The lights in the day coach had just been lit and she was looking out
into the gathering darkness as the train rolled slowly into Cheslow, the
New England town to which her fare had been paid when her friends back
in the town where she was born had decided that little Ruth Fielding
should be sent to her single living relative, Uncle Jabez Potter.
He was her mother's uncle, really, and a "great uncle" was a relative
that Ruth could not quite visualize at that time. It was not until she
had come to the old Red Mill on the bank of the Lumano River that the
child found out that a great uncle was a tall, craggy kind of man, who
wore clothing from which the mill dust rose in little clouds when he
moved hurriedly, and with the same dust seemingly ground into every
wrinkle and line of his harsh countenance.
Jabez Potter had accepted the duty of the child's support without one
softening thought of love or kindness. She was a "charity child"; and
she was made to feel this fact continually in a hundred ways.
Had it not been for Aunt Alvirah Boggs, who had likewise been taken in
by the miller to keep house for him--the little, crippled old woman would
otherwise have completed her years in the poorhouse. Had it not been for
Aunt Alvirah Boggs, Ruth Fielding's first months at the Red Mill would
have been a most somber experience, although the child was naturally of
a cheerful and sanguine temperament.
The miserly miller considered Ruth Fielding a liability; she proved
herself in time to be an asset. And as she grew older the warped nature
and acid temper of the miller both changed toward his grand-niece. But
to bring this about took several years--years filled with more adventure
and wider experiences than most girls obtain.
Beginning with her acquaintance with Helen and Tom Cameron, the twins,
who lived near the Red Mill, and were the children of a wealthy
merchant, Ruth's life led upward in successive steps into education and
fortune. As "Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill"--the title of the first book
of this series--the little girl had never dreamed that she would arrive
at any eminence. She was just a loving, sympathetic, cheerful soul,
whose influence upon those about her was remarkable only because she was
so much in earnest and was of honest purpose in all things.
Uncle Jabez could appreciate her honesty, for that was one virtue he
himself possessed. He always paid his bills, and paid them when they
came due. He considered that because Ruth discovered a sum of money that
he lost he owed her a reward. That reward took the form of payment for
tuition and board for her first year at Briarwood Hall, where she went
with Helen Cameron. At the same time Helen's brother went to Seven Oaks,
a military school for boys.
In this way began the series of adventures which had checkered Ruth
Fielding's career, and as related in the fourteen successive volumes of
the series, the girl of the Red Mill is to be met at Briarwood Hall, at
Snow Camp, at Lighthouse Point, at Silver Ranch, on Cliff Island, at
Sunrise Farm, with the Gypsies, in Moving Pictures, down in Dixie, at
College, in the Saddle, in the Red Cross, at the War Front. In this
present volume she is introduced, with her chum Helen Cameron and with
their friend, Jennie Stone, at the French evacuation Hospital at Clair,
not many miles behind a sector of the Western Front held by the brave
fighting men of the United States.
Ruth had been there in charge of the supply department of the hospital
for some months, and that after some considerable experience at other
points in France. As everywhere else she had been, the girl of the Red
Mill had made friends around her.
Back of the old-world village of Clair, the one modern touch in which
was this hospital, lay upon a wooded height an old château belonging to
the ancient family of the Marchands. With the Countess Marchand, a very
simple and lovely lady, Ruth had maintained a friendship since soon
after arriving at Clair to take up her Red Cross work.
When Tom Cameron, who was at work with his regiment on this very sector
of the battle-front, got into trouble while on special duty beyond the
German lines, it was by grace of Henri Marchand's influence, and in his
company, that Ruth Fielding was able to get into the German lines and by
posing as Tom's sister, "Fraulein Mina von Brenner," helped Tom to
escape from the military governor of the district.
Aided by Count Allaire Marchand, the Countess' oldest son, and the then
Major Henri Marchand, the girl of the Red Mill and Helen Cameron's twin
brother had returned in safety through the German lines. The adventure
had knitted a stronger cord of friendship between Ruth and Tom; although
heretofore the young man had quite plainly showed that he considered
Ruth much the nicest girl of any of his sister's acquaintances.
Other than a strong sisterly feeling for Tom Cameron, Ruth had not
really revealed. Perhaps that was as deep as her interest in the young
man lay. And, in any case, she was not the girl to wear her heart on her
sleeve.
The girls who had gone through Briarwood Hall together, and later had
entered Ardmore College and were near to finishing their sophomore year
when America got into the World War, were not the kind who put "the
boys" before every other thought.
Marriage was something very far ahead in the future, if Ruth or Helen
thought of it at all. And it was quite a surprise to them that Jennie
Stone should have so suddenly become engaged. Indeed, the plump girl was
one of "the old crowd" that the girl of the Red Mill had not supposed
would become early engaged. "Heavy" Stone was not openly of a
sentimental character.
But when, through Ruth, the plump girl had become acquainted with the
Countess Marchand's younger son, Jennie Stone had been carried quite off
her feet by the young Frenchman's precipitous courtship.
"Talk about the American boys being 'sudden'! Theirs is nothing to the
whirlwind work of Henri Marchand!" exclaimed Helen.
Jennie and Helen Cameron had been going back and forth to Clair as
affairs permitted during the past few months; therefore Jennie had
become acquainted with the Countess and was now more often a visitor at
the old château than at the hospital.
The country about Clair had quieted down during the past two months; and
for a long time previous to this fateful day when our story opens, the
war had touched the town but slightly save as the ambulances rolled in
now and then with wounded from the field hospitals.
Gradually the roar of the cannon had retreated. The Yankees were forcing
the fighting on this front and had pressed the Germans back, slowly but
surely. The last and greatest German offensive had broken down, and now
Marshal Foch had started his great drive which was to shatter utterly
the foe's western front.
By some foul chance the German bombing plane had escaped the watchful
French and American airplanes at the front, had crossed the fighting
lines, and had reached Clair with its single building of mark--the
hospital. The Hun raider deliberately dropped his cargo of explosives on
and around this building of mercy.
In broad daylight the red crosses painted upon the roofs of the several
departments of the institution were too plainly seen from the air for
the Hun to have made a mistake. It was a deliberate expression of German
"frightfulness."
But the bomb, which in exploding had crushed inward the window of Ruth
Fielding's little sleeping cell, was the final one dropped from the
enemy plane. The machine droned away, pursued by the two or three
airplanes that had spiraled up to attack it.
Enough damage had been done, however. As Helen Cameron and Jennie Stone
scrambled up from the floor of the corridor outside Ruth's door their
united screams brought the little _Madame la Directrice_ of the hospital
to their aid.
"She is killed!" gasped Jennie, gazing in horror at their fallen comrade
and friend.
"Murdered!" shrieked Helen, and covered her face with her hands.
The Frenchwoman swept them both aside and entered the chamber. She was
not more practical than the two American girls, but her experience of
four years of war had made her used to such sights as this. She knelt
beside the fallen girl, discovered that the wound upon her shoulder was
not deep, and instantly heaved the heavy stone off the girl's back.
"La, la, la!" she murmured. "It is sad! That so-heavy stone! Ah, the
bone must be broken! Poor child!"
"Isn't she dead?" gasped Helen. "No, no! She is very bad
wounded-perhaps. See--let us turn her over--"
She spoke in English. It was Jennie who came to her aid. Between them
they turned Ruth Fielding over. Plainly she was not dead. She breathed
lightly and she was unconscious.
"Oh, Ruthie! Ruthie!" begged Helen. "Speak to me!"
"No!" exclaimed the matron. "Do not attempt to rouse her, Mademoiselle.
It is better that the shoulder should be set and properly bandaged
before she comes to consciousness again. Push that button yonder for the
orderly--twice! That is it. We will lay her on her cot--poor child!"
The woman was strong as well as tender. With Jennie's aid she lifted the
wounded girl and placed her on her narrow bed. A man came running along
the corridor. The matron instructed him in such rapid French that
neither of Ruth's friends could understand all that she said. The
orderly departed on the run.
"To the operating room!" commanded the matron, when the _brancardiers_
appeared with the stretcher.
They lifted Ruth, who remained unconscious, from the bed to the
stretcher. They descended with her to the ground floor, Jennie and Helen
following in the wake. On both of the main floors of the hospital nurses
came to the doors of the wards to learn what had happened. Although the
whole hospital had been shaken by the bombs, there had been no casualty
within its precincts save this.
"Why should it have to be Ruth?" groaned Helen. "To think of our Ruthie
being wounded--the only one!"
They shut the two American girls out of the operating room, of course.
_The Médecin Chef_ himself came hurriedly to see what was needed for the
injured girl. _Mademoiselle Americaine_, as Ruth was called about the
hospital by the grateful French people, was very popular and much
beloved.
Her two girl friends waited in great anxiety outside the operating room.
At last _Madame la Directrice_ came out. She smiled at the anxious
girls. That was the most glorious smile--so Jennie Stone said
afterward--that was ever beheld.
"A fracture of the shoulder bone; her sweet flesh cut and bruised, but
not deeply, Mesdemoiselles. No scar will be left, the surgeon assures
me. And when she recovers from the anesthetic----Oh, la, la! she will have
nothing to do but get well. It means a long furlough, however, for
_Mademoiselle Americaine_."
It was two hours later that Helen and Jennie sat, one on either side of
Ruth's couch, in the private room that had been given to the wounded Red
Cross worker. Ruth's eyes opened heavily, she blinked at the light, and
then her vision swept first Helen and then Jennie.
"Oh, such a dream!" she murmured. "I dreamed about coming to Cheslow and
the Red Mill again, when I was a little girl. And I dreamed all about
Briarwood, and our trips about the country, and our adventures in school
and out. I dreamed even of coming here to France, and all that has
happened. Such a dream!
"Mercy's sake, girls! What has happened to me? I'm all bandaged up like
a _grand blessé!_"