RUTH SEES SOMETHING
The mystery of the vanishing kittens cast a cloud of gloom over the
minds of the younger Corner House girls. Besides, it had rained in the
night and was still raining after breakfast. It was a dull, gloomy
day.
“Just a nice day for us to start cleaning the garret,” Ruth said,
trying to put cheer into the hearts of her sisters. “Only Mr.
Howbridge, who has been away, has written me to come to his office
this forenoon. He wants to arrange about several matters, he says.
I’ll have to go and we’ll postpone the garret rummage till I get
back.”
“Poor Sandy’s all wet and muddy,” said Dot, who could not get her
troubled mind off the cat family. “Just as though _she’d_ been out in
the rain. But I don’t see how that could be. She’s washing up now by
the kitchen stove.”
They had brought the mother cat and Spotty into the kitchen for
safety. Uncle Rufus shook his head over the mysterious disappearance
of Petl, Almira and Bungle, too; whispering to Mrs. McCall:
“Do look for sho’ as though rats had got dem kittins. Dunno what
else.”
“For goodness sake, don’t tell me there are rats here, Uncle Rufus!”
exclaimed the widow, anxiously. “I couldn’t sleep in my bed nights.”
“Dunno whar you’d sleep safer, Mis’ McCall, ter git away from ’em,”
chuckled the old colored man. “But I exemplifies de fac’ dat I ain’t
seed none ob dere tracks.”
Occasionally Uncle Rufus “threw in a word” in conversation which
sounded euphonious in his own ears, but had little to do with the real
meaning of his speech.
Nobody whispered “rats” to the little girls; and Tess and Dot scarcely
let Sandy and the remaining kitten out of their sight. It was a windy,
storm-stricken day, and they took the mother cat and Spotty up to Aunt
Sarah’s room to play.
Ruth put on her rain-coat, seized an umbrella, and ventured forth. She
knew she could find her way to Mr. Howbridge’s office, down town,
although she had never visited it before.
The lawyer was very glad to see the oldest Corner House girl, and told
her so. “I am hearing some good reports of you, Miss Kenway,” he said,
smiling at her in his odd way, and with his keen eyes looking sharply
over the high bridge of his nose, as though he were gazing deep into
Ruth’s mind.
“Some of these Milton people think that you girls need closer watching
than you are getting. So they say. What do you think? Do you feel the
need of a sterner guardian?”
“I think you are a very nice guardian,” admitted Ruth, shyly. “And we
are having awfully nice times up there at the old Corner House, Mr.
Howbridge. I hope we are not spending too much money?”
He put on his eyeglasses again and scanned the totals of the store
bills and other memoranda she had brought him. He shook his head and
smiled again:
“I believe you are a born housekeeper. Of course, I knew that Mrs.
McCall wouldn’t let you go far wrong. But I see no evidence of a lack
of economy on your part. And now, we must see about your spending some
more money, Miss Kenway.”
“Oh! it seems like a lot to me,” said Ruth, faintly. “And—and I must
tell you something perhaps you won’t like. We—we have an addition to
the family.”
“How’s that?” he asked, in surprise.
“We—we have Uncle Rufus,” explained Ruth.
“What! has that old darkey come bothering you?”
“Oh! he isn’t a bother. Not at all. I thought he was too old to do
much, but he is _so_ handy—and he finds so many little things to do.
And then——Why, Mr. Howbridge! it’s just like home to him.”
“Ha! Undoubtedly. And so he told you? Worked on your feelings? You are
going to have the whole family on you, next. You will have more wages
to pay out than the estate will stand.”
“Dear me, sir!” cried Ruth. “Don’t say that. I am not paying Uncle
Rufus a penny. I told him I couldn’t—until I had seen you about it,
at least. And he is willing to stay anyhow—so he says.”
“I don’t know about that old darkey,” said Mr. Howbridge, slowly. “I
believe he knew more about Mr. Peter Stower’s private affairs than he
seemed willing to tell the time I talked to him after your Uncle
Peter’s death. I don’t know about your keeping him there.”
“Do you think he may know where Uncle Peter hid his private papers,
sir?” asked Ruth, eagerly.
“Yes, I do. He’s an ignorant old negro. He might get the papers into
his hands, and the will might be lost forever.”
“Oh, sir!” cried Ruth, earnestly, “I don’t think Uncle Rufus is at all
dishonest. I asked him about Uncle Peter’s hiding away things. He
knows what folks say about uncle’s being a miser.”
“Well?” said Mr. Howbridge, questioningly.
“Uncle Rufus says he knows his old master was that way. Aunt Sarah
says Uncle Peter was just like a magpie—that he hid away things
without any real reason for it.”
“Ha! Miss Maltby was not fond of Mr. Peter Stower. They did not get
along well together.”
“No, sir. I fancy not. And of course, Aunt Sarah doesn’t say much,
anyway. She is real hurt to think that he did not leave her the house
and money instead of leaving it to us,” and Ruth sighed.
“Oh, he left her enough in his will to keep her in comfort for the
remainder of her life. She need not be envious,” said the lawyer,
carelessly.
“Well,” sighed Ruth, “that isn’t what Aunt Sarah wanted. She feels she
ought to own the house. But we can’t help that, can we!”
“No. Do not worry about your Aunt Sarah’s fidgets,” said the lawyer,
smiling once more. “But about Uncle Rufus?”
Ruth had opened her bag, and now drew forth the scrap of paper Uncle
Rufus had given her. “Who do you think wrote that, sir?” she asked Mr.
Howbridge, simply.
The moment the lawyer saw it he scowled. Staring at the paper fixedly
for some moments in silence, he finally asked:
“When did the old darkey say he was given this?”
“The day before Uncle Peter died. He said the poor old gentleman
couldn’t talk, then, but he managed to write that line. _Is_ it Uncle
Peter’s handwriting?”
“It certainly is. Shaky, but plainly Mr. Stower’s own hand.”
“Oh, sir! let us keep Uncle Rufus, then,” begged Ruth, quickly.
“But you understand, Miss Kenway, that this request, unsigned as it
is, hasn’t an iota of legal weight?”
“I don’t care!” said Ruth.
“Why didn’t the old man show it to me?”
“He was keeping it to show to the relatives of Uncle Peter who, he
expected, would have the old Corner House.”
“Ha! and he was afraid of the lawyer, I suppose?”
“You—you were not very sympathetic, were you?” said Ruth, slowly.
“Right! I wasn’t. I could not be. I did not see my way clear to making
any provision for Uncle Rufus, for I knew very well that Mr. Stower
had not mentioned the old serving man in his will.”
“Well—you’ll let us keep him?”
“If you like. I’ll see that he has a little money every month, too.
And now I must not give you much more time to-day, my dear. But I wish
to put this envelope into your hand. In it you will find the amount of
money which I consider wise for each of you girls to spend
monthly—your allowance, I mean.
“Such dresses as you need, will be paid for separately. You will find
that a charge account has been opened for you at this store,” and he
passed the surprised Ruth the business card of the largest department
store in town. “But buy wisely. If you spend too much, be sure you
will hear from me. The monthly allowance is pin-money. Squander it as
you please without accounting to me—only to your own consciences,”
and he laughed and rose to show her out of his private office.
Ruth thanked him and slipped the bulky envelope into her bag. She
could not open it there, or on the street, and she hurried homeward,
eager to see just what Mr. Howbridge considered a proper allowance for
the Corner House Girls to “squander.”
The east wind was tearing across the parade ground and the trees
overhead, as Ruth started over the big common, writhed in the clutch
of it. The rain came in fitful dashes. The girl sheltered herself as
best she could with the umbrella.
Such gusts are hard to judge, however. Although she clung to the
umbrella with both hands, one savage squall swept down upon Ruth
Kenway and fairly snatched the umbrella from her grasp. It whirled
away over the wet lawn, and turned inside out!
“No use chasing _that_ thing,” said Ruth, in disgust. “It’s past
repairing. I’ll just have to face it.”
She hurried on, her head bowed before the slanting rain. She came to
the Willow Street crossing and glanced up at the old Corner House. Not
only could she see the great, frowning front of the mansion, with its
four huge pillars, but she could view, too, the side next to Willow
Street.
Nobody was looking out of the windows on the watch for her, that she
could see. The parlors were on this side of the main building, and the
girls did not use them. Above, on the second floor, were the sleeping
room and library in which Uncle Peter had spent the last years of his
life.
Above those blind windows was another row of windows on the third
floor, with the shades pulled down tightly. And then, above those, in
the peak of the roof, were several small garret windows.
“That’s where that girl said the ghost came and looked out,” Ruth said
aloud, stopping suddenly.
And just at that identical moment the ghost _did_ look out!
Ruth saw it. Only for a moment, but just as plain as plain could be! A
white, fluttering figure—a sort of faceless figure with what seemed
to be long garments fluttering about it.
Nobody ever has to see a ghost to know just what one looks like.
People who see ghosts recognize their appearance by intuition. This
was the garret ghost of the old Corner House, and Ruth was the first
of the Kenway girls to see it.
She had made fun of Agnes’ belief in things supernatural, but she
could not control the shaking of her own limbs now. It was visible up
there at the garret window for only half a minute; yet Ruth knew it
was no hallucination.
It disappeared with a jump. She did not wait to see if it came back
again, but scurried across the street and in at the side gate, and so
to the back porch, with scarcely a breath left in her body.
Ruth was just as scared as she could be.