Ruth Fielding and the Gypsies | Page 2

an answering one upon the
lame girl's thin face.
"Quick on my feet, dearie," said Ruth. "But you have so much quicker
a mind."
"Flatterer!" returned the other, yet the smile lingered upon the thin face
and made it the sweeter.
The miller was turning, grumblingly, back into the shadowy interior of
the mill, when Ruth hailed him.
"Oh, Uncle!" she cried. "Let me help you."
"What's that?" he demanded, wheeling again to look at her from under
his shaggy eyebrows.
Now, Ruth Fielding was worth looking at. She was plump, but not too
plump; and she was quick in her movements, while her lithe and
graceful figure showed that she possessed not only health, but great
vitality. Her hair was of a beautiful bright brown color, was thick, and
curled just a little.
In her tanned cheeks the blood flowed richly--the color came and went
with every breath she drew, it seemed, at times. That was when she was
excited. But ordinarily she was of a placid temperament, and her brown
eyes were as deep as wells. She possessed the power of looking
searchingly and calmly at one without making her glance either
impertinent or bold.
In her dark skirt, middy blouse, and black stockings and low shoes, she
made a pretty picture as she stood under the tree, although her features
were none of them perfect. Her cheeks were perhaps a little too round;
her nose--well, it was not a dignified nose at all! And her mouth was
generously large, but the teeth gleaming behind her red lips were even
and white, and her smile lit up her whole face in a most engaging
manner.

"Do let me help you, Uncle. I know I can," she repeated, as the old
miller scowled at her.
"What's that?" he said again. "Go with me in that punt to Tim
Lakeby's?"
"Why not?"
"'Tain't no job for a gal, Niece Ruth," grumbled the miller.
"Any job is all right for a girl--if she can do it," said Ruth, happily.
"And I can row, Uncle--you know I can."
"Ha! rowing one o' them paper-shell skiffs of Cameron's one thing; the
ash oars to my punt ain't for baby's han's," growled the miller.
"Do let me try, Uncle Jabez," said Ruth again, when the lame girl broke
in with:
"You are an awfully obstinate old Dusty Miller! Why don't you own up
that Ruthie's more good to you than a dozen boys would be?"
"She ain't!" snarled the old man.
At that moment there appeared upon the farmhouse porch a little, bent
old woman who hailed them in a shrill, sweet voice:
"What's the matter, gals? What's the matter, Jabez? Ain't nothin' broke
down, hez there?"
"No, Aunt Alvirah," laughed Ruth. "I just want Uncle Jabez to let me
help him----"
The old woman had started down the steps, her hand upon her back as
she came, and intoning in a low voice: "Oh, my back! and oh, my
bones!" She caught up the miller's remark, as he turned away again,
very sharply, for he muttered something about "Silly gals' foolish
idees."

"What d'ye mean by that, Jabez Potter?" she demanded. "If Ruth says
she kin help ye, she kin. You oughter know that by this time."
"Help me row that punt across the river?" snarled the old man,
wrathfully. "What nonsense!"
"I dunno," said the old woman, slowly. "I see Tim's flag a-flyin'. I
guess he wants his flour bad."
"And I can pull an oar as good as you can, Uncle Jabez," added Ruth.
"Oh, all right! Come on, then. I see I shell hev no peace till I let ye try
it. Ef we don't git back fer supper, don't blame me, Alviry."
The miller disappeared in the gathering gloom of the mill. Soon the
jarring of the structure and the hum of the stones grew
slower--slower--slower, and finally the machinery was altogether still.
Ruth had run for her hat. Then, waving her hand to Mercy and Aunt
Alvirah, she ran around to the landing.
The Lumano River was a wide stream, but at this season of the year it
was pretty shallow. There was little navigation from Lake Osago at any
time, but now the channel was dotted with dangerous rocks, and there
were even more perilous reefs just under the surface.
Uncle Jabez's boat was not really a "punt." It was a heavy rowboat, so
stained and waterlogged in appearance that it might have been taken for
a bit of drift-stuff that had been brought in to the Red Mill landing by
the current.
And truly, that is probably the means by which the miller had originally
obtained the boat. He was of a miserly nature, was Uncle Jabez Potter,
and the old boat--which its first owner had never considered