Ruth Fielding At Sunrise Farm; Or, What Became of the Raby Orphans

by Alice B. Emerson

  CHAPTER V--"THE TRAMPING GAL"

  The old clock that had hung in the Red Mill kitchen from the time ofUncle Jabez Potter's grandfather--and that was early time on the Lumano,indeed!--hesitatingly tolled the hour of four.

  Daybreak was just behind the eastern hills. A light mist swathed thesilent current of the river. Here and there, along the water's edge, atall tree seemed floating in the air, its bole and roots cut off by thedrifting mist.

  "Oh, it is very, very beautiful here!" sighed Ruth Fielding, kneeling atthe open window and looking out upon the awakening world--as she had donemany and many another early morning since first she was given thislittle gable-windowed room for her very own.

  The sweet, clean, cool air breathed in upon her bare throat andshoulders, revealed through the lace trimming of her night robe. Ruthloved linen like other girls, and although Uncle Jabez gave her spendingmoney with a rather niggardly hand, she and Aunt Alvirah knew how tomake the pennies "go a long way" in purchasing and making her gowns andundergarments.

  There lay over a chair, too, a pretty, light blue, silk trimmedcrepe-cloth kimona, with warm, fur-edged slippers to match, on thefloor. The moment she heard Uncle Jabez rattle the stove-shaker in thekitchen, Ruth slipped into this robe, and thrust her bare feet into theslippers. Her braids she drew over her shoulders--one on either side--asshe hurried out of the little chamber and down the back stairs.

  She had arrived home from Briarwood the night before. For more thaneight months she had seen neither Uncle Jabez nor Aunt Alvirah; and shehad been so tired and sleepy on her arrival that she had quickly gone tobed. She felt as though she had scarcely greeted the two old people.

  Uncle Jabez was bending over the kitchen stove. He always looked gray offace, and dusty. The mill-dust seemed ground into both his clothes andhis complexion.

  The first the old man knew of her presence, the arms of Ruth were aroundhis neck.

  "Ugh-huh?" questioned the old man, raising up stiffly as the fire beganto chatter, the flames flashing under the lids, and turned to face thegirl who held him so lovingly. "What's wanted, Niece Ruth?" he added,looking at her grimly under his bristling brows.

  Ruth was not afraid of his grimness. She had learned long since thatUncle Jabez was much softer under the surface than he appeared. Heclaimed to be only just to her; but Ruth knew that his "justice" oftenleaned toward the side of mercy.

  Her mother, Mary Potter, had been the miller's favorite niece; when shehad married Ruth's father, Uncle Jabez had been angry, and for years thefamily had been separated. But when Uncle Jabez had taken Ruth in "justout of charity," old Aunt Alvirah had assured the heartsick girl thatthe miller was kinder at heart than he wished people to suppose.

  "He don't never let his right hand know what his left hand doeth,"declared the loyal little old woman who had been so long housekeeper forthe miller. "He saved me from the poorhouse--yes, he did!--jest to git allthe work out o' me he could--to hear him tell it!

  "But it ain't so," quoth Aunt Alvirah, shaking her head. "He saw a loneol' woman turned out o' what she'd thought would be her home till shecome to death's door. An' so he opened his house and his hand to her.An' he's opened his house and hand to _you_, my pretty; and who knows?mebbe 'twill open wide his heart, too."

  Ruth had been hoping the old man's heart _was_ open, not only to her,but to the whole world. She knew that, in secret, Uncle Jabez washelping to pay Mercy Curtis's tuition at Briarwood. He still lovedmoney; he always would love it, in all probability. But he had learnedto "loosen up," as Tom Cameron expressed it, in a most astonishing way.One could not honestly call Uncle Jabez a miser nowadays.

  He was miserly in the outward expression of any affection, however. Andthat apparent coldness Ruth Fielding longed to break down.

  Now the girl, all flushed from her deep sleep, and smiling, lifted herrosy lips to be kissed. "I didn't scarcely say 'how-do' to you lastnight, Uncle," she said. "Do tell me you're glad to see me back."

  "Ha! Ye ain't minded to stay long, it seems."

  "I won't go to Sunrise Farm if you want me here, Uncle Jabez," declaredRuth, still clinging to him, and with the same smiling light in hereyes.

  "Ha! ye don't mean that," he grunted.

  He knew she did. His wrinkled, hard old face finally began to change.His eyes tried to escape her gaze.

  "I just _love_ you, Uncle," she breathed, softly. "Won't--won't you letme?"

  "There, there, child!" He tried for a moment to break her firm hold;then he stooped shamefacedly and touched her fresh lips with his own.

  Ruth nestled against his big, strong body, and clung a moment longer.His rough hand smoothed her sleek head almost timidly.

  "There, there!" he grumbled. "You're gittin' to be a big gal, I swow!And what good's so much schoolin' goin' ter do ye? Other gals like youair helpin' in their mothers' kitchens--or goin' to work in the mills atCheslow. Seems like a wicked waste of time and money."

  But he did not say it so harshly as had been his wont in the old times.Ruth smiled up at him again.

  "Trust me, Uncle," she said. "The time'll come when I'll prove to youthe worth of it. Give me the education I crave, and I'll support myselfand pay you all back--with interest! You see if I don't."

  "Well, well! It's new-fashioned, I s'pose," growled the old man,starting for the mill. "Gals, as well as boys, is lots more expense nowthan they used ter be to raise. The 'three R's' was enough for us when Iwas young.

  "But I won't stop yer fun. I promised yer Aunt Alviry I wouldn't," headded, with his hand upon the door-latch. "You kin go to that Sunriseplace for a while, if ye want. Yer Aunt Alviry got a trampin' gal thatcame along, ter help her clean house."

  "Oh! and isn't the girl here now?" asked Ruth, preparing to run back todress.

  "Nope. She's gone on. Couldn't keep her no longer. And my! how thatyoung 'un could eat! Never saw the beat of her," added Uncle Jabez as heclumped out in his heavy boots.

  Ruth heard more about "that trampin' girl" when Aunt Alvirah appeared.Before that happened, however, the newly returned schoolgirl proved shehad not forgotten how to make a country breakfast.

  The sliced corned ham was frying nicely; the potatoes were browningdelightfully in another pan. Fluffy biscuits were ready to take out ofthe oven, and the cream was already whipped for the berries and thecoffee.

  "Gracious me! child alive!" exclaimed the little old woman, cominghaltingly into the room. "You an' Jabez air in a conspiracy to spileme--right from the start. Oh, my back! and oh, my bones!" and she loweredherself carefully into a chair.

  "I did sartain sure oversleep this day. Ben done the chores? An' ye airall ready, my pretty? Jest blow the horn, then, and yer uncle will comein. My! what a smart leetle housekeeper you be, Ruth. School ain'tspiled ye a mite."

  "Uncle is still afraid it will," laughed Ruth, kissing the old womanfondly.

  "He only _says_ that," whispered Aunt Alvirah, with twinkling eyes."He's as proud of ye as he can stick--I know!"

  "It--it would be nice, if he said so once in a while," admitted the girl.

  After the hearty breakfast was disposed of and the miller and his hiredman had tramped out again, the old housekeeper and Ruth became moreconfidential.

  "It sartain sure did please me," said Aunt Alvirah, "when Jabez let metake in that trampin' gal for a week an' more. He paid her without awhimper, too. But, she _did_ eat!"

  "So he said," chuckled Ruth.

  "Yes. More'n a hired hand in thrashin' time. I never seen her beat. ButI reckon the poor little thing was plumb starved. They never feed 'emha'f enough in them orphan 'sylums, I don't s'pect."

  "From an orphanage?" cried Ruth, with sudden interest born of herremembrance of the mysterious Sadie Raby.

  "So I believe. She'd run away, I s'pect. I hadn't the heart to blameher. An' she was close-mouthed as a clam," declared Aunt Alvirah.

  "How did you come to get her?" queried the interested Ruth.

  "She walked right up to the door. She'd been travelin' far
--ye could seethat by her shoes, if ye could call 'em shoes. I made her take 'em offby the fire, an' then I picked 'em up with the tongs--they was justpulp--and I pitched 'em onto the ash-heap.

  "Well, she stayed that night, o' course. It was rainin'. Your UncleJabez wouldn't ha' turned a dog out in sech weather. But he made me puther to bed on chairs here.

  "It was plain she was delighted to have somebody to talk to--and as thatsomebody was 'her pretty,' the dear old soul was all the more joyful.

  "So, one thing led to another," pursued Aunt Alvirah, "and I got him tolet me keep her to help rid the house up. You know, you wrote me to waittill you come home for house-cleanin'. But I worked Jabez Potter_right_; I know how to manage him," said she, nodding and smiling.

  "And you didn't know who the girl was?" asked Ruth, still curious."Nothing about her at all?"

  "Not much. She was short-tongued, I tell ye. But I gathered she had beenan orphan a long time and had lived at an institution."

  "Not even her name?" asked Ruth, at last.

  "Oh, yes. She told her name--and it was her true one, I reckon," AuntAlviry said. "It was Sadie Raby."