"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."