"Now, Jabez!" cried the little old lady, who had been bending over the
stove. "Don't ye make yourself out wuss nor you be. That poor boy ain't
doin' no harm to the bed."

"Makin' you more work, Alviry."

"What am I good for if it ain't to work?" she demanded, quite fiercely.
"When I can't work I want ye sh'd take me back to the poor farm where ye
got me--an' where I'd been these last 'leven years if it hadn't been for
your charity that you're so 'fraid folks will suspect----"

"Charity!" broke in Uncle Jabez. "Ha! Yes! a fat lot of charity I've
showed you, Alviry Boggs. I reckon I've got my money's wuth out o' you
back an' bones."

The old woman stood as straight as she could and looked at the grim miller
with shining eyes. Ruth thought her face really beautiful as she smiled
and said, wagging her head at the gray-faced man:

"Oh, Jabez Potter! Jabez Potter! Nobody'll know till you're in your coffin
jest how much good you've done in this world'--on the sly! An' you'll let
this pore boy rest an' git well here before he has to go out an' hunt a
job for hisself. For my pretty, here, tells me he ain't got no home nor no
friends."

"Uh-huh!" grunted Uncle Jabez, and stumped away to the mill, fairly beaten
for the time.

"He grumbles and grunts," observed Aunt Alvirah, shaking her head as she