Ruth Fielding Down in Dixie Part 19

"Ma Miss Rachel, she been a li'le tinty gal in dem days. Ah car's her in ma arms 'mos' de time. Her maw was weakly-like. An' I could walk up an'

down de end o' dis big verandah wid dat mite ob a baby, an' see all dat went on.

"My-oh-my! de splendid car'ages, an' de beautiful horses, an' de fine ladies an' gemmen-dere nebber'll be nothin' like it fo' ol' Mammy Dilsey t' see ag'in twill she gits t' dat Hebenly sho' an' see dat angel band wot de Good Book talks about."

Incidents of this great party at the Merredith plantation, and of other famous entertainments there, were still as fresh in Mammy Dilsey's mind as the occurrences of yesterday.

"Oh, goodness," sighed Helen, "there never will be any fun for girls again. And nowadays the boys only care to go to baseball games, or to go hunting and fis.h.i.+ng. They refuse to come at _our_ beck and call as they used to in these times Mammy Dilsey tells about."

"I guess we make _ourselves_ too much like _them_selves," laughed Ruth.

"That's why the boys of to-day are different. If chivalry is dead, we women folks have killed it."

"I don't see why," pouted Helen.

"Oh, my dear!" cried her chum. "You want to have your cake and eat it, too. It can't be done. If we girls want the boys to be gallant and dance attendance on us, and cater to our whims-as they certainly did in our grandmothers' days-we must not be rough and ready friends with them: play golf, tennis, swim, run, bat b.a.l.l.s, and-and talk slang-the equal of our boy friends in every particular."

"You're so funny, Ruthie," laughed Nettie.

"Lecture by Miss Ruth Fielding, the famous woman's rights advocate,"

groaned Helen.

"I am not sure I advocate it, my dear," sighed Ruth. "'I, too, would love and live in Arcady.'"

"Goodness! hear her exude sentiment," gasped Helen. "Who ever thought to live till _that_ wonder was born?"

"Maybe, after all, Ruth has the right idea," said Nettie, timidly. "My cousin Mapes says that he finds lots of girls who are 'good fellows'; but that when he marries he doesn't want to marry a 'good fellow,' but a _wife_."

"Horrid thing!" Helen declared. "I don't like your cousin Mapes, Nettie."

"I am not sure that a girl might not, after all, fill your cousin's 'bill of particulars,' if she would," Ruth said, laughing. "'Friend Wife' can still be a good comrade, and darn her husband's socks. I guess, after all, not many young fellows would want to marry the kind of girl his grandmother was."

The trio of girls did not spend all their rainy hours with Mammy Dilsey, or in such discussions as the above. Besides, now and then the sun broke through the clouds and then the whole world seemed to steam.

The girls had the big porch to exercise upon, and as soon as it promised any decided change in the weather there were plans for new activities.

Across the river was a place called Holloways-actually a small island.

It was quite a resort in the summer, there being a hotel and several cottages, occupied by Georgetown and Charleston people through the hot season.

Mrs. Parsons thought that her young guests would become woefully lonely and "fair ill of Merredith," if they did not soon have some social diversion, so it was planned to go to Holloways to the weekend "hop"

held by the hotel guests and cottagers.

This was nothing like a public dance. Mrs. Parsons would not have approved of that. But the little coterie of hotel guests and the neighbors arranged very pleasant parties which the mistress of the Merredith plantation was not averse to her young folks attending.

As it happened, she herself could not go. A telegram from her lawyers in Charleston called Mrs. Parsons to the city only a few hours before the time set for the party to start for Holloways.

"Now, listen!" cried Aunt Rachel. "You girls shall not be disappointed-no, indeed! Mrs. Holloway will herself act as your chaperon and will take good care of you. We should remain at her hotel over night, in any case."

"But we won't have half so much fun if you don't go, Mrs. Parsons,"

Helen said.

"Nonsense! nonsense! what trio of girls was ever enamored of a strict duenna like me?" and Mrs. Parsons laughed. "I'll send one of the boys on ahead with a note to Mrs. Holloway to look out for you and Jeffreys will drive you over and come after you to-morrow noon. I believe in girls sleeping till noon after a party."

"But how are you going to the station, Aunt Rachel?" cried Nettie.

"I'll ride Nordeck. And John shall ride after me and bring the horse back. Now, scatter to do your own primping, girls, and let Mammy Dilsey 'tend to me."

In half an hour Mrs. Parsons was off-such need was there for haste. She went on horseback with a single retainer, as she said, riding at her heels. Although the weather appeared to have cleared permanently, the creeks were up and Mr. Lomaine reported the river already swollen.

Mrs. Parsons had been wise to ride horseback; a carriage might not have got safely through some of the fords she would be obliged to cross between the plantation and the railroad station.

On the other hand, the girls bound for Holloways were not likely to be held back, for there were bridges instead of fords. All in their party finery, Ruth and Helen and Nettie started away from the Big House in the roomy family carriage, and with them went Norma, Nettie's own little colored maid, with her sewing kit and extra wraps.

The road to the bridge which spanned the wide river led directly past the cotton warehouse. Ruth had not been there since her conversation with Mr. Jimson; but the warehouse boss had sent her word twice that Curly Smith seemed to be contented and desired to remain.

Both of the Northern girls were extremely anxious to see the boy from Lumberton. Ruth looked every day, now, for a letter from Mrs. Sadoc Smith; and she hoped the stern old woman would relent and ask her grandson to return.

The river was, as Mr. Lomaine had said, very high. The brown, muddy current was littered with logs, uprooted trees, fence rails, pig-pens, hen houses, and other light litter wrenched from the banks during the last few days. Ruth said it looked quite as angry as the Lumano, at the Red Mill, when there was a flood.

Jeffreys had brought the carriage to a full stop on the bank overlooking the stream and the warehouse. The water surged almost level with the s.h.i.+pping platform. There had been a reason for Mr. Jimson's s.h.i.+fting all the cotton in storage to the upper end of the huge building. He had foreseen this rain and feared a flood.

Suddenly, just as Jeffreys was about to drive on, Helen uttered a scream, and pointed to a drifting hencoop.

"See! See that poor thing!" she cried.

"What's the matter now, honey?" asked Nettie. "I don't see anything."

"On the roof of that coop," Ruth said quickly espying what her chum saw.

"The poor cat!"

"Where is there a cat?" cried Nettie, anxiously. She was a little near-sighted and could not focus her gaze upon the small object on the raft as quickly as the chums from the North.

"Dear me, Nettie!" cried Helen, in exasperation. "If you met a bear he'd have to bite you before you'd know he was there."

"Never mind," drawled the Southern girl, "I am not being chased and knocked down by deer--Oh! I see the poor kitty."

"I should hope you did!" Helen said. "And it's going to be drowned!"

"No, no," Ruth said. "I hope not. Can't it be brought ash.o.r.e? See! that coop is swinging into an eddy."

"Well, Ruthie Fielding!" cried Helen, "you're not going to jump overboard in your party dress, and try to get that poor cat, I should hope!"

"There's a boy who can get her!" exclaimed Nettie, standing up in the carriage, and being able to see well enough to espy a figure on a small raft down by the loading dock.

"Oh, Nettie! ask him to try!" gasped Ruth.

"Hey, boy!" called Nettie. "Can't you save that poor cat for us?"

The boy turned, and both Ruth and Helen recognized the curly head-if not the shockingly ragged garments-of Henry Smith. He waved a rea.s.suring hand and pushed off from the platform.