Ruth Fielding At Sunrise Farm Part 18

"On our feet-didn't we, d.i.c.kie?" responded Master Willie.

"Yep," said d.i.c.kie.

"Oh, dear me! Toodles will hurt that cat!" cried Madge. "One of you boys run and save her-save kitty!" she begged.

But as the youngsters started off as per direction, the cat turned savagely upon Toodles. She snarled like a wildcat, leaped for his fur-covered back, and laid in with her claws in a way that made the pup yell with fright and pain.

"Oh, never mind the cat! Help Toodles! Help Toodles!" wailed Madge, seeing her pet in such dire trouble.

The youngsters stopped with disgust, as Toodles went kiting up the hill, yelping.

"Pshaw!" exclaimed Willie. "Toodles don't need helpin'. Did'ye ever see such a dog? What he needs is a nurse-don't he, d.i.c.kie?"

"Yep," declared the oracular d.i.c.kie, with emphasis.

Heavy dropped down on the gra.s.s and rolled. As the cat had quickly returned from the chase, Madge and Helen joined her. It was too funny.

The "terrible twins" were just slipping out of the gate, when Ruth called to them.

"Don't go yet, boys. Are you having a good time?"

"We ain't allowed in here," said Willie.

"Who told you so?"

"The short, fat man with the squinty eyes and the cane," declared Willie, in a matter of fact way.

"Short-fat-squinty-- My goodness! I wonder if he can mean my father?"

exclaimed Madge, inclined to be offended.

"But you can stand there and talk with us," said Ruth, strolling toward the boys. "So you are having a nice time at Mr. Caslon's?"

"Bully-ain't we, d.i.c.kie?"

"Yep," agreed the echo.

"And you won't be glad to go back to the orphanage when you have to leave here?"

"Say, who ever was glad to go to a 'sylum?" demanded Willie, with scorn.

"And you can't remember any other home, either of you?" asked Ruth, with pity.

"Huh! we 'member just the same things. Our ages is just alike, they be,"

said Willie, with scorn.

"They have you there, Ruth," chuckled Heavy.

Ruth Fielding was really interested in the two youngsters. "And you are all alone in the world?" she pursued.

"Nope. We gotter sister."

"Oh! so you said."

"And it's so, too. She used ter be at the 'sylum," explained Willie.

"But they sent her off to live with somebody. And we was tried out by a lady and a gentleman, too; but we was too much work for the lady. We made too much extry was.h.i.+n'," said Willie, solemnly.

"My goodness me!" exclaimed Ruth, suddenly. "What are your names?"

"I'm Willie; he's d.i.c.kie."

"But Willie and d.i.c.kie _what_?" demanded the startled Ruth.

"No, ma'am. It ain't that. It's Raby," declared the youngster, coolly.

"And our sister, _she's_ Sadie Raby. She's awful smart and some day, she told us, she's goin' to come an' steal us from the 'sylum, and then we'll all live together and keep house."

"Will you hear this, Helen?" demanded Ruth, eagerly, to her chum who had run to her.

"Why, of course! we might have known as much, if we had been smart.

These are the twins Sadie told you about. And we never guessed!"

CHAPTER XV-THE TEMPEST

Ruth was much interested in the fresh air children, and so was Helen.

They found time to walk down to the Caslon farm and become acquainted with the entire twelve. Naturally, the "terrible twins" held their attention more than the others, for it _did_ seem so strange that the little brothers of Sadie Raby should come across Ruth's path in just this way.

Of course, in getting so well acquainted with the children, Ruth and her chum were bound to know the farmer and his wife better. They were very plain, "homey" sort of people, just as Ruth had guessed, and it appeared that they were not blessed with an over-abundance of ready money. Few farmers in Mr. Caslon's circ.u.mstances are.

What means they had, they joyfully divided with the youngsters they had taken to board. The Caslons had no living children; indeed, the two they had had, years ago, died while they were yet babies. This Mrs. Caslon confided to Ruth.

"It left an empty place in our hearts," she said, softly, "that nothing but other little children can fill. John has missed them fully as much as I have. Yes; he lets these little harum-scarums pull him around, and climb all over him, and interfere with his work, and take up his time a good deal. Yes, I know the place looks a sight, inside the house and out, when they go away.

"But for a few weeks every year we have a host of young things about us, and it keeps our hearts young. The bother of 'em, and the trouble of 'em, is nothing to the good they do us both. Ah, yes!

"Yes, I've often thought of keeping one or two of them for good. There's a-many pretty ones, or cunning ones, we'd like to have had. But then-think of the disappointment of the rest of the darlings!

"And it would have narrowed down our sympathy-mine and John's,"

proceeded Mrs. Caslon, shaking her head gently. "We'd have centered all our love and longin' into them we took for keeps, just as we centered all our interest in the two little ones G.o.d lent us for a little while, long ago.

"Havin' a number of 'em each year, and almost always different ones, has been better, I guess-better for all hands. It keeps John and me interested more, and we try to make them so happy here that each poor, unfortunate orphan will go away and remember his or her summer here for the rest of their lives.

"And they _do_ have so little to be happy over, these orphans-and it takes so very little to make them happy.

"If I had money-much money," continued the farmer's wife, clasping her hands, fervently, "I'd move many orphan asylums, and such like, out of the close, hot cities, where the little ones are cramped for room and air, and put each of them on a farm-a great, big farm. City's no place for children to grow up-'specially those that have no fathers and mothers.

"You can't tell me but that these young ones miss their parents less here on this farm than they do back in the brick building they live in most of the year," concluded the good woman, earnestly.