Ruth Fielding at Lighthouse Point Part 4

"Yes, sir--and it was wet," Tom told him, grinning.

"I suppose she was trying to find that out," returned Dr. Davison.

"Did you get anything else out of it, Ruthie Fielding?"

"A girl," replied Ruth, rather tartly.

"Oh-ho! Well, _that_ was something," began the doctor, when Ruth stopped him with an abrupt question:

"Why do you say that they need me at home, sir?"

"Why--honey--they're always glad to have you there, I reckon," said the doctor, slowly. "Uncle Jabez and Aunt Alviry will both be glad to see you----"

"There's trouble, sir; what is it?" asked Ruth, gravely, leaning out of the car so as to speak into his ear. "There _is_ trouble; isn't there? What is it?"

"I don't know that I can exactly tell you, Ruthie," he replied, with gravity. "But it's there. You'll see it."

"Aunt Alviry----"

"Is all right."

"Then it's Uncle Jabez?"

"Yes, my child. It is Uncle Jabez. What it is you will have to find out, I am afraid, for _I_ have not been able to," said the doctor, in a whisper. "Maybe it is given to you, my dear, to straighten out the tangles at the Red Mill."

He invited them all down to sample Old Mammy's cakes and lemonade the first pleasant afternoon, and then the car sped on. But Ruth was silent.

What she might find at the Red Mill troubled her.

CHAPTER V

THE TINTACKER MINE

It was too late to more than see the outlines of the mill and connecting buildings as the car rushed down the hill toward the river road, between which and the river itself, and standing on a knoll, the Red Mill was. Ruth could imagine just how it looked--all in dull red paint and clean white tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. Miserly as Jabez Potter was about many things, he always kept his property in excellent shape, and the mill and farmhouse, with the adjoining outbuildings, were painted every Spring.

A lamp burned in the kitchen; but all else was dark about the place.

"Don't look very lively, Ruth," said Tom. "I don't believe they expect you."

But even as he spoke the door opened, and a broad beam of yellow lamplight shot out across the porch and down the path. A little, bent figure was silhouetted in the glow.

"There's Aunt Alviry!" cried Ruth, in delight. "I know _she's_ all right."

"All excepting her back and her bones," whispered Helen. "Now, Ruthie!

don't you let anything happen to veto our trip to Heavy's seaside cottage."

"Oh! don't suggest such a thing!" cried her brother.

But Ruth ran up the path after bidding them good-night, with her heart fast beating. Dr. Davison's warning had prepared her for almost any untoward happening.

But Aunt Alvirah only looked delighted to see the girl as Ruth ran into her arms. Aunt Alvirah was a friendless old woman whose latter years would have been spent at the Cheslow Almshouse had not Jabez Potter taken her to keep house for him more than ten years before. Ill-natured people said that the miller had done this to save paying a housekeeper; but in Aunt Alvirah's opinion it was an instance of Mr. Potter's kindness of heart.

"You pretty creetur!" cried Aunt Alvirah, hugging Ruth close to her.

"And how you've growed! What a smart girl you are getting to be! Deary, deary me! how I have longed for you to git back, Ruthie. Come in! Come in! Oh, my back and oh, my bones!" she complained, under her breath, as she hobbled into the house.

"How's the rheumatics, Aunty?" asked Ruth.

"Just the same, deary. Up one day, and down the next. Allus will be so, I reckon. I'd be too proud to live if I didn't have my aches and pains--Oh, my back and oh, my bones!" as she lowered herself into her rocker.

"Where's Uncle Jabez?" cried Ruth.

"Sh!" admonished Aunt Alvirah. "Don't holler, child. You'll disturb him."

"Not _sick?_" whispered Ruth, in amazement.

"No--o. Not sick o' body, I reckon, child," returned Aunt Alvirah.

"What _is_ it, Aunt Alviry? What's the matter with him?" pursued the girl, anxiously.

"He's sick o' soul, I reckon," whispered the old woman. "Sumpin's gone wrong with him. You know how Jabez is. It's money matters."

"Oh, has he been robbed again?" cried Ruth.

"Sh! not jest like that. Not like what Jasper Parloe did to him. But it's jest as bad for Jabez, I reckon. Anyway, he takes it jest as hard as he did when his cash-box was lost that time. But you know how close-mouthed he is, Ruthie. He won't talk about it."

"About _what?_" demanded Ruth, earnestly.

Aunt Alvirah rose with difficulty from her chair and, with her usual murmured complaint of "Oh, my back and oh, my bones!" went to the door which led to the pa.s.sage. Off this pa.s.sage Uncle Jabez's room opened.

She closed the door and hobbled back to her chair, but halted before sitting down.

"I never thought to ask ye, deary," she said. "Ye must be very hungry.

Ye ain't had no supper."

"You sit right down there and keep still," said Ruth, smiling as she removed her coat. "I guess I can find something to eat."

"Well, there's cocoa. You make you a warm drink. There's plenty of pie and cake--and there's eggs and ham if you want them."

"Don't you fret about me," repeated Ruth.

"What makes you so mussed up?" demanded Aunt Alvirah, the next moment.

"Why, Ruth Fielding! have you been in the water?"

"Yes, ma'am. But you know water doesn't hurt me."

"Dear child! how reckless you are! Did you fall in the lake?"