“She was here just now. I gave her something to eat—and a little money. You won’t tell, Mr. Dolliver?”
“Huh! No. But dunno’s ye’d oughter helped a runaway. That’s agin’ the law, ye see.”
“Would the law give that poor girl back to those ugly people?”
“I s’pect so,” said Dolliver, scratching his head. “Ye see, Sim Perkins an’ his wife air folks ye can’t really go agin’—not much. Sim owns a good farm, an’ pays his taxes, an’ ain’t a bad neighbor. But they’ve had trouble before naow with orphans. But before, ’twas boys.”
“I just hope they all ran away!” cried Ruth, with emphasis.
“Wal—they did, by golly!” ejaculated the stage driver, preparing to drive on.
“And if you see this poor girl, you won’t tell anybody, will you, Mr. Dolliver?” pleaded Ruth.
“I jes’ sha’n’t see her,” said the man, his little eyes twinkling. “But you take my advice, Miss Fielding—don’t you see her, nuther!”
Ruth ran back to the school then—it was time. She could not think of her lessons properly because of her pity for Sadie Raby. Suppose that horrid man should find the poor girl!
Every time Ruth saw the red welt on her arm, where the whiplash had touched her, she wondered how many times Perkins had lashed Sadie when he was angry. It was a dreadful thought.