Ruth Fielding At Sunrise Farm; What Became of the Raby Orphans

“A fine beginning for this celebration we have on hand,” declared Mr. Steele, looking ruefully at his wife. “If all that can happen with only two of those fresh air kids, as Bob calls them, on hand, what do you suppose will happen to-night when we have a dozen at Sunrise Farm?”

“Mercy!” gasped the lady. “I am trembling in my shoes – I am, indeed. But we have agreed to do it, Father, and we must carry it through.”

CHAPTER XXII – THE TERRIBLE TWINS ON THE RAMPAGE

The girls who had come to Sunrise Farm to visit at Madge Steele’s invitation, felt no little responsibility when it came to the entertainment for the fresh air orphans. As The Fox said, with her usual decision:

“Now that we’ve put Madge and her folks into this business, we’ll just have to back up their play, and make sure that the fresh airs don’t tear the place down. And that Sadie will have to keep an eye on the ‘terrible twins.’ Is that right?”

“I’ve spoken to poor Sadie,” said Ruth, with a sigh. “I am afraid that Mrs. Steele is very much worried over what may occur to-night, while the children are here. We’ll have to be on the watch all the time.”

“I should say!” exclaimed Heavy Stone. “Let’s suggest to Mr. Steele that he rope off a place out front where he is going to have the fireworks. Some of those little rascals will want to help celebrate, the way Willie and Dickie did,” and the plump girl giggled ecstatically.

“’Twas no laughing matter, Jennie,” complained Ruth, shaking her head.

“Well, that’s all right,” Lluella broke in. “If Tom hadn’t bought the fire-crackers – and that was right against Mr. Steele’s advice – ”

“Oh, here now!” interrupted Helen, loyal to her twin. “Tom wasn’t any more to blame than Bobbins. They were just bought for a joke.”

“It was a joke all right,” Belle said, laughing. “Who’s going to pay for the damage to the cart?”

“Now, let’s not get to bickering,” urged Ruth. “What’s done, is done. We must plan now to make the celebration this afternoon and evening as easy for Mrs. Steele as possible.”

This conversation went on after luncheon, while Bob and Tom had driven down the hill with a big wagon to bring up the ten remaining orphans from Mr. Caslon’s place.

The gaily decorated wagon came in sight just about this time. Fortunately the decorations Tom and Ruth had purchased that forenoon in Darrowtown had not been destroyed when the fireworks went off in the cart.

The girls from Briarwood Hall welcomed the fresh airs cheerfully and took entire charge of the six little girls. The little boys did not wish to play “girls’ games” on the lawn, and therefore Bob and his chums agreed to keep an eye on the youngsters, including the “terrible twins.”

Sadie had been drafted to assist Madge and her mother, and some of the maids, in preparing for the evening collation. Therefore the visitors were divided for the time into two bands.

The girls from the orphanage were quiet enough and well behaved when separated from their boy friends. Indeed, on the lawn and under the big tent Mr. Steele had had erected, the celebration of a “safe and sane” Fourth went on in a most commendable way.

It was a very hot afternoon, and after indulging in a ball game in the field behind the stables, Bobbins, in a thoughtless moment, suggested a swim. Half a mile away there was a pond in a hollow. The boys had been there almost every day for a dip, and Bob’s suggestion was hailed – even by the usually thoughtful Tom Cameron – with satisfaction.

“What about the kids?” demanded Ralph Tingley.

“Let them come along,” said Bobbins.

“Sure,” urged Busy Izzy. “What harm can come to them? We’ll keep our eyes on them.”

The twins and their small chums from the orphanage were eager to go to the pond, too, and so expressed themselves. The half-mile walk through the hot sun did not make them quail. They were proud to be allowed to accompany the bigger boys to the swimming hole.

The little fellows raced along in their bare feet behind the bigger boys and were pleased enough, until they reached the pond and learned that they would only be allowed to go in wading, while the others slipped into their bathing trunks and “went in all over.”

“No! you can’t go in,” declared Bobbins, who put his foot down with decision, having his own small brothers in mind. (They had been left behind, by the way, to be dressed for the evening.)

“Say! the water won’t wet us no more’n it does you – will it, Dickie?” demanded the talkative twin.

“Nope,” agreed his brother.

“Now, you kids keep your clothes on,” said Bob, threateningly. “And don’t wade more than to your knees. If you get your overalls wet, you’ll hear about it. You know Mrs. Caslon fixed you all up for the afternoon and told you to keep clean.”

The smaller chaps were unhappy. That was plain. They paddled their dusty feet in the water for a while, but the sight of the older lads diving and swimming and having such a good time in the pond was a continual temptation. The active minds of the terrible twins were soon at work. Willie began to whisper to Dickie, and the latter nodded his head solemnly.

“Say!” blurted out Willie, finally, as Bob and Tom were racing past them in a boisterous game of “tag.” “We wanter go back. This ain’t no fun – is it, Dickie?”

“Nope,” said his twin.

“Go on back, if you want to. You know the path,” said Bobbins, breathlessly.

“We’re goin’, too,” said one of the other fresh airs.

“We’d rather play with the girls than stay here. Hadn’t we, Dickie?” proposed Willie Raby.

“Yep,” agreed Master Dickie, with due solemnity.

“Go on!” cried Bob. “And see you go straight back to the house. My!” he added to Tom, “but those kids are a nuisance.”

“Think we ought to let them go alone?” queried Tom, with some faint doubt on the subject. “You reckon they’ll be all right, Bobbins?”

“Great Scott! they sure know the way to the house,” said Bob. “It’s a straight path.”

But, as it happened, the twins had no idea of going straight to the house. The pond was fed by a stream that ran in from the east. The little fellows had seen this, and Willie’s idea was to circle around through the woods and find that stream. There they could go in bathing like the bigger boys, “and nobody would ever know.”

“Our heads will be wet,” objected one of the orphans.

“Gee!” said Willie Raby, “don’t let’s wet our heads. We ain’t got to – have we?”

“Nope,” said his brother, promptly.

There was some doubt, still, in the minds of the other boys.

“What you goin’ to say to those folks up to the big house?” demanded one of the fresh airs.

“Ain’t goin’ to say nothin’,” declared the bold Willie. “Cause why? they ain’t goin’ to know – ‘nless you fellers snitch.”

“Aw, who’s goin’ to snitch?” cried the objector, angered at once by the accusation of the worst crime in all the category of boyhood. “We ain’t no tattle-tales – are we, Jim?”

“Naw. We’re as safe to hold our tongues as you an’ yer brother are, Willie Raby – so now!”

“Sure we are!” agreed the other orphans.

“Then come along,” urged the talkative twin. “Nobody’s got to know.”

“Suppose yer sister finds it out?” sneered one.

“Aw – well – she jes’ ain’t go’n’ ter,” cried Willie, exasperated. “An’ what if she does? She runned away herself – didn’t she?”

The spirit of restlessness was strong in the Raby nature, it was evident. Willie was a born leader. The others trailed after him when he left the pathway that led directly back to Sunrise Farm, and pushed into the thicker wood in the direction he believed the stream lay.

The juvenile leader of the party did not know (how should he?) that just above the pond the stream which fed it made a sharp turn. Its waters came out of a deep gorge, lying in an entirely different direction from that toward which the “terrible twins” and their chums were aiming.

The little fellows plodded on for a long time, and the sun dropped suddenly behind the hills to the westward, and there they were – quite surprisingly to themselves – in a strange and fast-darkening forest.

CHAPTER XXIII – LOST

The girl visitors from Briarwood Hall did all they could to help the mistress of Sunrise Farm and Madge prepare for the evening festivities, and not alone in employing the attention of the six little girls from the orphanage.

There were the decorations to arrange, and the paper lanterns to hang, and the long tables on the porch to prepare for the supper. Twelve extra, hungry little mouths to feed was, of itself, a fact of no small importance.

When the wagon had come up from Caslon’s with the orphans, Mrs. Steele had thought it rather a liberty on the part of the farmer’s wife because she had, with the children, sent a great hamper of cakes, which she (Mrs. Caslon) herself had baked the day before.

But the cakes were so good, and already the children were so hungry, that the worried mistress of the big farm was thankful that these supplies were in her pantry.

“When the boys come back from the pond, I expect they will be ravenous, too,” sighed the good lady. “Do you think, Madge, that there will be enough ham and tongue sandwiches for supper? I am sure of the cream and cake – thanks to that good old woman (though I hope your father won’t hear me say it). But that is to be served after the fireworks. They will want something hearty at suppertime – and goodness me, Madge! It is five o’clock now. Those boys should be back from their swim.”

As for Mr. Steele, he was immensely satisfied with the celebration of the day so far. To tell the truth, he had very little to do with the work of getting ready for the orphans’ entertainment. Aside from the explosion of the fireworks in the cart, the occasion had been a perfectly “safe and sane” celebration of a holiday that he usually looked forward to with no little dread.

Before anybody really began to worry over their delay, the boys came into view. They had had a refreshing swim and announced the state of their appetites the moment they joined the girls at the big tent.

“Yes, yes,” said Madge, “we know all about that, Bobbie dear. But his little tootie-wootsums must wait till hims gets his bib put on, an’ let sister see if his hannies is nice and clean. Can’t sit down to eat if hims a dirty boy,” and she rumpled her big brother’s hair, while he looked foolish enough over her “baby talk.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Madge,” said Helen, briskly. “Of course they are hungry – But where’s the rest of them?”

“The rest of what?” demanded Busy Izzy. “I guess we’re all here.”

“Say! you must be hungry,” chuckled Heavy. “Did you eat the kids?”

“What kids?” snapped Tom, in sudden alarm.

“The fresh airs, of course. The ‘terrible twins’ and their mates. My goodness!” cried Ann Hicks, “you didn’t forget and leave them down there at the pond, did you?”

The boys looked at each other for a moment. “What’s the joke?” Bobbins finally drawled.

“It’s no joke,” Ruth said, quickly. “You don’t mean to say that you forgot those little boys?”

“Now, stop that, Ruth Fielding!” cried Isadore Phelps, very red in the face. “A joke’s a joke; but don’t push it too far. You know very well those kids came back up here more’n an hour ago.”

“They didn’t do any such thing,” cried Sadie, having heard the discussion, and now running out to the tent. “They haven’t been near the house since you big boys took them to the pond. Now, say! what d’ye know about it?”

“They’re playing a trick on us,” declared Tom, gloomily.

“Let’s hunt out in the stables, and around,” suggested Ralph Tingley, feebly.

“Maybe they went back to Caslon’s,” Isadore said, hopefully.

“We’ll find out about that pretty quick,” said Madge. “I’ll tell father and he’ll send somebody down to see if they went there.”

“Come on, boys!” exclaimed Tom, starting for the rear of the house. “Those little scamps are fooling us.”

“Suppose they have wandered away into the woods?” breathed Ruth to Helen. “Whatever shall we do?”

Sadie could not wait. She was unable to remain idle, when it was possible that the twin brothers she had so lately rejoined, were in danger. She flashed after the boys and hunted the stables, too.

Nobody there had seen the “fresh airs” since they had followed the bigger boys to the pond.

“And ye sure didn’t leave ’em down there?” demanded Sadie Raby of Tom.

“Goodness me! No!” exclaimed Tom. “They couldn’t go in swimming as we did, and so they got mad and wouldn’t stay. But they started right up this way, and we thought they were all right.”

“They might have slanted off and gone across the fields to Caslon’s,” said Bobbins, doubtfully.

“That would have taken them into the back pasture where Caslon keeps his Angoras – wouldn’t it?” demanded the much-worried young man.

“Well, you can go look for ’em with the goats,” snapped Sadie, starting off. “But me for that Caslon place. If they didn’t go there, then they are in the woods somewhere.”

She started down the hill, fleet-footed as a dog. Before Mr. Steele had stopped sputtering over the catastrophe, and bethought him to start somebody for the Caslon premises to make inquiries, Sadie came in view again, with the old, gray-mustached farmer in tow.

The serious look on Mr. Caslon’s face was enough for all those waiting at Sunrise Farm to realize that the absent children were actually lost. Tom and Bobbins had come up from the goat pasture without having seen, or heard, the six little fellows.

“I forgot to tell ye,” said Caslon, seriously, “that ye had to keep one eye at least on them ‘terrible twins’ all the time. We locked ’em into their bedroom at night. No knowin’ when or where they’re likely to break out. But I reckoned this here sister of theirs would keep ’em close to her – ”

“Well!” snapped Sadie Raby, eyeing Tom and Bobbins with much disfavor, “I thought that a bunch of big fellers like them could look after half a dozen little mites.”

Mr. Steele had come forward slowly; the fact that the six orphan boys really seemed to be lost, was an occasion to break down even his barrier of dislike for the neighbor. Besides, Mr. Caslon ignored any difference there might be between them in a most generous manner.

“I blame myself, Neighbor Steele – I sure do,” Mr. Caslon said, before the owner of Sunrise Farm could speak. “I’d ought to warned you about them twins. They got bit by the runaway bug bad – that’s right.”

“Humph! a family trait – is it?” demanded Mr. Steele, rather grimly eyeing the sister of the runaways.

“I couldn’t say about that,” chuckled the farmer. “But Willie and Dickie started off twice from our place, trailin’ most of the other kids with ’em. But I caught ’em in time. Now, their sister tells me, they’ve got at least an hour and a half’s start.”

“It is getting dark – or it will soon be,” said Mr. Steele, nervously. “If they are not found before night, I shall be greatly disturbed. I feel as though I were responsible. My oldest boy, here – ”

“Now, it ain’t nobody’s fault, like enough,” interrupted Mr. Caslon, cheerfully, and seeing Bobbins’s woebegone face. “We’ll start right out and hunt for them.”

“But if it grows dark – ”

“Let me have what men you can spare, and all the lanterns around the place,” said Caslon, briskly, taking charge of the matter on the instant. “These bigger boys can help.”

“I – I can go with you, sir,” began Mr. Steele, but the farmer waved him back.

“No. You ain’t used to the woods – nor to trampin’ – like I be. And it won’t hurt your boys. You leave it to us – we’ll find ’em.”

Mrs. Steele had retired to the tent on the lawn in tears, and most of the girls were gathered about her. Sadie Raby clung to Farmer Caslon’s side, and nobody tried to call her back.

Since returning from Darrowtown that morning, Ruth Fielding had divulged to Mr. Steele all she had discovered through Miss True Pettis regarding the Raby family, and about the Canadian lawyer who had once searched for Mrs. Raby and her children.

The gentleman had expressed deep interest in the matter, and while the fresh air children were being entertained during the afternoon, Mr. Steele had already set in motion an effort to learn the whereabouts of Mr. Angus MacDorough and to discover just what the property was that had been willed to the mother of the Raby orphans.

Sadie had been told nothing about this wonderful discovery as yet. Indeed, there had been no time. Sadie had been busy, with Mrs. Steele and the others, in preparing for that “safe and sane” celebration with which Mr. Steele had desired to entertain the “terrible twins” and their little companions at Sunrise Farm.

Now this sudden catastrophe had occurred. The loss of the six little boys was no small trouble. It threatened to be a tragedy.

Down there beyond the pond the mountainside was heavily timbered, and there were many dangerous ravines and sudden precipices over which a careless foot might stray.

Dusk was coming on. In the wood it would already be dark. And if the frightened children went plunging about, seeking, in terror, to escape, they might at any moment be cast into some pit where the searchers would possibly never find them.

Mr. Steele felt his responsibility gravely. He was, at best, a nervous man, and this happening assumed the very gravest outlines in his anxious mind.

“Never ought to have let them out of my own sight,” he sputtered, having Ruth for a confidant. “I might have known something extraordinary would happen. It was a crazy thing to have all those children up here, anyway.”

“Oh, dear, Mr. Steele!” cried Ruth, much worried, “that is partly my fault. I was one of those who suggested it.”

“Nonsense! nonsense, child! Nobody blames you,” returned the gentleman. “I should have put my foot down and said ‘No.’ Nobody influenced me at all. Why – why, I wanted to give the poor little kiddies a nice time. And now – see what has come of it?”

“Oh, it may be that they will be found almost at once,” cried Ruth, hopefully. “I am sure Mr. Caslon will do what he can – ”

“Caslon’s an eminently practical man – yes, indeed,” admitted Mr. Steele, and not grudgingly. “If anybody can find them, he will, I have no doubt.”

And this commendation of the neighbor whom he so disliked struck Ruth completely silent for the time being.

CHAPTER XXIV – “SO THAT’S ALL RIGHT”

“And here it is ‘ong past suppertime,” groaned Heavy; “it’s getting darker every minute, and the fireworks ought to be set off, and we can’t do a thing!”

“Who’d have the heart to eat, with those children wandering out there in the woods?” snapped Mercy Curtis.

“What’s heart got to do with eating?” grumbled the plump girl. “And I was thinking quite as much of the little girls here as I was of myself. Why! here is one of the poor kiddies asleep, I do declare.”

The party in the big tent was pretty solemn. Even the six little girls from the orphanage could not play, or laugh, under the present circumstances. And, in addition, it looked as though all the fun for the evening would be spoiled.

The searching party had been gone an hour. Those remaining behind had seen the twinkling lanterns trail away over the edge of the hill and disappear. Now all they could see from the tent were the stars, and the fireflies, with now and then a rocket soaring heavenward from some distant farm, or hamlet, where the Glorious Fourth was being fittingly celebrated.

Madge and Helen came out with a hamper of sandwiches and there was lemonade, but not even the little folk ate with an appetite. The day which, at Sunrise Farm, was planned to be so memorable, threatened now to be remembered for a very unhappy cause.

Down in the wood lot that extended from below some of Mr. Steele’s hayfields clear into the next township, the little party of searchers, led by old Mr. Caslon, had separated into parties of two each, to comb the wilderness.

None of the men knew the wood as did Mr. Caslon, and of course the boys and Sadie (who had refused to go back) were quite unfamiliar with it.

“Don’t go out of sight of the flash of each other’s lanterns,” advised the farmer.

And by sticking to this rule it was not likely that any of the sorely troubled searchers would, themselves, be lost. As they floundered through the thick undergrowth, they shouted, now and then, as loudly as they could. But nothing but the echoes, and the startled nightbirds, replied.

Again and again they called for the lost boys by name. Sadie’s shrill voice carried as far as anybody’s, without doubt, and her crying for “Willie” and “Dickie” should have brought those delinquents to light, had they heard her.

Sadie stuck close to Mr. Caslon, as he told her to. But the way through the brush was harder for the girl than for the rest of them. Thick mats of greenbriars halted them. They were torn, and scratched, and stung by the vegetable pests; yet Sadie made no complaint.

As for the mosquitoes and other stinging insects – well, they were out on this night, it seemed, in full force. They buzzed around the heads of the searchers in clouds, attracted by the lanterns. Above, in the trees, complaining owls hooted their objections to the searchers’ presence in the forest. The whip-poor-wills reiterated their determination from dead limbs or rotting fence posts. And in the wet places the deep-voiced frogs gave tongue in many minor keys.

“Oh, dear!” sighed Sadie to the farmer, “the little fellers will be scared half to death when they hear all these critters.”

“And how about you?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m used to ’em. Why, I’ve slept out in places as bad as this more’n one night. But Willie and Dickie ain’t used to it.”

One end of the line of searchers touched the pond. They shouted that information to the others, and then they all pushed on. It was in the mind of all that, perhaps, the children had circled back to the pond.

But their shouts brought no hoped-for reply, although they echoed across the open water, and were answered eerily from the farther shore.

There were six couples; therefore the line extended for a long way into the wood, and swept a wide area. They marched on, bursting through the vines and climbers, searching thick patches of jungle, and often shouting in chorus till the wood rang again.

Tom and one of the stablemen, who were at the lower end of the line, finally came to the mouth of that gorge out of which the brook sprang. To the east of this opening lay a considerable valley and it was decided to search this vale thoroughly before following the stream higher.

It was well they did so, for half a mile farther on, Tom and his companion made a discovery. They came upon the tall, blasted trunk of a huge old tree that had a great hollow at its foot. This hollow was blinded by a growth of vines and brush, yet as Tom flashed his lantern upon it, it seemed to him as though the vines had been disturbed.

“It may be the lair of some animal, sir,” suggested the stableman, as Tom attempted to peer in.

“Nothing much more dangerous than foxes in these woods now, I am told,” returned the boy. “And this is not a fox’s burrow – hello!”

His sudden, delighted shriek rang through the wood and up the hillside.

“I’ve found them! I’ve found them!” the boy repeated, and dived into the hollow tree.

His lantern showed him and the stableman the six wanderers rolled up like kittens in a nest. They opened their eyes sleepily, yawning and blinking. One began to snivel, but Willie Raby at once delivered a sharp punch to that one, saying, in grand disgust:

“Baby! Didn’t I tell you they’d come for us? They was sure to – wasn’t they, Dickie?”

“Yep,” responded that youngster, quite as cool about it as his brother.

Tom’s shouts brought the rest of the party in a hurry. Mr. Caslon hauled each “fresh air” out by the collar and stood him on his feet. When he had counted them twice over to make sure, he said:

“Well, sir! of all the young scamps that ever were born – Willie Raby! weren’t you scared?”

“Nope,” declared Willie. “Some of these other kids begun ter snivel when it got dark; but Dickie an’ me would ha’ licked ’em if they’d kep’ that up. Then we found that good place to sleep – ”

“But suppose it had been the bed of some animal?” asked Bobbins, chuckling.

“Nope,” said Willie, shaking his head. “There was spider webs all over the hole we went in at, so we knowed nobody had been there much lately. And it was a pretty good place to sleep. Only it was too warm in there at first. I couldn’t get to sleep right away.”