Part 3 (1/2)

”I would, if it hadn't been for her,” declared the miller, with more enthusiasm than he usually showed. ”She held my head up when I was knocked out--kinder. Ye see this cut in my head?”

”Ye got out of it lucky arter all, then,” said Bascom.

”Ya-as,” drawled the miller. ”But I ain't feelin' so pert erbout losin'

thet boat an' the flour.”

”But see how much worse it might have been, Uncle,” suggested Ruth, timidly. ”If it hadn't been for that boy----”

”What did he say his name was?” interrupted Timothy.

”Roberto.”

”Yah!” said Bascom. ”Thet's a Gypsy name, all right! I'd like ter got holt on him.”

”I wish I could have thanked him,” sighed Ruth.

”If you see him ag'in, Joe,” said the miller, ”don't you bother about a peck o' summer apples. I'll pay for them,” he added, with a sudden burst of generosity. ”Of course--in trade,” he added.

He could move about now, and the gash in his head had ceased bleeding.

It was a warm evening, and neither Ruth nor her uncle were likely to take cold from their ducking. But her clothing clung to her in an uncomfortable manner, and the girl was anxious to get back to the mill.

Timothy Lakeby routed out a clerk and sent him with them in the lighter boat that was moored at the store landing. Ruth begged to pull an oar again, and her uncle did not forbid her. Perhaps he still felt a little weak and dazed.

He kept speaking of Roberto, the Gypsy boy. ”Strong as an ox, that feller,” he said. ”Wisht I had a man like him at the mill. Ben ain't wuth his salt.”

”Oh, I'm sure, Uncle Jabez, Ben is very faithful and good,” urged Ruth.

”Wal, a feller that could carry me like that young man done--he's jest another Sandow, _he_ is,” said Uncle Jabez.

They easily got across the river in the storekeeper's lighter boat, and Ruth displayed her oarsmans.h.i.+p to better advantage, for the oars were lighter. The miller noted her work and grunted his approval.

”I vum! they _did_ teach ye suthin' at thet school 'sides folderrols, didn't they?” he said.

Ruth asked the store clerk if he knew anything about the Gypsies.

”Why, yes, Miss. I hear they are camping 'way up the river--up near the lakes, beyond Minturn's Dam. You know that's a wild country up there.”

Ruth remembered. She had been a little way in that direction with her friends, Tom and Helen Cameron, in their auto. Minturn Dam had burst two years before, and done much damage, but was now repaired.

”That is a long way from here,” she suggested to the clerk.

”Yes'm. But Romany folks is gret roamers--thet's why they're called 'Romany,' mebbe,” was the reply. ”And I guess that black-eyed rascal is a wild one.”

”Never mind. He got me out o' the river,” mumbled Uncle Jabez.

They brought the boat to the mill landing in safety, and Ben appeared, having returned from town and put up the mules. He gazed in blank amazement at the condition of his employer and Ruth.

”For the good land!” exclaimed Ben; but he got no farther. He was not a talkative young man, and it took considerable to wake him up to as exciting an expression as the above.

”You kin talk!” snarled Uncle Jabez. ”If you'd been here to help me, I wouldn't ha' lost our boat and the flour.”