Ruth Fielding At Sunrise Farm; What Became of the Raby Orphans

“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!

CHAPTER XXI – A VERY BUSY TIME

“Oh, Tom!” shrieked Ruth, and seized the boy’s arm. The bay horse was just plunging ahead, eager to be off for the stable and his manger. The high cart was whirled through the gateway as the first explosion came!

Pop, pop, pop! sputter – BANG!

It seemed as though the horse leaped more than his own length, and yanked all four wheels of the cart off the ground. There was a chorus of screams in the Caslons’ dooryard, but after that first cry, Ruth kept silent.

The rockets shot out of the box amidships with a shower of sparks. The Roman candles sprayed their varied colored balls – dimmed now by daylight – all about the cart.

Tom hung to the lines desperately, but the scared horse had taken the bit in his teeth and was galloping up the road toward Sunrise Farm, quite out of hand.

After that first grab at Tom’s arm, Ruth did not interfere with him. She turned about, knelt on the seat-cushion, and, one after the other, swept the twins across the sputtering, shooting bunch of fireworks, and into the space between her and Tom and the dashboard.

Providentially the shooting rockets headed into the air, and to the rear. As the big horse dashed up the hill, swinging the light vehicle from side to side behind him, there was left behind a trail of smoke and fire that (had it been night-time) would have been a brilliant spectacle.

Mr. Caslon and the orphans started after the amazing thing tearing up the road – but to no purpose. Nothing could be done to stop the explosion now. The sparks flew all about. Although Mr. Caslon had bought a wealth of small rockets, candles, mines, flower-pots, and the like, never had so many pieces been discharged in so short a time!

It was sputter, sputter, bang, bang, the cart vomiting flame and smoke, while the horse became a perfectly frenzied creature, urged on by the noise behind him. Tom could only cling to the reins, Ruth clung to the twins, and all by good providence were saved from an overturn.

All the time – and, of course, the half-mile or more from Caslons’ to the entrance to the Steele estate, was covered in a very few moments – all the time Ruth was praying that the fire-crackers Tom had bought and hidden under the front seat would not be ignited.

The reports of the rockets, and the like, became desultory. Some set pieces and triangles went off with the hissing of snakes. Was the explosion over?

So it seemed, and the maddened horse turned in at the gateway. The cart went in on two wheels, but it did not overturn.

The race had begun to tell on the bay. He was covered with foam and his pace was slackening. Perhaps the peril was over – Ruth drew a long breath for the first time since the horse had made its initial jump.

And then – with startling suddenness – there was a sputter and bang! Off went the firecrackers, package after package. A spark had burned through the paper wrapper and soon there was such a popping under that front seat as shamed the former explosions!

Had the horse been able to run any faster, undoubtedly he would have done so; but as the cart went tearing up the drive toward the front of the big house, the display of fireworks, etc., behind the front seat, and the display of alarm on the part of the four on the seat, advertised to all beholders that the occasion was not, to say the least, a common one.

The cart itself was scorched and was afire in places, the sputtering of the fire-crackers continued while the horse tore up the hill. Tom had bought a generous supply and it took some time for them all to explode.

Fortunately the front drop of the seat was a solid panel of deal, or Ruth’s skirt might have caught on fire – or perhaps the legs of the twins would have been burned.

As for the two little fellows, they never even squealed! Their eyes shone, they had lost their caps in the back of the cart, their short curls blew out straight in the wind, and their cheeks glowed. When the runaway appeared over the crest of the hill and the crowd at Sunrise Farm beheld them, it was evident that Willie and Dickie were enjoying themselves to the full!

Poor Tom, on whose young shoulders the responsibility of the whole affair rested, was braced back, with his feet against the footboard, the lines wrapped around his wrists, and holding the maddened horse in to the best of his ability.

Bobbins on one side, and Ralph Tingley on the other, ran into the roadway and caught the runaway by the bridle. The bay was, perhaps, quite willing to halt by this time. Mr. Steele ran out, and his first exclamation was:

“My goodness, Tom Cameron! you’ve finished that horse!”

“I hope not, sir,” panted Tom, rather pale. “But I thought he’d finish us before he got through.”

By this time the explosions had ceased. Everything of an explosive nature – saving the twins themselves – in the cart seemed to have gone off. And now Willie ejaculated:

“Gee! I never rode so fast before. Wasn’t it great, Dickie?”

“Yep,” agreed Master Dickie, with rather more emphasis than usual.

Sister Sadie appeared from the rear premises, vastly excited, too, but when she lifted the twins down and found not a scratch upon them, she turned to Ruth with a delighted face.

“You took care of them just like you loved ’em, Miss,” she whispered, as Ruth tumbled out of the cart, too, into her arms. “Oh, dear! don’t you dare get sick – you ain’t hurt, are you?”

“No, no!” exclaimed Ruth, having hard work to crowd back the tears. “But I’m almost scared to death. That – that young one!” and she grabbed at Dickie. “What did you drop that punk into the fireworks for?”

“Huh?” questioned the imperturbable Dickie.