And this was every word of his welcome, in a tone that showed neither
interest nor care for the girl. It was what help she could be and how
much he could save by her. It was plain enough that Uncle Jabez Potter
was as saving as a person could possibly be. There was none too much
food on the table, and Ruth watched the ravenous hunger of the hired
man, when he came in, with a feeling as though she were watching a
half-starved dog at his meal.

Jabez Potter was not like the misers Ruth had read about, save in his
personal appearance. He was not well dressed, nor was he very clean.
But naturally the mill-dust would stick to him and to his clothing. It
seemed to have worked into the very texture of his skin during all the
years he had controlled the mill, until he was all of a dead gray.

Sometimes there were half a dozen wagons or buggies waiting at the
mill, and not all of them gave toll for their milling. Ruth, in the
afternoon, and because it had begun to rain and she could not go out,
went into the mill to quench her curiosity regarding it. She saw that
there was a tiny office over the water, with a fireproof safe in it.
Her uncle brought the money he took from his customers and put it in a
little locked, japanned box, which he kept upon a shelf. The safe
appeared to be full of ledgers.

Farther down the mill was a wide door and platform overhanging the
water (this was below the dam) where flour and meal could be loaded
upon barges for transportation to Osago Lake, some miles away. There
were great bins of wheat and corn, many elevator pipes, several mills
turning all the time, grinding different grains, and a great
corn-sheller that went by power, and which the young man fed when he
had nothing else to do.