Part 6 (1/2)

”I s'pect so,” said Dolliver, scratching his head. ”Ye see, Sim Perkins an' his wife air folks ye can't really go agin'-not _much_. Sim owns a good farm, an' pays his taxes, an' ain't a bad neighbor. But they've had trouble before naow with orphans. But before, 'twas boys.”

”I just hope they all ran away!” cried Ruth, with emphasis.

”Wal-they did, by golly!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the stage driver, preparing to drive on.

”And if you see this poor girl, you won't tell anybody, will you, Mr.

Dolliver?” pleaded Ruth.

”I jes' sha'n't see her,” said the man, his little eyes twinkling. ”But you take my advice, Miss Fielding-don't _you_ see her, nuther!”

Ruth ran back to the school then-it was time. She could not think of her lessons properly because of her pity for Sadie Raby. Suppose that horrid man should find the poor girl!

Every time Ruth saw the red welt on her arm, where the whiplash had touched her, she wondered how many times Perkins had lashed Sadie when he was angry. It was a dreadful thought.

Although she had promised Sadie to keep her secret, Ruth wondered if she might not do the girl some good by telling Mrs. Tellingham about her.

Ruth was not afraid of the dignified princ.i.p.al of Briarwood Hall-she knew too well Mrs. Grace Tellingham's good heart.

She determined at least that if Sadie appeared at the end of the Cedar Walk the next day she would try to get the runaway girl to go with her to the princ.i.p.al's office. Surely the girl should not run wild in the woods and live any way and how she could-especially so early in the season, for there was still frost at night.

When Ruth ran down the long walk between the cedar trees the next forenoon at ten, there was n.o.body peering through the bushes where Sadie Raby had watched the day before. Ruth went up and down the road, into the woods a little way, too-and called, and called. No reply. Nothing answered but a chattering squirrel and a jay who seemed to object to any human being disturbing the usual tenor of the woods' life thereabout.

”Perhaps she'll come this afternoon,” thought Ruth, and she hid the package of food she had brought, and went back to her cla.s.ses.

In the afternoon she had no better luck. The runaway did not appear. The food had not been touched. Ruth left the packet, hoping sadly that the girl might find it.

The next morning she went again. She even got up an hour earlier than usual and slipped out ahead of the other girls. The food had been disturbed-oh, yes! But by a dog or some ”varmint.” Sadie had not been to the rendezvous.

Hoping against hope, Ruth Fielding tacked a note in an envelope to the log on which she and Sadie had sat side by side. That was all she could do, save to go each day for a time to see if the strange girl had found the note.

There came a rain and the letter was turned to pulp. Then Ruth Fielding gave up hope of ever seeing Sadie Raby again. Old Dolliver told her that the orphan had never returned to ”them Perkinses.” For this Ruth might be thankful, if for nothing more.

The busy days and weeks pa.s.sed. All the girls of Ruth's clique were writing back and forth to their homes to arrange for the visit they expected to make to Madge Steele's summer home-Sunrise Farm. The senior was forever singing the praises of her father's new acquisition. Mr.

Steele had closed contracts to buy several of the neighboring farms, so that, altogether, he hoped to have more than a thousand acres in his estate.

”And, don't you _dare_ disappoint me, Ruthie Fielding,” cried Madge, shaking her playfully. ”We won't have any good time without you, and you haven't said you'd go yet!”

”But I can't say so until I know myself,” Ruth told her. ”Uncle Jabez--”

”That uncle of yours must be a regular ogre, just as Helen says.”

”What does Mercy say about him?” asked Ruth, with a quiet smile. ”Mercy knows him fully as well, and she has a sharp tongue.”

”Humph! that's odd, too. She doesn't seem to think your Uncle Jabez is a very harsh man. She calls him 'Dusty Miller,' I know.”

”Uncle Jabez has a p.r.i.c.kly rind, I guess,” said Ruth. ”But the meat inside is sweet. Only he's old-fas.h.i.+oned and he can't get used to new-fas.h.i.+oned ways. He doesn't see any reason for my 'traipsing around'

so much. I ought to be at the mill between schooltimes, helping Aunt Alvirah-so he says. And I am afraid he is right. I feel condemned--”