“This girl wants a dress to wear to the school graduating,” he said, in his harsh voice.  “It must be white.  Let her pick out the goods, all the fal-lals that go with it, and a pattern to make it by.  Ye understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said the woman, smiling.

“You know me?” asked Uncle Jabez.  “Yes?  Then send the bill to the other side of the store and I’ll pay it when I sell my meal and flour.”  Then to the astounded Ruth he said:  “I’ll come to Sam Curtis’ for you when I’m done.  See you don’t keep me waiting.”

He wheeled and strode away before Ruth could find her voice.  She was so amazed that she actually felt faint She could not understand it.  A white dress!  And she to make her choice alone, without regard to material, or price!  She could have been no more stunned had Uncle Jabez suddenly run mad and been caught by the authorities and sent to an asylum.

But the shop woman awoke her, having asked her twice what kind of white goods she wanted to see.  The repeated query brought Ruth to her senses.  She put the astonishing fact that Uncle Jabez had done this, behind her, and remembered at once the importance of the task before her.

She had not listened to the talk of the other girls at school for nothing.  She knew just what was the most popular fabric that season for simple white dresses that could be “done up” when soiled.  She had even found the style of a dress she liked in a fashion magazine that one of the girls had had at school.  Ruth was self-posessed at once.  She went about her shopping as carefully and with as little haste as though she had been buying for herself for years; whereas this was the very first frock that she had ever been allowed to have the choice of.

There were costlier goods, and some of the girls of the graduating class were to have them; but Ruth chose something so durable and at so low a price that she hoped Uncle Jabez would not be sorry for his generosity.  She saw the goods, and lace, and buttons, and all the rest, made up into a neat package and sent across to the other counter with the bill, and then went out of the store and up Market Street toward the railroad.

She saw Uncle Jabez nowhere, or she would have run to him to thank him for the present.  And she had been in Mercy Curtis’ front window for quite an hour before the mules turned the corner into the street and the wagon rattled up to the house and stopped.

“And is that ugly old man your uncle?” demanded Mercy, who had been less crusty and exacting herself on this occasion.

“That is Uncle Jabez;” admitted Ruth, hastening to put on her hat.

“He is an ugly one; isn’t he?  I’d like to know him, I would,” declared the odd child.  “He ain’t one that’s always smirking and smiling, I bet you!”

“He isn’t given much to smiling, I must admit,” laughed Ruth, stooping to kiss the crippled girl.

“There!  Go along with you,” said Mercy, sharply.  “You tell that ugly, dusty man—­ Dusty Miller, that’s what he is—­ that I’m coming out to the Red Mill, whether he wants me to or not.”