Ruth Fielding at Lighthouse Point: or, Nita, the Girl Castaway. Emerson Alice B.

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      A lamp burned in the kitchen; but all else was dark about the place.

      “Don’t look very lively, Ruth,” said Tom. “I don’t believe they expect you.”

      But even as he spoke the door opened, and a broad beam of yellow lamplight shot out across the porch and down the path. A little, bent figure was silhouetted in the glow.

      “There’s Aunt Alviry!” cried Ruth, in delight. “I know she’s all right.”

      “All excepting her back and her bones,” whispered Helen. “Now, Ruthie! don’t you let anything happen to veto our trip to Heavy’s seaside cottage.”

      “Oh! don’t suggest such a thing!” cried her brother.

      But Ruth ran up the path after bidding them good-night, with her heart fast beating. Dr. Davison’s warning had prepared her for almost any untoward happening.

      But Aunt Alvirah only looked delighted to see the girl as Ruth ran into her arms. Aunt Alvirah was a friendless old woman whose latter years would have been spent at the Cheslow Almshouse had not Jabez Potter taken her to keep house for him more than ten years before. Ill-natured people said that the miller had done this to save paying a housekeeper; but in Aunt Alvirah’s opinion it was an instance of Mr. Potter’s kindness of heart.

      “You pretty creetur!” cried Aunt Alvirah, hugging Ruth close to her. “And how you’ve growed! What a smart girl you are getting to be! Deary, deary me! how I have longed for you to git back, Ruthie. Come in! Come in! Oh, my back and oh, my bones!” she complained, under her breath, as she hobbled into the house.

      “How’s the rheumatics, Aunty?” asked Ruth.

      “Just the same, deary. Up one day, and down the next. Allus will be so, I reckon. I’d be too proud to live if I didn’t have my aches and pains–Oh, my back and oh, my bones!” as she lowered herself into her rocker.

      “Where’s Uncle Jabez?” cried Ruth.

      “Sh!” admonished Aunt Alvirah. “Don’t holler, child. You’ll disturb him.”

      “Not sick?” whispered Ruth, in amazement.

      “No–o. Not sick o’ body, I reckon, child,” returned Aunt Alvirah.

      “What is it, Aunt Alviry? What’s the matter with him?” pursued the girl, anxiously.

      “He’s sick o’ soul, I reckon,” whispered the old woman. “Sumpin’s gone wrong with him. You know how Jabez is. It’s money matters.”

      “Oh, has he been robbed again?” cried Ruth.

      “Sh! not jest like that. Not like what Jasper Parloe did to him. But it’s jest as bad for Jabez, I reckon. Anyway, he takes it jest as hard as he did when his cash-box was lost that time. But you know how close-mouthed he is, Ruthie. He won’t talk about it.”

      “About what?” demanded Ruth, earnestly.

      Aunt Alvirah rose with difficulty from her chair and, with her usual murmured complaint of “Oh, my back and oh, my bones!” went to the door which led to the passage. Off this passage Uncle Jabez’s room opened. She closed the door and hobbled back to her chair, but halted before sitting down.

      “I never thought to ask ye, deary,” she said. “Ye must be very hungry. Ye ain’t had no supper.”

      “You sit right down there and keep still,” said Ruth, smiling as she removed her coat. “I guess I can find something to eat.”

      “Well, there’s cocoa. You make you a warm drink. There’s plenty of pie and cake–and there’s eggs and ham if you want them.”

      “Don’t you fret about me,” repeated Ruth.

      “What makes you so mussed up?” demanded Aunt Alvirah, the next moment. “Why, Ruth Fielding! have you been in the water?”

      “Yes, ma’am. But you know water doesn’t hurt me.”

      “Dear child! how reckless you are! Did you fall in the lake?”

      “No, Aunty. I jumped in,” returned the girl, and then told her briefly about her adventure on the Lanawaxa.

      “Goodness me! Goodness me!” exclaimed Aunt Alvirah. “Whatever would your uncle say if he knew about it?”

      “And what is the matter with Uncle Jabez?” demanded Ruth, sitting down at the end of the table to eat her “bite.” “You haven’t told me that.”

      “I ’lowed to do so,” sighed the old woman. “But I don’t want him to hear us a-gossipin’ about it. You know how Jabez is. I dunno as he knows I know what I know–”

      “That sounds just like a riddle, Aunt Alvirah!” laughed Ruth.

      “And I reckon it is a riddle,” she said. “I only know from piecin’ this, that, and t’other together; but I reckon I fin’ly got it pretty straight about the Tintacker Mine–and your uncle’s lost a power o’ money by it, Ruthie.”

      “What’s the Tintacker Mine?” demanded Ruth, in wonder.

      “It’s a silver mine. I dunno where it is, ’ceptin’ it’s fur out West and that your uncle put a lot of money into it and he can’t git it out.”

      “Why not?”

      “’Cause it’s busted, I reckon.”

      “The mine’s ‘busted’” repeated the puzzled Ruth.

      “Yes. Or so I s’pect. I’ll tell ye how it come about. The feller come along here not long after you went to school last Fall, Ruthie.”

      “What fellow?” asked Ruth, trying to get at the meat in the nut, for Aunt Alvirah was very discursive.

      “Now, you lemme tell it my own way, Ruthie,” admonished the old woman. “You would better,” and the girl laughed, and nodded. “It was one day when I was sweepin’ the sittin’ room–ye know, what Mercy Curtis had for her bedroom while she was out here last Summer.”

      Ruth nodded again encouragingly, and the little old woman went on in her usual rambling way:

      “I was a-sweepin’, as I say, and Jabez come by and put his head in at the winder. ‘That’s too hard for ye, Alviry,’ says he. ‘Let the dust be–it ain’t eatin’ nothin’.’ Jest like a man, ye know!

      “‘Well,’ says I, ‘if I didn’t sweep onc’t in a while, Jabez, we’d be wadin’ to our boot-tops in dirt.’ Like that, ye know, Ruthie. And he says, ‘They hev things nowadays for suckin’ up the dirt, instead of kickin’ it up that-a-way,’ and with that a voice says right in the yard, ‘You’re right there, Mister. An’ I got one of ’em here to sell ye.’

      “There was a young feller in the yard with a funny lookin’ rig-a-ma-jig in his hand, and his hat on the back of his head, and lookin’ jest as busy as a toad that’s swallered a hornet. My! you wouldn’t think that feller had a minnit ter stay, the way he acted. Scurcely had time to sell Jabez one of them ‘Vac-o-jacs,’ as he called ’em.”

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