Tillie’s eyes followed the parcel as it was crushed ruthlessly into her father’s coat pocket—­and she did not heed his question.

“Do you hear me, Tillie?” he demanded.

“Yes,” she answered, looking up at him with brimming eyes.

His sister, watching them from across the room, saw in the man’s face the working of conflicting feelings—­his stern displeasure warring with his affection.  Mrs. Wackernagel had realized, ever since Tillie had come to live with her, that “Jake’s” brief weekly visits to his daughter were a pleasure to the hard man; and not only because of the two dollars which he came to collect.  Just now, she could see how he hated to part from her in anger.  Justice having been meted out in the form of the crushed and forfeited caps in his pocket, he would fain take leave of the girl with some expression of his kindlier feelings toward her.

“Now are you behavin’ yourself—­like a good girl—­till I come again?” he asked, laying his hand upon her shoulder.

“Yes,” she said dully.

“Then give me good-b’y.”  She held up her face and submitted to his kiss.

“Good-by, Em.  And mind you stop spoilin’ my girl fur me!”

He opened the door and went away.

And Fairchilds, an unwilling witness to the father’s brutality, felt every nerve in his body tingle with a longing first to break the head of that brutal Dutchman, and then to go and take little Tillie in his arms and kiss her.  To work off his feelings, he sprang up from the settee, put on his hat, and flung out of the house to walk down to “the krik.”

“Never you mind, Tillie,” her aunt consoled her.  “I’m goin’ in town next Wednesday, and I’m buyin’ you some caps myself fur a present.”

“Oh, Aunty Em, but maybe you’d better not be so good to me!” Tillie said, dashing away the tears as she industriously rubbed her pans.  “It was my vanity made me want new caps.  And father’s taking them was maybe the Lord punishing my vanity.”

“You needed new caps—­your old ones was wore out.  And don’t you be JUDGIN’ the Lord by your pop!  Don’t try to stop me—­I’m buyin’ you some caps.”

Now Tillie knew how becoming the new caps were to her, and her soul yearned for them even as (she told herself) Israel of old yearned after the flesh-pots of Egypt.  To lose them was really a bitter disappointment to her.

But Aunty Em would spare her that grief!  A sudden passionate impulse of gratitude and love toward her aunt made her do a most unwonted thing.  Taking her hands from her dish-water, she dried them hastily, went over to Mrs. Wackernagel, threw her arms about her neck, and kissed her.

“Oh, Aunty Em, I love you like I’ve never loved any one—­except Miss Margaret and—­”

She stopped short as she buried her face in her aunt’s motherly bosom and clung to her.

“And who else, Tillie?” Mrs. Wackernagel asked, patting the girl’s shoulder, her face beaming with pleasure at her niece’s affectionate demonstration.