ar place. But I guess I might be able to
scare up enough gas to help you folks out. Ye see, we got a saw mill right
up this gully and we got a gasoline engine to run her. I'm a-watchin' the
place till the gang come in to work next month. That there Whosis got me
out in the rain----"

"Oh! Where do you suppose the poor thing has gone?" interrupted Ruth. "We
should do something for her."

"Wal, if she don't belong to you folks----"

"She doesn't. But she should not be allowed to wander about in this awful
way. Is she a woman grown, or a child?"

"I couldn't tell ye. I ain't been close enough to her. By the way, my name
is Peterby Paul, and I'm well and fav'rably knowed about this mounting. I
did have my thoughts about you, same as that Whosis, I must say. But you
'pear to be all right. Wait, and I'll bring ye down a couple of cans of
gasoline, and you can go on and pick up the feller that's started to walk
to Ridgeton."

"But that poor creature I followed up here, Mr. Paul? We _must_ find her."

"You say she ain't nothin' to you folks?"

"But she is alone, and frightened."

"Wal, I expect so. She did give me a start for fair. I don't know where
she could have come from 'nless she belongs over toward Ridgeton at old
Miz Abby Drake's. She's got some city folks stopping with her--"

"There she is!" cried Ruth, under her breath.

A hobbling figure appeared for a moment on the side of the ravine. The
rain had ceased now, but it still dripped plentifully from the trees.

"I'm going after her!" exclaimed Ruth.

"All right, Ma'am," said Mr. Peterby Paul. "I guess she ain't no Whosis,
after all."

Ruth could run much faster than the strange person who had so startled
both the woodsman and herself. And running lightly, the girl of the Red
Mill was almost at her quarry's elbow before her presence was suspected by
the latter.

The woman turned her face toward Ruth and screeched in evident alarm. She
looked wild enough to be called a "Whosis," whatever kind of supernatural
apparition that might be. Her silk dress was in rags; her hair floated
down her back in a tangled mane; altogether she was a sorry sight, indeed.

She was a woman of middle age, dark, slight of build, and of a most
pitiful appearance.

"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 wi