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"Ruth Fielding on the St. Lawrence." Page 80]
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RUTH FIELDING
ON THE
ST. LAWRENCE
OR
THE QUEER OLD MAN OF
THE THOUSAND ISLANDS
BY
ALICE B. EMERSON
Author of "Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill," "Ruth
Fielding in the Great Northwest," "Betty
Gordon series," etc.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
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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
RUTH FIELDING IN THE GREAT NORTHWEST
RUTH FIELDING ON THE ST. LAWRENCE
BETTY GORDON SERIES
BETTY GORDON AT BRAMBLE FARM
BETTY GORDON IN WASHINGTON
BETTY GORDON IN THE LAND OF OIL
BETTY GORDON AT BOARDING SCHOOL
BETTY GORDON AT MOUNTAIN CAMP
Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York
Copyright, 1922, by
Cupples & Leon Company
Ruth Fielding on the St. Lawrence
Printed in U. S. A.
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I "Here Comes The Bride" 1
II A Rift In His Lute 10
III Rice And Old Shoes 18
IV Bilby 27
V Trouble In Prospect 37
VI An Abduction 45
VII Expediency 54
VIII At Chippewa Bay 63
IX A Film Mystery 73
X A Smell Of Smoke 83
XI Bilby Again 93
XII The Dance At Alexandria Bay 100
XIII The Kingdom Of Pipes 109
XIV A Demand Is Made 116
XV The Yellow Lady 124
XVI Marooned 131
XVII A Determination 140
XVIII Bilby's Trump Card 148
XIX Suspense 156
XX A Failure In Calculation 164
XXI In The Chinese Den 171
XXII The Twins' Alarm 178
XXIII Trouble Enough 186
XXIV A Letter Comes 193
XXV The Heart's Desire 201
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RUTH FIELDING ON THE
ST. LAWRENCE
CHAPTER I
"HERE COMES THE BRIDE"
The sudden joyous pealing of the organ could be heard upon the sidewalk
before the stately church. As there was a broad canopy from the door to
the curb, with a carpet laid down and motor-cars standing in line, it
took no seer to proclaim that a wedding was in progress within.
Idlers halted to wait for the appearance of the wedding party, which was
about to come forth. Some of the younger spectators ran up the steps and
peered in at the door, for there was only a lame, old, purblind sexton on
guard, and he, too, seemed vastly interested in what was going on inside.
One glance down the main aisle of the great edifice revealed a much more
elaborate scheme of decoration than usually appears at a church wedding.
Its main effect was the intertwining of French and American flags, and as
the bridal party turned from the altar the horizon blue uniform of the
soldier-bridegroom was a patch of vivid color that could not be mistaken.
The bride in her white gown and veil and wreath made, it may be, even a
more prominent picture than did her husband. But that was only to be
expected perhaps, for a girl on her wedding day, and in the church, is
usually the focus of all eyes.
It must be confessed (even her dearest friends must confess it) there was
another reason why she who, only a moment before had been Jennie Stone,
quite filled the public eye.
In the first place, Jennie was a well-built girl, and upon her well-built
frame there had always been since her childhood days a superabundance of
flesh. And getting married had not changed sweet, jolly, funny Jennie
Stone in the least! Instead of coming back down the aisle of the church
with modestly downcast eyes (which is usually a hypocritical display of
emotion), Jennie smiled at her friends and beamed proudly upon the figure
in horizon blue at her side.
And she might well be proud of Major Henri Marchand, for he was in the
very best sense a soldier and a gentleman, and there gleamed a bit of
color on his breast that had been pinned there by Marshal Foch's own
hand. As he was still in active service and had only been given leave to
come to America for his bride, this might be considered the last military
wedding that the old church was likely to see--perhaps for many years.
The groom's French uniform, and even the olive gray of the best man and
two or three other men in the party at the altar, had lent their touch of
color to the picture. But it was the bride's attendants, however, that
made the party so well worth looking at--especially to the greater number
of young women and girls in the pews.
Jennie Stone was a popular girl, and had friends galore. Many of those
girl friends had come from a distance to see their beloved "Heavy Stone"
(as she had been nicknamed in the old Briarwood Hall days) married to the
man she had met in France while she was engaged in those useful and
helpful occupations into which so many American girls entered during the
war.
Besides, Jennie was the first of the old Briarwood Hall set to be
married, and this was bound to be a gala occasion. This was no "weepy"
wedding, but a time of joy. And the bridal party coming down the aisle
made as brilliant a picture as had ever been seen in the old church.
The maid of honor in pink was as refreshing to look upon as a bouquet of
arbutus. She had always been a pretty, winsome girl. Now she was
developing into a handsome young woman, as all Ruth Fielding's friends
declared. In her present filmy costume with its flowery picture hat the
girl of the Red Mill had never looked better.
The young man at her side in the uniform of an American captain with his
black curls and dark face, made a splendid foil for Ruth's beauty. Behind
him walked his twin sister--as like Tom Cameron as another pea in a
pod--and Ann Hicks, both in rose-color, completing a color scheme worthy
of the taste of whoever had originated it. For the sheer beauty of the
picture, this wedding would long be remembered.
In the very last pew, on the aisle, sat an eager old colored woman--one
of those typical "mammies" now so seldom seen--in an old-fashioned bonnet
and shawl. She was of a bulbous figure, and her dark face shone with
perspiration and delight as she stared at the coming bride and groom.
Jennie saw Mammy Rose (the old woman had been a dependent of the Stone
family for years), and had the occasion been much more serious than
Jennie thought it, the plump girl would surely have smiled at Mammy Rose.
The old woman bobbed up, making an old-time genuflection. She thrust out
a neat, paper-covered parcel which she had held carefully in her
capacious lap all through the ceremony.
"Miss Janie--ma blessed baby!" she whispered. "I is suttenly glad to see
dis here day! Heaven is a-smilin' on yo'. And here is one o' ma birfday
cakes yo' liked so mighty well. Mammy Rose done make it for her chile--de
las' she ever will make yo' now yo' is goin' to foreign paths."
Another girl than Jennie might have been confused, or even angered, by
the interruption of the procession. But Jennie could be nothing if not
kind. Her own hands were filled with her bouquet--it was enormous. She
stopped, however, before the old woman.
"As thoughtful for me as ever, Mammy Rose, aren't you?" she said
pleasantly. "And you know all my little failings. Henri," she said to her
husband.
But the courtly young Frenchman had quite as great a sense of _noblesse
oblige_ as his bride. He bowed to the black woman as though she was the
highest lady in the land and accepted the parcel, tied clumsily with baby
ribbon by the gnarled fingers of Mammy Rose.
They moved on and the smiling, yet tearful, old woman, sank back into her
seat. If there was anything needed to make this a perfect occasion, it
was this little incident. The bride and groom came out into the smiling
sunshine with sunshine in their hearts as well as on their faces.
"I knew," whispered Helen Cameron to Ann Hicks, who stalked beside her in
rather a mannish way, "that Heavy Stone could not even be married without
something ridiculous happening."
"'Ridiculous'?" repeated the Western girl, with something like a catch in
her throat.
"Well, it _might_ have been ridiculous," admitted Helen. "Only, after
all, Jennie is real--and so is Major Marchand. You couldn't feaze him,
not even if a bomb had been dropped in the church vestibule."
They were crowding into the motor-cars then, and merrily the wedding
party sped back to the big house on Madison Avenue, which had been
garnished for the occasion with the same taste that marked the
color-scheme of the bride's attendants. The canopied steps and walk, the
footmen in line to receive the party, and the banked flowers in the
reception hall were all impressive.
"My!" whispered the irrepressible Jennie to Henri, "I feel like a prima
donna."
"You are," was his prompt and earnest agreement.
They trooped in at once to the breakfast table. The spacious room was
wreathed with smilax and other vines--even to the great chandelier. The
latter was so hidden by the decorations that it seemed overladen, and Tom
Cameron, who had a quick eye, mentioned it to Ruth.
"Wonder if those fellows braced that thing with wires? Florists sometimes
have more sense of art than common sense."
"Hush, Tom! _Nothing_ can happen to spoil this occasion. Isn't it
wonderful?"
But Tom Cameron looked at her rather gloomily. He shook his head
slightly.
"I feel like one of those pictures of the starving children in Armenia.
I'm standing on the outside, looking in."
It is true that Ruth Fielding flushed, but she refused to make reply. A
moment later, when Tom realized how the seating of the party had been
arranged, his countenance showed even deeper gloom.
As best man Tom was directed to Jennie's right hand. On the other side of
Henri, Ruth was seated, and that placed her across the wide table from
Tom Cameron.
The smiling maid of honor was well worth looking at, and Tom Cameron
should have been content to focus his eyes upon her whenever he raised
them from his plate; but for a particular reason he was not at all
pleased.
This particular reason was the seating of another figure in military
uniform next to Ruth on her other side. This was a tall, pink-cheeked,
well set-up youth looking as though, like Tom, he had seen military
service, and with an abundance of light hair above his broad brow. At
school Chessleigh Copley had been nicknamed "Lasses" because of that crop
of hair.
He entered into conversation with Ruth at once, and he found her so
interesting (or she found him so interesting) that Ruth had little
attention to give to her _vis-a-vis_ across the table.
The latter's countenance grew heavier and heavier, his dark brows drawing
together and his black eyes smouldering.
If anybody noticed this change in Tom's countenance it was his twin
sister, sitting on Ruth's side of the table. And perhaps she understood
her brother's mood. Now and then her own eyes flashed something besides
curiosity along the table on her side at Ruth and Chess Copley, so
evidently lost in each other's companionship.
But it was a gay party. How could it be otherwise with Jennie at the
table? And everybody was bound to second the gaiety of the bride. The
groom's pride in Jennie was so open, yet so very courteously expressed,
that half the girls there envied Jennie her possession of Henri Marchand.
"To think," drawled Ann Hicks, who had come East from Silver Ranch, "that
Heavy Stone should grab off such a prize in the matrimonial grab-bag.
My!" and she finished with a sigh.
"When does your turn come, Ann?" asked somebody.
"Believe me," said the ranch girl, with emphasis, "I have got to see
somebody besides cowpunchers and horse-wranglers before I make such a
fatal move."
"You have lost all your imagination," laughed Helen, from across the
table.
"I don't know. Maybe I used it all up, back in those old kid days when I
ran away to be 'Nita' and played at being 'the abused chee-ild'.
Remember?"
"Oh, _don't_ we!" cried Helen and some of the other girls.
Something dropped on Tom Cameron's plate. He glanced up, then down again
at the object that had fallen. It was a piece of plaster from the
ceiling.
Chess Copley likewise shot a glance ceilingward.
There was a wide gap--and growing wider--on his side of the chandelier. A
great piece of the heavy plaster was breaking away from the ceiling, and
it hung threateningly over his own and Ruth Fielding's head.
"Look out, Ruth!" shouted Tom Cameron, jumping to his feet.