me what made him do such a foolish thing. And wasn't itlucky Reno was along with him?" cried Tom's sister.
"Now, I see you remained in town over night. They thought somebody hadcome for yon and taken you out to the mill. Is Jabez Potter reallyyour uncle?"
"Yes. He was my mother's uncle. And I have no other relative."
"Well, dear, I am more than sorry for you," declared the girl from theautomobile. "And now we will climb right in and I'll take you along tothe mill."
But whether she was sorry for Ruth Fielding's friendlessness, or sorrybecause she was related to Jabez Potter, the young traveler could notdecide.
CHAPTER VI
THE RED MILL
"Now, my name's Helen, and you are Ruth," declared Miss Cameron, whenshe had carefully started the car once more. "We are going to be thevery best of friends, and we might as well begin by telling each otherall about ourselves. Tom and I are twins and he is an awful tease!But, then, boys are. He is a good brother generally. We live in thefirst yellow house on the right--up among the trees--beyond Mr.Potter's mill--near enough so that we can run back and forth and seeeach other just lots."
Ruth found herself warmly drawn toward this vivacious miss. Nor wasshe less frank in giving information about herself, her old home, inDarrowtown, that she still wore black for her father, and that she hadbeen sent by her friends to Uncle Jabez because he was supposed to bebetter able to take care of and educate her. Helen listened veryearnestly to the tale, but she shook her head at the end of it.
"I don't know," she said. "I don't want to hurt your feelings, Ruthie.But Jabez Potter isn't liked very well by people in general, althoughI guess he is a good miller. He is stingy--"
"I must say it. He isn't given to kind actions, and I am surprised thathe should have agreed to take and educate you. Of course, he didn'thave to."
"I don't suppose he did have to," Ruth said, slowly. "And it wasn't asthough I couldn't have remained in Darrowtown. But Miss True Pettis--"
"Miss True?" repeated Helen, curiously.
"Short for Truthful. Her name is Rechelsea Truthful Tomlinson Pettisand she is the dearest little old spinster lady--much nicer than hername."
"Well!" ejaculated the amazed Helen.
"Miss True isn't rich. Indeed, she is very poor. So are Patsy Hope'sfolks--Patsy is really Patricia, but that's too long for her. And allthe other folks that knew me about Darrowtown had a hard time to getalong, and most of them had plenty of children without taking anotherthat wasn't any kin to them," concluded Ruth, who was worldly wise insome things, and had seen the harder side of life since she had openedher eyes upon this world.
"But your uncle is said to be a regular miser," declared Helen,earnestly. "And he is so gruff and grim! Didn't your friends knowhim?"
"I guess they never saw him, or heard much about him," said Ruth,slowly. "I'm sure I never did myself."
"But don't you be afraid," said the other, warmly. "If he isn't goodto you there are friends enough here to look out for you. I knowDoctor Davison thinks you are very brave, and Daddy will do anythingfor you that Tom and I ask him to."
"I am quite sure I shall get on nicely with Uncle Jabez," she said."And then, there is Aunt Alvirah."
"Oh, yes. There is an old lady who keeps house for Mr. Potter. And sheseems kind enough, too. But she acts afraid of Mr. Potter. I don'tblame her, he is so grim."
The automobile, wheeling so smoothly over the hard pike, just then wasmounting a little hill. They came over the summit of this and there,lying before them, was the beautiful slope of farming country down tothe very bank of the Lumano River. Fenced fields, tilled and untilled,checkered the slope, with here and there a white farmhouse with itsgroup of outbuildings. There was no hamlet in sight, merely scatteredfarms. The river, swollen and yellow with the Spring rains, swept uponits bosom fence rails, hen-coops, and other flotsam of a Spring flood.Yonder, at a crossing, part of the bridge had been carried away.
"If the dam at Minturn goes, we shall be flooded all through this lowland again," Helen Cameron explained. "I remember seeing this valleycovered with water once during the Spring. But we live on the shoulderof Mount Burgoyne, and you see, even the mill sets on quite highground."
Ruth's eyes had already seen and lingered upon the mill. It was arambling structure, the great, splashing millwheel at the far end, thelong warehouse in the middle, and the dwelling attached to the otherend. There were barns, corn-cribs and other outbuildings as well, andsome little tillable land connected with the mill; and all thebuildings were vividly painted with red mineral paint, trimmed withwhite. So bright and sparkling was the paint that it seemed to havebeen put on over night.
"Mr. Potter is considered a good miller," said Helen, again; "and hedoes not neglect his property. He is not miserly in that way. Thereisn't a picket off the fence, or a hinge loose anywhere. He isn't atall what you consider a miser must be and look like; yet he is alwayshoarding money and never spends any. But indeed I do not tell you thisto trouble you, Ruthie. I want you to believe, my dear, that if youcan't stand it at Mr. Potter's you can stand it at Mr. Cameron's--andyou'll be welcome there.
"Our mother is dead. We talk of her a good deal, just as though shewere living and had gone on a little journey somewhere, and we shouldsee her again soon. God took her when Tom and I were only a few weeksold; but Daddy has made himself our playfellow and dear, dear friend;and there has always been Nurse Babette and Mrs. Murchiston--atleast, Mrs. Murchiston has been with us since we can remember. Butwhat Daddy says is law, and he said this morning that he'd like tohave a girl like you come to our house to be company for me. It getslonely for me sometimes, you see, for Tom doesn't want to play withgirls much, now he is so big. Perhaps next fall I'll go away toboarding school--won't that be fun?"
"It will be fun for you, I hope, Helen," said Ruth, with rather awistful smile. "I don't know where I shall go to school."
"There is your uncle now!" exclaimed Miss Cameron. "See that man inthe old dusty suit?"
Ruth had already seen the tall, stoop-shouldered figure, who looked asthough he had been powdered with flour, coming down the short pathfrom one of the open doors of the mill to the road, where a little,one horse wagon stood. He bore a bag of meal or flour on his shoulderwhich he pitched into the wagon. The man on the seat was speaking asthe automobile came to a stop immediately behind the wagon.
"Jefers pelters! Ef there's one thing yeou know how to do, it's totake toll, Jabe. Let the flour be poor, or good, there's little enoughof it comes back to the man that raises the wheat."
"You don't have to bring your wheat here, Jasper Parloe," said themiller, in a strong, harsh voice. "There is no law compels ye."
"Yah!" snarled old Parloe. "We all know ye, Jabe Potter. We know whatye be." Potter turned away. He had not noticed the two girls in theautomobile. But now Jasper Parloe saw them. "Ho!" he cried, "here'ssomebody else that will l'arn ter know ye, too. Didn't know you waster hev comp'ny; did ye, Jabe? Here's yer niece, Jabe, come ter liveon ye an' be an expense to ye," and so, chuckling and screwing up hismean, sly face, Parloe drove on, leaving the miller standing with armsakimbo, and staring at Ruth, who was slowly alighting from theautomobile with her bag.
Helen squeezed her hand tightly as she got out "Don't forget that weare your friends, Ruthie," she whispered. "I'm coming by again thisafternoon when I drive over to the station for father. If--ifanything happens you be out here--now remember!"
What could possibly happen to her, Ruth could not imagine. She was notreally afraid of Uncle Jabez. She walked directly to him, as he stoodthere, staring gloomily, in front of the Red Mill. He was not onlytall and stoop-shouldered, and very dusty; but his dusty eyebrowsalmost met over his light blue eyes. He was lantern-jawed, and it didseem as though his dry, shaven lips had never in all his life wrinkledinto a smile. His throat was wrinkled and scraggy and his head wasplainly very bald on top, for the miller's cap he wore did notentirely cover the bald spot.
"I am Ruth Fielding, from Darrowtown," sh
e said, in a voice that shecontrolled well. "I have come to--to live with you, Uncle Jabez."
"Where was you last night?" demanded the miller, without so much asreturning her greeting. "Was you with them Camerons?"
"I stayed all night with the station master," she said, inexplanation.
"What time did you get to the station?"
Ruth told him. Never once did his voice change or his grim look relax.
"I mistook