RUTH FIELDING AT SUNRISE FARM
CHAPTER I—SWEET BRIARS AND SOUR PICKLES
The single gas jet burning at the end of the corridor was so dim and
made so flickering a light that it added more to the shadows of the
passage than it provided illumination. It was hard to discover which
were realities and which shadows in the long gallery.
Not a ray of light appeared at any of the transoms over the dormitory
doors; yet that might not mean that there were no lights burning within
the duo and quartette rooms in the East Dormitory of Briarwood Hall.
There were ways of shrouding the telltale transoms and—without doubt—the
members of the advanced junior classes had learned such little tricks of
the trade of being a schoolgirl.
At one door—and it was the portal of the largest “quartette” room on the
floor—a tall figure kept guard. At first this figure was so silent and
motionless that it seemed like a shadow only. But when another shadow
crept toward it, rustling along the wall on tiptoe, the guard demanded,
hissingly:
“S-s-stop! who goes there?”
“Oh-oo! How you startled me, Madge Steele!”
“Sh!” commanded the guard. “Who goes there?”
“Why—why—— It’s _I_.”
“Give the password instantly. Answer!” commanded the guard again, and
with some vexation. “‘I’ isn’t anybody.”
“Oh, indeed? Let me tell you that _this_ ‘I’ is somebody—according to
the gym. scales. I gained three pounds over the Easter holidays,” said
“Heavy” Jennie Stone, who had begun her reply with a giggle, but ended
it with a sigh.
“Password, Miss!” snapped the guard, grimly.
“Oh! of course!” Then the fat girl whispered shrilly:
“‘Sincerity—befriend.’ That is what ‘S. B.’ stands for, I s’pose.
Sweetbriars! and I have a big bag of sour pickles to offset the cloying
sweetness of the Sweetbriars,” chuckled Heavy. “Besides, they say that
vinegar pickles will make you thin——”
“I don’t need them for that purpose,” admitted the guard at the door,
still in a whisper, but accepting the large, “warty” pickle Heavy thrust
into her hand.
“Will make _me_ thin, then,” agreed the other. “Let me in, Madge.”
The guard, sucking the pickle convulsively the while, opened the door
just a little way. A blanket had been hung on a frame inside in such a
manner that scarcely a gleam of lamplight reached the corridor when the
door was open.
“Pass the Sweetbriar!” choked Madge, with her mouth full and the tears
running down her cheeks. “My goodness, Jennie Stone! these pickles are
right out of vitriol!”
“Sour, aren’t they?” chuckled Heavy. “I handed you a real one for fair,
that time, didn’t I, Madge?”
Then she tried to sidle through the narrow opening, got stuck, and was
urged on by Madge pushing her. With a bang—punctuated by a chorus of
muffled exclamations from the girls already assembled—she tore away the
frame and the blanket and got through.
“Shut the door, quick, guard!” exclaimed Helen Cameron.
“Of course, that would be Heavy—entering like a female Samson and
tearing down the pillars of the temple,” snapped Mercy Curtis, the lame
girl, in her sharp way.
“Please repair the damage, Helen,” said Ruth Fielding, who presided at
the far end of the room, sitting cross-legged on one of the beds.
The other girls were arranged on the chairs, or upon the floor before
her. There was a goodly number of them, and they now included most of
the members of the secret society known at Briarwood Hall as the
“S. B.’s.”
Ruth herself was a bright, brown-haired girl who, without possessing
many pretensions to real beauty of feature, still was quite good to look
at and proved particularly charming when one grew to know her well.
She was rather plump, happy of disposition, and with the kindest heart
in the world. She made both friends and enemies. No person of real
character can escape being disliked, now and then, by those of envious
disposition.
Ruth Fielding succeeded, usually, in winning to her those who at first
disliked her. And this, I claim, is a better gift than that of being
universally popular from the start.
1103624886
CHAPTER I—SWEET BRIARS AND SOUR PICKLES
The single gas jet burning at the end of the corridor was so dim and
made so flickering a light that it added more to the shadows of the
passage than it provided illumination. It was hard to discover which
were realities and which shadows in the long gallery.
Not a ray of light appeared at any of the transoms over the dormitory
doors; yet that might not mean that there were no lights burning within
the duo and quartette rooms in the East Dormitory of Briarwood Hall.
There were ways of shrouding the telltale transoms and—without doubt—the
members of the advanced junior classes had learned such little tricks of
the trade of being a schoolgirl.
At one door—and it was the portal of the largest “quartette” room on the
floor—a tall figure kept guard. At first this figure was so silent and
motionless that it seemed like a shadow only. But when another shadow
crept toward it, rustling along the wall on tiptoe, the guard demanded,
hissingly:
“S-s-stop! who goes there?”
“Oh-oo! How you startled me, Madge Steele!”
“Sh!” commanded the guard. “Who goes there?”
“Why—why—— It’s _I_.”
“Give the password instantly. Answer!” commanded the guard again, and
with some vexation. “‘I’ isn’t anybody.”
“Oh, indeed? Let me tell you that _this_ ‘I’ is somebody—according to
the gym. scales. I gained three pounds over the Easter holidays,” said
“Heavy” Jennie Stone, who had begun her reply with a giggle, but ended
it with a sigh.
“Password, Miss!” snapped the guard, grimly.
“Oh! of course!” Then the fat girl whispered shrilly:
“‘Sincerity—befriend.’ That is what ‘S. B.’ stands for, I s’pose.
Sweetbriars! and I have a big bag of sour pickles to offset the cloying
sweetness of the Sweetbriars,” chuckled Heavy. “Besides, they say that
vinegar pickles will make you thin——”
“I don’t need them for that purpose,” admitted the guard at the door,
still in a whisper, but accepting the large, “warty” pickle Heavy thrust
into her hand.
“Will make _me_ thin, then,” agreed the other. “Let me in, Madge.”
The guard, sucking the pickle convulsively the while, opened the door
just a little way. A blanket had been hung on a frame inside in such a
manner that scarcely a gleam of lamplight reached the corridor when the
door was open.
“Pass the Sweetbriar!” choked Madge, with her mouth full and the tears
running down her cheeks. “My goodness, Jennie Stone! these pickles are
right out of vitriol!”
“Sour, aren’t they?” chuckled Heavy. “I handed you a real one for fair,
that time, didn’t I, Madge?”
Then she tried to sidle through the narrow opening, got stuck, and was
urged on by Madge pushing her. With a bang—punctuated by a chorus of
muffled exclamations from the girls already assembled—she tore away the
frame and the blanket and got through.
“Shut the door, quick, guard!” exclaimed Helen Cameron.
“Of course, that would be Heavy—entering like a female Samson and
tearing down the pillars of the temple,” snapped Mercy Curtis, the lame
girl, in her sharp way.
“Please repair the damage, Helen,” said Ruth Fielding, who presided at
the far end of the room, sitting cross-legged on one of the beds.
The other girls were arranged on the chairs, or upon the floor before
her. There was a goodly number of them, and they now included most of
the members of the secret society known at Briarwood Hall as the
“S. B.’s.”
Ruth herself was a bright, brown-haired girl who, without possessing
many pretensions to real beauty of feature, still was quite good to look
at and proved particularly charming when one grew to know her well.
She was rather plump, happy of disposition, and with the kindest heart
in the world. She made both friends and enemies. No person of real
character can escape being disliked, now and then, by those of envious
disposition.
Ruth Fielding succeeded, usually, in winning to her those who at first
disliked her. And this, I claim, is a better gift than that of being
universally popular from the start.
Ruth Fielding At Sunrise Farm OR WHAT BECAME OF THE RABY ORPHANS
RUTH FIELDING AT SUNRISE FARM
CHAPTER I—SWEET BRIARS AND SOUR PICKLES
The single gas jet burning at the end of the corridor was so dim and
made so flickering a light that it added more to the shadows of the
passage than it provided illumination. It was hard to discover which
were realities and which shadows in the long gallery.
Not a ray of light appeared at any of the transoms over the dormitory
doors; yet that might not mean that there were no lights burning within
the duo and quartette rooms in the East Dormitory of Briarwood Hall.
There were ways of shrouding the telltale transoms and—without doubt—the
members of the advanced junior classes had learned such little tricks of
the trade of being a schoolgirl.
At one door—and it was the portal of the largest “quartette” room on the
floor—a tall figure kept guard. At first this figure was so silent and
motionless that it seemed like a shadow only. But when another shadow
crept toward it, rustling along the wall on tiptoe, the guard demanded,
hissingly:
“S-s-stop! who goes there?”
“Oh-oo! How you startled me, Madge Steele!”
“Sh!” commanded the guard. “Who goes there?”
“Why—why—— It’s _I_.”
“Give the password instantly. Answer!” commanded the guard again, and
with some vexation. “‘I’ isn’t anybody.”
“Oh, indeed? Let me tell you that _this_ ‘I’ is somebody—according to
the gym. scales. I gained three pounds over the Easter holidays,” said
“Heavy” Jennie Stone, who had begun her reply with a giggle, but ended
it with a sigh.
“Password, Miss!” snapped the guard, grimly.
“Oh! of course!” Then the fat girl whispered shrilly:
“‘Sincerity—befriend.’ That is what ‘S. B.’ stands for, I s’pose.
Sweetbriars! and I have a big bag of sour pickles to offset the cloying
sweetness of the Sweetbriars,” chuckled Heavy. “Besides, they say that
vinegar pickles will make you thin——”
“I don’t need them for that purpose,” admitted the guard at the door,
still in a whisper, but accepting the large, “warty” pickle Heavy thrust
into her hand.
“Will make _me_ thin, then,” agreed the other. “Let me in, Madge.”
The guard, sucking the pickle convulsively the while, opened the door
just a little way. A blanket had been hung on a frame inside in such a
manner that scarcely a gleam of lamplight reached the corridor when the
door was open.
“Pass the Sweetbriar!” choked Madge, with her mouth full and the tears
running down her cheeks. “My goodness, Jennie Stone! these pickles are
right out of vitriol!”
“Sour, aren’t they?” chuckled Heavy. “I handed you a real one for fair,
that time, didn’t I, Madge?”
Then she tried to sidle through the narrow opening, got stuck, and was
urged on by Madge pushing her. With a bang—punctuated by a chorus of
muffled exclamations from the girls already assembled—she tore away the
frame and the blanket and got through.
“Shut the door, quick, guard!” exclaimed Helen Cameron.
“Of course, that would be Heavy—entering like a female Samson and
tearing down the pillars of the temple,” snapped Mercy Curtis, the lame
girl, in her sharp way.
“Please repair the damage, Helen,” said Ruth Fielding, who presided at
the far end of the room, sitting cross-legged on one of the beds.
The other girls were arranged on the chairs, or upon the floor before
her. There was a goodly number of them, and they now included most of
the members of the secret society known at Briarwood Hall as the
“S. B.’s.”
Ruth herself was a bright, brown-haired girl who, without possessing
many pretensions to real beauty of feature, still was quite good to look
at and proved particularly charming when one grew to know her well.
She was rather plump, happy of disposition, and with the kindest heart
in the world. She made both friends and enemies. No person of real
character can escape being disliked, now and then, by those of envious
disposition.
Ruth Fielding succeeded, usually, in winning to her those who at first
disliked her. And this, I claim, is a better gift than that of being
universally popular from the start.
CHAPTER I—SWEET BRIARS AND SOUR PICKLES
The single gas jet burning at the end of the corridor was so dim and
made so flickering a light that it added more to the shadows of the
passage than it provided illumination. It was hard to discover which
were realities and which shadows in the long gallery.
Not a ray of light appeared at any of the transoms over the dormitory
doors; yet that might not mean that there were no lights burning within
the duo and quartette rooms in the East Dormitory of Briarwood Hall.
There were ways of shrouding the telltale transoms and—without doubt—the
members of the advanced junior classes had learned such little tricks of
the trade of being a schoolgirl.
At one door—and it was the portal of the largest “quartette” room on the
floor—a tall figure kept guard. At first this figure was so silent and
motionless that it seemed like a shadow only. But when another shadow
crept toward it, rustling along the wall on tiptoe, the guard demanded,
hissingly:
“S-s-stop! who goes there?”
“Oh-oo! How you startled me, Madge Steele!”
“Sh!” commanded the guard. “Who goes there?”
“Why—why—— It’s _I_.”
“Give the password instantly. Answer!” commanded the guard again, and
with some vexation. “‘I’ isn’t anybody.”
“Oh, indeed? Let me tell you that _this_ ‘I’ is somebody—according to
the gym. scales. I gained three pounds over the Easter holidays,” said
“Heavy” Jennie Stone, who had begun her reply with a giggle, but ended
it with a sigh.
“Password, Miss!” snapped the guard, grimly.
“Oh! of course!” Then the fat girl whispered shrilly:
“‘Sincerity—befriend.’ That is what ‘S. B.’ stands for, I s’pose.
Sweetbriars! and I have a big bag of sour pickles to offset the cloying
sweetness of the Sweetbriars,” chuckled Heavy. “Besides, they say that
vinegar pickles will make you thin——”
“I don’t need them for that purpose,” admitted the guard at the door,
still in a whisper, but accepting the large, “warty” pickle Heavy thrust
into her hand.
“Will make _me_ thin, then,” agreed the other. “Let me in, Madge.”
The guard, sucking the pickle convulsively the while, opened the door
just a little way. A blanket had been hung on a frame inside in such a
manner that scarcely a gleam of lamplight reached the corridor when the
door was open.
“Pass the Sweetbriar!” choked Madge, with her mouth full and the tears
running down her cheeks. “My goodness, Jennie Stone! these pickles are
right out of vitriol!”
“Sour, aren’t they?” chuckled Heavy. “I handed you a real one for fair,
that time, didn’t I, Madge?”
Then she tried to sidle through the narrow opening, got stuck, and was
urged on by Madge pushing her. With a bang—punctuated by a chorus of
muffled exclamations from the girls already assembled—she tore away the
frame and the blanket and got through.
“Shut the door, quick, guard!” exclaimed Helen Cameron.
“Of course, that would be Heavy—entering like a female Samson and
tearing down the pillars of the temple,” snapped Mercy Curtis, the lame
girl, in her sharp way.
“Please repair the damage, Helen,” said Ruth Fielding, who presided at
the far end of the room, sitting cross-legged on one of the beds.
The other girls were arranged on the chairs, or upon the floor before
her. There was a goodly number of them, and they now included most of
the members of the secret society known at Briarwood Hall as the
“S. B.’s.”
Ruth herself was a bright, brown-haired girl who, without possessing
many pretensions to real beauty of feature, still was quite good to look
at and proved particularly charming when one grew to know her well.
She was rather plump, happy of disposition, and with the kindest heart
in the world. She made both friends and enemies. No person of real
character can escape being disliked, now and then, by those of envious
disposition.
Ruth Fielding succeeded, usually, in winning to her those who at first
disliked her. And this, I claim, is a better gift than that of being
universally popular from the start.
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Ruth Fielding At Sunrise Farm OR WHAT BECAME OF THE RABY ORPHANS
Ruth Fielding At Sunrise Farm OR WHAT BECAME OF THE RABY ORPHANS
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Product Details
| BN ID: | 2940013562202 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | SAP |
| Publication date: | 06/13/2011 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| File size: | 122 KB |
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