Ruth told him of the remarkable interest Uncle Jabez had taken in the crippled girl. Tom could scarcely have been more surprised.
"Why, the old curmudgeon has got a decent streak in him, after all; hasn't he?" he exclaimed, rather thoughtlessly.
"Don't speak that way of him, Tom," urged Ruth. "I know you've got reason for disliking him—"
"What do you mean?" demanded Tom, turning on her sharply.
"Oh, I—Well, Tom, you know I believe I could easily find the man who almost drove the team over you the night you were hurt? And you've known it all the time, and kept still about it!"
"That mean, contemptible Jasper Parloe! He's told!" gasped Tom.
"Jasper Parloe told?" repeated Ruth. "Not me."
"Then—"
"You muttered it when they carried you to the doctor's house that night. You said it was my uncle," said Ruth, quietly. "I have known it all along, and so has Parloe, I suppose. He and I were the only persons who heard what you said when you were but half conscious. You've kept still about it so as to shield Uncle, and I thank you."
Tom looked abashed; but he was angry, too. "Confound that Parloe!" he exclaimed again. "He's been bleeding me, too! Threatened to go to my father and tell about it—and Dad would have been pretty hot with your uncle, I expect."