Of course, then the book was handed over to him, and Tillie with it.

“Did you lend this off the Doc again?” her father sternly demanded, the fated book in one hand and Tillie’s shoulder grasped in the other.

Tillie hated to utter the lie.  She hoped she had modified her wickedness a bit by answering with a nod of her head.

“What’s he mean, throwin’ away so much money on books?” Mr. Getz took time in his anger to wonder.  He read the title, “’Last Days of Pump-eye.’  Well!” he exclaimed, “this here’s the last hour of this here ‘Pump-eye’!  In the stove she goes!  I don’t owe the Doc no doctor’s bill now, and I’d like to see him make me pay him fur these here novels he leaves you lend off of him!”

“Please, please, pop!” Tillie gasped, “don’t burn it.  Give it back to—­him!  I won’t read it—­I won’t bring home no more books of—­ hisn!  Only, please, pop, don’t burn it—­please!”

For answer, he drew her with him as he strode to the fireplace.  “I’m burnin’ every book you bring home, do you hear?” he exclaimed; but before he could make good his words, the kitchen door was suddenly opened, and Sammy’s head was poked in, with the announcement, “The Doc’s buggy’s comin’ up the road!” The door banged shut again, but instantly Tillie wrenched her shoulder free from her father’s hand, flew out of doors and dashed across the “yard” to the front gate.  Her father’s voice followed her, calling to her from the porch to “come right aways back here!” Unheeding, she frantically waved to the doctor in his approaching buggy.  Sammy, with a bevy of small brothers and sisters, to whom, no less than to their parents, the passing of a “team” was an event not to be missed, were all crowded close to the fence.

“Some one sick again?” inquired the doctor as he drew up at Tillie’s side.

“No, Doc—­but,” Tillie could hardly get her breath to speak, “pop’s goin’ to burn up ‘Last Days of Pompeii’; it’s Miss Margaret’s, and he thinks it’s yourn; come in and take it, “Doc—­ please—­and give it back to Miss Margaret, won’t you?”

“Sure!” The doctor was out of his buggy at her side in an instant.

“Oh!” breathed Tillie, “here’s pop comin’ with the book!”

“See me fix him!” chuckled the doctor.  “He’s so dumm he’ll b’lee’ most anything.  If I have much more dealin’s with your pop, Tillie, I’ll be ketchin’ on to how them novels is got up myself.  And then mebbe I’ll let doctorin’, and go to novel-writin’!”

The doctor laughed with relish of his own joke, as Mr. Getz, grim with anger, stalked up to the buggy.

“Look-ahere!” His voice was menacing as he held out the open book for Tillie’s inspection, and the child turned cold as she read on the fly-leaf,

“Margaret Lind.

“From A. C. L.

Christmas, 18—­”

“You sayed the Doc give it to you!  Did you lend that other ‘n’ off of Teacher too?  Answer to me!  I’ll have her chased off of William Penn!  I’ll bring it up at next Board meetin’!”