Ruth Fielding at Snow Camp | Page 5

the nearest to the kitchen, and thereby the warmest. "I don't know what Jabez will say, but that child's got to git a-twixt blankets right away. It's a mercy if he ain't got his death."
They drew off the stranger's outer clothing, and then Aunt Alviry left Tom to help him further disrobe and roll up in the blankets on Mr. Potter's bed. Meantime the old woman filled a stone water-bottle with boiling water, to put at his feet, and made a great bowl of "composition" for him to drink down as soon as it was cool enough for him to swallow.
Ruth wrung out the boy's wet garments and hung them to dry around the stove, where they began immediately to steam. As she had noticed before, the stranger's clothing was well worn. He had no overcoat-- only a thick jacket. All his clothing was of the cheapest quality.
Suddenly Helen exclaimed: "What's that you've dropped out of his vest, Ruthie? A wallet?"
It was an old leather note-case. There appeared to be little in it when Ruth picked it up, for it was very flat. Certainly there was no money in it. Nor did there seem to be anything in it that would identify its owner. However, as Ruth carried it to the window she found a newspaper clipping tucked into one compartment, and, as it was damp, too, she took this out, unfolded it, and laid it carefully on the window sill to dry. But when she looked further, she saw inside the main compartment of the wallet a name and address stenciled, It was:
JONAS HATFIELD
SCARBORO, N. Y.
"Sec, Helen," she said to her chum. "Maybe this is his name--Jonas Hatfield."
"And Scarboro, New York!" gasped Helen, suddenly. "Why, Ruthie!"
"What's the matter?" returned Ruth, in surprise.
"What a coincidence!"
"What is a coincidence?" demanded Ruth, still greatly amazed by her chum's excitement.
"Why this boy--if this is his wallet and that is his name and address--comes from right about where we are going to-morrow. Scarboro is the nearest railroad station to Snow Camp. What do you think of that?"
Before Ruth could reply, the sound of an automobile horn was heard outside, and both girls ran to the door. The Cameron automobile was just coming down the hill from the direction of Cheslow, and in a minute it stopped before the door of the Potter farmhouse.
CHAPTER III
THE NEWSPAPER CLIPPING
The Red Mill was a grist mill, and Mr. Jabez Potter made wheat-flour, buckwheat, cornmeal, or ground any grist that was brought to him. Standing on a commanding knoll beside the Lumano River, it was very picturesquely situated, and the rambling old farmhouse connected with it was a very homey-looking place indeed.
The automobile had stopped at the roadside before the kitchen door, and Mr. Cameron alighted and started immediately up the straight path to the porch. He was a round, jolly, red-faced man, who was forever thinking of some surprise with which to please his boy and girl, and seldom refused any request they might make of him. This plan of taking a party of young folk into the backwoods for a couple of weeks was entirely to amuse Tom and Helen. Personally, the dry-goods merchant did not much care for such an outing.
He came stamping up the steps and burst into the kitchen in a jolly way, and Helen ran to him with a kiss.
"Hullo I what's all this?" he demanded, his black eyes taking in the grove of airing garments around the stove. "Tom been in the river? No! Those aren't Tom's duds, I'll be switched if they are!"
"No, no," cried Helen. "It's another boy."
And here Tom himself appeared from the bedroom.
"I thought Tom could keep out of the river when the ice was four inches thick--eh, son?" laughed Mr. Cameron.
His children began to tell him, both together, of the adventure with the bull and the mysterious appearance of the strange boy.
"Aye, aye!" he said. "And Ruth Fielding was in it, of course--and did her part in extricating you all from the mess, too, I'll be bound! Whatever would we do without Ruth?" and he smiled and shook hands with the miller's niece.
"I guess we were all equally scared. But it certainly was my fault that the old bull bunted the hollow stump into the creek. So this boy can thank me for getting him such a ducking," laughed Ruth.
"And who is he? Where does he come from?"
Ruth showed Mr. Cameron the stencil on the inside of the wallet.
"Isn't that funny, Father?" cried Helen. "Right where we are going-- Scarboro."
"If the wallet is his," muttered Mr. Cameron.
"What do you mean, sir?" questioned Ruth, quickly. "Do you think he is a bad boy--that he has taken the wallet----"
"Now, now!" exclaimed Mr. Cameron, smiling at her again. "Don't jump at conclusions, Mistress Ruth Fielding. I have no suspicion regarding