“If that ain’t a description of me yet!” exclaimed the doctor, delighted.  “Write ’em down, Teacher!  I’m a—­now what d’you call ’em?”

“You certainly are a what-do-you-call-’em!” thought Margaret—­but she gravely repeated, “An eclectic,” and wrote the name in the blank space.

“And here I’ve been practism’ that there style of medicine fur fifteen years without oncet suspicioning it!  That is,” he quickly corrected himself, in some confusion, “I haven’t, so to speak, called it pretty often a eclectic, you see, gosh hang it! and—­you understand, don’t you, Teacher?”

Margaret understood very well indeed, but she put the question by.

The rest of the blank was filled with less difficulty, and in a few minutes the paper was folded and returned to the doctor’s pocket.

“I’m much obliged to you, Teacher,” he said heartily.  “And mind, now,” he added, leaning far back in his chair, crossing his legs, thrusting his thumbs into his vest pockets, and letting his eyes rest upon her, “if ever you want a doctor, I ain’t chargin’ you nothin’; and leave me tell you somethin’,” he said, emphasizing each word by a shake of his forefinger, “Jake Getz and Nathaniel Puntz they’re the two school directors that ’most always makes trouble fur the teacher.  And I pass you my word that if they get down on you any, and want to chase you off your job, I’m standin’ by you—­I pass you my word!”

“Thank you.  But what would they get down on me for?”

“Well, if Jake Getz saw you standin’ up for his ehildern against his lickin’ ’em or makin’ ’em work hard; or if you wanted to make ’em take time to learn their books at home when he wants ’em to work—­or some such—­he’d get awful down on you.  And Nathaniel Puntz he ‘s just the conTRARY—­he wants his n’ spoiled—­he’s got but the one.”

Miss Margaret recalled with a little thrill the loyalty with which Tillie had tried to save her from her father’s anger by telling him that Elviny Dinkleberger had lent her “Ivanhoe.”  “I suppose I had a narrow escape there,” she thought.  “Poor little Tillie!  She is so conscientious—­I can fancy what that lie cost her!”

Gathering up her stationery, she made a movement to rise—­but the doctor checked her with a question.

“Say!  Not that I want to ast questions too close—­but what was you writin’, now, in that letter of yourn, about Jake Getz?”

Miss Margaret was scarcely prepared for the question.  She stared at the man for an instant, then helplessly laughed at him.

“Well,” he said apologetically, “I don’t mean to be inquisitive that way—­but sometimes I speak unpolite too—­fur all I’ve saw high society a’ready!” he added, on the defensive.  “Why, here one time I went in to Lancaster City to see Doc Hess, and he wouldn’t have it no other way but I should stay and eat along.  ‘Och,’ I says, ’I don’t want to, I’m so common that way, and I know yous are tony and it don’t do.  I’ll just