Indeed Ruth was. She could scarcely stumble with the guide's help to
the porch. She had kicked off the snowshoes and the hermit had taken
them with him. Had it not been for the hermit and Fred Hatfield, Ruth
Fielding would never have been able to travel the distance from the
hermit's cabin to Snow Camp. And the terrible shaking up she had
received on the timber cart made her feel like singing old Aunt
Alvirah's tune of "Oh, my back and oh, my bones!"

There were two maids whom Mr. Cameron had brought along and they,
with two men, had come over from Scarboro (a ride of eight miles, or
so) with the luggage. They welcomed Ruth and set her down before a
great fire in the dining room, and one of them removed the girl's
shoes so that her feet might be dried and warmed, while the other
hurried to make some supper for the wanderer.

But as soon as Ruth got her slippers on, and recovered a little from
the exhaustion of her trip, two things troubled her vastly. She
inquired for the boy again, and learned that he had not been seen
about the camp. When she and the hermit had entered the clearing,
Fred had undoubtedly taken the opportunity to slip away.

"And in the night--and it so cold, too," thought Ruth. "What will
Mr. Cameron say?"

That question brought her to the second of her troubles. Her friends
would worry about her all night if she did not find some way of
allaying their anxiety.

"Oh, Mary!" she said to the maid. "Where's the telephone? Tom said
there was telephone connection here."