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"What do you mean?" inquired Mary Cox, suspiciously. "We saw somebody on the boat coming over to Portageton that knew Miss Picolet." "Oh, Helen!" ejaculated Ruth, warningly.
The trio of school-bound young folk left the train very demurely and walked down the long wharf to the puffy little steamboat that was to take them the length of the lake to Portageton. Tom had been adjured by his father to take good care of his sister and Ruth, and he felt the burden of this responsibility.
There was being helped into the coach by the roughly dressed and bewhiskered driver, the little, doll-like, foreign woman whom they thought had been left behind at Portageton. "There ye air, Ma'mzell!" this old fellow said. "An' here's yer bag an' yer umbrella an' yer parcel. All there, be ye? Wal, wal, wal! So I got two more gals fer Briarwood; hev I?"
Then all three went aft to repeat their concert. An hour later the Lanawaxa docked at Portageton. When our young friends went ashore and walked up the freight-littered wharf, Ruth suddenly pulled Helen's sleeve. "Look there! There behind the bales of rags going to the paper-mill. Do you see them?" whispered Ruth. "I declare!" returned her chum. "Isn't that mysterious?
"Well, what do you know about that?" demanded Tom, almost before the girls were in the forward cabin. "Isn't that the big man with the red waistcoat that frightened that little woman on the Lanawaxa? You know, you pointed them out to me on the dock at Portageton, Helen? Isn't that him at the harp?" "Oh! it is, indeed!" ejaculated his sister. "What a horrid man he is! Let's come away."
Davison, and wondered if by any possibility the time would come when poor Mercy Curtis could go to school perhaps come to this very Briarwood Hall. The long ride on the train to Lake Osago was likewise repeated in Ruth's mind; then the trip by boat to Portageton.
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