“Mr. Potter is considered a good miller,” said Helen, again; “and he does not neglect his property.  He is not miserly in that way.  There isn’t a picket off the fence, or a hinge loose anywhere.  He isn’t at all what you consider a miser must be and look like; yet he is always hoarding money and never spends any.  But indeed I do not tell you this to trouble you, Ruthie.  I want you to believe, my dear, that if you can’t stand it at Mr. Potter’s you can stand it at Mr. Cameron’s—­ and you’ll be welcome there.

“Our mother is dead.  We talk of her a good deal, just as though she were living and had gone on a little journey somewhere, and we should see her again soon.  God took her when Tom and I were only a few weeks old; but Daddy has made himself our playfellow and dear, dear friend; and there has always been Nurse Babette and Mrs. Murchiston—­ at least, Mrs. Murchiston has been with us since we can remember.  But what Daddy says is law, and he said this morning that he’d like to have a girl like you come to our house to be company for me.  It gets lonely for me sometimes, you see, for Tom doesn’t want to play with girls much, now he is so big.  Perhaps next fall I’ll go away to boarding school—­ won’t that be fun?”

“It will be fun for you, I hope, Helen,” said Ruth, with rather a wistful smile.  “I don’t know where I shall go to school.”

“There is your uncle now!” exclaimed Miss Cameron.  “See that man in the old dusty suit?”

Ruth had already seen the tall, stoop-shouldered figure, who looked as though he had been powdered with flour, coming down the short path from 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 shoulder which he pitched into the wagon.  The man on the seat was speaking as the automobile came to a stop immediately behind the wagon.

“Jefers pelters!  Ef there’s one thing yeou know how to do, it’s to take toll, Jabe.  Let the flour be poor, or good, there’s little enough of it comes back to the man that raises the wheat.”

“You don’t have to bring your wheat here, Jasper Parloe,” said the miller, in a strong, harsh voice.  “There is no law compels ye.”

“Yah!” snarled old Parloe.  “We all know ye, Jabe Potter.  We know what ye be.”  Potter turned away.  He had not noticed the two girls in the automobile.  But now Jasper Parloe saw them.  “Ho!” he cried, “here’s somebody else that will l’arn ter know ye, too.  Didn’t know you was ter hev comp’ny; did ye, Jabe?  Here’s yer niece, Jabe, come ter live on ye an’ be an expense to ye,” and so, chuckling and screwing up his mean, sly face, Parloe drove on, leaving the miller standing with arms akimbo, and staring at Ruth, who was slowly alighting from the automobile with her bag.

Helen squeezed her hand tightly as she got out “Don’t forget that we are your friends, Ruthie,” she whispered.  “I’m coming by again this afternoon when I drive over to the station for father.  If—­ if anything happens you be out here—­ now remember!”