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Alice B. Emerson
Alice B. Emerson was a pseudonym used by various authors for a series of children's books in the early 20th century, primarily the "Ruth Fielding" series. The most notable writer behind the pseudonym was Edward Stratemeyer, founder of the Stratemeyer Syndicate, known for creating popular series like Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys. The Ruth Fielding series, featuring the adventures of a young girl aspiring to be a filmmaker, was especially popular among young readers and contributed significantly to early 20th-century juvenile literature.
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Alice B. Emerson
“HERE COMES THE BRIDE” The sudden joyous pealing of the organ could be heard upon the sidewalk before the stately church. As there was a broad canopy from the door to the curb, with a carpet laid down and motor-cars standing in line, it took no seer to proclaim that a wedding was in progress within. Idlers halted to wait for the appearance of the wedding party, which was about to come forth. Some...
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Alice B. Emerson
BREAKFAST EN ROUTE “There, Bob, did you see that? Oh, we’ve passed it, and you were looking the other way. It was a cowboy. At least he looked just like the pictures. And he was waving at the train.” Betty Gordon, breakfasting in the dining-car of the Western Limited, smiled happily at Bob Henderson, seated on the opposite side of the table. This was her first long train trip, and she meant to...
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Alice B. Emerson
CHAPTER I "This doesn't look like the street I came up through!" exclaimed Betty Gordon. "These funny streets, with their dear old-fashioned houses, all seem, so much alike! And if there are any names stuck up at the corners they must hide around behind the post when I come by like squirrels in the woods. "I declare, there is a queer little shop stuck right in there between two of...
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Alice B. Emerson
CHAPTER I A LIVELY TIME "I don't think we'd better go home that way, Helen." "Why not? Mr. Bassett won't care—and it's the nearest way to the road." "But he's got a sign up—and his cattle run in this pasture," said Ruth Fielding, who, with her chum, Helen Cameron, and Helen's twin brother, Tom, had been skating on the Lumano River, where the ice...
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Alice B. Emerson
CHAPTER I It was a midwinter day, yet the air was balmy. The trees were bare-limbed but with a haze clothing them in the distance that seemed almost that of returning verdure. The grass, even in mid-winter, showed green. A bird sang lustily in the hedge. Up the grassy lane walked a girl in the costume of the active Red Cross worker—an intelligent looking girl with a face that, although perhaps not...
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Alice B. Emerson
RUTH IN PERIL The gray dust, spurting from beneath the treads of the rapidly turning wheels, drifted across the country road to settle on the wayside hedges. The purring of the engine of Helen Cameron's car betrayed the fact that it was tuned to perfection. If there were any rough spots in the road being traveled, the shock absorbers took care of them. "Dear me! I always do love to ride in...
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Alice B. Emerson
NOT IN THE SCENARIO "What in the world are those people up to?" Ruth Fielding's clear voice asked the question of her chum, Helen Cameron, and her chum's twin-brother, Tom. She turned from the barberry bush she had just cleared of fruit and, standing on the high bank by the roadside, gazed across the rolling fields to the Lumano River. "What people?" asked Helen, turning...
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Alice B. Emerson
LOOKING COLLEGEWARD "Oh, my back! and oh, my bones!" By no possibility could Aunt Alvirah Boggs have risen from her low rocking chair in the Red Mill kitchen without murmuring this complaint. She was a little, hoop-backed woman, with crippled limbs; but she possessed a countenance that was very much alive, nut-brown and innumerably wrinkled though it was. She had been Mr. Jabez Potter's...
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Alice B. Emerson
THE EXODUS The sun was a regular lie-abed on this Autumn morning, banked about by soft clouds and draperies of mist; but they glowed pink along the horizon—perhaps blushing for Old Sol's delinquency. The mist hung tenderly over the river, too—indeed, it masked the entire Valley of the Lumano—lying thick and dank upon the marshes and the low meadows, but wreathed more lightly about the...
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Alice B. Emerson
CHAPTER I ON THE LUMANO RIVER The steady turning of the grinding-stones set the old Red Mill a-quiver in every board and beam. The air within was full of dust—dust of the grain, and fine, fine dust from the stones themselves. Uncle Jabez Potter, the miller, came to the door and looked across the grassy yard that separated the mill and the farmhouse attached from the highroad. Under a broad-spreading...
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