"Jabez," said the little old woman, solemnly, "you've been a good friend to me--ye've borne with me in sickness and in weakness. Ye took me from the a'mshouse when I didn't have a penny to my name and nobody else to turn to, it seemed. I've tried ter do for ye faithfully. But I ain't done my duty by you no more than this child here has since she's come here to the Red Mill. You know that well yourself, too. Don't blame the pretty leetle creetur for havin' the nateral vanity that all young things hez. Remember, Jabez, that it was through you that she has had to accept clothing from outsiders." "Through me?" growled the miller, raising his countenance and scowling at the brave old woman--for it took courage for Aunt Alvirah to speak to him in this way. "Helen Cam'ron wouldn't have been called on to give Ruthie her frocks which she only wore last year, and outgrew, if you hadn't lost Ruthie's trunk. Ye know that, Jabez," urged Aunt Alvirah. "I s'pose I'm never to hear the last of that!" stormed the miller. "You are still to hear the first word from Ruthie about it, Jabez," admonished his housekeeper. "Well!" "Well," repeated Aunt Alvirah, still speaking quietly but earnestly. "You know it ain't my way to interfere in your affairs, Jabez. But right is right. It was you lost Ruthie's trunk. I never knew ye ter be dishonest--" "What's that?" gasped Mr. Potter, the red mantling his gray cheek dully. "I never knew ye ter do a dishonest thing afore, Jabez," pursued Aunt Alvirah, with her voice shaking now. "But it's dishonest for ye to never even perpose ter make good what ye lost. If you'd lost a sack of grain for a neighbor ye'd made it up to him; wouldn't ye?" "What's thet gotter do with a lot of foolish fal-lals an' rigamagigs belonging to a gal that I've taken in--" "To help us. And she does help us," declared the old woman, quickly. "She more'n airns her keep, Jabez. Ye know she does." "Well!" grunted the miller again, but he actually looked somewhat abashed and dropped his gaze to the ledger. "Well, then, Jabez Potter," said the old housekeeper, "you think it over--think it over, Jabez. And as sure as my name's Alviry Boggs, if you do think it over, something will come of it!" This seemed like a rather mysterious saying, and there seemed to be nothing for the miller to observe in answer to it. Ruth had ere this dried her eyes and it was soon bedtime. It is a long time from Friday night to Monday morning--especially to young folk. The hurt that Ruth had felt over Julia Semple's unkind words had lost its keenness in Ruth's mind ere school began again. So Ruth took up her school duties quite as usual, wearing one of the pretty frocks in which, however, she could no longer take such pride and delight.