Tillie’s lips quivered and the tears rolled slowly over her white cheeks.

“Fur why did you say it was Elviny?”

“She was the only person I thought to say.”

“But fur why didn’t you say the person it was?  Answer to me!” he commanded.

Tillie curved her arm over her face and sobbed.  She was still too weak from her fever to bear the strain of this unequal contest of wills.

“Well,” concluded her father, his anger baffled and impotent before the child’s weakness, “I won’t bother you with it no more now.  But you just wait till you ’re well oncet!  We’ll see then if you’ll tell me what I ast you or no!”

“Here’s the Doc,” announced Mrs. Getz, as the sound of wheels was heard outside the gate.

“Well,” her husband said indignantly as he rose and went to the door, “I just wonder what he’s got to say fur hisself, lyin’ to me like what he done!”

“Hello, Jake!” was the doctor’s breezy greeting as he walked into the kitchen, followed by a brood of curious little Getzes, to whom the doctor’s daily visits were an exciting episode.  “Howdy-do, missus,” he briskly addressed the mother of the brood, pushing his hat to the back of his head in lieu of raising it.  “And how’s the patient?” he inquired with a suddenly professional air and tone.  “Some better, heh?  Heh?  Been cryin’!  What fur?” he demanded, turning to Mr. Getz.  “Say, Jake, you ain’t been badgerin’ this kid again fur somepin?  She’ll be havin’ a RElapse if you don’t leave her be!”

“It’s you I’m wantin’ to badger, Doc Weaver!” retorted Mr. Getz.  “What fur did you lie to me about that there piece entitled ’Iwanhoe’?”

“You and your ‘Iwanhoe’ be blowed!  Are you tormentin’ this here kid about that yet?  A body’d think you’d want to change that subjec’, Jake Getz!”

“Not till I find from you, Doc, whose that there novel-book was, and why you tole me it was Elviny Dinkleberger’s!”

“That’s easy tole,” responded the doctor.  “That there book belonged to—­”

“No, Doc, no, no!” came a pleading cry from Tillie.  “Don’t tell, Doc, please don’t tell!”

“Never you mind, Tillie, that’s all right.  Look here, Jake Getz!” The doctor turned his sharp little eyes upon the face of the father grown dark with anger at his child’s undutiful interference.  “You’re got this here little girl worked up to the werge of a RElapse!  I tole you she must be kep’ quiet and not worked up still!”

“All right.  I’m leavin’ her alone—­till she’s well oncet!  You just answer fur YOURself and tell why you lied to me!”

“Well, Jake, it was this here way.  That there book belonged to me and Tillie lent it off of me.  That’s how!  Ain’t Tillie?”

Mr. Getz stared in stupefied wonder, while Mrs. Getz, too, looked on with a dull interest, as she leaned her back against the sink and dried her hands upon her apron.