Ruth Fielding Down East; Or, The Hermit of Beach Plum Point

  RUTH FIELDING DOWN EAST

  Or

  The Hermit of Beach Plum Point

  by

  ALICE B. EMERSON

  Author of "Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill," "RuthFielding at Sunrise Farm," "Ruth FieldingHomeward Bound," Etc.

  Illustrated

  TOM CAST ASIDE HIS SWEATER AND PLUNGED INTO THE TIDE._Ruth Fielding Down East Page 113_]

  New YorkCupples & Leon CompanyPublishers

  Books for Girls BY ALICE B. EMERSON RUTH FIELDING SERIES 12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.

  RUTH FIELDING OF THE RED MILL RUTH FIELDING AT BRIARWOOD HALL RUTH FIELDING AT SNOW CAMP RUTH FIELDING AT LIGHTHOUSE POINT RUTH FIELDING AT SILVER RANCH RUTH FIELDING ON CLIFF ISLAND RUTH FIELDING AT SUNRISE FARM RUTH FIELDING AND THE GYPSIES RUTH FIELDING IN MOVING PICTURES RUTH FIELDING DOWN IN DIXIE RUTH FIELDING AT COLLEGE RUTH FIELDING IN THE SADDLE RUTH FIELDING IN THE RED CROSS RUTH FIELDING AT THE WAR FRONT RUTH FIELDING HOMEWARD BOUND RUTH FIELDING DOWN EAST

  CUPPLES & LEON CO., PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK.

  Copyright, 1920, byCupples & Leon Company

  Ruth Fielding Down East

  Printed in U. S. A.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I. THE WIND STORM 1 II. THE MYSTERY OF IT 7 III. THE DERELICT 14 IV. THE CRYING NEED 22 V. OFF AT LAST 29 VI. "THE NEVERGETOVERS" 35 VII. MOVIE STUNTS 43 VIII. THE AUCTION BLOCK 52 IX. A DISMAYING DISCOVERY 67 X. A WILD AFTERNOON 77 XI. MR. PETERBY PAUL--AND "WHOSIS" 86 XII. ALONGSHORE 95 XIII. THE HERMIT 104 XIV. A QUOTATION 113 XV. AN AMAZING SITUATION 122 XVI. RUTH SOLVES ONE PROBLEM 129 XVII. JOHN, THE HERMIT'S, CONTRIBUTION 136 XVIII. UNCERTAINTIES 144 XIX. COUNTERCLAIMS 152 XX. THE GRILL 159 XXI. A HERMIT FOR REVENUE ONLY 171 XXII. AN ARRIVAL 180 XXIII. TROUBLE--PLENTY 186 XXIV. ABOUT "PLAIN MARY" 193 XXV. LIFTING THE CURTAIN 199

  RUTH FIELDING DOWN EAST

  CHAPTER I

  THE WIND STORM

  Across the now placidly flowing Lumano where it widened into almost theproportions of a lake just below the picturesque Red Mill, a bank oftempestuous clouds was shouldering into view above the sky line of therugged and wooded hills. These slate-colored clouds, edged with pallidlight, foredoomed the continuance of the peaceful summer afternoon.

  Not a breath of air stirred on the near side of the river. The huge oldelms shading the Red Mill and the farmhouse connected with it belonging toMr. Jabez Potter, the miller, were like painted trees, so still were they.The brooding heat of midday, however, had presaged the coming storm, andit had been prepared for at mill and farmhouse. The tempest was due soon.

  The backyard of the farmhouse--a beautiful lawn of short grass--slopeddown to the river. On the bank and over the stream itself was set asummer-house of fair proportions, covered with vines--a cool and shadyretreat on the very hottest day of midsummer.

  A big robin redbreast had been calling his raucous weather warning fromthe top of one of the trees near the house; but, with her back to theriver and the coming storm, the girl in the pavilion gave little heed tothis good-intentioned weather prophet.

  She did raise her eyes, however, at the querulous whistle of a stripedcreeper that was wriggling through the intertwined branches of thetrumpet-vine in search of insects. Ruth Fielding was always interested inthose busy, helpful little songsters.

  "You cute little thing!" she murmured, at last catching sight of theflashing bird between the stems of the old vine. "I wish I could put _you_into my scenario."

  On the table at which she was sitting was a packet of typewritten sheetswhich she had been annotating, and two fat note books. She laid down hergold-mounted fountain pen as she uttered these words, and then sighed andpushed her chair back from the table.

  Then she stood up suddenly. A sound had startled her. She looked all aboutthe summer-house--a sharp, suspicious glance. Then she tiptoed to the doorand peered out.

  The creeper fluttered away. The robin continued to shout his warning. Hadit really been a rustling in the vines she had heard? Was there somebodylurking about the summer-house?

  She stepped out and looked on both sides. It was then she saw howthreatening the aspect of the clouds on the other side of the river were.The sight drove from her thoughts for the moment the strange sound she hadheard. She did not take pains to look beneath the summer-house on thewater side.

  Instead, another sound assailed her ears. This time one that she could notmistake for anything but just what it was--the musical horn of TomCameron's automobile. Ruth turned swiftly to look up the road. A darkmaroon car, long and low-hung like a racer, was coming along the road,leaving a funnel of dust behind it. There were two people in the car.

  The girl beside the driver--black-haired and petite--fluttered herhandkerchief in greeting when she saw Ruth standing by the summer-house.At once the latter ran across the yard, over the gentle rise, and down tothe front gate of the Potter farmhouse. She ran splendidly with a freestride of untrammeled limbs, but she held one shoulder rather stiffly.

  "Oh, Ruth!"

  "Oh, Helen!"

  The car was at the gate, and Tom brought it to a prompt stop. Helen, histwin sister, was out of it instantly and almost leaped into the biggergirl's arms.

  "Oh! Oh! Oh!" sobbed Helen. "You _are_ alive after all that horribleexperience coming home from Europe."

  "And you are alive and safe, dear Helen," responded Ruth Fielding, quiteas deeply moved.

  It was the first time they had met since separating in Paris a monthbefore. And in these times of war, with peace still an uncertainty, therewere many perils to fear between the port of Brest and that of New York.

  Tom, in uniform and with a ribbon and medal on his breast, grinnedteasingly at the two girls.

  "Come, come! Break away! Only twenty seconds allowed in a clinch. Don'tHelen look fine, Ruth? How's the shoulder?"

  "Just a bit stiff yet," replied the girl of the Red Mill, kissing her chumagain.

  At this moment the first sudden swoop of the tempest arrived. The tallelms writhed as though taken with St. Vitus's dance. The hens began toscreech and run to cover. Thunder muttered in the distance.

  "Oh, dear me!" gasped Ruth, paling unwontedly, for she was not by naturea nervous girl. "Come right into the house, Helen. You could not get toCheslow or back home before this storm breaks. Put your car under theshed, Tom."

  She dragged her friend into the yard and up the warped flag stones to theside door of the cottage. A little old woman who had been sitting on theporch in a low rocking chair arose with difficulty, leaning on a cane.

  "Oh, my back, and oh, my bones!" murmured Aunt Alvirah Boggs, who was notlong out of a sick bed herself and would never again be as "spry" as sheonce had been. "Do come in, dearies. It is a wind storm."

  Ruth stopped to help the little old woman. She continued pale, but herthought for Aunt Alvirah's comfort caused her to put aside her own fear.The trio entered the house and closed the door.

  In a moment there was a sharp patter against the house. The rain ha
d begunin big drops. The rear door was opened, and Tom, laughing and shaking thewater from his cap, dashed into the living room. He wore the insignia of acaptain under his dust-coat and the distinguishing marks of a very famousdivision of the A. E. F.

  "It's a buster!" he declared. "There's a paper sailing like a kite overthe roof of the old mill----"

  Ruth sprang up with a shriek. She ran to the back door by which Tom hadjust entered and tore it open.

  "Oh, do shut the door, deary!" begged Aunt Alvirah. "That wind is 'noughto lift the roof."

  "What _is_ the matter, Ruth?" demanded Helen.

  But Tom ran out after her. He saw the girl leap from the porch and runmadly down the path toward the summer-house. Back on the wind came abroken word or two of explanation:

  "My papers! My scenario! The best thing I ever did, Tom!"

  He had almost caught up to her when she reached the little pavilion. Thewind from across the river was tearing through the summer-house at asixty-mile-an-hour speed.

  "Oh! It's gone!" Ruth cried, and had Tom not caught her she would havedropped to the ground.

  There was not a scrap of paper left upon the table, nor anywhere inthe place. Even the two fat notebooks had disappeared, and, too, thegold-mounted pen the girl of the Red Mill had been using. All, all seemedto have been swept out of the summer-house.