"Why, she isn't conscious!" cried Ruth.
"Huh!" grunted Uncle Jabez, "I mean the boat, not the gal."
Ruth always suspected that Uncle Jabez Potter made a pretense of being really worse than he was. When a little girl she had been almost afraid of her cross-grained relative—the only relative she had in the world.
But there were times when the ugly crust of the old man's character was rubbed off and his niece believed she saw the true gold beneath. She was frequently afraid that others would hear and not understand him. Now that she was financially independent of Uncle Jabez Ruth was not so sensitive for herself.
They towed the boat back to the mill landing. Tom and Ben carried the strange girl, still unconscious into the Red Mill farmhouse, and bustling little Aunt Alvirah had her put at once to bed.
"Shall I hustle right over to Cheslow for the doctor?" Tom asked.
"Who's goin' to pay him?" growled Uncle Jabez, who heard this.
"Don't let that worry you, Mr. Potter," said the youth, his black eyes flashing. "If I hire a doctor I always pay him."
"It's a good thing to have that repertation," Uncle Jabez said drily. "One should pay the debts he contracts."
But Aunt Alvirah scoffed at the need of a doctor.