This austere body of Christians could not so easily have won her heart had it forbidden her cherished ambition, constantly encouraged and stimulated by Miss Margaret, to educate herself.  Fortunately for her peace of mind, the New Mennonites were not, like the Amish, “enemies to education,” though to be sure, as the preacher, Brother Abram Underwocht, reminded her in her private talk with him, “To be dressy, or too well educated, or stylish, didn’t belong to Christ and the apostles; they were plain folks.”

It was in the lull of work that came, even in the Getz family, on Sunday afternoon, that Tillie, summoning to her aid all the fervor of her new-found faith, ventured to face the ordeal of opening up with her father the subject of her conversion.

He was sitting on the kitchen porch, dozing over a big Bible spread open on his knee.  The children were playing on the lawn, and Mrs. Getz was taking her Sunday afternoon nap on the kitchen settee.

Tillie seated herself on the porch step at her father’s feet.  Her eyes were clear and bright, but her face burned, and her heart beat heavily in her heaving bosom.

“Pop!” she timidly roused him from his dozing.

“Heh?” he muttered gruffly, opening his eyes and lifting his head.

“Pop, I got to speak somepin to you.”

An unusual note in her voice arrested him, and, wide awake now, he looked down at her inquiringly.

“Well?  What, then?”

“Pop!  I feel to be plain.”

“You!  Feel fur turnin’ plain!  Why, you ain’t old enough to know the meanin’ of it!  What d’ you want about that there theology?”

“I’m fourteen, pop.  And the Spirit has led me to see the light.  I have gave myself up,” she affirmed quietly, but with a quiver in her voice.

“You have gave yourself up!” her father incredulously repeated.

“Yes, sir.  And I’m loosed of all things that belong to the world.  And now I feel fur wearin’ the plain dress, fur that’s according to Scripture, which says, ‘all is wanity!’”

Never before in her life had Tillie spoken so many words to her father at one time, and he stared at her in astonishment.

“Yes, you’re growin’ up, that’s so.  I ain’t noticed how fast you was growin’.  It don’t seem no time since you was born.  But it’s fourteen years back a’ready—­yes, that’s so.  Well, Tillie, if you feel fur joinin’ church, you’re got to join on to the Evangelicals.  I ain’t leavin’ you follow no such nonsense as to turn plain.  That don’t belong to us Getzes.  We’re Evangelicals this long time a’ready.”

“Aunty Em was a Getz, and SHE’s gave herself up long ago.”

“Well, she’s the only one by the name Getz that I ever knowed to be so foolish!  I’m an Evangelical, and what’s good enough fur your pop will do you, I guess!”

“The Evangelicals ain’t according to Scripture, pop.  They have wine at the Communion, and the Bible says, ’Taste not, handle not,’ and ‘Look not upon the wine when it is red.’”