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A little old woman who had been sitting on the porch in a low rocking chair arose with difficulty, leaning on a cane. "Oh, my back, and oh, my bones!" murmured Aunt Alvirah Boggs, who was not long out of a sick bed herself and would never again be as "spry" as she once had been. "Do come in, dearies. It is a wind storm." Ruth stopped to help the little old woman.
He, too, had been dosed with hot tea by Aunt Alvirah, though he made a wry face over it. "Never you mind, boy," Ruth told him, laughing. "It is better to have a bad taste in your mouth for a little while than a sore throat for a week." "Hear! hear the philosopher!" cried Tom. "You'd think I was a tender little blossom." "You know, you might have the croup," suggested Ruth, wickedly. "Croup!
Suddenly a quick, stern voice spoke out of the guest room down the hall. "Quick! bring that gun!" "Hul-lo!" murmured Uncle Jabez, looking up. "That poor boy's delirious," declared Aunt Alvirah. But Ruth jumped up and ran lightly to the room where Jerry Sheming lay. "What is it?" she gasped, peering at the flushed face that was raised from the pillow. "That cat!" muttered Jerry.
She still had her career in mind. They got back to Cheslow early in July. And how glad Aunt Alvirah was to see her pretty. As for Uncle Jabez, his interest was in the commercial end of the picture Ruth had made. Was it going to make money when it was distributed? How much money had Ruth already drawn in advance royalties?
Ruth did not know the dear old woman was present, for it was to be a surprise to her; but she might have been singing just for Aunt Alvirah alone. "This pays me for coming, Miz' Murchiston, if nothin' else would," whispered Aunt Alvirah. "I can see my pretty often and often, I hope. But I'll never hear her sing again like this." The exercises went smoothly. A learned man made a helpful speech.
Aunt Alvirah waved her hand from the window. "She's just lovely!" declared Miss Gray. "You should have met her, Mr. Hammond." "That pleasure is in reserve," said the gentleman, smiling. "I hope to see the Red Mill again." Tom came hurrying down to shake hands with Miss Gray. Ruth watched them with some puzzlement of mind.
You and the dear little old lady. Are you as good to every stranger who comes your way?" "Aunt Alvirah is, I'm sure," replied Ruth, laughing and blushing. Somehow, despite the fact that the young actress was only two or three years older than herself, the girl of the Red Mill felt much more immature than Miss Gray. "You belittle your own kindness, I am sure," said Hazel.
I know Doctor Davison thinks you are very brave, and Daddy will do anything for you that Tom and I ask him to." "I am quite sure I shall get on nicely with Uncle Jabez," she said. "And then, there is Aunt Alvirah." "Oh, yes. There is an old lady who keeps house for Mr. Potter. And she seems kind enough, too. But she acts afraid of Mr. Potter. I don't blame her, he is so grim."
She had reached the bed ere this and had gathered the sobbing girl into her arms. She sat upon the side of the bed and rocked Ruth to and fro, with her arms about her. She did not say much more, but her unspoken sympathy was wonderfully comforting. Aunt Alvirah did not criticise Uncle Jabez's course. She never did.
Indeed, Uncle Jabez had begun to hint that the animal was "eating its head off." The miller could not help showing what Aunt Alvirah called "his stingy streak" in spite of the fact that he truly was interested in the Indian maid and liked her. "That redskin gal," he confessed in private to Ruth, "is a pretty shrewd and sensible gal.
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