"Uncle," she said, bravely, "can I go to school?"
He stared at her directly for a moment, from under his heavy brows; but her own gaze never wavered.
"How much schoolin' do you want?" he demanded, harshly.
"If you please Uncle Jabez, all I can get," replied Ruth.
"Ha! Readin', writin', an' mighty little 'rithmatic—we called 'em 'the three R's '—did for me when I was a boy. The school tax they put onto me ev'ry year is something wicked. And I never had chick nor child to go to their blamed old school."
"Let me go, Uncle, and so get some of your money back that way," Ruth said, quickly, and smiling in her little, birdlike way with her head on one side.
"Ha! I don't know about that," he growled, shaking his head. "I don't see what I'll be makin' out of it."
"Perhaps I can help you later, if you'll let me learn enough," she urged. "I can learn enough arithmetic to keep your books. I'll try real hard."
"I don't know about that," he said, again, eyeing her suspiciously. "The little money I make I kin keep watch of—when I'm here to watch it, that is. There ain't no book-keeping necessary in my business. And then—there's your Aunt Alviry. She needs you."
"Don't you go for to say that, Jabez," interposed the old woman, briskly. "That child's the greatest help that ever was; but she can do all that's necessary before and arter school, and on Saturdays. She's a good smart child, Jabez. Let her have a chance to l'arn."