"Hullo! what's all this?" he demanded, his black eyes taking in the grove of airing garments around the stove. "Tom been in the river? No! Those aren't Tom's duds, I'll be switched if they are!"
"No, no," cried Helen. "It's another boy."
And here Tom himself appeared from the bedroom.
"I thought Tom could keep out of the river when the ice was four inches thick—eh, son?" laughed Mr. Cameron.
His children began to tell him, both together, of the adventure with the bull and the mysterious appearance of the strange Boy.
"Aye, aye!" he said. "And Ruth Fielding was in it, of course—and did her part in extricating you all from the mess, too, I'll be bound! Whatever would we do without Ruth?" and he smiled and shook hands with the miller's niece.
"I guess we were all equally scared. But it certainly was my fault that the old bull bunted the hollow stump into the creek. So this boy can thank me for getting him such a ducking," laughed Ruth.
"And who is he? Where does he come from?"
Ruth showed Mr. Cameron the stencil on the inside of the wallet.
"Isn't that funny, Father?" cried Helen. "Right where we are going—Scarboro."
