Not only a frock did Barnabetta find laid out in her room a little later—after she had helped her father to bed; but there was linen and underclothing, and even shoes and stockings. And a hot bath was drawn for her in the bathroom with soap and towels laid by. Oh! the forlorn circus girl luxuriated in the bath.
Again and again the girl asked herself why she and the clown were being treated so kindly.
Had Barnabetta known what Agnes had said to Ruth when she ran in ahead of the rest of the party, she might not have been so surprised by Ruth’s kindness. Not a word did the younger girl say about Barnabetta and her father having tried to detain her in the woods.
“Oh, Ruth! these poor folk are circus people. They know Neale O’Neil. And Neale is with his uncle in Tiverton, where he’s lying hurt. The circus is in winter quarters there. And the old album is safe!”
She did not say how she knew this last to be the case; and Ruth was so busy making the visitors comfortable that she did not ask, but accepted the good news unquestioningly.
Besides, Ruth had to give some attention to Mr. Bob Buckham. She could allow no guest to be neglected. The old farmer, however, would not stay to dinner.
“That would never do—that would never do!” he declared, when Ruth proposed it. “What would Marm do without me at table? No, sir. I just wanted to see these folks Aggie has taken such a shine to, right to this old Corner House. And say, Ruthie!”
“Yes, sir?” was the girl’s response.
“I don’t know nothin’ about who they be. Nor do you, nor Aggie. So have a care.”
“Why, they must be all right, Mr. Buckham,” cried Ruth. “Neale knows them. They are from his uncle’s circus.”