Ruth Fielding at Sunrise Farm/Chapter 13

Ruth heard Bob's last expression, despite the rattling of the harness and the chattering of the girls on, and in, the coach, and she was sorry. Yet, could he be blamed so much, when similar feelings were expressed daily by his own father regarding the Caslons?

Mrs. Steele was shocked as well. "My dear son!" she exclaimed, in a low voice, leaning over his shoulder. "Be careful of your tongue. Don't say things for which you might be sorry—indeed, for which I am sure you are sorry when you stop to think."

"Huh! Isn't that old Caslon as mean as he can be?" demanded Bobbins.

"I am sure," the good lady sighed, "that I wish he would agree to sell his place to your father, and so have an end of all this talk and worriment. But I am not at all sure that he hasn't a right to do as he pleases with his own property."

"Well—now—Mother——"

​But she stopped him with: "At any rate, you must halt and offer him help. And those children—I hope none of them has been hurt."

"Pooh! you couldn't hurt kids like those," declared Bob.

But he brought the horses down to a walk and the yellow coach approached the scene of the accident at a temperate pace.

The big farm-wagon, the body of which had been filled with straw for the youngsters to ride in, had been pulled to the side of the road out of the way of passing vehicles. It was clear that the smashed wheel was past repair by any amateur means, for several spokes were broken, and the hub was split.

The youngsters whom Mr. Caslon had taken aboard at the railway station in Darrowtown were dancing about and yelling like wild Indians. As the coach came nearer, the excited party upon it could more carefully count the blue-clad figures, and it was proved that there were twelve.

Six girls were in blue gingham frocks, all alike, and all made "skimpy" and awkward looking. The six boys were in new blue overalls and cotton shirts. The overalls seemed all of one size, although the boys were not. They must have been purchased at the store of one size, and whether a boy was six, or twelve, he wore the same number.

​Each of the children, too, carried a more or less neatly made up parcel, the outer covering of which was a blue and white bandanna, and the contents of which was the change of clothing the institution allowed them.

"What a terrible noise they make!" sighed Mrs. Steele. "And they are perfect little terrors, I suppose. But they are clean."

They had not been out of the sight of the institution nurse long enough to be otherwise, for she had come far as Darrowtown with them. But they were noisy, sure enough, for each one was trying to tell his or her mates how he or she felt when the wheel crashed and the wagon went over.

"I reckon I oughtn't to have risked that wheel, after all," said Mr. Caslon, doffing his hat to Mrs. Steele, but smiling broadly as he looked up from his examination of the wheel.

"Whoa, Charlie! Don't get too near them heels, youngsters. Charlie an' Ned are both old duffers like me; but you can't fool around a horse's legs without making him nervous.

"And don't pull them reins. I don't want 'em to start right now. . . . Yes, ma'am. I'll haf ter lead the horses home, and that I don't mind. But these young ones—— Now, let that whip lay right where it is, young man! That's right.

"You see, ma'am," he proceeded, quite calmly ​despite all that was going on about him, and addressing himself to Mrs. Steele, "it's too long a walk for the little ones, and I couldn't tote 'em all on the backs of the horses——

"Now, you two curly heads there—what do you call 'em?"

"The Terrible Twins!" quoth two or three of the other orphans, in chorus.

"I believe ye! I believe ye! They jest bile over, they do. Now, you two boys," he added, addressing two youngsters, very much alike, about of a height, and both with short, light curly hair, "never mind trying to unharness Charlie and Ned. I'll do that.

"Ye see, ma'am, if you could take some of the little ones aboard——" he suggested to Mrs. Steele.

The coach was well filled, yet it was not crowded. The girls began to call to the little folks to get aboard even before Mrs. Steele could speak.

"There's lots of room up here," cried Ruth, leaning from her end of the seat and offering her hand. The twins ran at once to climb up and fought for "first lift" by Ruth.

"Oh, yes! they can get aboard," said Mrs. Steele. "All there is room for."

And the twelve "fresh airs" proved very quickly that there was room for them all. Ruth ​had the "terrible twins" on the seat with her in half a minute, and the others swarmed into, or on top of, the coach almost as quickly.

"There now! that's a big lift, I do declare," said the farmer, hanging the chains of the horses' traces upon the hames, and preparing to lead the pair along the road.

"My wife will be some surprised, I bet," and he laughed jovially. "I'm certain sure obleeged to ye, Mis' Steele. Neighbors ought to be neighborly, an' you air doin' me a good turn this time—yes, ma'am!"

"Now, you see," growled Bob, as the four coach horses trotted on, "he'll take advantage of this. We've noticed him once, and he'll always be fresh."

"Hush, my son!' whispered Mrs. Steele. "Little pitchers have big ears."

"Huh!" exclaimed one of the wriggling twins, looking up at the lady sideways like a bird. "I know what that means. We're little pitchers—Dickie an' me. We've heard that before—ain't we, Dickie?"

"Yep," announced his brother, nodding wisely.

These two were certainly wise little scamps! Willie did most of the talking, but whatever he said his brother agreed to. Dickie being so chary with speech, possibly his brother felt that he must exercise his own tongue the more, for he chattered ​away like a veritable magpie, turning now and then to demand:

"Ain't that so, Dickie?"

"Yep," vouchsafed the echo, and, thus championed, Willie would rattle on again.

Yes. They was all from the same asylum. There were lots more of boys and girls in that same place. But only twelve could get to go to this place where they were going. They knew boys that went to Mr. Caslon's last year.

"Don't we, Dickie?"

"Yep."

No. They didn't have a mama or papa. Never had had any. But they had a sister. She was a big girl and had gone away from the asylum. Some time, when they were big enough, they were going to run away from the asylum and find her.

"Ain't we, Dickie?"

"Yep."

Whether the other ten "fresh airs" were as funny and cute as the "terrible twins," or not, Ruth Fielding did not know, but both she and Mrs. Steele were vastly amused by them, and continued to be so all the way to the old homestead under the hill where the children had come to spend a part of the summer with Mr. and Mrs. Caslon.