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THE CAMERAS WHIRRED WHILE THE BARGE PUSHED CLOSE INTOSHORE."Ruth Fielding on the St. Lawrence." Page 80]
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RUTH FIELDINGON THEST. LAWRENCE
OR
THE QUEER OLD MAN OFTHE THOUSAND ISLANDS
BYALICE B. EMERSON
Author of "Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill," "RuthFielding in the Great Northwest," "BettyGordon series," etc.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORKCUPPLES & LEON COMPANYPUBLISHERS
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BOOKS FOR GIRLS
by ALICE B. EMERSON
RUTH FIELDING SERIES12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
RUTH FIELDING OF THE RED MILLRUTH FIELDING AT BRIARWOOD HALLRUTH FIELDING AT SNOW CAMPRUTH FIELDING AT LIGHTHOUSE POINTRUTH FIELDING AT SILVER RANCHRUTH FIELDING ON CLIFF ISLANDRUTH FIELDING AT SUNRISE FARMRUTH FIELDING AND THE GYPSIESRUTH FIELDING IN MOVING PICTURESRUTH FIELDING DOWN IN DIXIERUTH FIELDING AT COLLEGERUTH FIELDING IN THE SADDLERUTH FIELDING IN THE RED CROSSRUTH FIELDING AT THE WAR FRONTRUTH FIELDING HOMEWARD BOUNDRUTH FIELDING DOWN EASTRUTH FIELDING IN THE GREAT NORTHWESTRUTH FIELDING ON THE ST. LAWRENCE
BETTY GORDON SERIES
BETTY GORDON AT BRAMBLE FARMBETTY GORDON IN WASHINGTONBETTY GORDON IN THE LAND OF OILBETTY GORDON AT BOARDING SCHOOLBETTY GORDON AT MOUNTAIN CAMP
Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York
Copyright, 1922, byCupples & Leon Company
Ruth Fielding on the St. LawrencePrinted in U. S. A.
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE I "Here Comes The Bride" 1 II A Rift In His Lute 10 III Rice And Old Shoes 18 IV Bilby 27 V Trouble In Prospect 37 VI An Abduction 45 VII Expediency 54 VIII At Chippewa Bay 63 IX A Film Mystery 73 X A Smell Of Smoke 83 XI Bilby Again 93 XII The Dance At Alexandria Bay 100 XIII The Kingdom Of Pipes 109 XIV A Demand Is Made 116 XV The Yellow Lady 124 XVI Marooned 131 XVII A Determination 140 XVIII Bilby's Trump Card 148 XIX Suspense 156 XX A Failure In Calculation 164 XXI In The Chinese Den 171 XXII The Twins' Alarm 178 XXIII Trouble Enough 186 XXIV A Letter Comes 193 XXV The Heart's Desire 201
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RUTH FIELDING ON THEST. LAWRENCE
CHAPTER I
"HERE COMES THE BRIDE"
The sudden joyous pealing of the organ could be heard upon the sidewalkbefore the stately church. As there was a broad canopy from the door tothe curb, with a carpet laid down and motor-cars standing in line, ittook no seer to proclaim that a wedding was in progress within.
Idlers halted to wait for the appearance of the wedding party, which wasabout to come forth. Some of the younger spectators ran up the steps andpeered in at the door, for there was only a lame, old, purblind sexton onguard, and he, too, seemed vastly interested in what was going on inside.
One glance down the main aisle of the great edifice revealed a much moreelaborate scheme of decoration than usually appears at a church wedding.Its main effect was the intertwining of French and American flags, and asthe bridal party turned from the altar the horizon blue uniform of thesoldier-bridegroom was a patch of vivid color that could not be mistaken.
The bride in her white gown and veil and wreath made, it may be, even amore prominent picture than did her husband. But that was only to beexpected perhaps, for a girl on her wedding day, and in the church, isusually the focus of all eyes.
It must be confessed (even her dearest friends must confess it) there wasanother reason why she who, only a moment before had been Jennie Stone,quite filled the public eye.
In the first place, Jennie was a well-built girl, and upon her well-builtframe there had always been since her childhood days a superabundance offlesh. And getting married had not changed sweet, jolly, funny JennieStone in the least! Instead of coming back down the aisle of the churchwith modestly downcast eyes (which is usually a hypocritical display ofemotion), Jennie smiled at her friends and beamed proudly upon the figurein horizon blue at her side.
And she might well be proud of Major Henri Marchand, for he was in thevery best sense a soldier and a gentleman, and there gleamed a bit ofcolor on his breast that had been pinned there by Marshal Foch's ownhand. As he was still in active service and had only been given leave tocome to America for his bride, this might be considered the last militarywedding that the old church was likely to see--perhaps for many years.
The groom's French uniform, and even the olive gray of the best man andtwo or three other men in the party at the altar, had lent their touch ofcolor to the picture. But it was the bride's attendants, however, thatmade the party so well worth looking at--especially to the greater numberof young women and girls in the pews.
Jennie Stone was a popular girl, and had friends galore. Many of thosegirl friends had come from a distance to see their beloved "Heavy Stone"(as she had been nicknamed in the old Briarwood Hall days) married to theman she had met in France while she was engaged in those useful andhelpful occupations into which so many American girls entered during thewar.
Besides, Jennie was the first of the old Briarwood Hall set to bemarried, and this was bound to be a gala occasion. This was no "weepy"wedding, but a time of joy. And the bridal party coming down the aislemade as brilliant a picture as had ever been seen in the old church.
The maid of honor in pink was as refreshing to look upon as a bouquet ofarbutus. She had always been a pretty, winsome girl. Now she wasdeveloping into a handsome young woman, as all Ruth Fielding's friendsdeclared. In her present filmy costume with its flowery picture hat thegirl of the Red Mill had never looked better.
The young man at her side in the uniform of an American captain with hisblack curls and dark face, made a splendid foil for Ruth's beauty. Behindhim walked his twin sister--as like Tom Cameron as another pea in apod--and Ann Hicks, both in rose-color, completing a color scheme worthyof the taste of whoever had originated it. For the sheer beauty of thepicture, this wedding would long be remembered.
In the very last pew, on the aisle, sat an eager old colored woman--oneof those typical "mammies" now so seldom seen--in an old-fashioned bonnetand shawl. She was of a bulbous figure, and her dark face shone withperspiration and delight as she stared at the coming bride and groom.
Jennie saw Mammy Rose (the old woman had been a dependent of the Stonefamily for years), and had the occasion been much more serious thanJennie thought it, the plump girl would surely have smiled at Mammy Rose.
The old woman bobbed up, making an old-time genuflection. She thrust outa neat, paper-covered parcel which she had held carefully in hercapacious lap all through the ceremony.
"Miss Janie--ma blessed baby!" she whispered. "I is suttenly glad to seedis here day! Heaven is a-smilin' on yo'. And here is one o' ma birfdaycakes yo' liked so mighty well. Mammy Rose done make it for her chile--delas' she ever will ma
ke yo' now yo' is goin' to foreign paths."
Another girl than Jennie might have been confused, or even angered, bythe interruption of the procession. But Jennie could be nothing if notkind. Her own hands were filled with her bouquet--it was enormous. Shestopped, however, before the old woman.
"As thoughtful for me as ever, Mammy Rose, aren't you?" she saidpleasantly. "And you know all my little failings. Henri," she said to herhusband.
But the courtly young Frenchman had quite as great a sense of _noblesseoblige_ as his bride. He bowed to the black woman as though she was thehighest lady in the land and accepted the parcel, tied clumsily with babyribbon by the gnarled fingers of Mammy Rose.
They moved on and the smiling, yet tearful, old woman, sank back into herseat. If there was anything needed to make this a perfect occasion, itwas this little incident. The bride and groom came out into the smilingsunshine with sunshine in their hearts as well as on their faces.
"I knew," whispered Helen Cameron to Ann Hicks, who stalked beside her inrather a mannish way, "that Heavy Stone could not even be married withoutsomething ridiculous happening."
"'Ridiculous'?" repeated the Western girl, with something like a catch inher throat.
"Well, it _might_ have been ridiculous," admitted Helen. "Only, afterall, Jennie is real--and so is Major Marchand. You couldn't feaze him,not even if a bomb had been dropped in the church vestibule."
They were crowding into the motor-cars then, and merrily the weddingparty sped back to the big house on Madison Avenue, which had beengarnished for the occasion with the same taste that marked thecolor-scheme of the bride's attendants. The canopied steps and walk, thefootmen in line to receive the party, and the banked flowers in thereception hall were all impressive.
"My!" whispered the irrepressible Jennie to Henri, "I feel like a primadonna."
"You are," was his prompt and earnest agreement.
They trooped in at once to the breakfast table. The spacious room waswreathed with smilax and other vines--even to the great chandelier. Thelatter was so hidden by the decorations that it seemed overladen, and TomCameron, who had a quick eye, mentioned it to Ruth.
"Wonder if those fellows braced that thing with wires? Florists sometimeshave more sense of art than common sense."
"Hush, Tom! _Nothing_ can happen to spoil this occasion. Isn't itwonderful?"
But Tom Cameron looked at her rather gloomily. He shook his headslightly.
"I feel like one of those pictures of the starving children in Armenia.I'm standing on the outside, looking in."
It is true that Ruth Fielding flushed, but she refused to make reply. Amoment later, when Tom realized how the seating of the party had beenarranged, his countenance showed even deeper gloom.
As best man Tom was directed to Jennie's right hand. On the other side ofHenri, Ruth was seated, and that placed her across the wide table fromTom Cameron.
The smiling maid of honor was well worth looking at, and Tom Cameronshould have been content to focus his eyes upon her whenever he raisedthem from his plate; but for a particular reason he was not at allpleased.
This particular reason was the seating of another figure in militaryuniform next to Ruth on her other side. This was a tall, pink-cheeked,well set-up youth looking as though, like Tom, he had seen militaryservice, and with an abundance of light hair above his broad brow. Atschool Chessleigh Copley had been nicknamed "Lasses" because of that cropof hair.
He entered into conversation with Ruth at once, and he found her sointeresting (or she found him so interesting) that Ruth had littleattention to give to her _vis-a-vis_ across the table.
The latter's countenance grew heavier and heavier, his dark brows drawingtogether and his black eyes smouldering.
If anybody noticed this change in Tom's countenance it was his twinsister, sitting on Ruth's side of the table. And perhaps she understoodher brother's mood. Now and then her own eyes flashed something besidescuriosity along the table on her side at Ruth and Chess Copley, soevidently lost in each other's companionship.
But it was a gay party. How could it be otherwise with Jennie at thetable? And everybody was bound to second the gaiety of the bride. Thegroom's pride in Jennie was so open, yet so very courteously expressed,that half the girls there envied Jennie her possession of Henri Marchand.
"To think," drawled Ann Hicks, who had come East from Silver Ranch, "thatHeavy Stone should grab off such a prize in the matrimonial grab-bag.My!" and she finished with a sigh.
"When does your turn come, Ann?" asked somebody.
"Believe me," said the ranch girl, with emphasis, "I have got to seesomebody besides cowpunchers and horse-wranglers before I make such afatal move."
"You have lost all your imagination," laughed Helen, from across thetable.
"I don't know. Maybe I used it all up, back in those old kid days when Iran away to be 'Nita' and played at being 'the abused chee-ild'.Remember?"
"Oh, _don't_ we!" cried Helen and some of the other girls.
Something dropped on Tom Cameron's plate. He glanced up, then down againat the object that had fallen. It was a piece of plaster from theceiling.
Chess Copley likewise shot a glance ceilingward.
There was a wide gap--and growing wider--on his side of the chandelier. Agreat piece of the heavy plaster was breaking away from the ceiling, andit hung threateningly over his own and Ruth Fielding's head.
"Look out, Ruth!" shouted Tom Cameron, jumping to his feet.
Ruth Fielding on the St. Lawrence; Or, The Queer Old Man of the Thousand Islands Page 1
