Ruth Fielding At Sunrise Farm Part 11

He knew the conductor of the freight train with whom he had entrusted the strange girl. The next day he went over to the tank at the right hour and met the conductor again.

"Sure, I got her on to Campton-poor kid," said the man. "She's a smart one, too. When the boys wanted to know who she was, I said she was my niece, and she nodded and agreed to it. We had a big feed back here in the hack while she was aboard, and she had her share."

"But where was she going?" asked Tom.

"Didn't get much out of her," admitted the conductor. "But she'd lived in Harburg, and I reckon she had folks in or near Campton. But I'm not sure at all."

This was rather unsatisfactory; but whatever point the strange girl was journeying to, she had arrived safely at Campton. This Tom told Ruth and the latter had to be content with this information.

The incident of the runaway girl was two or three days old when Ruth received a letter from Madge Steele urging them all to come on soon-that Sunrise Farm was ready for them, and that she was writing all the girls to start on Monday.

The train would take them to Darrowtown. There a conveyance would meet and transport the visitors fifteen miles through the country to Mr.

Steele's big estate.

Mercy Curtis joined the Camerons and Ruth at the Cheslow Station, and on the train they boarded were Heavy Stone and The Fox. The girls greeted each other as though they had been separated for a year.

"Never was such a clatter of tongues," declared the plump girl, "since the workmen struck on the tower of Babel. Here we are-off for the sunrise-and traveling due west. How do you make that out?"

"That's easy-anybody could see it with half an eye," said The Fox.

"Half an eye, eh?" demanded Heavy. "And Cyclops had a whole one. Say!

did you hear about the boy in school who was asked by his teacher (he must have been in Tommy's cla.s.s) 'Who was Cyclops?' He was a bright boy.

He answered: 'The man who wrote the encyclopaedia.' The a.s.sociation of ideas was something fierce-eh?"

"Dear me, Jennie," admonished The Fox, "you are getting slangier every day."

"Never mind; I'm not losing flesh over it. Don't you," returned the careless "heavyweight."

It was a long, but not a tedious, ride to Darrowtown. The young folk had left Cheslow just before dark, and their sleeper was sidetracked at the end of the journey, some time in the very early morning. When Ruth first opened her eyes she could scarcely-for the moment-think where she was.

Then she peered out of the narrow window above her berth and saw a section of the railroad yard and one side of Railroad Avenue beyond. The right of way split Darrowtown in two halves and there were grade crossings at the intersections of the princ.i.p.al cross streets.

Long as she had been away from the place, the girl recognized the houses and the stores, and every other landmark she could see. No further sleep for her, although it was scarcely dawn.

She hopped softly out of the berth, disturbed none of her companions or even the porter nodding in his corner, and dressed hurriedly. She made her toilette and then went into the vestibule and from thence climbed down to the cinder path.

There was an opening in the picket fence, and she slipped through in a moment. Dear old Darrowtown! Ruth's heart throbbed exultantly and she smiled, although there were tears in her eyes.

There was the Brick Church on the corner. The pastor and his wife had been so kind to her! And up this next street was the way to the quiet cemetery where her father and mother were buried. Ruth turned her steps in that direction first of all.

The sun came up, red and jovial; the birds twittered and sang in the great maples along the way; even in the graveyard a great flock of blackbirds "pumped" and squeaked in noisy, joyous chorus.

The dew sparkled on leaf and bush, the flowers were fragrant, the cool breeze fanned her cheek, and the bird chorus rose higher and higher. How could one be sad long on such a beautiful, G.o.d-made morning?

Impossible! Ruth plucked a spray of a flowering shrub for both graves, and laid them on the mounds tenderly, with a little prayer. Here slept the dead peacefully, and G.o.d had raised her up many, many friends!

The early chimneys were smoking in the suburbs of the town. A screen-door slammed now and then. One man whom she knew slightly, but who did not remember her, was currying his horse in an alley by his stable. Mrs. Barnsworth, notably the smartest housewife in Darrowtown, was starting already with her basket for market-and woe be to the grocer or marketman if the shops were not open when she arrived!

Stray cats ran along the back fences. A dog ran out of a yard to bark at Ruth, but then thought better of it and came to be patted instead.

And then, suddenly, she came in sight of the back garden of Miss True Pettis!

It was with that kind-hearted but peculiar spinster lady that Ruth had lived previous to being sent to the Red Mill. Miss Pettis was the neighborhood seamstress and, as she often had told Ruth, she worked hard "with both tongue and needle" for every dollar she earned.

For Miss True Pettis had something more than dressmaking to do when she went out "by the day" to cut and fit and run the sewing machine.

Darrowtown folk expected that the seamstress should have all the latest gossip at her tongue's end when she came to sew!

Now, Miss True Pettis often laid down the law. "There's two kinds of gossip. One the Bible calls the seventh abomination, an' I guess that's right. But for shut-in folks like most housekeepers in Darrowtown, a dish of harmless gossip is more inspiritin' than a bowl of boneset tea!

"Lemme have somethin' new to tell folks about folks-that's all. But it must be somethin' kind," Miss Pettis declared. "No backbitin', or church scandal, or neighborhood rows. If Si Lumpkin's cat has scratched Amoskeag Lanfell's dog, let the cat and the dog fight it out, I say; no need for Si and Amoskeag, who have been friends and neighbors for years an' years, gettin' into a ruction over it.

"I never take sides in any controversy-no, ma'am! If ye can't say a good word for a neighbor, don't say nothin' to _me_. That's what I tell 'em.

But if ye know anythin' good about 'em, or they've had any streak o'

good luck, or the like, tell me. For the folks in this town-'specially the wimmen folks that don't git out much-is just a-honin' for news, and True Pettis, when she goes out by the day, has gotter have a full and plenty supply of it."

Ruth, smiling quietly to herself, remembered how the thin, sallow, quick spoken lady looked when she said all this. Miss Pettis's eyes were black and snapping; her nose was a beak; she bit off threads as though her temper was biting, too. But Ruth knew better. A kinder-hearted mortal never lived than the little old seamstress.

Now the visitor ran across the garden-neatly bedded and with graveled paths in which the tiniest weed dared not show its head-and reached the kitchen porch. Miss Pettis was always an early riser, and the smoke of her chimney was now only a faint blue column rising into the clear air.

Yes! there was a rattle of dishes in the kitchen. Ruth tiptoed up the steps. Then she-to her amazement-heard somebody groan. The sound was repeated, and then the seamstress's voice murmured:

"Oh, dear, oh, dear! Oh, dear, oh, dear! whatever shall I do--"

Ruth, who had intended opening the door softly and announcing that she had come to breakfast, forgot all about the little surprise she was bent on giving Miss Pettis. Now she peered fearfully in at the nearest window.

Miss Pettis was just sitting down in her rocker, and she rocked to and fro, holding one hand with the other, continuing to groan.

"Oh, dear, me!" cried Ruth, bursting in at the door. "What in the world is the matter, my dear?"

"It's that dratted felon-- Why, Ruthie Fielding! Did you drop from the sky, or pop up out o' the ground? I never!"

The dressmaker got up quickly, but struck her hand against the chair-arm. Instantly she fell back with a scream, and Ruth feared she had fainted. A felon is a terribly painful thing!

Ruth ran for a gla.s.s of water, but before she could sprinkle any of it on Miss Pettis' pale face the lady's eyes opened and she exclaimed:

"Don't drop any of that on my dress, child-it'll spot. I'm all right now. My mercy! how that hurt."

"A felon, Miss Pettis? How very dreadful," cried Ruth, setting down the gla.s.s of water.

"And I ain't been able to use my needle for a week, and the dishwas.h.i.+n'-well, it jest about kills me to put my hands in water. You can see-the sight this kitchen is."

"Now, isn't it lucky that I came this morning-and came so early, too?"

cried Ruth. "I was going to take breakfast with you. Now I'll get the breakfast myself and fix up the house-- Oh, yes, I shall! I'll send word down to the hotel to my friends-they'll take breakfast there-and we can have a nice visit, Miss True," and Ruth very carefully hugged the thin shoulders of the seamstress, so as not to even jar the felon on her right fore-finger.

CHAPTER IX-THE SUNRISE COACH