Ruth Fielding and the Gypsies | Page 7

lighter. The miller noted her work and grunted his approval.
"I vum! they did teach ye suthin' at thet school 'sides folderrols, didn't
they?" he said.
Ruth asked the store clerk if he knew anything about the Gypsies.
"Why, yes, Miss. I hear they are camping 'way up the river--up near the
lakes, beyond Minturn's Dam. You know that's a wild country up
there."
Ruth remembered. She had been a little way in that direction with her
friends, Tom and Helen Cameron, in their auto. Minturn Dam had burst
two years before, and done much damage, but was now repaired.
"That is a long way from here," she suggested to the clerk.

"Yes'm. But Romany folks is gret roamers--thet's why they're called
'Romany,' mebbe," was the reply. "And I guess that black-eyed rascal is
a wild one."
"Never mind. He got me out o' the river," mumbled Uncle Jabez.
They brought the boat to the mill landing in safety, and Ben appeared,
having returned from town and put up the mules. He gazed in blank
amazement at the condition of his employer and Ruth.
"For the good land!" exclaimed Ben; but he got no farther. He was not
a talkative young man, and it took considerable to wake him up to as
exciting an expression as the above.
"You kin talk!" snarled Uncle Jabez. "If you'd been here to help me, I
wouldn't ha' lost our boat and the flour."
The miller fairly ached when he thought of his losses, and he had to lay
the blame on somebody.
"Now you help me git four more sacks over to Tim Lakeby's----"
Ruth would not hear of his going back before he changed his clothing
and had something put upon the cut in his head. After a little arguing, it
was agreed that Ben and the clerk should ferry the flour across to the
store, and then the clerk would bring Ben back.
"Goodness sakes alive!" shrieked Aunt Alvirah, when she saw them
come onto the porch, still dripping. "What you been doing to my pretty,
Jabez Potter?"
"Huh!" sniffed the miller. "Mebbe it's what she's been doing to me?"
and he wreathed his thin lips into a wry grin.
Aunt Alvirah and Mercy must hear it all. The lame girl was delighted.
She pointed her finger at the old man, who had now gotten into his
Sunday suit and had a bandage on his head.
"Now, tell me, Dusty Miller, what do you think about girls being of

some use? Isn't Ruth as good as any boy?"
"She sartainly kep' me from drownin' as good as any boy goin',"
admitted the old man. "But that was only chancey, as ye might say.
When it comes to bein' of main use in the world----Wal, it ain't gals thet
makes the wheels go 'round!'
"And don't you really think, Uncle, that girls are any use in the world?"
asked Ruth, quietly. She had come out upon the dimly lit porch (this
was after their supper) in season to hear the miller's final observation.
"Ha!" ejaculated Jabez. Perhaps he had not intended Ruth to hear just
that. "They're like flowers, I reckon--mighty purty an' ornamental; but
they ain't no manner o' re'l use!"
Mercy fairly snorted, but she was too wise to say anything farther. Ruth,
however, continued:
"That seems very unfair, Uncle. Many girls are 'worth their salt,' as you
call it, to their families. Why can't I be of use to you--in time, of
course?"
"Ha! everyone to his job," said Uncle Jabez, brusquely. "You kin be of
gre't help to your Aunt Alviry, no doubt. But ye can't take a sack of
flour on your shoulders an' throw it inter a waggin--like Ben there. Or
like that Roberto thet lugged me ashore to-night. An' I'm some weight,
I be."
"And is that all the kind of help you think you'll ever need, Uncle?"
demanded Ruth, with rising emotion.
"I ain't expectin' ter be helpless an' want nussin' by no gal--not yet
awhile," said Uncle Jabez, with a chuckle. "Gals is a gre't expense--a
gre't expense."
"Now, Jabez! ye don't mean thet air," exclaimed the little old woman,
coming from the kitchen. She lowered herself into the little rocker
nearby, with her usual moan of, "Oh, my back! an' oh, my bones! Ye

don't mean ter hurt my pretty's feelin's, I know."
"She axed me!" exclaimed the miller, angrily. "I vum! ain't I spendin' a
fortun' on her schoolin' at that Briarwood Hall?"
"And didn't she save ye a tidy fortun' when she straightened out that
Tintacker Mine trouble for ye, Jabez Potter?" demanded the old woman,
vigorously. "An' the good Lord knows she's been a comfort an' help to
ye, right an' left, in season an' out, ever since she fust stepped foot