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.