It was just then that the girl almost drew her bay mare to a full stop. It smote her suddenly that she had not made up her mind just how she should approach Curly Smith, the runaway.
CHAPTER XIV—RUTH FINDS A HELPER
The warehouse foreman, or “boss,” was sunning himself on the end platform, just where the lap, lap, lap of the river drowsed upon his ear on one side, and the buzzing of the bees drowsed on the other. He started from his nap at the clatter of hoofs and beheld one of those “little Miss Yanks,” as he privately called the visitors to Merredith, reining in her horse before him, with the grinning darkey a proper distance behind.
“Wal, I’ll be whip-sawed!” ejaculated Mr. Jimson, under his breath. Then aloud: “Mighty glad t’ see yo’, miss. It’s a pretty evenin’, ain’t it? What seems t’ be the trouble?”
“Oh, no trouble at all,” said the girl of the Red Mill, brightly. “I—I just thought I’d stop and speak to you.”
“That’s handsome of yo’,” agreed the man, but with a puzzled look.
“I wanted another ride,” went on Ruth, “and I got Toby to take me around this way. Because, you see, I’m curious.”
“Is that so, Miss Ruth?” returned the long and lanky man. “Seems t’ me we most of us are. What is yo’ curiosity aimin’ at right now?”
Ruth laughed, as she saw his gray eyes twinkling. But she put on a brave front and said: “I’d dearly love to see into your cotton storehouse. Can’t I come in? Are the men working there now?”
“Yes’m. And the boys,” said Mr. Jimson, drily.