Levine stole away from his various councils and reached the cottage about supper time.

“If I didn’t get out here once in a while,” he said as he sat down to the waffles and coffee that made the Sunday night treat Lydia had lately developed, “I’d get to believe every one was playing politics.”

Lizzie, pouring the coffee, looked Levine over.  “A bullet’d have hard work to hit you now,” she remarked, “you’re so thin.  If you’d listen to me, you’d be taking Cod Liver Oil.”

Levine smiled at the wrinkled old face opposite.  “If I didn’t listen to you, I don’t know who I would.  Aren’t you and Lydia all the women folks I got?  If you’ll fix me up some dope, I’ll take a dose every time I come out here.”

Lizzie sniffed and loaded his plate with another waffle.  Amos was giving no heed to these small amenities.  He was eating his waffles absentmindedly and suddenly burst forth,

“Lydia, tell John about Dave Marshall.”

Lydia, flushing uncomfortably, did so.  Levine did not cease his onslaught on the waffles during the recital.  When she had finished, he passed his coffee cup.

“Another cup, young Lydia.  Your coffee is something to dream of.”

Lydia was too surprised to take the cup.  “But—­but six hundred dollars.  Mr. Levine!” she gasped.

“Good news, eh, Amos?” said Levine.  “Getting anxious, isn’t he!” Then catching Lydia’s look of consternation, “Why, bless your soul, Lydia, what are you upset about?  Let him call in the loan.  I can pay it.”

Amos nodded.  “Just what I said.”

“But I think that’s awful,” protested Lydia.  “We owe Mr. Levine so much now.”

The effect of her words on John was astonishing.  He half rose from his chair and said in a tone not to be forgotten, “Lydia, never let me hear you speak again of owing me anything!  Between you and me there can never be any sense of obligation.  Do you understand me?”

There was a moment’s silence at the table, Amos and Lizzie glanced at each other, but Lydia’s clear gaze was on the deep eyes of Levine.  What she saw there she was too young to understand, but she answered gravely,

“All right, Mr. Levine.”

John sank back in his chair and passed his plate for a waffle.

“I’ll make my interest and payments to you then, thank the Lord!” said Amos.

“We’ll make them on time just as usual,” remarked Lydia, in a voice that had both reproof and warning in it.  “Ain’t debts perfectly awful,” she sighed.

“So Marshall’s worried,” repeated John, complacently, when they were gathered round the stove.  “Well, it behooves him to be.  I don’t know what he’ll do when the Indians are gone.”

“Mr. Levine,” asked Lydia, “where’ll the Indians go?”

John shrugged his shoulders.  “Go to the devil, most of them.”

“Oh, but that seems terrible!” cried Lydia.