“Yes,” said Uncle Jabez, with complacency. “The mine is going to pay us well. Fortunately you was insistent on finding and speaking to young Cox. If you had not found him—and if he had not recovered his health—it might have been many months before I could have recovered even the money I had put into the young man’s scheme. And—so he says—you saved his life, Ruthie.”
“That’s just talk, Uncle,” cried the girl. “Don’t you believe it. Anybody would have done the same.”
“However that may be, and whether it is due to you in any particular that I can quickly realize on my investment,” said the miller, rising suddenly from the table, “circumstances are such now that there is no reason why you shouldn’t have another term or two at school—if you want to go.”
“Want to go to Briarwood! Oh, Uncle!” gasped Ruth.
“Then I take it you do want to go?”
“More than anything else in the world!” declared his niece, reverently.
“Wall, Niece Ruth,” he concluded, with his usual manner. “If your Aunt Alviry can spare ye——”
“Don’t think about me, Jabez, don’t think about me,” cried the little old woman. “Just what my pretty wants—that will please her Aunt Alviry.”
Ruth ran and seized the hard hand of the miller before he could get out of the kitchen. “Oh, Uncle!” she cried, kissing his hand. “You are good to me!”
“Nonsense, child!” he returned, roughly, and went out.