ere even and white, and her smile lit up her whole face in a most
engaging manner.

"Do let me help you, Uncle. I know I can," she repeated, as the old
miller scowled at her.

"What's that?" he said again. "Go with me in that punt to Tim Lakeby's?"

"Why not?"

"'Tain't no job for a gal, Niece Ruth," grumbled the miller.

"Any job is all right for a girl--if she can do it," said Ruth, happily.
"And I can row, Uncle--you know I can."

"Ha! rowing one o' them paper-shell skiffs of Cameron's _one_ thing; the
ash oars to my punt ain't for baby's han's," growled the miller.

"Do let me try, Uncle Jabez," said Ruth again, when the lame girl broke
in with:

"You are an awfully obstinate old Dusty Miller! Why don't you own up
that Ruthie's more good to you than a dozen boys would be?"

"She ain't!" snarled the old man.

At that moment there appeared upon the farmhouse porch a little, bent
old woman who hailed them in a shrill, sweet voice:

"What's the matter, gals? What's the matter, Jabez? Ain't nothin' broke
down, hez there?"

"No, Aunt Alvirah," laughed Ruth. "I just want Uncle Jabez to let me
help him----"

The old woman had started down the steps, her hand upon her back as she
came, and intoning in a low voice: "Oh, my back! and oh, my bones!" She
caught up the miller's remark, as he turned away again, very sharply,
for he muttered something about "Silly gals' foolish idees."

"What d'ye mean by that, Jabez Potter?" she demanded. "If Ruth says she
kin help ye, she _kin_. You oughter know that by this time."

"Help me row that punt across the river?" snarled the old man,
wrathfully. "What nonsense!"

"I dunno," said the old woman, slowly. "I see Tim's flag a-flyin'. I
guess he wants his flour bad."

"And I can pull an oar as good as _you_ can, Uncle Jabez," added Ruth.

"Oh, all right! Come on, then. I see I shell hev no peace till I let ye
try it. Ef we don't git back fer supper, don't blame _me_, Alviry."

The miller disappeared in the gathering gloom of the mill. Soon the
jarring of the structure and the hum of the stones grew
slower--slower--slower, and finally the machinery was altogether still.

Ruth had run for her hat. Then, waving her hand to Mercy and Aunt
Alvirah, she ran around to the landing.

The Lumano River was a wide stream, but at this season of the year it
was pretty shallow. There was little navigation from Lake Osago at any
time, but now the channel was dotted with dangerous r