Ruth Fielding on the St. Lawrence; Or, The Queer Old Man of the Thousand Islands — Text and Context

Jennie thought it, the plump girl would surely have smiled at Mammy Rose.

The old woman bobbed up, making an old-time genuflection. She thrust out a neat, paper-covered parcel which she had held carefully in her capacious lap all through the ceremony.

"Miss Janie--ma blessed baby!" she whispered. "I is suttenly glad to see dis here day! Heaven is a-smilin' on yo'. And here is one o' ma birfday cakes yo' liked so mighty well. Mammy Rose done make it for her chile--de las' she ever will make yo' now yo' is goin' to foreign paths."

Another girl than Jennie might have been confused, or even angered, by the interruption of the procession. But Jennie could be nothing if not kind. Her own hands were filled with her bouquet--it was enormous. She stopped, however, before the old woman.

"As thoughtful for me as ever, Mammy Rose, aren't you?" she said pleasantly. "And you know all my little failings. Henri," she said to her husband.

But the courtly young Frenchman had quite as great a sense of _noblesse oblige_ as his bride. He bowed to the black woman as though she was the highest lady in the land and accepted the parcel, tied clumsily with baby ribbon by the gnarled fingers of Mammy Rose.

They moved on and the smiling, yet tearful, old woman, sank back into her seat. If there was anything needed to make this a perfect occasion, it was this little incident. The bride and groom came out into the smiling sunshine with sunshine in their hearts as well as on their faces.

"I knew," whispered Helen Cameron to Ann Hicks, who stalked beside her in rather a mannish way, "that Heavy Stone could not even be married without something ridiculous happening."

"'Ridiculous'?" repeated the Western girl, with something like a catch in her throat.

"Well, it _might_ have been ridiculous," admitted Helen. "Only, after all, Jennie is real--and so is Major Marchand. You couldn't feaze him, not even if a bomb had been dropped in the church vestibule."

They were crowding into the motor-cars then, and merrily the wedding party sped back to the big house on Madison Avenue, which had been garnished for the occasion with the same taste that marked the color-scheme of the bride's attendants. The canopied steps and walk, the footmen in line to receive the party, and the banked flowers in the reception hall were all impressive.

"My!" whispered the irrepressible Jennie to Henri, "I feel like a prima donna."

"You are," was his prompt and earnest agreement.

They trooped in at once to the breakfast table. The spacious room was wreathed with smilax and other vines--even to the great chandelier. The latter was so hidden by the decorations that it seemed overladen, and Tom Cameron, who had a quick eye, mentioned it to Ruth.

"Wonder if those fellows braced that thing with wires? Florists sometimes have more sense of art than common sense."

"Hush, Tom! _Nothing_ can happen to spoil this occasion. Isn't it wonderful?"

But Tom Cameron looked at her rather gloomily. He shook his head slightly.

"I feel like one of those pictures of the starving children in Armenia. I'm standing on the outside, looking in."

It is true that Ruth Fielding flushed, but she refused to make reply. A moment later, when Tom realized how the seating of the party had been arranged, his countenance showed even deeper gloom.

As best man Tom was directed to Jennie's right hand. On the other side of Henri, Ruth was seated, and that placed her across the wide table from Tom Cameron.

The smiling maid of honor was well worth looking at, and Tom Cameron should have been content to focus his eyes upon her whenever he raised them from his plate; but for a particular reason he was not at all pleased.

This particular reason was the seating of another figure in military uniform next to Ruth on her other side. This was a tall, pink-cheeked, well set-up youth looking as though, like Tom, he had seen military service, and with an abundance of light hair above his broad brow. At school Chessleigh Copley had been nicknamed "Lasses" because of that crop of hair.

He entered into conversation with Ruth at once, and he found her so interesting (or she found him so interesting) that Ruth had little attention to give to her _vis-a-vis_ across the table.

The latter's countenance grew heavier and heavier, his dark brows drawing together and his black eyes smouldering.

If anybody noticed this change in Tom's countenance it was his twin sister, sitting on Ruth's side of the table. And perhaps she understood her brother's mood. Now and then her own eyes flashed something besides curiosity along the table on her side at Ruth and Chess Copley, so evidently lost in each other's companionship.

But it was a gay party. How could it be otherwise with Jennie at the table? And everybody was bound to second the gaiety of the bride. The groom's pride in Jennie was so open, yet so very courteously expressed, that half the girls there envied Jennie her possession of Henri Marchand.

"To think," drawled Ann Hicks, who had come East from Silver Ranch, "that Heavy Stone should grab off such a prize in the matrimonial grab-bag. My!" and she finished with a sigh.

"When does your turn come, Ann?" asked somebody.

"Believe me," said the ranch girl, with emphasis, "I have got to see somebody besides cowpunchers and horse-wranglers before I make such a fatal move."

"You have lost all your imagination," laughed Helen, from across the table.

"I don't know. Maybe I used it all up, back in those old kid days when I ran away to be 'Nita' and played at being 'the abused chee-ild'. Remember?"

"Oh, _don't_ we!" cried Helen and some of the other girls.

Something dropped on Tom Cameron's plate. He glanced up, then down again at the object that had fallen. It was a piece of plaster from the ceiling.

Chess Copley likewise shot a glance ceilingward.

There was a wide gap--and growing wider--on his side of the chandelier. A great piece of the heavy plaster was breaking away from the ceiling, and it hung threateningly over his own and Ruth Fielding's head.

"Look out, Ruth!" shouted Tom Cameron, jumping to his feet.

Tom Cameron, no matter how desirous he might be of saving Ruth from hurt, could not possibly have got around the table in time. With a snarling, ripping noise the heavy patch of plaster tore away from the ceiling and fell directly upon the spot where the chairs of Ruth and Chess Copley had been placed!

The screams of the startled girls almost drowned the noise of the plaster's fall, but Ruth Fielding did not join in the outcry.

With one movement, it seemed, Copley had risen and kicked his own chair away, seized Ruth about her waist as he did so, and so dragged her out from under the avalanche.

It was all over in a moment, and the two stood, clinging to each other involuntarily, while the dust of the fallen plaster spread around them.

For a moment Ruth Fielding had been in as perilous a situation as she had ever experienced, and her life had been rather full of peril and adventure since, as a girl of twelve, and in the first volume of this series, we met her as "Ruth Fielding of the Red Mill."

At the time just mentioned, the orphaned Ruth had appeared at her great-uncle's mill on the Lumano River, near Cheslow, in one of the New England States, and had been taken in by the miserly old miller rather under protest. But Aunt Alvirah Boggs, who was Uncle Jabez Potter's housekeeper, had loved the child from the very beginning. And in truth the old miller loved Ruth too, only he was slow to admit it.

Ruth's first young friends at the Red Mill were the Cameron twins, and with Helen she had spent her schools days and many of her vacations, at Briarwood Hall, in the North Woods, at the seashore, in the West, in the South, Down East, and in other localities, the narrated adventures of which are to be found in the several volumes of the Ruth Fielding Series.

In the book just preceding this present story, "Ruth Fielding in the Great Northwest," Helen was likewise with Ruth when she made her famous moving picture, "Brighteyes" in connection with the Alectrion Film Corporation, the president of which, Mr. Hammond, had first encouraged Ruth to turn her entire time and talent to the writing of moving picture scenarios.

The fall before the time of this wedding party in which the girl of the Red Mill was taking part, fortune threw in Ruth's way a charming young woman, a full-blood Osage Indian, in whom Mr. Hammond saw possibilities of development for screen acting. At least, to use the trite and bombastic moving picture phrase, Wonota, the Indian princess, "photographed like a million dollars."

The Great War's abrupt conclusion brought Tom Cameron home just as eager as he had been for two years past to have Ruth agree to his plans for the future. As Ruth saw it (no matter what may have been her secret feeling for Tom) to do as Tom wished would utterly spoil the career on which she had now entered so successfully.

Tom, like most young men in love, considered that a girl's only career should be a husband and a home. He frankly said that he was prepared, young as he was, to supply both for Ruth.

But their youth, in the first place, was an objection in the very sensible mind of Ruth. It was true, too, that a second objection was the fact that she wanted to live her own life and establish herself in the great career she had got into almost by chance.

And then too Tom himself, since his return from France, had shown little determination to settle himself at work. Being the son of a wealthy merchant and possessing, now that he was of age, a fortune in his own right inherited from his mother's estate, Tom Cameron, it seemed to Ruth, was just playing with life.

Like many another young fellow so recently from the battlefield, it seemed as if he could not settle to anything. And his sister encouraged him in this attitude. Ruth secretly blamed Helen for this. And therefore her own attitude to Tom had grown more stern.

It was now June--the June following the armistice--the loveliest and most accepted time for a bridal. The ceremony of Jennie Stone's wedding to Major Henri Marchand had passed off, as we have seen, very smoothly. Even Tom, as best man, had found the ring at the right moment, and nobody had stepped on Jennie's train.

But this accident at the breakfast table--and an accident that might have resulted fatally for Ruth Fielding--threatened to cause not only excitement but to sober the whole party.

In a moment, however, in spite of the dust rising from the broken plaster, the others saw that Ruth and Chess Copley were both safe. The latter was repeating, over and over and in much anxiety:

"You are all right, Ruth! I've got you. You are all right."

The girl herself was quite breathless. Copley held her in rather a close embrace, and for a much longer time than appeared necessary--to Tom Cameron at least. Tom had got around the table just too late to be of any assistance.

"We see you've got her, 'Lasses," Tom observed, rather tartly. "The close-up is shot. Break away."

His words started the laughter--and there was much relief expressed in the laughter in which all about the table joined. People are apt to laugh when serious danger is over. But it might have been observed by his friends at another time that Tom Cameron was not usually tart or unkind of speech.

Ruth said nothing, and Chess Copley flushed hotly. Jennie had got up with Henri in the moment of excitement, and now she quickly seized her goblet of grape-juice in which the party had previously toasted the bride and groom, and raised the glass on high.

"Hear! Hear!" cried Ann Hicks. "The bride speaks."

"This is a good omen," declared Jennie clinging to Henri's arm. "Our Ruth was wounded in France and has been in danger on many occasions, as we all know. Never has she more gracefully escaped disaster, nor been aided by a more chivalrous cavalier. Drink! Drink to Ruth Fielding and to Chessleigh Copley! They are two very lucky people, for that ceiling might have cracked their crowns."

They drank the toast--most of them with much laughter.

"Some orator, Jennie," commented Helen. "We are just beginning to appreciate you."

"You will all be sorry that you did not treat me better--especially as a chee-ild," returned the plump bride, with mock solemnity. "Think! Think how you all used to abuse my--my appetite at Briarwood Hall. It is only Mammy Rose who is kind to me," and she pointed to the old colored woman's gift that had a place of honor before her own plate and that of Major Marchand's.

"Let me give a toast," cried Helen gaily. "Let us drink to Jennie's appetite--long may it wave."

"Goodness me! Don't speak of waves and appetite in the same breath, I beg. Remember we are going directly aboard ship from the house and--and I never was a good sailor. Waves! Ugh!"

The fun went on while the serving people swept up the debris and removed those dishes that had been covered with dust.

Aside, Ruth, taking for the moment little part in the chatter and merriment, for she had received a considerable shock, stood talking with Copley. Ruth had given him her hand again and Chess clung to it rather more warmly--so the watchful Tom thought--than was needful. But the girl felt that she really had a great deal to thank Copley for.

"Jennie in her fun spoke quite truly," Ruth said in a low voice. "You are a friend in need."

"And I hope you consider me a friend indeed, Ruth," rejoined the young fellow.

"I certainly do," agreed the girl of the Red Mill with her customary frank smile.

"I--I am afraid," Chess added, "that I am not considered in that light by all your friends, Ruth. Helen Cameron hasn't spoken to me to-day."

"It is serious when a fellow gets turned down--snubbed--and not a word of explanation offered. And, in the words of the old song, we were 'companions once, but strangers now'."

"Oh, don't mind. Helen usually gets over the mollygrubs very quickly."

Chess turned to see the other Cameron twin eyeing him with no great favor.

However, the throng of guests who were invited to the reception began coming in, and for the next two hours the parlors were crowded with the many friends of the plump girl, who, as Helen had said, found this the greatest day of her life, and there was little time for much individual chat, though, it seemed to Tom, Chess Copley kept as close as possible to Ruth's side.

It was after Jennie had gone to put on her traveling dress, and the immediate wedding party, who were to accompany the bridal couple to the dock to see them embark, were hurrying out of the room to put on street clothes that Tom, in a low voice, demanded of Chess:

"What are you trying to do--put a label on Ruth? Don't forget she belongs to all of us."

Chess Copley had not won his commission in the war and wore only a sergeant's chevrons. But the war was over and he could tell his captain just what he thought of him. And he did.

"Do you know what you are, Tom Cameron?" he drawled, smiling a hard little smile. "You are a regular dog in the manger, and I'm frank to tell you so!"

"It is the greatest day in a girl's life," declared Helen Cameron, sitting on the edge of one of the twin beds in the room she and Ruth occupied while they were at the Stone house. She buckled her fingers around her knee to hold one limb crossed over the other--a very mannish and independent position. "I don't know that I ever envied Heavy before in my life. But she has got something now that we haven't, Ruth."

"Cat's foot!" exclaimed Ann Hicks from her chair. "Who'd want a Frenchman for a husband?"

Ruth laughed. "Not to say that Major Marchand is not a fine fellow, I agree with Ann that I don't want a husband. Not--right--now!"

"Oh! Very well," said Helen complacently. "But if you thought you'd never be able to get one----"

"Shucks!" exclaimed Ann. "As though our Ruth couldn't have all she wants if she wants them."

"I really wish you would not speak plurally of them, Ann," cried Ruth, laughing. "You will make me feel like the Queen of the Amazons. They say she keeps a masculine harem--like a bey, or a sultan, or something of that kind."

"Be serious," rejoined Helen. "I mean what I say. Jennie's great day has arrived. And she is the first of all our old bunch that went to Briarwood--and surely of those who went to Ardmore College--to fetter herself to a man for life."

"Well, I shall never be fettered, even if I am married," observed Ann. "I'd like to see myself!"

"If the right man comes riding by, Ann, even you will change your mind," Ruth said softly.

"Then I suppose the right man has never ridden up to the Red Mill and asked for you?" demanded Helen, with a glance at her chum that was rather piercing.

"Perhaps he has," said Ruth composedly, "but I wasn't at home. Aunt Alvirah thinks I am almost never at home. And, girls, as I told you yesterday, I am going soon on another journey."

"Oh, Ruth, I've been thinking of that!" Helen rejoined, with a sudden access of interest and excitement. "To the Thousand Islands! And at the loveliest time of all the year up there."

"And that is only the truth," said one of the other bridesmaids. "We spent last summer there."

"The Copleys always go," Helen remarked quietly.

"No! Do you mean it?" cried Ruth, showing some surprise. "Well, indeed."

"So you will see a lot more of 'Lasses Copley," remarked Ann.

"I shall be glad if Chess Copley is there when and where we make this picture, for I think he is very nice," was Ruth's composed reply.

"Oh, he's nice enough," agreed Helen, rather grumblingly however. "I've got nothing to say against Chess--as a general thing."

"And you don't seem to say much for him," put in the Western girl curiously.

But Helen said nothing further on that topic. Ruth broke in, answering one of the other girls who spoke of the forthcoming picture Ruth was going to make for the Alectrion Corporation.

"Of course our famous Wonota is going to be in the picture. For she is famous already. 'Brighteyes' appeared for two successive weeks in one of the big Broadway picture houses and we are making a lot of money out of its distribution.

"But we know Wonota is a find for another very unmistakable reason," she added.

"What is that?" asked Helen.

"Other producers have begun to make Wonota and her father offers. For Chief Totantora has become interested in the movie business too. Mr. Hammond used Totantora in a picture he made in Oklahoma in the spring; one in which Wonota did not appear. She was off at school at the time. We are going to make of the princess a cultivated and cultured young lady before we get through with her," and Ruth laughed.

"A Red Indian!" cried somebody.

"That makes no difference," said Ruth placidly. "She is amenable to white customs, and is really a very smart girl. And she has a lovely disposition."

"Especially," put in Helen, who remembered the occasion clearly, "when she wanted to shoot Dakota Joe Fenbrook when he treated her so unkindly in his Wild West show. But, I wanted to shoot him myself," she added, frankly. "Especially after he tried to hurt Ruth."

"Never mind him," said her chum at that. "Joe Fenbrook is in the penitentiary now, and he is not bothering us. But other people are bothering Mr. Hammond about Wonota."