Then, during a lull in the storm, and on the afternoon that Tom Cameron was taken home from Dr. Davison’s, the old doctor himself stopped at the mill and shouted for Jabez to come out.  The doctor drove a very fast red and white mare and had difficulty in holding her in, for she was eager to be moving.

Uncle Jabez came out and seemed to look upon the doctor in no very friendly way.  Ruth, standing at the open door of the kitchen, could hear Dr. Davison’s voice plainly.

“Jabez,” he said, “do you know how the river is at Minturn?”

“No,” returned the miller, briefly.

“It’s higher than it’s ever been.  That dam is not safe.  Why don’t you let your water out so that, if Minturn should break, she’d have free sweep here and so do less damage below?  Let this small flood out and when the greater one comes there’ll be less danger of a disaster.”

“And how do I know the Minturn dam will burst, Dr. Davison?” asked Mr. Potter, tartly.

“You don’t know it.  I’m only advising that precaution.”

“And if it don’t burst I’ll have my pains for my trouble—­ and no water for the summer, perhaps.  They wouldn’t let me have water later, if I needed it.”

“But you’re risking your own property here.”

“And it’s mine to risk, Dr. Davison,” said Potter, in his sullen way.

“But there are other people to think of—­”

I don’t agree with you,” interrupted the miller.  “I have enough to do to attend to my own concerns.  I don’t bother about other people’s business.”

“Meaning that I do when I speak to you about the water; eh?” said the old doctor, cheerfully.  “Well, I’ve done my duty.  You’ll learn some time, Jabez.”

He let out the impatient mare then, and the mud spattered from his wheels as he flew up the road toward Cheslow.

CHAPTER IX

 The crest of the wave

The rain could not last forever; Nature must cease weeping some time.  Just as girls, far away from their old homes and their old friends, must cease wetting their pillows with regretful tears after a time, and look forward to the new interests and new friends to which they have come.

Not that Ruth wept much.  But the rainy days of that first week were necessarily trying.  On Saturday, however, came a clear day.  The sun shone, the drenched trees shook themselves, and the wind came and blew softly and warmly through their branches to dry the tender foliage.  The birds popped out of their hiding-places and began to sing and chirp as though they never could be glad enough for this change in the weather.

There was so much to see from the kitchen door at the Red Mill that Ruth did not mind her work that morning.  She had learned now to help Aunt Alvirah in many ways.  Not often did the old lady have to go about moaning her old refrain: