“But what will uncle say?” gasped Ruth, almost bursting with questions, but being debarred from asking the most important ones.

“Don’t you fret about your Uncle Jabez.  He ain’t got nothin’ ter do with it,” declared the little old woman, firmly.  “Nor he won’t say nothin’.”

Which was very true.  Uncle Jabez seldom spoke to his niece now.  His moodiness grew upon him as time passed.  And in the evening, as he sat over his endless calculations at the kitchen table, the girl and the old woman scarcely dared speak to each other save in whispers.

Miss Lock worked three days, instead of two, at the Red Mill, helping Aunt Alvirah “dress-make.”  How she was paid, Ruth did not know; but she feared that the pennies Aunt Alvirah saved from her egg and chicken money had done this.  However, the shabby black frock was put away and Ruth blossomed out into as pretty an appearance as any girl attending Miss Cramp’s school.

But she did not make friends among her classmates.  Julia Semple had such influence that she seemed to have set all the girls of the higher class in the district school against Ruth.  Julia herself could not pass Ruth without tossing her head and staring at her haughtily; and sometimes she would whisper to her companions and look at the girl from the Red Mill in so scornful a way that Ruth could not help feeling uncomfortable.

Indeed, Ruth would have lacked almost all young company had it not been for Helen Cameron and Tom.  Tom didn’t think much of “playing with girls;” but he could always be depended upon to do anything Ruth and Helen wanted him to.  Helen was at the Red Mill often after Ruth’s school hours, and seldom did a Saturday pass that the two chums did not spend at least half the day together.  Aunt Alvirah declared Ruth should have Saturday afternoons to herself, and often Helen came in her little pony carriage and drove Ruth about the country.  There was a fat old pony named Tubby that drew the phaeton, and Tubby jogged along the pleasant country roads with them in a most delightfully gypsyish way.

One Saturday afternoon they went to town.  Ruth had never seen Cheslow save on the night of her arrival and on the following morning, when she had started directly after breakfast at the station master’s house to walk to the Red Mill.

“Why, you’ll like Cheslow,” declared Helen, in her enthusiastic way.  “It’s just as pretty as it can be—­ you’ll love it!  I often drive in to shop, and sometimes Mrs. Murchiston goes with me.  Get up, Tubby!”

Tubby had to be urged incessantly; exertion was not loved by him.  He would rather walk than trot; he would rather stand than walk; and he always had the appearance of being asleep—­ save when he was at his manger.

Ruth remembered that she had been warned not to go past “the gate with the green eyes” and she told Helen of her promise to Doctor Davison.

“Oh, splendid!” cried her chum.  “I don’t know anybody whom I like to call upon in Cheslow ahead of Doctor Davison.  It’s almost as good as having him come to see you when you’re sick.”