house.

Jake Getz realized, as with a sort of dull wonder his eyes followed
her, that there was a something in his daughter's face this day, and in
the bearing of her young frame as she walked before him, which he was
not wont to see, which he did not understand, and with which he felt he
could not cope. The vague sense of uneasiness which it gave him
strengthened his resolve to crush, with a strong hand, this budding
insubordination.

Two uneventful weeks passed by, during which Tillie's quiet and dutiful
demeanor almost disarmed her father's threatening watchfulness of her;
so that when, one Sunday afternoon, at four o'clock, she returned from
a walk to her Aunty Em Wackernagel's, clad in the meek garb of the New
Mennonites, his amazement at her intrepidity was even greater than his
anger.

The younger children, in high glee at what to them was a most comical
transformation in their elder sister, danced around her with shrieks of
laughter, crying out at the funny white cap which she wore, and the
prim little three-cornered cape falling over her bosom, designed
modestly to cover the vanity of woman's alluring form.

Mrs. Getz, mechanically moving about the kitchen to get the supper,
paused in her work only long enough to remark with stupid astonishment,
"Did you, now, get religion, Tillie?"

"Yes, ma'am. I've gave myself up."

"Where did you come by the plain dress?"

"Aunty Em bought it for me and helped me make it."

Her father had followed her in from the porch and now came up to her as
she stood in the middle of the kitchen. The children scattered at his
approach.

"You go up-stairs and take them clo'es off!" he commanded. "I ain't
leavin' you wear 'em one hour in this house!"

"I have no others to put on, pop," Tillie gently answered, her soft
eyes meeting his with an absence of fear which puzzled and baffled him.

"Where's your others, then?"

"I've let 'em at Aunty Em's. She took 'em in exchange for my plain
dress. She says she can use 'em on 'Manda and Rebecca."

"Then you walk yourself right back over to the hotel and get 'em back
of? of her, and let them clo'es you got on. Go!" he roughly pointed to
the door.

"She wouldn't give 'em back to me. She'd know I hadn't ought to yield
up to temptation, and she'd help me to resist by refusing me my
fashionable clo'es."

"You tell her if you come back home without 'em, I'm whippin' you!
She'll give 'em to you then."

"She'd say my love to Christ