Ruth Fielding in Moving Pictures by Alice Emerson

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"What hotel?" asked Ruth, laughing.

"In Cheslow. I don't know the name of it," whispered Hazel Gray. "Is there
more than one?"

"There is; but you'll not go all the way to Cheslow in your condition,"
declared Ruth. "We're taking you to the Red Mill. Now! no objections,
please. Hurry up, Tommy."

"But I am all wet," protested the girl.

"I should say you were," gasped Helen.

"Nobody knows better than I," said Ruth, "that the water of the Lumano
river is at least _damp_, at all seasons."

"I will make you a lot of trouble," objected Miss Gray.

"No, you won't," the girl of the Red Mill repeated. "Aunt Alvirah will
snuggle you down between soft, fluffy blankets, and give you hot boneset
tea, or 'composition,' and otherwise coddle you. To-morrow morning you
will feel like a new girl."

"Oh, dear!" groaned Miss Gray. "I wish I _were_ a new girl."

A very few minutes later they came in sight of the Red Mill, with the
rambling, old, story-and-a-half dwelling beside it, in which Jabez
Potter's grandfather had been born. Although the leaves had long since
fallen from the trees, and the lawn was brown, the sloping front yard of
the Potter house was very attractive. The walks were swept, the last dead
leaf removed, and the big stones at the main gateway were dazzlingly
white-washed.

The jar and rumble of the grist-mill, and the trickle of the water on the
wheel, made a murmurous accompaniment to all the other sounds of life
about the place. From the rear of the old house fowls cackled, a mule sent
his clarion call across the fields, and hungry pigs squealed their prayer
for supper. A cow lowed impatiently at the pasture bars in answer to the
querulous blatting of her calf.

Tom was going on home to change his clothes; but when Ruth saw the fringe
of icicles around the bottoms of his trouser legs, she would not hear to
it.

"You come right in with us, Tom. Helen will drive the car home and get you
a change of clothing. Meanwhile you can put on some of Uncle Jabez's old
clothes. Hurry on, now, children!" and she laughingly drove Tom and Hazel
Gray before her to the porch of the old house, where Aunt Alvirah, having
heard the automobile, met them in amazement.

"What forever has happened, my pretty?" cried the little old lady, whose
bent back and rheumatic limbs made her seem even smaller than she
naturally was. "In the river? Do come in! Bring the young lady right into
the best room, Ruthie. You strip off right before the kitchen fire, Master
Tom. I'll bring you some things to put on. There's a huck towel on the
nail yonder. Oh, my back! and oh, my bones!"

Thus talking, Aunt Alvirah hobbled ahead into the sitting room. The girl
who had fallen into the river was now shivering. Ruth and the old lady
undressed her as quickly as possible, and Aunt Alvirah made ready the bed
with the "fluffy" blankets in the chamber right off the sitting room.

"Do get one of your nighties for her, my pretty," directed Aunt Alvirah.
"She wouldn't feel right sleepin' in one o' _my_ old things, I know."

Ruth was excited. In the first place, as to most girls of her age, a "real
live actress" was as much of a wonder as a Great Auk would have been;
only, of course, Hazel Gray was much more charming than the garfowl!

Ruth Fielding was interested in moving pictures--and for a particular
reason. Long before she had gained the reward for the return of the pearl
necklace to Nettie Parsons' aunt, Ruth had thought of writing a scenario.
This was not a very original thought, for many, many thousand other people
have thought the same thing.

Occasionally, when she had been to a film show, Ruth had wondered why she
could not write a playlet quite as good as many she saw, and get money for
it. But it had been only a thought; she knew nothing about the technique
of the scenario, or how to go about getting an opinion upon her work if
she should write one.

Here chance had thrown her into the company of a girl who was working for
the films, and evidently was of some importance in the moving picture
companies, despite the treatment she had received from the unpleasant
director, Mr. Grimes.

Ruth remembered now of having seen Hazel Gray upon the screen more than
once within the year. She was regarded as a coming star, although she had
not achieved the fame of many actresses for the silent drama who were no
older.

So Ruth, feeling the importance of the occasion, selected from her store
the very prettiest night gown that she owned--one she had never even worn
herself--and brought it down stairs to the girl who had been in the river.
A little later Hazel Gray was between Aunt Alvirah's blankets, and was
sipping her hot tea.

"My dear! you are very, very good to me," she said, clinging to Ruth's
hand. You and the dear little old lady. Are you as good to every stranger
who comes your way?"

"Aunt Alvirah is, I'm sure," replied Ruth, laughing and blushing. Somehow,
despite the fact that the young actress was only two or three years older
than herself, the girl of the Red Mill felt much more immature than Miss
Gray.

"You belittle your own kindness, I am sure," said Hazel. "And that _dear_
boy who got me out of the river--Where is he?"

"Unseeable at present," laughed Ruth. "He is dressed in some of Uncle
Jabez's clothing, a world too big for him. But Tom _is_ one of the dearest
fellows who ever lived."

"You think a great deal of him, I fancy?"

"Oh, yes, indeed!" cried Ruth, innocently. "His sister is my very dearest
friend. We go to Briarwood Hall together."

"Briarwood Hall? I have heard of that. We go there soon, I understand. Mr.
Hammond is to take some pictures in and around Lumberton."

"Oh!" exclaimed Ruth. 'That will be nice! I hope we shall see you up
there, Miss Gray, for Helen and I go back to school in a week."

"Whether I see you there or not," said the young actress with a sigh, "I
hope that I shall be able some time to repay you for what you do for me
now. You are entirely too kind."

"Perhaps you can pay me more easily than you think," said Ruth, bashfully,
but with dancing eyes.

"How? Tell me at once," said Miss Gray.

"I'm just _mad_ to try writing a scenario for a moving picture," confessed
Ruth. "But I don't know how to go about getting it read."

Miss Gray smiled, but made no comment upon Ruth's desire. She merely said,
pleasantly:

"If you write your scenario, my dear, I will get our manager to read it."

"That awful Mr. Grimes?" cried Ruth. "Oh! I shouldn't want _him_ to read
it."

Hazel Gray laughed heartily at that. "Don't judge, the taste of a baked
porcupine by his quills," she said. "Grimes is a very rough and unpleasant
man; but he gets there. He is one of the most successful directors Mr.
Hammond has working for him."

"You have mentioned Mr. Hammond before?" said Ruth, questioningly.

"He is the man I will show your scenario to." Then she added: "If I am
still working for him. Mr. Hammond is a very nice man; but Grimes does not
like me," and again the girl sighed, and a cloud came over her pretty
face.

"I would not work under such a mean man as that Grimes!" declared Ruth.
"You might have been drowned because of his carelessness."

"It is my misfortune--being an actress--often to work under unpleasant
conditions. I want to get ahead, and I would like to please Grimes; he
puts over his pictures, and he has made several film actresses quite
famous. Of course, although my first consideration must necessarily be my
bread and butter, I hope for a little fame on the side, too."

"Oh! you have achieved that, have you not?" said Ruth, timidly. "I thought
you had already made a name for yourself."

"Not as great a name as I hope to gain some day," declared Hazel Gray.
"But thank you for the compliment. I was carried on to the stage when I
was a baby in arms by my dear mother, who was an actress of some ability.
My father was an actor. He died of a fever in the South before I can
remember, and when I was seven my mother died.

"Kind people trained me for the stage; they were kind enough to say I had
talent. And now I have tried to do my best in the movies. Mr. Hammond
thinks I am a good pantomimist; but Grimes declares I have no 'film
charm,'" and Miss Gray sighed again. "He has another girl he wants to push
forward, and is angry that Mr. Hammond did not send her to head this
company."

"Then this Mr. Hammond is quite an important man?" asked Ruth.

"Head of the Alectrion Film Corporation. He is immensely wealthy and a
really _good_ man. Of course," went on Miss Gray, "he is in the business
of making films for money; just the same, he makes a great many pictures
purely for art's sake, or for educational reasons. You would like Mr.
Hammond, I am sure," and the girl in bed sighed again.

Ruth saw that talking troubled Miss Gray and kept her mind upon her
quarrel with the moving picture director; so it did not need Aunt
Alvirah's warning to make the girl of the Red Mill steal away and leave
the patient to such repose as she might get.

CHAPTER IV

A TIME OF CHANGE

Tom Cameron looked funny enough in some of the miller's garments; but he
was none the worse for his bath in the river. He, too, had been dosed with
hot tea by Aunt Alvirah, though he made a wry face over it.

"Never you mind, boy," Ruth told him, laughing. "It is better to have a
bad taste in your mouth for a little while than a sore throat for a week."

"Hear! hear the philosopher!" cried Tom. "You'd think I was a tender
little blossom."

"You know, you _might_ have the croup," suggested Ruth, wickedly.

"Croup! What am I--a kid?" demanded Tom, half angry at this suggestion. He
had begun to notice that his sister and Ruth were inclined to set him down
as a "small boy" nowadays.

"How is it," Tom asked his father one day, "that Helen is all grown up of
a sudden? _I'm_ not! Everybody treats me just as they always have; but
even Colonel Post takes off his hat to our Helen on the street with
overpowering politeness, and the other men speak to her as though she were
as old as Mrs. Murchiston. It gets _me_!"

Mr. Cameron laughed; but he sighed thereafter, too. "Our little Helen _is_
growing up, I expect. She's taken a long stride ahead of you, Tommy, while
you've been asleep."

"Huh! I'm just as old as she is," growled Tom. "But _I_ don't feel grown
up."

And here was Ruth Fielding holding the same attitude toward him that his
twin did! Tom did not like it a bit. He was a manly fellow and had always
observed a protective air with Ruth and his sister. And, all of a sudden,
they had become young ladies while he was still a boy.

"I wish Nell would come back with my duds," he grumbled. "I have a good
mind to walk home in these things of the miller's."

"And be taken for an animated scarecrow on the way?" laughed Ruth. "Better
'bide a wee,' Tommy. Sister will get here with your rompers pretty soon.
Have patience."

"Now you talk just like Bobbins' sister. Behave, will you?" complained
Tom.

Ruth tripped out of the room to peep at the guest, and Aunt Alvirah
hobbled in and, letting herself down into her low chair, with a groan of
"Oh, my back! and oh, my bones!" smiled indulgently at Tom's gloomy face.

"What is the matter, Mister Tom?" she asked. "Truly, you look as colicky
as Amos Dodge--an' they do say he lived on sour apples!"

Tom had to laugh at this; but it was rather a rueful laugh. "I don't know
what is coming over these girls--Ruth and my sister," he said, "They're
beginning to put on airs like grown ladies. Cracky! they used to be some
fun."

"Growin' up, Mister Tom--growin' up. So's my pretty. I hate to see it, but
ye can't fool Natur'--no, sir! Natur' says to these young things:
'Advance!' an' they've jest got to march, I reckon," and Aunt Alvirah
sighed, too. Then her little, bird-like eyes twinkled suddenly and she
chuckled. "Jest the same," she added, in a whisper, "Ruth got out all her
doll-babies the other day and played with 'em jest like she was ten years
old."

"Ho, ho!" cried Tom, his face clearing up. "I guess she's only making
believe to be grown up, after all!"

Helen came finally and they left Tom alone in the kitchen to change his
clothes. Then the Camerons hurried away, for it was close to supper time.
Both Helen and Tom were greatly interested in the moving picture actress;
but she had fallen into a doze and they could not bid her good-bye.

"But I'm going to run down in the morning to see how she is," Tom
announced. "I'll see her before she goes away. She's a plucky one, all
right!"

"Humph!" thought Ruth, when the automobile had gone, "Tom seems to have
been wonderfully taken with that Miss Gray's appearance."

When Jabez Potter came in from the mill and found the strange girl in the
best bed he was inclined to criticize. He was a tall, dusty, old man, for
whom it seemed a hard task ever to speak pleasantly. Aunt Alvirah, when
she was much put out with him, said he "croaked like a raven!"

"Gals, gals, gals!" he grumbled. "This house seems to be nigh full of 'em
when you air to home, Niece Ruth."

"And empty enough of young life, for a fac', when my pretty is away," put
in Aunt Alvirah.

Ruth, not minding her Uncle Jabez's strictures, went about setting the
supper table with puckered lips, whistling softly. This last was an
accomplishment she had picked up from Tom long ago.

"And whistling gals is the wust of all!" snarled Jabez Potter, from the
sink, where he had just taken his face out of the soapsuds bath he always
gave it before sitting down to table. "I reckon ye ain't forgot what I
told ye:

"'Whistlin' gals an' crowin' hens
Always come to some bad ends!'"

"Now, Jabez!" remonstrated Aunt Alvirah.

But Ruth only laughed. "You've got it wrong, Uncle Jabez," she declared.
"There is another version of that old doggerel. It is:

"'Whistling girls and blatting sheep
Are the two best things a farmer can keep!'"

Then she went straight to him and, as his irritated face came out of the
huck towel, she put both arms around his neck and kissed him on his
grizzled cheek.

This sort of treatment always closed her Uncle Jabez's lips for a time.
There seemed no answer to be made to such an argument--and Ruth _did_ love
the crusty old man and was grateful to him.

When the miller had retired to his own chamber to count and recount the
profits of the day, as he always did every evening, Aunt Alvirah
complained more than usual of the old man's niggardly ways.

"It's gittin' awful, Ruthie, when you ain't to home. He's ashamed to have
me set so mean a table when you air here. For he _does_ kinder care about
what you think of him, my pretty, after all."

"Oh, Aunt Alvirah! I thought he was cured of _little_ 'stingies.'"

"No, he ain't! no, he ain't!" cried the old lady, sitting down with a
groan. "Oh, my back! and oh, my bones! I tell ye, my pretty, I have to
steal out things a'tween meals to Ben sometimes, or that boy wouldn't have
half enough to eat. Jabez has had a new padlock put on the meat-house
door, and I can't git a slice of bacon without his knowin' on it."

"That is ridiculous!" exclaimed Ruth, who had less patience now than she
once had for her great uncle's penuriousness. She was positive that it was
not necessary.

"Ree-dic'lous or not; it's _so_," Aunt Alvirah asserted. "Sometimes I feel
like I was a burden on him myself."

"_You_ a burden, dear Aunt Alvirah!" cried Ruth, with tears in her eyes.
"You would be a blessing, not a burden, in anybody's house. Uncle Jabez
was very fortunate indeed to get you to come here to the Red Mill."

"I dunno--I dunno," groaned the old lady. "Oh, my back! and oh, my bones!
I'm a poor, rheumaticky creeter--and nobody but Jabez would have taken me
out o' the poorhouse an' done for me as he has."

"You mean, you have done for him!" cried Ruth, in some passion. "You have
kept his house for him, and mended for him, and made a home for him, for
years. And I doubt if he has ever thanked you--not _once_!"

"But I have thanked him, deary," said Aunt Alvirah, sweetly. "And I do
thank him, same as I do our Father in Heaven, ev'ry day of my life, for
takin' me away from that poorfarm an' makin' an independent woman of me
a'gin. Oh, Jabez ain't all bad. Fur from it, my pretty--fur from it!

"Now that you ain't no more beholden to him for your eddication, an' all,
he is more pennyurious than ever--yes he is! For Jabez's sake, I could
almost wish you hadn't got all that money you did, for gittin' back the
lady's necklace. Spendin' money breeds the itch for spendin' more. Since
you wrote him that you was goin' to pay all your school bills, Jabez
Potter is cured of the little itch of _that_ kind he ever had."

"Oh, Aunt Alvirah! Think of me--I am glad to be independent, too."

"I know--I know," admitted Aunt Alvirah. "But it's hard on Jabez. He was
givin' you the best eddication he could----"

"Grumblingly enough, I am sure!" interposed Ruth, with a pout. She could
speak plainly to the little old woman, for Aunt Alvirah _knew_.

"Surely--surely," agreed the old lady. "But it did him good, jest the
same. Even if he only spent money on ye for fear of what the neighbors
would say. Opening his pocket for _your_ needs, my pretty, was makin' a
new man of Jabez."

"Dear me!" exclaimed Ruth, thinking it rather hard. "You want me to be
poor again, Aunt Alvirah."

"Only for your uncle's sake--only for his sake," she reiterated.

"But he can do more for Mercy Curtis," said Ruth. "He has helped her quite
a little. He likes Mercy--better than he does me, I think."

"But he don't have to help Mercy no more," put in Aunt Alvirah, quickly.
"Haven't you heard? Mercy's mother has got a legacy from some distant
relative and now there ain't a soul on whom Jabez Potter thinks he's _got_
to spend money. It's a terrible thing for Jabez--Meed an' it is, my
pretty.

"Changes--changes, all the time! We were going on quite smooth and
pleasant for a fac'. And _now_----Oh, my back! and oh, my bones!" and thus
groaningly Aunt Alvirah finished her quite unusual complaint, for with all
her aches and pains she was naturally a cheerful body.

CHAPTER V

"THAT'S A PROMISE"

The family at the Red Mill were early risers When the red, red sun threw
his first rays across the frosty waters of the Lumano, Ruth Fielding's
casement was wide open and she was busily tripping about the kitchen where
her Uncle Jabez had built the fire in the range before going to the mill.

Ben, the hired man, was out doing the chores and soon brought two brimming
pails of milk into the milk-room.

"Aunt Alviry will miss ye, Ruthie, when ye air gone back to school," Ben
said bashfully, when Ruth, with capable air, began to strain the milk and
pour it into the pans.

"Poor Aunt Alvirah!" sighed Ruth. "I hope you help her all you can when
I'm not here, Ben?"

"I jest _do_!" said the big fellow, heartily. "T'tell the truth, Ruthie,
sometimes I kin scarce a-bear Jabe Potter. I wouldn't work for him another
month, I vow! if 'twasn't for the old woman--and--and _you_."

"Oh, thank you, Ben, for that compliment," cried Ruth, dimpling and
running into the kitchen to set back the coffee-pot in which the coffee
was threatening to boil over.

The breakfast dishes were not dried when the raucous "honk! honk! honk!"
of an automobile horn sounded without. The machine stopped at the gate of
the Potter house.

"My mercy! who kin that be?" demanded Aunt Alvirah, jerkily, and then
settled back into her chair again by the window with a murmured, "Oh, my
back! and oh, my bones!"

"It can't be Tom, can it?" gasped Ruth, running to the door. "So
early--and to see Miss Gray?" for the thought that Tom Cameron was
interested in the actress still stuck in Ruth's mind.

"It doesn't sound like Tom's horn," she added, as she struggled with the
outer door. "Oh, dear! I _do_ wish Uncle Jabez would fix this lock.
There!"

The door flew open, and swung out, its weight carrying Ruth with it plump
into the arms of a big man in a big fur coat which he had thrown open as
he ascended the steps of the porch.

Ruth was almost smothered in the coat. And she would have slipped and
fallen had not the stranger held her up, finally setting her squarely on
her feet at arm's length, steadying her there and laughing the while.

"I declare, young lady," he said in a pleasant voice, "I did not expect
to be met with such cordiality. Is this the way you always meet visitors
at this beautiful, picturesque old place?"

"Oh, oh, oh! I--I--I----"

Ruth could only gasp at first, her cheeks ruddy with blushes, her eyes
timid. Her tongue actually refused to speak two consecutive, sensible
words.

"I must say, my dear," said the gentleman who, Ruth now saw, was a man as
old as Mr. Cameron, "that you are as charming as the Red Mill itself. For,
of course, this _is_ the Red Mill? I was directed here from Cheslow."

"Oh, yes!" stammered Ruth. "This is the Red Mill. Did--did you wish to see
Uncle Jabez?"

"Perhaps. But that was not my particular reason for coming here," said the
stranger, laughing openly at her now. "I find his niece pleasanter to look
at, I have no doubt; though Uncle Jabez may be a very estimable man."

Ruth was puzzled. She glanced past him to the big maroon automobile at the
gate. Therein she saw the squat, pugnacious looking Mr. Grimes, and she
jumped to a correct conclusion.

"Oh!" she cried faintly. "_You_ are Mr. Hammond!"

"Perfectly correct, my dear. And who are you, may I ask?"

"Ruth Fielding. I live here, sir. We have Miss Gray with us."

"Quite so," said Mr. Hammond, nodding. "I have come to see Miss Gray--and
to take her away if she is well enough to be moved."

"Oh, she is all right, Mr. Hammond. Only she is still lying in bed. Aunt
Alvirah prevailed upon her to stay quiet for a while longer."

"And your Aunt Alvirah is probably right. But--may I come in? I'd like to
ask you a few questions, even if Hazel is not to be seen as yet."

"Oh, certainly, sir!" cried Ruth, thus reminded of her negligence. "Do
come in. Here, into the sitting room, please. It is warm in here, for
Uncle Jabez kept a fire all night, and I just put in a good-sized chunk
myself."

"Ah! an old-fashioned wood-heater, is it?" asked Mr. Hammond, following
Ruth into the sitting room. "That looks like comfort. I remember stoking a
stove like that when I was a boy."

Ruth liked this jolly, hearty, big man from the start. He was inclined to
joke and tease, she thought; but with it all he had the kindliest manner
and most humorous mouth in the world.

He turned to Ruth when the door was shut, and asked seriously: "My dear,
is Miss Gray where she can hear us talk?"

"Why, no, sir," replied Ruth, surprised. "The door is shut--and it is a
soundproof door, I am certain."

"Very well. I have heard Grimes' edition of the affair yesterday. Will you
please give me _your_ version of the accident? Of course, it _was_ an
accident?"

"Oh, yes, sir! Although that man ought not to have made her climb that
tree----"

Mr. Hammond put up a warning hand, and smiled again. "I do not ask you for
an opinion. Just for an account of what actually happened."

"But you intimated that perhaps Mr. Grimes was more at fault than he
actually _was_," said Ruth, boldly. "Surely he did not push her off that
tree!"

"No," said Mr. Hammond, drily. "Did she jump?"

"Jump! Goodness! do you think she is crazy?" demanded Ruth, so shocked
that she quite forgot to be polite.

"Then she did not jump," the manager of the Alectrion Film Corporation
said, quite placidly. "Very well. Tell me what you saw. For, I suppose,
you were on the spot?"

"Yes, sir," said Ruth, not quite sure just then that the gentleman was
altogether fair-minded. Later she understood that Mr. Hammond merely
desired to get the stories of the accident from the observers with neither
partiality nor prejudice.

Ruth repeated just what happened from the time she and her friends arrived
in the Cameron car on the scene, till they reached the Red Mill and Miss
Gray had been put to bed.

"Very clear and convincing. You are a good witness," declared Mr. Hammond,
lightly; but she saw that the story had left an unpleasant impression on
his mind. She did not see how he could blame the motion picture actress;
but she feared that he did.

When Ruth tried to probe into that question, however, Mr. Hammond
skilfully turned the subject to the picturesqueness of the Red Mill and
its surroundings.

"This would make a splendid background for a film," he said, with
enthusiasm. "We ought to have a story written around this beautiful old
place, with all the romance and human interest that must be connected with
the history of the house.

"Do you mind if we go out and look around a little? I would not disturb
Miss Gray until she is perfectly rested and feels like rising."

"Surely I will show you around, sir!" cried Ruth. "Let me get my coat and
hat."

She ran for her sweater and tam-o'-shanter, and joined Mr. Hammond on the
porch. Mr. Hammond said nothing to Grimes, but allowed him to remain in
the limousine.

Ruth took the moving picture magnate down to the shore of the river and
showed him the wheel and the mill-side. The old stone bridge over the
creek, too, was an object of interest. In fact, Ruth had thought so much
about the situation of the Red Mill as a picture herself, that she knew
just what would attract the gentleman's interest the most.

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