umstances were
much against her. Now, having had a taste of Briarwood for one year, she
was the more anxious to keep on for three years more. Besides, there was
the vision of college beyond! She knew that if she remained at home,
all she could look forward to was to take Aunt Alvirah's place as her
uncle's housekeeper. She would have no chance to get ahead in life.
Life at the Red Mill seemed a very narrow outlook indeed.

Ruth meant to get an education. Somehow (there were ten long weeks of
Summer vacation before her) she must think up a scheme for earning the
money necessary to pay for her second year's tuition. Three hundred and
fifty dollars! that was a great, great sum for a girl of Ruth Fielding's
years to attempt to earn. How should she "begin to go about it"? It
looked an impossible task.

But Ruth possessed a fund of good sense. She was practical, if
imaginative, and she was just sanguine enough to keep her temper
sweet. Lying awake and worrying over it wasn't going to do her a bit
of good; she knew that. Therefore she did not indulge herself long,
but wiped away her tears, snuggled down into the pillow, and dropped
asleep.

In the morning she saw Uncle Jabez when she came down stairs. The stove
smoked and he was growling about it.

"Good morning, Uncle!" she cried and ran to him and threw her arms
around his neck and kissed him--whether he would be kissed, or not!

"There! there! so you're home; are you?" he growled.

Ruth was glad to notice that he called it her _home_. She knew that he
did not want a word to be said about what Aunt Alvirah had told her over
night, and she set about smoothing matters over in her usual way.

"You go on and 'tend to your outside chores, Uncle," she commanded.
"I'll build this fire in a jiffy."

"Huh! I reckon you've forgotten how to build a kitchen fire--livin'
so long in a steam-heated room," he grunted.

"Now, don't you believe that!" she assured him, and running out to
the shed for a handful of fat-pine, or "lightwood," soon had the stove
roaring comfortably.

"What a comfort you be, my pretty creetur," sighed Aunt Alvirah, as
she hobbled down stairs. "Oh, my back and oh, my bones! This is going
to be a _creaky day_. I feel the dampness."

"Don't you believe it, Aunty!" cried the girl. "The sun's going to
come out and drive away every atom of this mist. Cheer up!"

And she was that way all day; but deep down in her heart there was a very
tender spot indeed, an