ocks, and there
were even more perilous reefs just under the surface.

Uncle Jabez's boat was not really a "punt." It was a heavy rowboat, so
stained and waterlogged in appearance that it might have been taken for
a bit of drift-stuff that had been brought in to the Red Mill landing by
the current.

And truly, that is probably the means by which the miller had originally
obtained the boat. He was of a miserly nature, was Uncle Jabez Potter,
and the old boat--which its first owner had never considered worth
coming after, following some spring freshet--served the miller well
enough to transport his goods across the river.

Tim Lakeby's store, on the north shore of the river, was in sight of the
Red Mill. There were four sacks of flour to be transported, and already
Uncle Jabez had placed two of them in the bottom of the boat, upon a
clean tarpaulin.

"Ef we go down the river an' swamp, I shell lose this flour," grumbled
Uncle Jabez. "Drat that Ben! I tell ye, he'd ought to be hum by now."

Ben was the hired man, and if the miller had not really been kindlier
underneath than he appeared on the surface, Ben would never have
remained as long with him as he had!

Uncle Jabez balanced the weight in the boat with judgment. Although
there seemed to be no real danger, he knew very well the nature of the
treacherous current. Ruth slipped into the bow seat with her oar, and
Uncle Jabez took stroke.

The girl unknotted the painter, and the boat drifted out from the
landing.

"Now, set yer feet square, an' _pull_!" ejaculated her uncle, thrusting
the blade of his own oar beneath the rippling surface.

They were heavy ash oars--one was all the girl really could manage. But
she was not afraid of a little hard work, her muscles were supple, and
she had rowed one season in the first eight at Briarwood Hall, and so
considered herself something of an oarswoman.

The miller, by stretching to see over his shoulder, got the boat pointed
in the right direction. "Pull, now!" he commanded, and set a long,
forceful stroke for the girl to match. With the water slapping against
the high side of the craft, sometimes sprinkling them with spray, they
drove her forward for some minutes in silence.

The boat lumbered heavily, and it was true that Ruth had all she could
do to manage the oars. In some places, where the eddies tugged at the
blade, it seemed as though a submerged giant seized it and tried to
twist it from her grasp!

"I gues