Parloe smirked and still rubbed his hands together.  “Don’t matter a mite whose ten dollars I handle,” he said, suggestively.  “Your ten dollars would be jest as welcome to me as your Dad’s, Master Cameron.”

“Ten dollars is a lot of money,” said Tom.

“Yes.  It’s right smart.  I could make use of it I’m a poor man, an’ I could use it nicely,” admitted the sly and furtive Parloe.

“I haven’t got so much money now,” growled the boy.

“Yeou kin get it, I warrant.”

“I suppose I can.”  He drew his purse from his pocket.  “I’ve got three dollars and a half here.  I’ll have the rest for you on Monday.”

“Quite correct,” said Jasper Parloe, clutching eagerly at the money.  “I’ll trust ye till then—­ oh, yes!  I’ll trust ye till then.”

CHAPTER XIV

 Just A matter of A dress

“Well, I really believe, Tommy Cameron!” cried his sister Helen, when he overtook the girls and Reno, swinging the basket recklessly, “that you are developing a love for low company.  I don’t see how you can bear to talk with that Jasper Parloe.”

“I don’t see how I can, either,” muttered Tom, and he was rather silent—­ for him—­ until they were well off the road and the incident at the bridge was some minutes behind them.

But the day was such a glorious one, and the fields and woods were so beautiful, that no healthy boy could long be gloomy.  Besides, Tom Cameron had assured his sister that he thought Ruth Fielding “just immense,” and he was determined to give the girl of the Red Mill as pleasant a time as possible.

He worked like a Trojan to gather buttercups, and after they had eaten the luncheon old Babette had put up for them (and it was the very nicest and daintiest luncheon that Ruth Fielding had ever tasted) he told the girls to remain seated on the flat stone he had found for them and weave the foundation for the pillow while he picked bushels upon bushels of buttercups.

“You’ll need a two-horse load, anyway to have enough for a pillow of the size Nell has planned,” he said, grinning.  “And perhaps she’ll finish it if you help her, Ruth.  She’s always trying to do some big thing and ‘falling down’ on it.”

“That’s not so, Master Sauce-box!” cried his sister.

Tom went off laughing, and the two girls set to work on the great mass of buttercups they had already picked.  They grew so large, and were so dewey and golden, that a more brilliant bed of color one could scarce imagine than the pillow, as it began to grow under the dexterous hands of Helen and Ruth.  And, being alone together now, they began to grow confidential.

“And how does the Ogre treat you?” asked Helen.  “I thought, when I came this morning, that you had been feeling badly.”

“I am not very happy,” admitted Ruth.

“It’s that horrid Ogre!” cried Helen.