Ruth Fielding at Snow Camp | Page 5

into his very bones. They fairly dragged him between
them for the last few yards, and burst into Aunt Alvirah's kitchen in a
manner "fit to throw one into a conniption!" as that good lady declared.
"Oh, my back, and oh, my bones!" she groaned, getting up quickly
from her rocking chair by the window, where she had been knitting.
"For the good land of mercy! what is this?"
All three of the friends began to tell her together. But the little old
woman with the bent back and rheumatic limbs understood one thing, if
she made nothing else out of the general gabble. The strange boy had
been in the water, and his need was urgent.
"Bring him right in here, Tommy," she commanded, hobbling into Mr.
Potter's bedroom, which was 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