“What forever has happened, my pretty?” cried the little old lady, whose bent back and rheumatic limbs made her seem even smaller than she naturally was.  “In the river?  Do come in!  Bring the young lady right into the best room, Ruthie.  You strip off right before the kitchen fire, Master Tom.  I’ll bring you some things to put on.  There’s a huck towel on the nail yonder.  Oh, my back! and oh, my bones!”

Thus talking, Aunt Alvirah hobbled ahead into the sitting room.  The girl who had fallen into the river was now shivering.  Ruth and the old lady undressed her as quickly as possible, and Aunt Alvirah made ready the bed with the “fluffy” blankets in the chamber right off the sitting room.

“Do get one of your nighties for her, my pretty,” directed Aunt Alvirah.  “She wouldn’t feel right sleepin’ in one o’ my old things, I know.”

Ruth was excited.  In the first place, as to most girls of her age, a “real live actress” was as much of a wonder as a Great Auk would have been; only, of course, Hazel Gray was much more charming than the garfowl!

Ruth Fielding was interested in moving pictures—­and for a particular reason.  Long before she had gained the reward for the return of the pearl necklace to Nettie Parsons’ aunt, Ruth had thought of writing a scenario.  This was not a very original thought, for many, many thousand other people have thought the same thing.

Occasionally, when she had been to a film show, Ruth had wondered why she could not write a playlet quite as good as many she saw, and get money for it.  But it had been only a thought; she knew nothing about the technique of the scenario, or how to go about getting an opinion upon her work if she should write one.

Here chance had thrown her into the company of a girl who was working for the films, and evidently was of some importance in the moving picture companies, despite the treatment she had received from the unpleasant director, Mr. Grimes.

Ruth remembered now of having seen Hazel Gray upon the screen more than once within the year.  She was regarded as a coming star, although she had not achieved the fame of many actresses for the silent drama who were no older.

So Ruth, feeling the importance of the occasion, selected from her store the very prettiest night gown that she owned—­one she had never even worn herself—­and brought it down stairs to the girl who had been in the river.  A little later Hazel Gray was between Aunt Alvirah’s blankets, and was sipping her hot tea.

“My dear! you are very, very good to me,” she said, clinging to Ruth’s hand.  You and the dear little old lady.  Are you as good to every stranger who comes your way?”

“Aunt Alvirah is, I’m sure,” replied Ruth, laughing and blushing.  Somehow, despite the fact that the young actress was only two or three years older than herself, the girl of the Red Mill felt much more immature than Miss Gray.