Part 13 (1/2)
”He told me that it contained every cent he had saved in all these years.”
”My!” cried Helen. ”Then he must have lost a fortune! He has been a miser for forty years, so they say.”
”I do not know about that,” Ruth pursued. ”He is harsh and--and he seems to be very selfish. He--he says I can go to school, though.”
”Well, I should hope so!” cried Helen.
”But I don't know that I can go,” Ruth continued, shaking her head.
”For pity's sake I why not?” asked her friend.
Then, out came the story of the lost trunk. Nor could Ruth keep back the tears as she told her friend about Uncle Jabez's cruelty.
”Oh, oh, oh!” cried Helen, almost weeping herself. ”The mean, mean thing! No, I won't call him Ogre again; he isn't as good as an Ogre.
I--I don't know what to call him!”
”Calling him names won't bring back my trunk, Helen,” sobbed Ruth.
”That's so. I--I'd make him pay for it! I'd make him get me dresses for those that were lost.”
”Uncle is giving me a home; I suppose he will give me to wear all that he thinks I need. But I shall have to wear this dress to school, and it will soon not be fit to wear anywhere else.”
”It's just too mean for anything, Ruth! I just wish--”
What Miss Cameron wished she did not proceed to explain. She stopped and bit her lip, looking at her friend all the time and nodding. Ruth was busily wiping her eyes and did not notice the very wise expression on Helen's face.
”Look out! here comes Tom,” whispered Helen, suddenly, and Ruth made a last dab at her eyes and put away her handkerchief in a hurry.
”Say! ain't you ever going to get that thing done?” demanded Tom.
”Seems to me you haven't done anything at all since I was here last.”
The girls became very busy then and worked swiftly until the pillow was completed. By that time it was late afternoon and they started homeward. Ruth separated from Helen and Tom at the main road and walked alone toward the Red Mill. She came to the bridge, which was at the corner of her uncle's farm, and climbed the stile, intending to follow the path up through the orchard to the rear of the house--the same path by which she and her friends had started on their little jaunt in the morning.
The brook which ran into the river, and bounded this lower end of Mr.
Potter's place, was screened by clumps of willows. Just beyond the first group of saplings Ruth heard a rough voice say:
”And I tell you to git out! Go on the other side of the crick, Jasper Parloe, if ye wanter fish. That ain't my land, but this is.”
”Ain't ye mighty brash, Jabe?” demanded the snarling voice of Parloe, and Ruth knew the first speaker to be her uncle. ”Who are yeou ter drive me away?”
”The last time ye was at the mill I lost something--I lost more than I kin afford to lose again,” continued Uncle Jabez. ”I don't say ye took it. They tell me the flood took it. But I'm going to know the right of it some time, and if you know more about it than you ought--”
”What air ye talkin' about, Jabe Potter?” shrilled Parloe. ”I've lost money by you; ye ain't never paid me for the last month I worked for ye.”
”Ye paid yerself--ye paid yerself,” said Jabe, tartly. ”And if ye stole once ye would again--”
”Now stop right there, Jabe Potter!” cried Parloe, and Ruth knew that he had stepped closer to Mr. Potter, and was speaking in a trembling rage. ”Don't ye intermate an' insinerate; for if ye do, I kin fling out some insinerations likewise. Yeou jest open yer mouth about me stealin' an' I'll put a flea in old man Cameron's ear. Ha! Ye know what I mean. Better hev a care, Jabe Potter--better hev a care!”
There was silence. Her uncle made no reply, and Ruth, fearing she would be seen, and not wis.h.i.+ng to be thought an eavesdropper (although the conversation had so surprised and terrified her that she had not thought what she did, before) the girl ran lightly up the hill, leaving the two old men to their wrangle. When Uncle Jabez came in to supper that evening his scowl was heavier than usual, if that were possible, and he did not speak to either Ruth or Aunt Alvirah all the evening.
CHAPTER XV