follow the path up through the orchard to the rear of the house-- the
same path by which she and her friends had started on their little
jaunt in the morning.

The brook which ran into the river, and bounded this lower end of Mr.
Potter's place, was screened by clumps of willows. Just beyond the
first group of saplings Ruth heard a rough voice say:

"And I tell you to git out! Go on the other side of the crick, Jasper
Parloe, if ye wanter fish. That ain't my land, but this is."

"Ain't ye mighty brash, Jabe?" demanded the snarling voice of Parloe,
and Ruth knew the first speaker to be her uncle. "Who are yeou ter
drive me away?"

"The last time ye was at the mill I lost something-- I lost more than
I kin afford to lose again," continued Uncle Jabez. "I don't say ye
took it. They tell me the flood took it. But I'm going to know the
right of it some time, and if you know more about it than you ought--"

"What air ye talkin' about, Jabe Potter?" shrilled Parloe. "I've lost
money by you; ye ain't never paid me for the last month I worked for
ye."

"Ye paid yerself-- ye paid yerself," said Jabe, tartly. "And if ye
stole once ye would again--"

"Now stop right there, Jabe Potter!" cried Parloe, and Ruth knew that
he had stepped closer to Mr. Potter, and was speaking in a trembling
rage. "Don't ye intermate an' insinerate; for if ye do, I kin fling