E. F.
"It's a buster!" he declared. "There's a paper sailing like a kite over
the roof of the old mill----"
Ruth sprang up with a shriek. She ran to the back door by which Tom had
just entered and tore it open.
"Oh, do shut the door, deary!" begged Aunt Alvirah. "That wind is 'nough
to lift the roof."
"What _is_ the matter, Ruth?" demanded Helen.
But Tom ran out after her. He saw the girl leap from the porch and run
madly down the path toward the summer-house. Back on the wind came a
broken word or two of explanation:
"My papers! My scenario! The best thing I ever did, Tom!"
He had almost caught up to her when she reached the little pavilion. The
wind from across the river was tearing through the summer-house at a
sixty-mile-an-hour speed.
"Oh! It's gone!" Ruth cried, and had Tom not caught her she would have
dropped to the ground.
There was not a scrap of paper left upon the table, nor anywhere in
the place. Even the two fat notebooks had disappeared, and, too, the
gold-mounted pen the girl of the Red Mill had been using. All, all seemed
to have been swept out of the summer-house.