"Don't you be afraid," said Ruth. "And take this." She thrust a closely-folded dollar bill into the girl's grimy fingers. "I wish it was more. I'll come here again to-morrow--"

The other had darted into the woods ere she had ceased speaking.

Somebody shouted "Whoa!" in a very harsh voice, and then a heavy pair of cowhide boots landed solidly in the road.

"I see ye, ye little witch!" exclaimed the harsh voice. "Come out o'

there before I tan ye with this whip!" and the whip in question snapped viciously as the speaker pounded violently through the clump of bushes, right upon the startled Ruth.

CHAPTER IV-"THEM PERKINSES"

It was a fact that Ruth crouched back behind the log, fearful of the wrathful farmer. He was a big, coa.r.s.e, high-booted, red-faced man, and he swung and snapped the blacksnake whip he carried as though he really intended using the cruel instrument upon the tender body of the girl, whose figure he had evidently seen dimly through the bushes.

"Come out 'o that!" he bawled, striding toward the log, and making the whiplash whistle once more in the air.

Ruth leaped up, screaming with fear. "Don't you touch me, sir! Don't you dare!" she cried, and ran around the bushes out in to the road.

The blundering farmer followed her, still snapping the whip. Perhaps he had been drinking; at least, it was certain he was too angry to see the girl very well until they were both in the road.

Then he halted, and added:

"I'll be whipsawed if that's the gal!"

"I am _not_ the girl-not the girl you want-poor thing!" gasped Ruth.

"Oh! you are horrid-terrible--"

"Shut up, ye little fool!" exclaimed the man, harshly. "You know where Sade is, then, I'll be bound."

"How do you know--?"

"Ha! ye jest the same as told me," he returned, grinning suddenly and again snapping the whip. "You can tell me where that runaway's gone."

"I don't know. Even if I did, I would not tell you, sir," declared Ruth, recovering some of her natural courage now.

"Don't ye sa.s.s me-nor don't ye lie to me," and this time he swung the cruel whip, until the long lash whipped around her skirts about at a level with her knees. It did not hurt her, but Ruth cringed and shrieked aloud again.

"Stop yer howling!" commanded Perkins. "Tell me about Sade Raby. Where's she gone?"

"I don't know."

"Warn't she right there in them bushes with you?"

"I shan't tell you anything more," declared Ruth.

"Ye won't?"

The brute swung the blacksnake-this time in earnest. It cracked, and then the snapper laid along the girl's forearm as though it were seared with a hot iron.

Ruth shrieked again. The pain was more than she could bear in silence.

She turned to flee up the Cedar Walk, but Perkins shouted at her to stand.

"You try ter run, my beauty, and I'll cut ye worse than that," he promised. "You tell me about Sade Raby."

Suddenly there came a hail, and Ruth turned in hope of a.s.sistance. Old Dolliver's stage came tearing along the road, his bony horses at a hand-gallop. The old man, whom the girls of Briarwood Hall called "Uncle Noah," brought his horses-and the Ark-to a sudden halt.

"What yer doin' to that gal, Sim Perkins?" the old man demanded.

"What's that to you, Dolliver?"

"You'll find out mighty quick. Git out o' here or you'll git into trouble. Did he hurt you, Miss Ruth?"

"No-o-not much," stammered Ruth, who desired nothing so much as to get way from the awful Mr. Perkins. Poor Sadie Raby! No wonder she had been forced to run away from "them Perkinses."

"I'll see you jailed yet, Sim, for some of your meanness," said the old stage driver. "And you'll git there quick if you bother Mis'

Tellingham's gals--"

"I didn't know she was one 'o them tony school gals," growled Perkins, getting aboard his wagon again.

"Well, she is-an' one 'o the best of the lot," said Dolliver, and he smiled comfortably at Ruth.

"Huh! whad-she wanter be in comp'ny of that brat 'o mine, then?"

demanded Perkins, gathering up his reins.

"Oh! are you hunting that orphanage gal ye took to raise? I heard she couldn't stand you and Ma Perkins no longer," Dolliver said, with sarcasm.

"Never you mind. I'll git her," said Perkins, and whipped up his horses.

"Oh, dear, me!" cried Ruth, when he had gone. "What a terrible man, Mr.

Dolliver."

"Yah!" scoffed the old driver. "Jest a bag of wind. Mean as can be, but a big coward. Meanes' folks around here, them Perkinses air."

"But why were they allowed to have that poor girl, then?" demanded Ruth.

"They went a-fur off to git her. Clean to Harburg. n.o.body knowed 'em there, I s'pose. Why, Ma Perkins kin act like b.u.t.ter wouldn't melt in her mouth, if she wants to. But I sartainly am sorry for that poor little Sade Raby, as they call her."

"Oh! I do pity her so," said Ruth, sadly.

The old man's eyes twinkled. Old Dolliver was sly! "Then ye _do_ know suthin' about Sade-jes' as Perkins said?"

"She was here just now. I gave her something to eat-and a little money.

You won't tell, Mr. Dolliver?"

"Huh! No. But dunno's ye'd oughter helped a runaway. That's agin' the law, ye see."

"Would the law give that poor girl back to those ugly people?"