"Let me go, Uncle, and so get some of your money back that way," Ruth said, quickly, and smiling in her little, birdlike way with her head on one side. "Ha! I don't know about that," he growled, shaking his head. "I don't see what I'll be makin' out of it." "Perhaps I can help you later, if you'll let me learn enough," she urged. "I can learn enough arithmetic to keep your books. I'll try real hard." "I don't know about that," he said, again, eyeing her suspiciously. "The little money I make I kin keep watch of--when I'm here to watch it, that is. There ain't no book-keeping necessary in my business. And then--there's your Aunt Alviry. She needs you." "Don't you go for to say that, Jabez," interposed the old woman, briskly. "That child's the greatest help that ever was; but she can do all that's necessary before and arter school, and on Saturdays. She's a good smart child, Jabez. Let her have a chance to l'arn." "Ain't no good ever come of books," muttered the miller. "Oh, Uncle! Just let me show you," begged the girl, in her earnestness clinging to his arm with both hands. He looked down for a moment at her hands as though he would fling off her hold. But he thought better of it, and waited fully a minute before he spoke. "You know your Aunt Alviry needs ye," he said. "If you kin fix it with her, why I don't see as I need object." "Will it be too much trouble for you to get my trunk, Uncle, so that I can begin going to school next week?" Ruth asked. "Ain't you got nothin' to wear to school?" he said. "It's dress; is it? Beginning that trouble airly; ain't ye?" He seemed to be quite cross again, and the girl looked at him in surprise. "Dear Uncle! You will get the trunk from the station, won't you?" "No I won't," he said. "Because why? Because I can't." "You can't?" she gasped, and even Aunt Alvirah looked startled. "That's what I said." "Why--why can't you?" cried Ruth. "Has something happened to my trunk?" "That's jest it--and it warn't no fault o' mine," said the miller. "I got the trunk like I said I would and it was in the wagon when we came down the hill yonder. "Oh, oh!" gasped Ruth, her hands clasped. "You don't mean when you ran the mules into the water, Uncle?" "I had to get to my mill. I didn't know what was being done over here," he said, uglily. "And didn't I lose enough? What's the loss of some old rags, and a trunk, 'side of my money?" He said it with such force, and with so angry a gesture, that she shrank back from him. But her pain and disappointment were so strong that she had to speak. "And the trunk was washed out of the wagon, Uncle Jabez? It's gone?" "That's what happened to it, I suppose," he grunted, and dropping his head, opened the ledger and began to study the long lines of figures there displayed. Not a word to show that he was sorry for her loss. No appreciation of the girl's pain and sorrow. He selfishly hugged to him the misfortune of his own loss and gave no heed to Ruth.