Ruth Fielding at Snow Camp | Page 8

upstairs."
"Well?" grunted Mr. Potter.
"Before bedtime I'll make him up a couch in here near the fire and put
your bed straight for you."
"Young vagabond!" grunted Mr. Potter. "Don't know who he is. May
rob us before morning. Perhaps he come here for just that purpose."

"That's not possible, Uncle," said Ruth, laughing. She told him the
story of their adventure with the bull and Fred Hatfield's appearance.
Yet all the time she looked worried herself. There was something
troubling the girl of the Red Mill.
Ruth took the tray into the bedroom with the supper that Aunt Alvirah
had prepared. There was a flaming red spot in the center of each of the
boy's pallid cheeks, and his eyes were still bright. He had no little fever
after the chill of his plunge into the creek. But the fever might have
been as much from a mental as a physical cause.
It was on Ruth's lips to ask the boy certain questions. That newspaper
clipping fairly burned in the bosom of her frock. But his suppressed
excitement warned her to be silent.
He was hungry still. It was plain that he had been without proper food
for some time. But in the midst of his appreciation of the meal he asked
Ruth, suddenly:
"Wasn't there anything in that wallet when you gave it to that man,
Miss?"
"No," she replied, truthfully enough.
"No. He didn't say there was," muttered the boy, and said not another
word.
Ruth watched him eat. He did not raise his light eyes to her. The color
faded out of his cheeks. She knew that it was actual starvation that kept
him eating; but he was greatly troubled in his mind. She went back to
her own supper, and remained very quiet all through the evening.
Later Aunt Alvirah made up the couch with plenty of blankets and
thick, downy "comforters," and when Ruth had gone to bed the boy
came out into the kitchen and left Uncle Jabez free to seek his own
repose. But though the whole house slept, Ruth could not--at first. Long
after it was still, and she knew Aunt Alvirah was asleep and Uncle
Jabez was snoring, Ruth arose, slipped on a warm wrapper and her

slippers, and squeezing something tightly between her fingers, crept
down the stairs to the kitchen door. She unlatched it softly and let it
swing open a couple of inches.
There was a stir within. She waited, holding her breath. She heard the
couch creak. Then came the sound of a shuffling step.
The moonlight lay in a broad band under the front window. Into this
radiance moved the figure of the vagabond boy, shrouded in a blanket.
He came to the table and he felt around until he found the wallet. He
had doubtless marked it lying there by the window before Aunt Alvirah
had put the lamp out and left him.
He seized the wallet and opened it wide. He shook it over the table.
Then Ruth heard him groan:
"It's gone! it's gone!"
He stood there, shaking, and dropped the leather case unnoticed. For
half a minute he stood there, uncertain and--Ruth thought--sobbing
softly. Then the boy approached the garments hung upon the chairs
about the stove, wherein the coal fire was banked for the night.
He stopped before he touched his underclothing. All these garments
were well dried by this time; but Aunt Alvirah had wished them left
there to be warm when he put them on in the morning. Ruth knew
exactly what Fred Hatfield had in his mind. The vagabond boy was
determined to dress quietly and secretly leave the miller's house.
But when Master Fred touched the first garment Ruth rattled the door
latch ever so lightly. Fred stopped and turned fearfully in that direction.
His lips parted. She could see that he was panting with fear.
Ruth rattled the latch again. He ran back to his couch and plunged into
the comforters with a gasp. Ruth pulled the door quietly to and stood
there, shivering in the dark, wondering what to do. She knew that the
boy had it in his mind to escape. She did not wish to arouse Uncle
Jabez. Nor did she wish the strange boy to depart so secretly.

Mr. Cameron expected to find him here when he came in the morning,
she was sure. Although Mr. Cameron only supposed him an ordinary
runaway, and perhaps wished to advise him to return to his mother,
Ruth knew well that Fred Hatfield's was no ordinary case of
vagabondage.
Ruth hesitated on the stairs for some minutes. Uncle Jabez snored.
There was no further movement from the boy on the couch.
She was growing very cold. Ruth could not remain there on the stairs to
guard