Ruth Fielding In the Red Cross; Doing Her Best For Uncle Sam. Emerson Alice B.

who are neither patriotic nor honest. Let us run each of these seemingly wicked things down – if it is possible. Let us get at the truth.”

      “I have told you the truth, Miss Fielding. And I consider you insulting – most unladylike.”

      “Mrs. Mantel,” said Ruth Fielding gravely, “whether I speak and act as a lady should make little material difference in the long run. But whether a great organization, which is working for the amelioration of suffering on the battle front and in our training camps, is maligned, is of very great moment, indeed.

      “In my presence no such statement as you have just made can go unchallenged. You must help me prove, or disprove it. We must find the girl and discover just how she came by the sweater. If it had been stolen and given to her she would be very likely to tell you just what you say she did. But that does not prove the truth of her statement.”

      “Nor of mine, I suppose you would say!” cried Mrs. Mantel.

      “Exactly. If you are fair-minded at all you will aid me in this investigation. For I purpose to take up every such calumny that I can and trace it to its source.”

      “Oh, Ruth, don’t take it so seriously!” Mrs. Curtis murmured, and most of the women looked their displeasure. But Helen clapped her hands softly, saying:

      “Bully for you, Ruthie!”

      Mercy’s eyes glowed with satisfaction.

      Ruth became silent for a moment, for the woman in black evidently intended to give her no satisfaction. Mrs. Mantel continued to state, however, for all to hear:

      “I certainly know my own knitting, and my own yarn. I have knitted enough of the sweaters according to the Red Cross pattern to sink a ship! I would know one of my sweaters half a block away at least.”

      Ruth had been watching the woman very keenly. Mrs. Mantel’s hands were perfectly idle in her lap. They were very white and very well cared for. Ruth’s vision came gradually to a focus upon those idle hands.

      Then suddenly she turned to Mercy and whispered a question. Mercy nodded, but looked curiously at the girl of the Red Mill. When the latter explained further Mercy Curtis’ eyes began to snap. She nodded again and went out of the room.

      When she returned with a loosely wrapped bundle in her hands she moved around to where the woman in black was sitting. The conversation had now become general, and all were trying their best to get away from the previous topic of tart discussion.

      “Mrs. Mantel,” said Mercy very sweetly, “you must know a lot about knitting sweaters, you’ve made so many. Would you help me?”

      “Help you do what, child?” asked the woman in black, rather startled.

      “I am going to begin one,” explained Mercy, “and I do wish, Mrs. Mantel, that you would show me how. I’m dreadfully ignorant about the whole thing, you know.”

      There was a sudden silence all over the room. Mrs. Mantel’s ready tongue seemed stayed. The pallor of her face was apparent, as innocent-looking Mercy, with the yarn and needles held out to her, waited for an affirmative reply.

      CHAPTER IV – “CAN A POILU LOVE A FAT GIRL?”

      The shocked silence continued for no more than a minute. Mrs. Mantel was a quick-witted woman, if she was nothing else commendable. But every member of the Ladies’ Aid Society knew what Mercy Curtis’ question meant.

      “My dear child,” said the woman in black, smiling her set smile but rising promptly, “I shall have to do that for you another day. Really I haven’t the time just now to help you start any knitting. But later —

      “I am sure you will forgive me for running away so early, Mrs. Curtis; but I have another engagement. And,” she shot a malignant glance at Ruth Fielding, “I am not used to being taken to task upon any subject by these college-chits!”

      She went out of the room in a manner that, had she been thirty years younger, could have been called “flounced” – head tossing and skirts swishing with resentment. Several of the women looked at the girl of the Red Mill askance, although they dared not criticize Mercy Curtis, for they knew her sharp tongue too well.

      “Mrs. Pubsby,” Ruth said quietly to the pleasant-faced, Quakerish-looking president of the society, “may I say a word to the ladies?”

      “Of course you may, Ruthie,” said the good woman comfortably. “I have known you ever since you came to Jabez Potter’s, and I never knew you to say a dishonest or unkind word. You just get it off your mind. It’ll do you good, child – and maybe do some of us good. I don’t know but we’re – just a mite – getting religiously selfish.”

      “I have no idea of trying to urge you ladies to give up any of your regular charities, or trying to undermine your interest in them. I merely hope you will broaden your interests enough to include the Red Cross work before it is too late.”

      “How too late?” asked Mrs. Crothers, rather snappishly. She had evidently been both disturbed and influenced by the woman in black.

      “So that our boys – some of them your sons and relatives – will not get over to France before the Red Cross is ready to supply them with the comforts they may need next winter. It is not impossible that boys right from Cheslow will be over there before cold weather.”

      “The war will be over long before then, Ruthie,” said Mrs. Pubsby complacently.

      “I’ve heard Dr. Cummings, the pastor, say that he is told once in about so often that the devil is dead,” Ruth said smiling. “But he is never going to believe it until he can personally help bury him. Our Government is going about this war as though it might last five years. Are we so much wiser than the men at the head of the nation – even if we have the vote?” she added, slyly.

      “It does not matter whether the war will be ended in a few weeks, or in ten years. We should do our part in preparing for it. And the Red Cross is doing great and good work – and has been doing it for years and years. When people like the lady who has just gone out repeat and invent slanders against the Red Cross I must stand up and deny them. At least, such scandal-mongers should be made to prove their statements.”

      “Oh, Ruth Fielding! That is not a kind word,” said Mrs. Crothers.

      “Will you supply me with one that will satisfactorily take its place?” asked Ruth sweetly. “I do not wish to accuse Mrs. Mantel of actually prevaricating; but I do claim the right of asking her to prove her statements, and that she seems to decline to do.

      “And I shall challenge every person I meet who utters such false and ridiculous stories about the Red Cross. It is an out-and-out pro-German propaganda.”

      “Why, Mrs. Mantel is a member of the Red Cross herself,” said Mrs. Crothers sharply.

      “She evidently is not loyal to her pledge then,” Ruth replied with bluntness. “The lady is not a member of our local chapter, and I have failed yet to hear of her being engaged in any activity for the Red Cross.

      “But I want you ladies – all of you – to take the Red Cross work to heart and to learn what the insignia stands for.”

      With that the earnest girl entered upon a brief but moving appeal for members to the local chapter, for funds, and for workers. As Helen said afterward, Ruth’s “mouth was opened and she spake with the tongues of angels!”

      At least, her words did not go for naught. Several dollar memberships were secured right there and then. And Mrs. Brooks and Mary Lardner promised a certain sum for the cause – both generous gifts. Best of all, Mrs. Pubsby said:

      “I don’t know about this being shown our duty by this wisp of a girl. But, ladies, she’s right – I can feel it. And I always go by my feelings, whether it’s in protracted meetings or in my rheumatic knee. I feel we must do our part.

      “This gray woolen sock I’m knitting was for my Ezekiel. But my Ezey has got plenty socks. From now on I’m going to knit ’em for those poor soldiers who will like enough get their feet wet ditching over there in France, and