"Helen Cam'ron wouldn't have been called on to give Ruthie her frocks which she only wore last year, and outgrew, if you hadn't lost Ruthie's trunk. Ye know that, Jabez," urged Aunt Alvirah.
"I s'pose I'm never to hear the last of that!" stormed the miller.
"You are still to hear the first word from Ruthie about it, Jabez," admonished his housekeeper.
"Well!"
"Well," repeated Aunt Alvirah, still speaking quietly but earnestly. "You know it ain't my way to interfere in your affairs, Jabez. But right is right. It was you lost Ruthie's trunk. I never knew ye ter be dishonest—"
"What's that?" gasped Mr. Potter, the red mantling his gray cheek dully.
"I never knew ye ter do a dishonest thing afore, Jabez," pursued Aunt Alvirah, with her voice shaking now. "But it's dishonest for ye to never even perpose ter make good what ye lost. If you'd lost a sack of grain for a neighbor ye'd made it up to him; wouldn't ye?"
"What's thet gotter do with a lot of foolish fal-lals an' rigamagigs belonging to a gal that I've taken in—"
"To help us. And she does help us," declared the old woman, quickly. "She more'n airns her keep, Jabez. Ye know she does."
"Well!" grunted the miller again, but he actually looked somewhat abashed and dropped his gaze to the ledger.