“No, ma’am,” weakly answered Tillie.

“Pop ’ll be looking fur you out in the field.”

Tillie wearily closed her eyes and did not answer.

Mrs. Getz looked up from her pan and let her glance rest for an instant upon the child’s white, pained face.  “Are you feelin’ too mean to go help pop?”

“Yes, ma’am.  I—­can’t!” gasped Tillie, with a little sob.

“You ain’t lookin’ good,” the woman reluctantly conceded.  “Well, I’ll leave you lay a while.  Mebbe pop used the strap too hard last night.  He sayed this dinner that he was some uneasy that he used the strap so hard—­but he was that wonderful spited to think you’d set up readin’ a novel-book in the night-time yet!  You might of knew you’d ketch an awful lickin’ fur doin’ such a dumm thing like what that was.  Sammy!” she called to her little eight-year-old son, who was playing on the kitchen porch, “you go out and tell pop Tillie she’s got sick fur me, and I’m leavin’ her lay a while.  Now hurry on, or he’ll come in here to see, once, ain’t she home yet, or what.  Go on now!”

Sammy departed on his errand, and Mrs. Getz diligently resumed her potato-paring.

“I don’t know what pop’ll say to you not comin’ out to help,” she presently remarked.

Tillie’s head moved restlessly, but she did not speak.  She was past caring what her father might say or do.

Mrs. Getz thoughtfully considered a doubtful potato, and, concluding at length to discard it, “I guess,” she said, throwing it back into the pan, “I’ll let that one; it’s some poor.  Do you feel fur eatin’ any supper?” she asked.  “I’m havin’ fried smashed-potatoes and wieners [Frankfort sausages].  Some days I just don’t know what to cook all.”

Tillie’s lips moved, but gave no sound.

“I guess you’re right down sick fur all; ain’t?  I wonder if pop’ll have Doc in.  He won’t want to spend any fur that.  But you do look wonderful bad.  It’s awful onhandy comin’ just to-day.  I did feel fur sayin’ to pop I’d go to the rewiwal to-night, of he didn’t mind.  It’s a while back a’ready since I was to a meetin’—­not even on a funeral.  And they say they do now make awful funny up at Bethel rewiwal this week.  I was thinkin’ I’d go once.  But if you can’t redd up after supper and help milk and put the childern to bed, I can’t go fur all.”

No response from Tillie.

Mrs. Getz sighed her disappointment as she went on with her work.  Presently she spoke again.  “This after, a lady agent come along.  She had such a complexion lotion.  She talked near a half-hour.  She was, now, a beautiful conversationist!  I just set and listened.  Then she was some spited that I wouldn’t buy a box of complexion lotion off of her.  But she certainly was, now, a beautiful conversationist!”

The advent of an agent in the neighborhood was always a noteworthy event, and Tillie’s utterly indifferent reception of the news that to-day one had “been along” made Mrs. Getz look at her wonderingly.