“Don’t be frightened! Don’t be afraid of me,” begged Ruth. “Where are your friends? I will take you to them.”
“It is the voice of God,” said the woman solemnly. “I am wicked. He will punish me. Do you know how wicked I am?” she added in a tense whisper.
“I have no idea,” Ruth replied calmly. “But I think that when we are nervous and distraught as you are, we magnify our sins as well as our troubles.”
Really, Ruth Fielding felt that she might take this philosophy to herself. She had been of late magnifying her troubles, without doubt.
“I have been a great sinner,” said the woman. “Do you know, I used to steal my little sister’s bread and jam. And now she is dead. I can never make it up to her.”
Plainly this was a serious matter to the excited mind of the poor woman.
“Come on down the hill with me. I have got an automobile there and we can ride to Mrs. Drake’s in it. Isn’t that where you are stopping?”
“Yes, yes. Abby Drake,” said the lost woman weakly. “We—we all started out for huckleberries. And I never thought before how wicked I was to my little sister. But the storm burst—such a terrible storm!” and the poor creature cowered close to Ruth as the thunder muttered again in the distance.
“It is the voice of God——”
“Come along!” urged Ruth. “Lots of people have made the same mistake. So Aunt Alvirah says. They mistake some other noise for the voice of God!”