"Is that so!" exclaimed Aunt Alvirah, with pride. "I told ye so, Ruthie. And ye beat that Semple gal?"
"She was the last one to fail before me," Ruth returned.
"Well, well! D'ye hear that, Jabez? Our Ruth won the spellin'-match."
The miller did not raise his head from his accounts; only grunted and nodded.
"But something went wrong wi' ye, deary?" persisted Aunt Alvirah, watching Ruth's face closely.
"Oh, Auntie! why didn't you tell me that Helen gave me the frocks?"
"Deary, deary, me!" ejaculated Aunt Alvirah. "How did you know?"
"Julia Semple told me—she told me before everybody!" gasped Ruth, fighting hard to keep back the tears. "She called me a pauper! She called it out before them all, and said that I wore Helen's cast-off clothes!"
"The mean thing!" said Aunt Alvirah, with more sharpness then she usually expressed. "Isn't that jest like the Semples? They're all that way. Got mad with you because you beat her at spelling; eh?"
"Yes. But she has known it right along, of course."