Then Marched the Brave | Page 8

pass this way again. Lightning and such happenings do not strike twice in the same spot."
Ruth smiled gently. "I do not think Andy walks as lame as he did," she mused, watching the boy disappearing down a woody path.
"He is always on the go," Janie broke in. "He practices walking without his crutch more than I think wise; but one can do little with men-folk!" Janie tossed her head proudly. Andy was a growing delight to her.
"It may do him good," Ruth added; "he looks stronger and--and gladder."
"He has gone beyond me," the mother sighed. "I--I begin to know, lass, the happy feeling a mother has when her heart aches with loneliness and--and pride! What ails you, lass?" For Ruth had started and given a short cry.
"Why--why--" laughed the girl, "I am thinking my eyes are playing me false. I was watching Andy up the path, and I saw him as clear as I see you this minute--and then he was gone!"
"Do not get flighty, Ruth." Janie came close, however, and peered up the path. "You and Andy will drive me daft. The path is a straight, clean one; had Andy been on it, he would still be in sight. I'm thinking he turned before he came to the brook bed. You did not notice, but your thoughts kept agoing on."
"Perhaps," nodded Ruth, but Janie knew she was unconvinced.
On her way home soon after, Ruth began to ponder. Once clear of Janie's observant eye, the girl turned back through the shrubbery, and ran to the spot where she had last seen Andy. All was as silent as a breathless summer day could make it. There was no side-path; no broken bushes.
"He was here," breathed the girl, "and he disappeared like a flash!"
Then she knelt down and tried to trace footprints in the mossy earth. "Ah!" she smiled, for there was a crushed space at the edge of a brambly cluster of bushes. She quietly drew aside the branches, and a look of wonder grew in the bright eyes. So cunningly concealed, that even her native-bred keenness might never have espied it, lay a path, and among the bushes, Andy's crutch! Should she follow? In the old days Ruth would not have paused. But these were not play-days; Andy might be upon grave business. Reverently she drew back, and replaced the disorder she had caused among the parted leaves. Suddenly a step startled her. She turned sharply. Up the path came a British soldier, whistling a gay tune and eyeing her boldly.
More than once had Ruth encountered these most ungallant gentlemen, and she was alert at resenting any familiarity, but a fear grew in her heart now. Andy's path must not be discovered! She must do her part.
"Good-day, my pretty lass!" The man halted. Under ordinary circumstances Ruth would have taken to her fleet feet at this, but Andy might return too soon, and emerge while yet the enemy could discover him.
"Berrying?" grinned the fellow; "August is early for berries, is it not? The man was suspicious, perhaps, and Ruth was on guard.
"For some kinds," she answered, lightly.
"What kind are you hunting?"
"One that you British do not know," she replied; "it's a kind that grows only in America and thrives upon freedom."
The soldier leered unpleasantly. "Come, I will help you hunt," he cried; "if we find a berry I cannot name, you may ask what reward you choose, and if I succeed then will I take a kiss from your red lips, eh, my girl?"
Ruth darted an angry look upward. If they hunted, the cane would be discovered, and yet if she refused--well, she must act quickly.
"Is it a bargain?"
"Yes;" the word came bravely from a trembling courage.
[Illustration: "'GOOD DAY, MY PRETTY LASS.'"]
The two knelt and began the search. Ruth pressed the bushes so as to cover Andy's cane, but as her keen eyes fell upon the spot where it had been, to her surprise and joy, she saw that it was gone!
A cry broke from her, for, as she realized that that danger was past, she saw, near at hand, a plant so rare even to her woodland eyes, that it was precious. Thanks to her learned father, she knew its name, and the spray of waxen berries was her salvation.
"See!" she cried, "you have brought good luck. 'Tis a rare find. Now I pray you, sir, name the berry I hold in my hand."
The man was searching the underbrush, and turned half angrily. "What have you?" he snarled. Ruth knew that Andy was near, but no breath was heard.
"Name the berry, sir, or I claim my advantage!" Ruth stood upright with the spray in her hand.
"Wintergreen," ventured the fellow, wildly.
"Wrong!" sneered Ruth, "and there is no second trial."
"How can you prove me wrong?" jeered the man, coming insolently close;