"Yes," said her friend, seriously, opening the churn and beginning to ladle out the now yellow b.u.t.ter into a wooden bowl.

"May I a.s.sist at the b.u.t.ter's toilet?" queried Tom, grinning.

"You may sit down and watch," said his sister, in a tone intended to quell any undue levity on her brother's part.

Ruth had rolled her sleeves above her elbows, so displaying her pretty plump arms, and now worked and worked the b.u.t.ter in cold water right "from the north side of the well" as though she were kneading bread.

First she had poured Tom a pitcher of the fresh b.u.t.termilk, and given him a gla.s.s. Even Helen tasted a little of the tart drink.

"Oh, it's ever so nice, I suppose," she said, with a little grimace; "but I much prefer my milk sweet."

Again and again Ruth poured off the milky water and ran fresh, cold water upon her b.u.t.ter until no amount of kneading and washing would subtract another particle of milk from the yellow ball. The water was perfectly clear.

"Now I'll salt it," she said; "and put it away until this afternoon, and then I'll work it again and put it down in the b.u.t.ter-jar. When I grow up and get rich I am going to have a great, big dairy; with a herd of registered cattle, and I'm going to make all the b.u.t.ter myself."

"And Tom's going to raise horses. He's going to own a stock farm--so he says. You'd better combine interests," said Helen, with some scorn.

"I like horses to ride, and b.u.t.ter to eat, but--well, I prefer b.u.t.tercups just now. Hurry up, Miss Slow-poke! We'll never get enough flowers for a pillow."

So Ruth cleaned her face, taking a peep into the gla.s.s in the kitchen to make sure, before going out to her friends. Tom looked at her with plain approval, and Helen jumped up to squeeze her again.

"No wonder Aunt Alvirah calls you 'pretty creetur'," she whispered in Ruth's ear. "For that's what you are." Then to Tom: "Now young man, have you the lunch basket?"

"What there is left of it is in charge of Reno down at the bridge," he replied, coolly.

They found the huge mastiff lying with the napkin-covered basket between his forepaws, on the gra.s.s by the water side. Reno was growling warningly and had his eyes fixed upon a figure leaning upon the bridge railing.

"That there dawg don't seem ter take to me," drawled Jasper Parloe, who was the person on the bridge. "He needn't be afraid. I wouldn't touch the basket."

"You won't be likely to touch it while Reno has charge of it," said Tom, quietly, while the girls pa.s.sed on swiftly. Neither Ruth nor Helen liked to have anything to do with Parloe. When Tom released Reno from his watch and ward, the dog trotted after Ruth and put his nose into her hand.

"Ye been up ter the mill, hev ye?" queried Parloe, eyeing Tom Cameron aslant, "ye oughter be gre't friends with Jabe Potter. Or has he squared hisself with ye?"

"Say, Mister Parloe," said Tom, sharply, "you've been hinting something about the miller every time you've seen me lately.

"Only since yeou was knocked down that bank inter the gully, an' yer arm an' head hurt. There warn't nothin' about Jabe ter interest yeou afore that," returned Parloe, quickly.

Tom flushed suddenly and he looked at the old fellow with new interest.

"Just what do you mean?" he asked, slowly.

"Ye know well enough. Your dad, Tom Cameron, is mighty riled up over your bein' hurt. I heered him say that he'd give a ten-dollar note ter know who it was drove by ye that night and crowded ye inter the ditch.

Would you give more than that not ter have it known who done it?"

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Tom, angrily.

"I guess ye like this here gal that's cone to live on Jabez, purty well; don't ye--yeou an' yer sister?" croaked old Parloe. "Wal, if your dad an' the miller gits inter a row--comes ter a clinch, as ye might say--yeou an' yer sister won't be let ter hev much ter do with Ruth, eh, now?"

"I don't know that that's so," Tom said doggedly.

"Oh, yes, ye do. Think it over. Old Jabe will put his foot right down an' he'll stop Ruth havin' anything ter do with ye--ye know it! Wal, now; think it over. I got a conscience, I have," pursued Parloe, cringing and rubbing his hands together, his sly little eyes sparkling. "I r'ally feel as though I'd oughter tell yer dad who it was almost run ye down that night and made ye fall into the gully."

"You mean, you'd like to handle Dad's ten dollars!" cried Tom, angrily.

Parloe smirked and still rubbed his hands together. "Don't matter a mite whose ten dollars I handle," he said, suggestively. "Your ten dollars would be jest as welcome to me as your Dad's, Master Cameron."

"Ten dollars is a lot of money," said Tom.

"Yes. It's right smart. I could make use of it I'm a poor man, an' I could use it nicely," admitted the sly and furtive Parloe.

"I haven't got so much money now," growled the boy.

"Yeou kin get it, I warrant."

"I suppose I can." He drew his purse from his pocket. "I've got three dollars and a half here. I'll have the rest for you on Monday."

"Quite correct," said Jasper Parloe, clutching eagerly at the money.

"I'll trust ye till then--oh, yes! I'll trust ye till then."

CHAPTER XIV

JUST A MATTER OF A DRESS

"Well, I really believe, Tommy Cameron!" cried his sister Helen, when he overtook the girls and Reno, swinging the basket recklessly, "that you are developing a love for low company. I don't see how you can bear to talk with that Jasper Parloe."

"I don't see how I can, either," muttered Tom, and he was rather silent--for him--until they were well off the road and the incident at the bridge was some minutes behind them.

But the day was such a glorious one, and the fields and woods were so beautiful, that no healthy boy could long be gloomy. Besides, Tom Cameron had a.s.sured his sister that he thought Ruth Fielding "just immense," and he was determined to give the girl of the Red Mill as pleasant a time as possible.

He worked like a Trojan to gather b.u.t.tercups, and after they had eaten the luncheon old Babette had put up for them (and it was the very nicest and daintiest luncheon that Ruth Fielding had ever tasted) he told the girls to remain seated on the flat stone he had found for them and weave the foundation for the pillow while he picked bushels upon bushels of b.u.t.tercups.

"You'll need a two-horse load, anyway to have enough for a pillow of the size Nell has planned," he said, grinning. "And perhaps she'll finish it if you help her, Ruth. She's always trying to do some big thing and 'falling down' on it."

"That's not so, Master Sauce-box!" cried his sister.

Tom went off laughing, and the two girls set to work on the great ma.s.s of b.u.t.tercups they had already picked. They grew so large, and were so dewey and golden, that a more brilliant bed of color one could scarce imagine than the pillow, as it began to grow under the dexterous hands of Helen and Ruth. And, being alone together now, they began to grow confidential.

"And how does the Ogre treat you?" asked Helen. "I thought, when I came this morning, that you had been feeling badly."

"I am not very happy," admitted Ruth.

"It's that horrid Ogre!" cried Helen.

"It isn't right to call Uncle Jabez names," said Ruth, quietly. "He is greatly to be pitied, I do believe. And just now, particularly so."

"You mean because of the loss of that cash-box?"

"Yes."

"Do you suppose there was much in it?"