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"Now you help me git four more sacks over to Tim Lakeby's " Ruth would not hear of his going back before he changed his clothing and had something put upon the cut in his head. After a little arguing, it was agreed that Ben and the clerk should ferry the flour across to the store, and then the clerk would bring Ben back.
And her mouth was generously large, but the teeth gleaming behind her red lips were even and white, and her smile lit up her whole face in a most engaging manner. "Do let me help you, Uncle. I know I can," she repeated, as the old miller scowled at her. "What's that?" he said again. "Go with me in that punt to Tim Lakeby's?" "Why not?" "'Tain't no job for a gal, Niece Ruth," grumbled the miller.
Only occasionally Ruth turned her head, for she needed her full attention upon the oar which she managed with such difficulty. "We gotter p'int up-stream," growled Uncle Jabez, after wringing his neck around again to spy out the landing near Lakeby's store. "Pesky current's kerried us too fur down." He gave a mighty pull to his own oar to rehead the boat.
He was of a miserly nature, was Uncle Jabez Potter, and the old boat which its first owner had never considered worth coming after, following some spring freshet served the miller well enough to transport his goods across the river. Tim Lakeby's store, on the north shore of the river, was in sight of the Red Mill.
Tossing her loosened hair out of her eyes, she stared longingly at the landing near Lakeby's store. It was some distance up-stream, and not a person was in sight. She feared, too, that it was too far away for her voice to carry. Yet she must scream for help. She shouted again and again, endeavoring to put all the strength of her voice into the cries. Was that an answer?
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