Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill; Or, Jasper Parloe's Secret
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physician murmur. "He has had a hard fall--and that's a nasty knock on his head."
The wound was upon the side of his head above the left ear and was nowall clotted with blood. It was from this wound, in some moment ofconsciousness, that he had traced the word "Help" on his tornhandkerchief, and fastened the latter, with the lamp of hismotorcycle, to the dog's collar.
Here was the machine, bent and twisted enough, brought up the bank bytwo of the men.
"Dunno what you can do for the boy, Doctor," said one of them; "but itlooks to me as though this contraption warn't scurcely wuth savin'."
"Oh, we'll bring the boy around all right," said Doctor Davison, whohad felt Tom Cameron's pulse and now rose quickly. "Lift him carefullyupon the stretcher. We will get him into bed before I do a thing tohim. He's best as he is while we are moving him."
"It'll be a mighty long way to his house," grumbled one of the men.
"I believe yeou!" rejoined Jasper Parloe. "Three miles beyond JabePotter's mill."
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Doctor Davison, in his soft voice. "You know we'llnot take him so far. My house is near enough. Surely you can carry himthere."
"If you say the word, Doctor," said the fellow, more cheerfully, whileold Parloe grunted.
They were more than half an hour in getting to the turn in the mainroad where she could observe the two green lights before the doctor'shouse. There the men put the stretcher down for a moment. JasperParloe grumblingly took his turn at carrying one end.
"I never did see the use of boys, noway," he growled. "They's only anaggravation and vexation of speret. And this here one is theaggravatingest and vexationingest of any I ever see."
"Don't be too hard on the boy, Jasper," said Doctor Davison, passingon ahead, so as to reach his house first.
Ruth remained behind, for the old gentleman walked too fast for her.Before the men picked up the stretcher again there was a movement anda murmur from the injured boy.
"Hullo!" said one of the men. "He's a-talkin', ain't he?"
"Jest mutterin'," said Parloe, who was at Tom's head. "'Tain't nothin'"
But Ruth heard the murmur of the unconscious boy, and the wordsstartled her. They were:
"It was Jabe Potter--he did it! It was Jabe Potter--he did it!"
What did they mean? Or, was there no meaning at all to the mutteringof the wounded boy? Ruth saw that Parloe was looking at her in his slyand disagreeable way, and she knew that he, too, had heard the words.
"It was Jabe Potter--he did it!" Was it an accusation referring tothe boy's present plight? And how could her Uncle Jabez--the relativeshe had not as yet seen--be the cause of Tom Cameron's injury? Thespot where the boy was hurt must have been five miles from the RedMill, and not even on the Osago Lake turnpike, on which highway shehad been given to understand the Red Mill stood.
Not many moments more and the little procession was at the gateway, oneither side of which burned the two green lamps.
Jasper Parloe, who had been relieved, shuffled off into the darkness.Reno after one pleading look into the face of the hesitating Ruth,followed the stretcher on which his master lay, in at the gate.
And Ruth Fielding, beginning again to feel most embarrassed andforsaken, was left alone where the two green eyes winked in the warm,moist darkness of the Spring night.
CHAPTER V
THE GIRL IN THE AUTOMOBILE
The men who had gone in with the unconscious boy and the stretcherhung about the doctor's door, which was some yards from the gateway.Everybody seemed to have forgotten the girl, a stranger in Cheslow,and for the first day of her life away from kind and indulgentfriends.
It was only ten minutes walk to the railroad station, and Ruthremembered that it was a straight road. She arrived in the waitingroom safely enough. Sam Curtis, the station master, descried herimmediately and came out of his office with her bag.
"Well, and what happened? Is that boy really hurt?" he asked.
"He has a broken arm and his head is cut. I do not know how seriously,for Doctor Davison had not finished examining him when I--I cameaway," she replied, bravely enough, and hiding the fact that she hadbeen overlooked.
"They took him to the doctor's house, did they?" asked Sam.
"Yes, sir," said Ruth. "But--"
"Mr. Curtis, has there been anybody here for me?"
"For you, Miss?" the station master returned, somewhat surprised itseemed.
"Yes, sir. Anybody from Red Mill?"
Curtis smote one fist into his other palm, exclaiming:
"You don't mean to say that you was what Jabe Potter was after?"
"Mr. Jabez Potter, who keeps the Red Mill, is my uncle," Ruthobserved, with dignity.
"My goodness gracious me, Miss! He was here long before your train wasdue. He's kind of short in his speech, Miss. And he asked me if therewas anything here for him, and I told him no. And he stumped out againwithout another word. Why, I thought he was looking for an expresspackage, or freight. Never had an idea he was expectin' a niece!"
Ruth still looked at him earnestly. The man did not suspect, by herappearance, how hard a time she was having to keep the tears fromoverrunning those calm, gray eyes.
"And you expected to go out to the Red Mill to-night, Miss?" hecontinued. "They're country folk out there and they'd all be abedbefore you could get there, even if you took a carriage."
"I don't know that I have enough to pay for carriage hire," Ruth said,softly. "Is--is there any place I can stop over night in the village?Then I can walk out in the morning."
"Why--there's a hotel. But a young girl like you--You'll excuse me,Miss. You're young to be traveling alone."
"Perhaps I haven't money enough to pay for a lodging there?" suggestedRuth. "I have a dollar. It was given me to spend as I liked on theway. But Miss True gave me such a big box of luncheon that I did notwant anything."
"A dollar wouldn't go far at the Brick Hotel," murmured the stationagent. He still stared at her, stroking his lean, shaven jaw. Finallyhe burst out with: "I tell you! We'll go home and see what my wifesays."
At the moment the station began to jar with the thunder of a comingtrain and Ruth could not make herself heard in reply to his proposal.Besides, Sam Curtis hurried out on the platform. Nor was Ruth ready toassert her independence and refuse any kind of help the station mastermight offer. So she sat down patiently and waited for him.
There were one or two passengers only to disembark from this train andthey went away from the station without even coming into the waitingroom. Then Curtis came back, putting out the lights and locking histicket office. The baggage room was already locked and Ruth's oldtrunk was in it.
"Come on now, girl--What's your name?" asked Curtis.
"Ruth Fielding."
"Just so! Well, it's only a step to our house and wife will havesupper waiting. And there's nobody else there save Mercy."
Ruth was a little curious about "Mercy"--whether it referred toabounding grace, or was a person's name. But she asked no questions asthey came out of the railroad station and Sam Curtis locked the door.
They did not cross the tracks this time, but went into the new part ofthe town. Turning a corner very soon as they walked up what Curtissaid was Market Street, they reached, on a narrow side street, alittle, warm-looking cottage, from almost all the lower windows ofwhich the lamplight shone cheerfully. There was a garden beside it,with a big grape arbor arranged like a summer-house with rustic chairsand a table. The light shining on the side porch revealed the arbor toRuth's quick eyes.
When they stepped upon this porch Ruth heard a very shrill and not atall pleasant voice saying--very rapidly, and over and over again: "Idon't want to! I don't want to! I don't want to!" It might have been aparrot, or some other ill-natured talking bird; only Ruth saw nothingof the feathered conversationalist when Sam opened the door andushered her in.
"Here we are, wife!" he exclaimed, cheerfully. "And how's Mercy?"
The reiterated declaration had stopped instantly. A comely, kind-fac
edwoman with snow-white hair, came forward. Ruth saw that she was someyears younger than Curtis, and he was not yet forty. It was not FatherTime that had powdered Mrs. Curtis' head so thickly.
"Mercy is--Why, who's this?" she asked espying Ruth. "One of thegirls come in to see her?"
Instantly the same whining, shrill voice began:
"I don't want her to see me! They come to stare at me! I hate 'em all!All girls do is to run and jump and play tag and ring-around-a-rosyand run errands, and dance! I hate