Ruth Fielding and the Gypsies Part 3

"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."

The miller fairly _ached_ when he thought of his losses, and he had to lay the blame on somebody.

"Now you help me git four more sacks over to Tim Lakeby's----"

Ruth would not hear of his going back before he changed his clothing and had something put upon the cut in his head. After a little arguing, it was agreed that Ben and the clerk should ferry the flour across to the store, and then the clerk would bring Ben back.

"Goodness sakes alive!" shrieked Aunt Alvirah, when she saw them come onto the porch, still dripping. "What you been doing to my pretty, Jabez Potter?"

"Huh!" sniffed the miller. "Mebbe it's what she's been doing to _me_?"

and he wreathed his thin lips into a wry grin.

Aunt Alvirah and Mercy must hear it all. The lame girl was delighted.

She pointed her finger at the old man, who had now gotten into his Sunday suit and had a bandage on his head.

"Now, tell me, Dusty Miller, what do you think about girls being of some use? Isn't Ruth as good as any boy?"

"She sartainly kep' me from drownin' as good as any boy goin'," admitted the old man. "But that was only chancey, as ye might say. When it comes to bein' of main use in the world----Wal, it ain't gals thet makes the wheels go 'round!'

"And don't you really think, Uncle, that girls are any use in the world?" asked Ruth, quietly. She had come out upon the dimly lit porch (this was after their supper) in season to hear the miller's final observation.

"Ha!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jabez. Perhaps he had not intended Ruth to hear just that. "They're like flowers, I reckon--mighty purty an' ornamental; but they ain't no manner o' re'l use!"

Mercy fairly snorted, but she was too wise to say anything farther.

Ruth, however, continued:

"That seems very unfair, Uncle. Many girls are 'worth their salt,' as you call it, to their families. Why can't _I_ be of use to you--in time, of course?"

"Ha! everyone to his job," said Uncle Jabez, brusquely. "You kin be of gre't help to your Aunt Alviry, no doubt. But ye can't take a sack of flour on your shoulders an' throw it inter a waggin--like Ben there. Or like that Roberto thet lugged me ash.o.r.e to-night. An' I'm some weight, I be."

"And is that all the kind of help you think you'll ever need, Uncle?"

demanded Ruth, with rising emotion.

"I ain't expectin' ter be helpless an' want nussin' by no gal--not yet awhile," said Uncle Jabez, with a chuckle. "Gals is a gre't expense--a gre't expense."

"Now, Jabez! ye don't mean thet air," exclaimed the little old woman, coming from the kitchen. She lowered herself into the little rocker nearby, with her usual moan of, "Oh, my back! an' oh, my bones! Ye don't mean ter hurt my pretty's feelin's, I know."

"She axed me!" exclaimed the miller, angrily. "I vum! ain't I spendin' a fortun' on her schoolin' at that Briarwood Hall?"

"And didn't she save ye a tidy fortun' when she straightened out that Tintacker Mine trouble for ye, Jabez Potter?" demanded the old woman, vigorously. "An' the good Lord knows she's been a comfort an' help to ye, right an' left, in season an' out, ever since she fust stepped foot inter this Red Mill----What's she done for ye this very day, Jabez, as ye said yourself?"

Aunt Alvirah was one of the very few people who dared to talk plainly to the miller, when he was in one of his tempers. Now he growled out some rough reply, and strode into the house.

"You've driven him away, Auntie!" cried Ruth, under her breath.

"He'd oughter be driv' away," said the old woman, "when he's in thet mind."

"But what he says is true. I _am_ a great expense to him. I--I wish I could earn my own way through school."