Ruth Fielding at Sunrise Farm/Chapter 24

"And here it is long 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 eyriely 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 brash, 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 fchese 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."

"But you didn't hear us shouting for you?" queried one of the other searchers.

"Nope. I got to sleep. You see, I thought about bears an' burglars an' goblins, an' all those sort o' things, an' that made me shiver, so I went to sleep," declared the earnest twin.

A shout of laughter greeted this statement. The searchers picked up the little fellows and carried them down to the edge of the pond, where the way was much clearer, and so on to the plain path to Sunrise Farm.

So delighted were they to have found the six youngsters without a scratch upon them, that nobody—not even Mr. Caslon—thought to ask the runaways how they had come to wander so far from Sunrise Farm.

It was ten o'clock when the party arrived at the big house on the hill. Isadore had run ahead to tell the good news and everybody was aroused—even to the six fellow-orphans of the runaways—to welcome the wanderers.

​"My goodness! let's have the fireworks and celebrate their return," exclaimed Madge.

But Mr. Steele quickly put his foot down on that.

"I am afraid that Willie and Dickie, and Jim and the rest of them, ought really to be punished for their escapade, and the trouble and fright they have given us," declared the proprietor of Sunrise Farm.

"However, perhaps going without their supper and postponing the rest of the celebration until to-morrow night, will be punishment enough. But don't you let me hear of you six boys trying to run away again, while you remain with Mr. and Mrs. Caslon," and he shook a threatening finger at the wanderers.

"Now Mr. and Mrs. Caslon will take you home," for the big wagon had been driven around from the stables while he was speaking. Mrs. Caslon, too worried to remain in doubt about the fresh airs, had trudged away up the hill to Sunrise Farm, while the party was out in search of the lost ones.

Mrs. Steele and the girls bade a cordial goodnight to the farmer's wife, as she climbed up to the front seat of the vehicle on one side. On the other, Mr. Steele stopped Mr. Caslon before he could climb up.

"The women folks have arranged for you and ​your wife to come to-morrow evening and help take care of these little mischiefs, while we finish the celebration," said the rich man, with a detaining hand upon Mr. Caslon's shoulder. "We need you."

"I reckon so, neighbor," said the farmer, chuckling. "We're a little more used to them lively young eels than you be."

"And—and we want you and your wife to come for your own sakes," added Mr. Steele, in some confusion. "We haven't even been acquainted before, sir. I consider that I am at fault, Caslon. I hope you'll overlook it and—and—as you say yourself—be neighborly."

"Sure! Of course!" exclaimed the old man, heartily. "Ain't no need of two neighbors bein' at outs, Mr. Steele. You'll find that soft words butter more parsnips than any other kind. If you an' I ain't jest agreed on ev'ry p'int, let's get together an' settle it ourselves. No need of lawyers' work in it," and the old farmer climbed nimbly to the high seat, and the wagon load of cheering, laughing youngsters started down the hill.

"And so that's all right," exclaimed the delighted Ruth, who had heard the conversation between the two men, and could scarcely hide her delight in it.

"I feel like dancing." she said to Helen. "I just know Mr. Steele and Mr. Caslon will under​stand each other after this, and that there will be no quarrel between them over the farms."

Which later results proved to be true. Not many months afterward, Madge wrote to Ruth that her father and the old farmer had come to a very satisfactory agreement. Mr. Caslon had agreed to sell the old homestead to Mr. Steele for a certain price, retaining a life occupancy of it for himself and wife, and, in addition, the farmer was to take over the general superintendency of Sunrise Farm for Mr. Steele, on a yearly salary.

"So much for the work of the 'terrible twins'!" Ruth declared when she heard this, for the girl of the Red Mill did not realize how much she, herself, had to do with bringing about Mr. Steele's change of attitude toward his neighbor.