He rose up then and without even looking about him, started directly away from the glen.  He plainly had no suspicion of the presence of the dog and the trio of young folks.  When he was quite out of sight and sound, Tom whispered, patting Reno: 

“I declare, girls!  That was Jasper Parloe!”

“That mean thing!” returned his sister.  “I guess he’s a miser as well as a hermit; isn’t he?”

“Looks like it.  I’ve a good mind to take that thing he put in there and hide it somewhere else.  He wouldn’t be so sure about it’s being safe then; would he?”

“No!  Don’t you touch his nasty things, Tom,” advised Helen, turning away.

But Ruth still stared at the hidden hollow in the tree and suddenly she darted forward and knelt where Parloe had knelt.

“What are you going to do, Ruth?” demanded her chum.

“I want to see that box—­ I must see it!” cried the girl from the Red Mill.

“Hold on!” said Tom.  “I’ll get it for you.  You’ll get your dress dirty.”

“I wouldn’t touch it,” cried Helen, warningly.

“I must!” gasped Ruth, greatly excited.

“It don’t belong to you,” quoth Helen.

“And I’m very sure it doesn’t belong to Jasper Parloe,” declared Ruth, earnestly.

Tom glanced at the girl from the Red Mill suddenly, and with close attention.  He seemed to understand her excitement.

“Let me in there,” said the youth.  “I can reach it, Ruthie.”

He pushed her gently, and while Ruth and Helen held aside the mass of vines the boy crawled in and reached the bundle of rags.  He carefully hauled it all forth and the japanned box tumbled out of its loose wrappings.

“There it is!” grunted Tom, getting up and wiping his hands on a tuft of grass.  “What do you make of it?”

Ruth had the box in her hands.  Helen, looking over her shoulder, pointed to two faded letters painted on the cover of the box.

“That belongs to Jasper Parloe.  His initials are on the box,” she said.

“’J.  P.’—­ that’s right, I guess,” muttered Tom.

It could not be gainsaid that Parloe’s initials were there.  Ruth stared at them for some moments in silence.

Better put it back.  I don’t know what he can possibly have to hide in this way,” Tom said.  “But we wouldn’t want to get into trouble with him.  He’s a mean customer.”

“It isn’t his box!” said Ruth, quietly.

“Why isn’t it?” cried Helen, in amazement.

“I never noticed the letters on the box before.  The box has been cleaned since I saw it—­”

“You don’t mean that it is your uncle’s cash-box, Ruth?” interrupted Tom, in excitement.

“Why, you ridiculous boy!” declared Helen.  “You know that was lost in the flood.”

“I don’t know.  Do you?” Tom demanded, shortly.

“But, Ruth!” gasped Helen.

“It looks like Uncle Jabez’s box,” Ruth whispered.