“What’s the matter of her anyways?” the woman wonderingly said to herself as she went back to her work.  “Is it that she’s so spited about that letter pop burnt up?  But what’s a letter to get spited about?  There was enough worse things’n that that she took off her pop without actin’ like this.  Och, but he’ll whip her if he gets in here before she comes back.  Where’s she goin’ to, I wonder!  Well, I never did!  I would not be her if her pop finds how she went off and let her work!  I wonder shall I mebbe tell him on her or not, if he don’t get in till she’s home a’ready?”

She meditated upon this problem of domestic economy as she mechanically did her chores, her reflections on Tillie taking an unfriendly color as she felt the weight of her stepdaughter’s abandoned tasks added to the already heavy burden of her own.

It was to see the doctor that Tillie had set out for the village hotel.  He was the only person in all her little world to whom she felt she could turn for help in her suffering.  Her “Aunty Em,” the landlady at the hotel, was, she knew, very fond of her; but Tillie never thought of appealing to her in her trouble.

“I never thought when I promised Miss Margaret I’d write to her still where I’d get the stamps from, and the paper and envelops,” Tillie explained to the doctor as they sat in confidential consultation in the hotel parlor, the child’s white face of distress a challenge to his faithful remembrance of his promise to the teacher.  “And now I got to find some way to let her know I didn’t see her letter to me.  Doc, will you write and tell her for me?” she pleaded.

“My hand-writin’ ain’t just so plain that way, Tillie.  But I’ll give you all the paper and envelops and stamps you want to write on yourself to her.”

“Oh, Doc!” Tillie gazed at him in fervent gratitude.  “But mebbe I hadn’t ought to take ’em when I can’t pay you.”

“That’s all right.  If it’ll make you feel some easier, you kin pay me when you’re growed up and teachin’.  Your Miss Margaret she’s bound to make a teacher out of you—­or anyways a educated person.  And then you kin pay me when you’re got your nice education to make your livin’ with.”

“That’s what we’ll do then!"Tillie joyfully accepted this proposal.  “I’ll keep account and pay you back every cent, Doc, when I’m earnin’ my own livin’.”

“All right.  That’s settled then.  Now, fur your gettin’ your letters, still, from Teacher.  How are we goin’ to work that there?  I’ll tell you, Tillie!” he slapped the table as an idea came to him.  “You write her off a letter and tell her she must write her letters to you in a envelop directed to me.  And I’ll see as you get ’em all right, you bet!  Ain’t?”

“Oh, Doc!” Tillie was affectionately grateful.  “You are so kind to me!  What would I do without you?” Tears choked her voice, filled her eyes, and rolled down her face.

“Och, that’s all right,” he patted her shoulder.  “Ain’t no better fun goin’ fur me than gettin’ ahead of that mean old Jake Getz!” Tillie drew back a bit shocked; but she did not protest.