Ruth Fielding At College: or, The Missing Examination Papers. Emerson Alice B.

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СКАЧАТЬ oh, did you find my bag, Miss?"

      "Surely," Ruth laughed. "It is here, beside your bed."

      "Oh, thank you," said the girl. "Mr. Bender paid me last night. One of the men was to take me across the river, and I sat down and waited, and nobody came, and by and by I fell into a nap and when I woke up I was out in the river, all alone. My! I was frightened."

      "Then you have no reason for going back to the camp?" asked Ruth, thoughtfully.

      "No – Miss. I'm through up there for the season. I'll look for another situation – I – I mean job," she added stammeringly.

      "We will telephone up the river and tell them you are all right," Ruth said.

      "Oh, thank you – Miss."

      Ruth asked her several other questions, and although Maggie was reserved, her answers were satisfactory.

      "But what's goin' to become of the gal?" Uncle Jabez asked that evening after supper, when he and his niece were in the farmhouse kitchen alone.

      Aunt Alvirah had carried tea and toast in to the patient and was sitting by her.

      The girl of the Red Mill thought Maggie did not seem like the usual "hired help" whom she had seen. She seemed much more refined than one might expect a girl to be of the class to which she claimed to belong.

      Ruth looked across the table at her cross-grained old relative and made no direct reply to his question. She was very sure that, after all, he would be kind to the strange girl if Maggie actually needed to be helped. But Ruth had an idea that Maggie was quite capable of helping herself.

      "Uncle Jabez," the girl of the Red Mill said to the old man, softly, "do you know something?"

      "Huh?" grunted Uncle Jabez. "I know a hull lot more than you young sprigs gimme credit for knowin'."

      "Oh! I didn't mean it that way," and Ruth laughed cheerily at him. "I mean that I have discovered something, and I wondered if you had discovered the same thing?"

      "Out with it, Niece Ruth," he ordered, eyeing her curiously. "I'll tell ye if it's anything I already know."

      "Well, Aunt Alvirah is growing old."

      "Ye don't say!" snapped the miller. "And who ain't, I'd like to know?"

      "Her rheumatism is much worse, and it will soon be winter."

      "Say! what air ye tryin' to do?" he demanded. "Tellin' me these here puffictly obvious things! Of course she's gittin' older; and of course her rheumatiz is bound to grow wuss. Doctors ain't never yet found nothin' to cure rheumatiz. And winter us'ally follers fall – even in this here tarnation climate."

      "Well, but the combination is going to be very bad for Aunt Alvirah," Ruth said gently, determined to pursue her idea to the finish, no matter how cross he appeared to be.

      "Wal, is it my fault?" asked Uncle Jabez.

      "It's nobody's fault," Ruth told him, shaking her head, and very serious. "But it's Aunt Alvirah's misfortune."

      "Huh!"

      "And we must do something about it."

      "Huh! Must we? What, I'd like to have ye tell me?" said the old miller, eyeing Ruth much as one strange dog might another that he suspected was after his best marrow bone.

      "We must get somebody to help her do the work while I am at college," Ruth said firmly.

      The dull red flooded into Uncle Jabez's cheeks, and for once gave him a little color. His narrow eyes sparkled, too.

      "There's one thing I've allus said, Niece Ruth," he declared hotly. "Ye air a great one for spending other folks' money."

      It was Ruth's turn to flush now, and although she might not possess what Aunt Alvirah called "the Potter economical streak," she did own to a spark of the Potter temper. Ruth Fielding was not namby-pamby, although she was far from quarrelsome.

      "Uncle Jabez," she returned rather tartly, "have I been spending much of your money lately?"

      "No," he growled. "But ye ain't l'arnt how to take proper keer of yer own – trapsin' 'round the country the way you do."

      She laughed then. "I'm getting knowledge. Some of it comes high, I have found; but it will all help me live."

      "Huh! I've lived without that brand of l'arnin'," grunted Uncle Jabez.

      Ruth looked at him amusedly. She was tempted to tell him that he had not lived, only existed. But she was not impudent, and merely went on to say:

      "Aunt Alvirah is getting too old to do all the work here – "

      "I send Ben in to help her some when she's alone," said the miller.

      "And by so doing put extra work on poor Ben," Ruth told him, decidedly. "No, Aunt Alvirah must have another woman around, or a girl."

      "Where ye goin' to find the gal?" snapped the miller. "Work gals don't like to stay in the country."

      "She's found, I believe," Ruth told him.

      "Huh?"

      "This Maggie we just got out of the river. She has no job, she says, and she wants one. I believe she'll stay."

      "Who's goin' to pay her wages?" demanded Uncle Jabez, getting back to "first principles" again.

      "I'll pay the girl's wages, Uncle Jabez," Ruth said seriously. "But you must feed her. And she must be fed well, too. I can see that part of her trouble is malnutrition."

      "Huh? Has she got some ketchin' disease?" Uncle Jabez demanded.

      "It isn't contagious," Ruth replied drily. "But unless she is well fed she cannot be cured of it."

      "Wal, there's plenty of milk and eggs," the miller said.

      "But you must not hide the key of the meat-house, Uncle," and now Ruth laughed outright at him. "Four people at table means a depletion of your smoked meat and a dipping occasionally into the corned-beef barrel."

      "Wal – "

      "Now, if I pay the girl's wages, you must supply the food," his niece said, firmly, "Otherwise, Aunt Alvirah will go without help, and then she will break down, and then– "

      "Huh!" grunted the miller. "I couldn't let her go back to the poorfarm, I s'pose?"

      He actually made it a question; but Ruth could not see his face, for he had turned aside.

      "No. She could not return to the poorhouse – after fifteen years!" exclaimed the girl. "Do you know what I should do?" and she asked the question warmly.

      "Somethin' fullish, I allow."

      "I should take her to Ardmore with me, and find a tiny cottage for her, and maybe she would keep house for Helen and me."

      "That'd be jest like ye, Niece Ruth," he responded coolly. "You think you have all the money in the world. That's because ye didn't aim what ye got – it was give to ye."

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