Ruth Fielding in Moving Pictures by Alice Emerson

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"I am sure I do not understand you," Ruth confessed. "Is it something that
you would better talk to Mrs. Tellingham about? I will introduce you to
her----"

"No, no!" said Mr. Farrington, waving a black-gloved hand with the gesture
_Hamlet_ might have used in waving to his father's ghost. "The lady
preceptress of your school has naught to do with this matter. It is
personal with you."

"But what _is_ it?" queried Ruth, rather exasperated now.

"Be not hasty--be not hasty, I beg," said Amasa Farrington. "I know I may
surprise you. I, too, was unknown at one time, and never expected to be
anything more than a traveling Indian Bitters pedler. My latent talent was
developed and fostered by a kindly soul, and I come to you now, Miss
Fielding, in the remembrance of my own youth and inexperience----"

"For mercy's sake!" gasped Ruth, finally. "What do you wish? I am not in
need of any Indian Bitters."

"You mistake me--you mistake me," said the man, stiffly. "Amasa Farrington
has long since graduated from the ranks of such sordid toilers. See my
card."

"I _do_ see your card," the impatient Ruth said, again glancing at the bit
of pasteboard. "I see that you represent something called the 'Criterion
Films.' What are they?"

"Ah! now you ask a pointed question, young lady," declared Mr. Farrington.
"Rather you should ask, 'What will they be?' They will be the most widely
advertised films ever released for the entertainment of the public. They
will be written by the most famous writers of scenarios. They will be
produced by the greatest directors in the business. They will be acted by
our foremost Thespians."

"I--I hope you will be successful, Mr. Farrington," said Ruth, faintly,
not knowing what else to say.

"We shall be--we must be--I may say that we have _got_ to be!" ejaculated
the ex-Indian Bitters pedler. "And I come to you, Miss Fielding, for your
co-operation."

"Mine?" gasped Ruth.

"Yes, Miss Fielding. You are a coming writer of scenarios of a high
character. We geniuses must help each other--we must keep together and
refuse to further the ends of the sordid producers who would bleed us of
our best work."

This was rather wild talk, and Ruth did not understand it. She said,
frankly:

"Just what do you mean, Mr. Farrington? What do you want me to do?"

"Ah! Practical! I like to see you so," said the man, with a flourish,
drawing forth a document of several typewritten pages. "I want you to read
and sign this, Miss Fielding. It is a contract with the Criterion Films--a
most liberal contract, I might say--in which you bind yourself to turn
over to us your scenarios for a term of years, we, meanwhile, agreeing to
push your work and make you known to the public."

"Oh, dear me!" gasped Ruth. "I'm not sure I want to be so publicly known."

"Nonsense!" cried the man, in amazement. "Why! in publicity is the breath
of life. Without it, we faint--we die--we, worse--we _vegetate_!"

"I--I guess I don't mind vegetating--a--a little," stammered Ruth, weakly.

At that moment Mary Pease came racing down the walk. She waved a letter in
her hand and was calling Ruth's name.

"Oh, Ruthie Fielding!" she called, when she saw Ruth with the man. "Here's
a letter Mrs. Tellingham forgot to give you. She says it came enclosed in
one from Mr. Hammond to her."

The excited girl stopped by Ruth, handed her the letter, and stared
frankly at Mr. Amasa Farrington. That person's face began to redden as
Ruth idly opened the unsealed missive.

Again a green slip fell out. Mary darted toward it and picked it up. She
read the check loudly--excitedly--almost in a shriek!

"Goodness, gracious me, Ruthie Fielding! Is Mr. Hammond giving you this
money--_all_ this money--for your very own?"

But Ruth did not reply. She was scanning the letter from the president of
the Alectrion Film Corporation. Mr. Farrington was plainly nervous.

"Come, Miss Fielding, I am waiting for your answer," he said stiffly. "If
you join the Criterion Films, your success is assured. You are famous from
the start----"

Ruth was just reading a clause in Mr. Hammond's kind and friendly letter:

"Don't let your head be turned by success, little girl. And I
don't think it will be. You have succeeded in inventing two very
original scenarios. We will hope you can do better work in time.
But don't force yourself. Above all have nothing to do with
agents of film people who may want you to write something that
they may rush into the market for the benefit of the advertising
your school play will give you."

"No, Mr. Farrington," said Ruth, kindly. "I do not want to join your
forces. I am not even sure that I shall ever be able to write another
scenario. Circumstances seemed really to force me to write 'The Heart of a
Schoolgirl.' I am glad you think well of it. Good afternoon."

"Can you beat her?" demanded Jennie, a minute later, when the long-legged
Mr. Farrington had strutted angrily away. "Ruthie is as calm as a summer
lake. She can turn an offer of fame and fortune down with the greatest
ease. Let's see that check, you miserable infant," she went on, grabbing
the slip of paper out of Mary's hand. "Oh, girls, it's really so!"

Ruth was reading another paragraph in Mr. Hammond's letter. He said:

"The check enclosed is for you, yourself. It has nothing to do
with the profits of the films we now release. It is a bribe. I
want to see whatever scenarios you may write during the next two
years. I want to see them first. That is all. We do not need a
contract, but if you keep the check I shall know that I am to
have first choice of anything you may write in this line."

The check went into Ruth's bank account.

That very week "The Heart of a Schoolgirl" was to be shown at the local
Opera House. Mrs. Tellingham gave a half holiday and engaged enough stages
besides Noah's old Ark, to take all the girls to the play. They went to
the matinee, and the center of enthusiasm was in the seats in the body of
the house reserved for the Briarwood girls.

The house was well filled at this first showing of the picture in
Lumberton, and more than the girls themselves were enthusiastic over it.
To Ruth's surprise the manager of the house showed "Curiosity" first, and
when she saw her name emblazoned under the title of the one-reel film,
Ruth Fielding had a distinct shock.

It was a joyful feeling that shook her, however. As never before she
realized that she had really accomplished something in the world. She had
earned money with her brains! And she had written something really worth
while, too.

When the five-reel drama came on, she was as much absorbed in the story as
though she had not written it and acted in it. It gave her a strange
feeling indeed when she saw herself come on to the screen, and knew just
what she was saying in the picture by the movement of her lips--whether
she remembered the words spoken when the film was made or not.

Everything went off smoothly. The girls cheered the picture to the echo,
and at the end went marching out, shouting:

"S.B.--Ah-h-h!
S.B.--Ah-h-h!
Sound our battle-cry
Near and far!
S.B.--All!
Briarwood Hall!
Sweetbriars, do or die--
This be our battle-cry--
Briarwood Hall!
_That's all!_"

CHAPTER XXV

AUNT ALVIRAH AT BRIARWOOD HALL

Mr. Cameron, Helen's father, and Mrs. Murchiston, who had acted as
governess for the twins until they were old enough to go to boarding
school, were motoring to Briarwood Hall for the graduation exercises. They
proposed to pick Tom up at Seven Oaks Military Academy, for he would spend
another year at that school, not graduating until the following June.

They also had another guest in the big automobile who took up a deal of
the attention of the drygoods merchant and Mrs. Murchiston. A two-days'
trip was made of it, the party staying at a hotel for the night. Aunt
Alvirah was going farther from the Red Mill and the town of Cheslow than
she had ever been in her life before.

First she said she could not possibly do it! What ever would Jabez do
without her? And he would not hear to it, anyway. And then--there was "her
back and her bones."

"Best place for old folks like me is in the chimbly corner," declared Aunt
Alvirah. "Much as I would love to see my pretty graduate with all them
other gals, I don't see how I can do it. It's like uprooting a tree that's
growed all its life in one spot. I'm deep-rooted at the Red Mill."

But Mr. Cameron knew it was the wish of the old woman's heart to see "her
pretty" graduate from Briarwood Hall. It had been Aunt Alvirah's word that
had made possible Ruth's first going to school with Helen Cameron. It was
she who had urged Mr. Jabez Potter on, term after term, to give the girl
the education she so craved.

Indeed, Aunt Alvirah had been the good angel of Ruth's existence at the
Red Mill. Nobody in the world had so deep an interest in the young girl as
the little old woman who hobbled around the Red Mill kitchen.

Therefore Mr. Cameron was determined that she should go to Briarwood. He
fairly shamed Mr. Potter into hiring a woman to come in to do for Ben and
himself while Aunt Alvirah was gone.

"You ought to shut up your mill altogether and go yourself, Potter,"
declared Mr. Cameron. "Think what your girl has done. I'm proud of my
daughter. You should be doubly proud of your niece."

"Well, who says I'm not?" snarled Jabez Potter. "But I can't afford to
leave my work to run about to such didoes."

"You'll be sorry some day," suggested Mr. Cameron. "But, at any rate, Aunt
Alvirah shall go."

And the trip was one of wonder to Aunt Alvirah Boggs. First she was
alarmed, for she confessed to a fear of automobiles. But when she felt the
huge machine which carried them so swiftly over the roads running so
smoothly, Aunt Alvirah became a convert to the new method of locomotion.

At the hotel where they halted for the night, there were more wonders.
Aunt Alvirah's knowledge of modern conveniences was from reading only. She
had never before been nearer to a telephone than to look up at the wires
that were strung from post to post before the Red Mill. Modern plumbing,
an elevator, heating by steam, and many other improvements, were like a
sealed book to her.

She disliked to be waited upon and whispered to Mrs. Murchiston:

"That air black man a-standin' behind my chair at dinner sort o' makes me
narvous. I'm expectin' of him to grab my plate away before I'm done
eatin'."

The day set for the graduation exercises at Briarwood Hall was as lovely a
June day as was ever seen. The Cameron automobile rolled into the grounds
and was parked with several dozen machines, just as the girls were
marching into chapel. The fresh young voices chanting "One Wide River to
Cross" floated across to the ears of the party from the Red Mill, and Aunt
Alvirah began to hum the song in her cracked, sweet treble.

The automobile party followed the smaller girls along the wide walk of the
campus. There was the new West Dormitory, quite completed on the outside,
and sufficiently so inside for the seniors to occupy rooms. Not the old
quartettes and duos of times past; but very beautiful rooms nevertheless,
in which they could later entertain their friends who had come to the
graduation exercises.

The organist began to play softly on the great organ in the chapel, and
played until every girl was seated--the graduating class upon the
platform. Then the school orchestra played and Helen--very pretty in white
with cherry ribbons--stood forth with her violin and played a solo.

Mrs. Tellingham welcomed the visitors in a short speech. Then there was a
little silence before the strains of an old, old song quivered through the
big chapel. Helen was playing again, with the soft tones of the organ as a
background. And, in a moment Ruth stood up, stepped forward, and began to
sing.

The Cheslow party had all heard her before. She was almost always singing
about the old Red Mill when she was at home. But into this ballad she
seemed to put more feeling than ever before. The tears ran down Aunt
Alvirah's withered cheeks. Ruth did not know the dear old woman was
present, for it was to be a surprise to her; but she might have been
singing just for Aunt Alvirah alone.

"This pays me for coming, Miz' Murchiston, if nothin' else would,"
whispered Aunt Alvirah. "I can see my pretty often and often, I hope. But
I'll never hear her sing again like this."

The exercises went smoothly. A learned man made a helpful speech. Then,
while there was more music, a curtain fell between the graduating class
and the audience.

When it rose again the girls were grouped about a light throne, trimmed
with flowers, on which sat the girl who had proved herself to be the best
scholar of them all--the lame girl, Mercy Curtis. She was flushed, she was
excited and, if never before, Mercy Curtis looked actually pretty.

Laughing and singing, her mates rolled the throne down to the edge of the
platform, and there, still sitting in her pretty, flowing white robes,
Mercy gave them the valedictory oration. It was Ruth's idea, filched from
the transformation scene in her moving picture scenario.

Afterward the other girls had their turns. Ruth's own paper upon "The
Force of Character" and Jennie's funny "History of a Bunch of Briers"
received the most applause.

Mrs. Tellingham came last. As was her custom she spoke briefly of the work
of the past year and her hopes for the next one; but mainly she lingered
upon the story of the rebuilding of the West Dormitory and the loyalty the
girls had shown in making the new building a possibility.

There was a debt upon it yet; but the royalties from the picture play were
coming in most satisfactorily. The preceptress urged all her guests to do
what they could to advertise the film of "The Heart of a Schoolgirl" in
their home towns, and especially urged them to see it.

"You will be well repaid. Not alone because it is a true picture of our
boarding school life, but because the writer of the scenario has produced
a good and helpful story, and Mr. Hammond has put it on the screen with
taste and judgment."

These were Mrs. Tellingham's words, and they made Ruth Fielding very
proud.

The diplomas were given out after a touching address by the local
clergyman. The girls received the parchments with happy hearts. Their
faces shone and their eyes were bright.

The graduating class held a sort of reception on the platform; but after a
time Helen urged Ruth away from the crowd. "Come on!" she said. "Let's go
up into the new-old-room. We'll not have many chances of being in it now."

"That's right. Only to-night," sighed Ruth. "Away to-morrow for the Red
Mill. And next week we start for Dixie. I wonder if we shall have a good
time, Helen. Do you think we ought to have promised Nettie and her aunt
that we would come?"

"Surely! Why, we'll have a dandy time," declared Helen, "just us girls
alone."

This belief proved true in the end, as may be learned in the next volume
of this series, to be entitled "Ruth Fielding Down in Dixie; Or, Great
Days in the Land of Cotton."

"I didn't see your father or Tom or Mrs. Murchiston," Ruth said, as she
and Helen walked across the campus.

"They are here, just the same," said Helen, laughing.

"Where?"

"I shouldn't be surprised if we found them up in our old quartette. Ann is
with her Uncle Bill Hicks, and Mercy is with her father and mother. We
shall have the room to ourselves. We'll get out my new tea set and give
them tea. Come on!"

Helen raced up the stairs, opened the door of the big room, and then got
behind it so that Ruth, coming hurriedly in, should first see the little,
quivering, eager figure which had risen out of the low chair by the
window.

"My pretty! my pretty!" gasped Aunt Alvirah. "I seen you graduate, and I
heard you sing, and I listened to your fine readin'. But, oh, my pretty,
how hungry my arms are for ye!"

She hobbled across the floor to meet Ruth and, for once, forgot her
usually intoned complaint: "Oh, my back! and oh, my bones!" Ruth caught
her in her strong young arms. Helen slipped out and joined her family in
the hall.

In a little while Tom thundered on the door, and shouted: "Hey! we're
dying for that cup of tea Helen promised us, Ruthie Fielding. Aren't you
ever going to let us in?"

Ruth's smiling face immediately appeared. Her eyes were still wet and her
lips trembled as she said:

"Come in, all of you, do! We are sure to have a nice cup of tea. Aunt
Alvirah is making it herself."

THE END

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