“What is the matter with my pretty leetle creetur?” whispered the old woman, creeping close to Ruth.

“Nothing is the matter now,” returned Ruth, in the same low tone.

“Didn’t you do well?” asked the old woman, wistfully.

“I won the spelling match,” replied Ruth.  “I stood up longer than anybody else.”

“Is that so!” exclaimed Aunt Alvirah, with pride.  “I told ye so, Ruthie.  And ye beat that Semple gal?”

“She was the last one to fail before me,” Ruth returned.

“Well, well!  D’ye hear that, Jabez?  Our Ruth won the spellin’-match.”

The miller did not raise his head from his accounts; only grunted and nodded.

“But something went wrong wi’ ye, deary?” persisted Aunt Alvirah, watching Ruth’s face closely.

“Oh, Auntie! why didn’t you tell me that Helen gave me the frocks?”

“Deary, deary, me!” ejaculated Aunt Alvirah.  “How did you know?”

“Julia Semple told me—­ she told me before everybody!” gasped Ruth, fighting hard to keep back the tears.  “She called me a pauper!  She called it out before them all, and said that I wore Helen’s cast-off clothes!”

“The mean thing!” said Aunt Alvirah, with more sharpness then she usually expressed.  “Isn’t that jest like the Semples?  They’re all that way.  Got mad with you because you beat her at spelling; eh?”

“Yes.  But she has known it right along, of course.”

“Deary me!” said Aunt Alvirah.  “Nobody supposed them frocks would be reckernized—­ least of all Helen.  She meant it kindly, Ruthie.  It was kindly meant,”

“I wish I’d worn my old black dress to rags!” cried Ruth, who was too hurt to be sensible or just.  “I suppose Helen meant it kindly.  And you did what you thought was right, Auntie.  But all the girls have turned up their noses at me—­”

“Let ’em stay turned up—­ what do you care?” suddenly growled Uncle Jabez.

For the moment Ruth had forgotten his presence and she and Aunt Alvirah had been talking more loudly.  They both fell suddenly silent and stared at him.

“Are ye too proud to wear dresses that’s give to ye?” demanded Uncle Jabez.  “Ye ain’t too proud to take food and shelter from me.  And I’m a poorer man than Macy Cameron an’ less able to give.”

The tone and the words were both cruel—­ or seemed to be to Ruth’s mind.  But she said, bravely: 

“People know that you’re my uncle—­”

“I was yer mother’s uncle; that’s all.  The relationship ain’t much,” declared Uncle Jabez.

“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.”