d in her mind the thought of giving up Briarwood
rankled like a barbed arrow. She would _not_ give it up if she could
help. But how ever could she earn three hundred and fifty dollars? The
idea seemed preposterous.

Aside from being with Aunt Alvirah, and helping her, Ruth's homecoming
was not at all as she had hoped it would be. Uncle Jabez was more
taciturn than ever, it seemed to the girl. She could not break through
the crust of his manner. If she followed him to the mill, he was too busy
to talk, or the grinding-stones made so much noise that talking was
impossible. At night he did not even remain in the kitchen to count up
the day's gains and to study his accounts. Instead, he retired with
the cash-box and ledger to his own room.

She found no opportunity of opening any discussion about Briarwood, or
about the mysterious Tintacker Mine, upon which subject Aunt Alvirah had
been so voluble. If the old man had lost money in the scheme, he was
determined to give her no information at first hand about it.

At first she was doubtful whether she should go to Lighthouse Point.
Indeed, she was not sure that she _could_ go. She had no money. But
before the week was out at dinner one day Uncle Jabez pushed a
twenty-dollar bill across the table to her, and said:

"I said ye should go down there to the seaside for a spell, Ruth. Make
that money do ye," and before she could either thank him or refuse the
money, Uncle Jabez stumped out of the house.

In the afternoon Helen drove over in the pony carriage to take Ruth to
town, so the latter could assure her chum that she would go to Lighthouse
Point and be one of Jennie Stone's bungalow party. They called on Dr.
Davison and the girl from the Red Mill managed to get a word in private
with the first friend she had made on her arrival at Cheslow (barring
Tom Cameron's mastiff, Reno) and told him of conditions as she had
found them at home.

"So, it looks as though I had got to make my own way through school,
Doctor, and it troubles me a whole lot," Ruth said to the grave
physician. "But what bothers me, too, is Mercy----"

"Don't worry about Goody Two-Sticks," returned the doctor, quickly.
"Your uncle served notice on me a week before you came home that he
could not help to put her through Briarwood beyond this term that is
closed. I told him he needn't bother. Sam Curtis is in better shape than
he was, and we'll manage to find the money to put that sharp little
girl of his