“It can’t be Tom, can it?” gasped Ruth, running to the door.  “So early—­and to see Miss Gray?” for the thought that Tom Cameron was interested in the actress still stuck in Ruth’s mind.

“It doesn’t sound like Tom’s horn,” she added, as she struggled with the outer door.  “Oh, dear!  I do wish Uncle Jabez would fix this lock.  There!”

The door flew open, and swung out, its weight carrying Ruth with it plump into the arms of a big man in a big fur coat which he had thrown open as he ascended the steps of the porch.

Ruth was almost smothered in the coat.  And she would have slipped and fallen had not the stranger held her up, finally setting her squarely on her feet at arm’s length, steadying her there and laughing the while.

“I declare, young lady,” he said in a pleasant voice, “I did not expect to be met with such cordiality.  Is this the way you always meet visitors at this beautiful, picturesque old place?”

“Oh, oh, oh!  I—­I—­I——­”

Ruth could only gasp at first, her cheeks ruddy with blushes, her eyes timid.  Her tongue actually refused to speak two consecutive, sensible words.

“I must say, my dear,” said the gentleman who, Ruth now saw, was a man as old as Mr. Cameron, “that you are as charming as the Red Mill itself.  For, of course, this is the Red Mill?  I was directed here from Cheslow.”

“Oh, yes!” stammered Ruth.  “This is the Red Mill.  Did—­did you wish to see Uncle Jabez?”

“Perhaps.  But that was not my particular reason for coming here,” said the stranger, laughing openly at her now.  “I find his niece pleasanter to look at, I have no doubt; though Uncle Jabez may be a very estimable man.”

Ruth was puzzled.  She glanced past him to the big maroon automobile at the gate.  Therein she saw the squat, pugnacious looking Mr. Grimes, and she jumped to a correct conclusion.

“Oh!” she cried faintly. “You are Mr. Hammond!”

“Perfectly correct, my dear.  And who are you, may I ask?”

“Ruth Fielding.  I live here, sir.  We have Miss Gray with us.”

“Quite so,” said Mr. Hammond, nodding.  “I have come to see Miss Gray—­and to take her away if she is well enough to be moved.”

“Oh, she is all right, Mr. Hammond.  Only she is still lying in bed.  Aunt Alvirah prevailed upon her to stay quiet for a while longer.”

“And your Aunt Alvirah is probably right.  But—­may I come in?  I’d like to ask you a few questions, even if Hazel is not to be seen as yet.”

“Oh, certainly, sir!” cried Ruth, thus reminded of her negligence.  “Do come in.  Here, into the sitting room, please.  It is warm in here, for Uncle Jabez kept a fire all night, and I just put in a good-sized chunk myself.”

“Ah! an old-fashioned wood-heater, is it?” asked Mr. Hammond, following Ruth into the sitting room.  “That looks like comfort.  I remember stoking a stove like that when I was a boy.”