Ruth Fielding at Sunrise Farm/Chapter 20

Miss true Pettis thrilled with the joy of telling the romance. The little seamstress had been all her life entertaining people with the dry details of unimportant neighborhood happenings. It was only once in a long while that a story like that of the Rabys' came within her ken.

"Why, do you believe me!" she said to Ruth, "that Mis' Raby came of quite a nice family in Quebec. Not to say Tom Raby wasn't a fine man, for he was, but he warn't educated much and his trade didn't bring 'em more'n a livin'. But her folks had school teachers, and doctors, and even ministers in their family—yes, indeed!

"And it seems like, so the Canady lawyer said, that a minister in the family what was an uncle of Mis' Raby's, left her and her children some property. It was in what he called 'the fun's'—that's like stocks an' bonds, I reckon. But them Canadians talk different from us.

"Well, I can remember that man—tall, lean man he was, with a yaller mustache. He had traced the Rabys to Darrowtown, and he saw ​the minister, and Deacon Giles, and Amoskeag Lanfell, askin' did they know where the Rabys went when they moved away from here.

"I was workin' for Amoskeag's wife that day, so I heard all the talk," pursued Miss Pettis. "He said—this Canady lawyer did—that the property amounted to several thousand dollars. It was left by the minister (who had no family of his own) to his niece, Mis' Raby, or to her children if she was dead.

"Course they asked me if I knowed what became of the family," said the spinster, with some pride. "It bein' well known here in Darrowtown that I'm most as good as a parish register—and why wouldn't I be? Everybody expects me to know all the news. But if I ever did know where them Rabys went, I'd forgot, and I told the lawyer man so.

"But he give me his card and axed me to write to him if I ever heard anything further from 'em, or about 'em. And I certain sure would have have done so," decleared Miss Pettis, "if it had ever come to my mind."

"Have you the gentleman's card now, Miss True?" asked Ruth, eagerly.

"I s'pect so."

"Will you find it? I know Mr. Steele is interested in the Rabys, and he can communicate with this Canadian lawyer——"

​"Now! ain't you a bright girl?" cried the spinster. "Of course!"

She at once began to hustle about, turning things out of her bureau drawers, searching the cubby holes of an old maple "secretary" that had set in the corner of the kitchen since her father's time, discovering things which she had mislaid for years—and forgotten—but not coming upon the card in question right away.

"Of course I've got it," she declared. "I never lose anything I never throw a scrap of anything away that might come of use "

And still she rummaged. Tom came back with the cart and Ruth had to go shopping. "But do look, Miss Pettis," she begged, "and we'll stop again before we go back to the farm."

Tom and she were some time selecting a dozen timely, funny, and attractive nicknacks for the fresh airs. But they succeeded at last, and Ruth was sure the girls would be pleased with their selections.

"So much better than spending the money for noise and a powder smell," added Ruth.

"Humph! the kids would like the noise all right," sniffed Tom. "I heard those little chaps begging Mr. Caslon for punk and firecrackers. That old farmer was a boy himself once, and I bet he got something for them that will smell of powder, beside the little tad of fireworks he showed me."

​"Oh! I hope they won't any of them get burned."

"Kind of put a damper on the 'safe and sane Fourth' Mr. Steele spoke about, eh?" chuckled Tom.

Miss Pettis was looking out of the window and smiling at them when they arrived back at the cottage. She held in her hand a yellowed bit of pasteboard, which she passed to the eager Ruth.

"Where do you suppose I found it, Ruthie?" she demanded.

"I couldn't guess."

"Why, stuck right into the corner of my lookin'-glass in my bedroom. I s'pose I have handled it every day I've dusted that glass for three year, an' then couldn't remember where it was. Ain't that the beatenes'?"

Ruth and Tom drove off in high excitement. She had already told Master Tom all about the Raby romance such details as he did not already know and now they both looked at the yellowed business card before Ruth put it safely away in her pocket:

​"Mr. Steele will go right ahead with this, I know," said Tom, nodding. He's taken a fancy to those kids——"

"Well! he ought to, to Sadie!" cried Ruth.

"Sure. And he's a generous man, after all. Too bad he's taken such a dislike to old Caslon."

"Oh, dear, Tom! we ought to fix that," sighed Ruth.

"Crickey! you'd tackle any job in the world, I believe, Ruthie, if you thought you could help folks."

"Nonsense! But both of them—both Mr. Steele and Mr. Caslon—are such awfully nice people——"

"Well! there's not much hope, I guess. Mr. Steele's lawyer is trying to find a flaw in Caslon's title. It seems that, way back, a long time ago, some of the Caslons got poor, or careless, and the farm was sold for taxes. It was never properly straightened out—on the county records, anyway—and the lawyer is trying to see if he can't buy up the interest of whoever bought the farm in at that time—or their heirs—and so have some kind of a basis for a suit against old Caslon."

"Goodness! that's not very clear," said Ruth, staring.

"No. It's pretty muddy. But you know how some lawyers are. And Mr. Steele is willing to ​hire the shyster to do it. He thinks it's all right. It's business."

"Your father wouldn't do such a thing, Tom!" cried Ruth.

"No. I hope he wouldn't, anyway," said Master Tom, wagging his head. "But I couldn't say that to Bobbins when he told me about it, could I?"

"No call to. But, oh, dear! I hope Mr. Steele won't be successful. I do hope he won't be."

"Same here," grunted Tom. "Just the same, he's a nice man, and I like him."

"Yes—so do I," admitted Ruth. "But I'd like him so much more, if he wouldn't try to get the best of an old man like Mr. Caslon."

The Raby matter, however, was a more pleasant topic of conversation for the two friends. The big bay horse got over the ground rapidly—Tom said the creature did not know a hill when he saw one!—and it still lacked half an hour of noon when they came in sight of Caslon's house.

The orphans were all in force in the front yard. Mr. Caslon appeared, too.

That yard was untidy for the first time since Ruth had seen it. And most of the untidiness was caused by telltale bits of red, yellow, and green paper. Even before the cart came to the gate, Ruth smelled the tang of powder smoke.

​"Oh, Tom! they have got firecrackers," she exclaimed.

"So have I—a whole box full—under the front seat," chuckled Tom. "What's the Fourth without a weeny bit of noise? Bobbins and I are going to let them off in a big hogshead he's found behind the stable."

"You boys are rascals!" breathed Ruth. "Why! there are the twins!"

Sadie's young brothers ran out to the cart. Mr. Caslon appeared with a good-sized box in his arms, too.

"Just take this—and the youngsters—aboard, will you, young fellow? said the farmer. "Might as well have all the rockets and such up there on the hill. They'll show off better. And the twins was down for the clean clo'es mother promised them."

It was a two-seated cart and there was plenty of room for the two boys on the back seat. Mr. Caslon carefully placed the open box in the bottom of the cart, between the seats. The fireworks he had purchased had been taken out of their wrappings and were placed loosely in the box.

"There ye are," said the farmer, jovially. "Hop up here, youngsters!"

He seized Willie and hoisted him into the seat. But Dickie had run around to the other side of ​the cart and clambered up like a monkey, to join his brother.

"All right, sir," said Tom, wheeling the eager bay horse. It was nearing time for the latter's oats, and he smelled them! "Out of the way, kids. They'll send a wagon down for you, all right, after luncheon, I reckon."

Just then Ruth happened to notice something smoking in Dickie's hand.

"What have you there, child?" she demanded. "Not a nasty cigarette?"

He held out, solemnly, and as usual wordlessly, a smoking bit of punk.

"Where did you get that? Oh! drop it!" cried Ruth, fearing for the fireworks and the explosives under the front seat. She meant for Dickie to throw it out of the wagon, but the youngster took the command literally.

He dropped it. He dropped it right into the box of fireworks. Then things began to happen!