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

“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 good-night 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 understand 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.

CHAPTER XXV – THE ORPHANS’ FORTUNE

A great deal happened at Sunrise Farm before these later occurrences which so delighted Ruth Fielding. The excitement of the loss of the six “fresh airs” was not easily forgotten. Whenever any of the orphans was on the Sunrise premises again, they had a bodyguard of older girls or boys who kept a bright lookout that nothing unusual happened to them.

As for the twins, Sadie took them in hand with a reformatory spirit that amazed Willie and Dickie. Those two youngsters were kept at Sunrise Farm and put in special charge of Sadie. Thus Mr. Steele had the three Raby orphans under his own eye until he could hear from Canada, and from the orphanage, and learn all the particulars of the fortune that might be in store for them.

After a bit Willie and Dickie found the watchfulness of their sister somewhat irksome.

“Say!” the talkative twin observed, “you ain’t got no reason to be so sharp on us, Sadie Raby. You run away your ownself – didn’t she, Dickie?”

“Yep,” agreed the oracular one.

“An’ we don’t want no gal follerin’ us around and tellin’ us to ‘stop’ all the time – do we, Dickie?”

“Nope.”

“We’re big boys now,” declared Willie, strutting like the young bantam he was. “There ain’t nothin’ goin’ to hurt us. We’re too big – ”

“What’s that on your finger – No! the other one?” snapped Sadie, eyeing Willie sharply.

“Scratch,” announced the boy.

“Where’d you get it?”

“I – I cut it on the cat,” admitted Willie, with less bombast.

“Humph! you’re a big boy – ain’t you? Don’t even know enough to let the cat alone – and I hope her claw done you some good. Come here an’ let me borrer Miss Ruth’s peroxide bottle and put some on it. Cat’s claws is poison,” said Sadie. “You ain’t so fit to get along without somebody watchin’ you as ye think, kid. Remember that, now.”

“We don’t want no gal trailin’ after us all the time!” cried Willie, angrily. “An’ we ain’t goin’ to stand it,” and he kicked his bare toe into the sand to express the emphasis that his voice would not vent.

“Humph!” said Sadie, eyeing him sideways, meanwhile trimming carefully a stout branch she had broken from the lilac bush. “So you want to be your own boss, do you, Willie Raby?”

“We be our own boss – ain’t we, Dickie?”

For the first time, the echo of Dickie’s agreement failed to materialize. Dickie was eyeing that lilac sprout – and looked from that to his sister’s determined face. He backed away several feet and put his hands behind him.

“And so you ain’t goin’ to mind me – nor Miss Ruth – nor Mr. Steele – nor Mr. Caslon – nor nobody?” proceeded Sadie, more earnestness apparent in each section of her query.

Her hand reached out suddenly and gripped Willie by the shoulder of his shirt. He tried to writhe out of her grasp, but his sister’s muscles were hardened, and she was twice as strong as Willie had believed. The lilac sprout was raised.

“So you’re too big to mind anybody, heh?” she queried.

“Yes, we be!” snarled the writhing Willie. “Ain’t we, Dickie?”

“No, we’re not!” screamed his twin, suddenly, refusing to echo Willie’s declaration. “Don’t hit him, Sade! Oh, don’t!” and he cast himself upon his sister and held her tight about the waist. “We – we’ll be good,” he sobbed.

“How about it, Willie Raby?” demanded the stern sister, without lowering the stick. “Are you goin’ to mind and be good?”

Willie stared, tried to writhe away, saw it was no use, and capitulated. “Aw – yes – if he’s goin’ to cry about it,” he grumbled. He said it with an air intimating that Dickie was, after all, quite a millstone about his neck and would always be holding him back from deeds of valor which Willie, himself, knew he could perform.