Ruth Fielding and the Gypsies | Page 9

upon him approvingly.
"I guess she is!" she agreed. "There isn't a girl at Briarwood Hall that
will be her match in anything--now that Madge Steele has gotten
through. Ruth is going to be head of the senior class before we
graduate--you see."
"She'll have to hustle some to beat little Mercy Curtis," grinned Tom.
"There's a sharp suffragette for you!"
Helen laughed. "That's right. But, unfortunately for Mercy, Mrs.
Tellingham considers other work beside our books in grading us. Oh,
Tommy! we're going to have a dandy time this coming year at school."
"You have my best wishes," returned her brother, with a slightly
clouded face. "Bobbins and Busy Izzy and I expect to be drilled like
everything, when we get back to Seven Oaks. Professor Darly is a
terror."
Ruth came out with her bag then, and in the doorway behind her
appeared the little, stooped figure of Aunt Alvirah. The Camerons
waved their hands and shouted greetings to her.
"Take good keer of my pretty, Master Tom," shrilled the old lady,
hobbling out into the yard. "Oh, my back! and oh, my bones!"
"We'll handle her as if she were made of glass," declared Tom,
laughing. "Hop in, Ruthie!"
"Good-bye, Aunt Alvirah!" cried the girl of the Red Mill, clasping the
little old lady around the neck and kissing her. Then she waved her
hand to Uncle Jabez, who appeared in the mill doorway, and he nodded

grimly, as the car started.
Ben appeared at a window and bashfully nodded to the departing
pleasure party. The car quickly passed the end of the Cheslow road and
sped up the riverside. These lowlands beyond the Red Mill had once
been covered by a great flood, and the three friends would never forget
their race with the freshet from Culm Falls, at the time the Minturn
Dam burst.
"But we're bound far, far above the dam this time," said Tom. "Fred
Larkin lives farther than that--beyond the gorge between the hills, and
at the foot of the first pond. We'll get there long before dark unless
something happens to this old mill I'm driving."
"There! Tommy's harping on his pet trouble," laughed Helen. "Father
won't let us use the new car to go scooting about the country alone in,
and Tommy thinks he is abused."
"Well! that 'six' is just eating its head off in the garage," grumbled the
boy.
"Just as though it were a horse!" chuckled Ruth.
"You wait! I bet something happens on this trip, because of this old
heap of scrap iron that pa calls a car."
"Goodness me!" exclaimed Helen, with some exasperation. "Don't you
dare have a breakdown in the hills, Tom! I should be frightened. It's so
wild up there beyond Loon Lake."
"You needn't blame me," returned her twin. "I shall do my best."
"And so will the auto--I have no doubt," added Ruth, laughingly.
"Cheer up, Helen, dear----"
"I know the rest of it!" interrupted her chum. "'The worst is yet to
come!' I--hope--not!"
Ruth Fielding would allow no worrying or criticism in this event. They

were out for a good time, and she at once proceeded to cheer up the
twins, and laugh at their fears, and interest them in other things.
They crossed the river at Culm Falls--a beautiful spot--and it was
beyond the bridge, as the car was mounting the first long rise, that the
party of adventurers found their first incident of moment.
Here and there were clearings in the forest upon the right side of the
road (on the other side the hill fell abruptly to the river), and little farms.
As the party came in sight of one of these farms, a great cry arose from
the dooryard. The poultry was soundly disturbed--squawking, cackling,
shrieking their protests noisily--while the deep baying of a dog rose
savagely above the general turmoil.
"Something doing there!" quoth Tom Cameron, slowing down.
"A chicken hawk, perhaps?" suggested Ruth.
A woman was screaming admonition or advice; occasionally the
gruffer voice of a man added to the turmoil. But the dog's barking was
the loudest sound.
Suddenly, from around the corner of the barn, appeared a figure wildly
running. It was neither the farmer, nor his wife--that was sure.
"Tramp!" exclaimed Tom, reaching for the starting lever again.
At that moment Helen shrieked. After the running man appeared a
hound. He had broken his leash, and a more savage brute it would be
difficult to imagine. He was following the runner with great leaps, and
when the fugitive vaulted the roadside fence, the dog crashed through
the rails, tearing down a length of them, and scrambling in the dusty
road in an endeavor to get on the trail of the man again.
Only, it was not a man; it was a boy!