So she rowed her best and having the stroke oar, Uncle Jabez was obliged to pull his best to keep up with her.
"Huh!" he snorted, "it ain't so pertic'lar, is it, Niece Ruth? That feller——"
She made no reply, but in a few minutes they were near enough to the drifting boat for Ruth to glance over her shoulder and see into it. At once she uttered a little cry of pity.
"What now?" gruffly demanded Uncle Jabez.
"Oh, Uncle! It's a girl!" Ruth gasped.
"A gal! Another gal?" exclaimed the old miller. "I swanny! The Red Mill is allus littered up with gals when you're to hum."
This was a favorite complaint of his; but he pulled more vigorously, nevertheless, and the punt was quickly beside the drifting boat.
A girl in very commonplace garments—although she was not at all a commonplace looking girl—lay in the bottom of the boat. Her eyes were closed and she was very pale.
"She's fainted," Ruth whispered.
"Who in 'tarnation let a gal like that go out in a boat alone, and without airy oar?" demanded Uncle Jabez, crossly. "Here! hold steady. I'll take that painter and 'tach it to the boat. We'll tow her in. But lemme tell ye," added Uncle Jabez, decidedly, "somebody's got ter pay me fur my time, or else they don't git the boat back. She seems to be all right."