urning to
Fairchilds. "He reads wonderful much. And he's always thinkin' so
earnest about his learnin' that I've saw him walk along the street in
Lancaster a'ready and a'most walk into people!" "He certainly can stand
on the pulpit elegant!" agreed Mrs. Wackernagel. "Why, he can preach
his whole sermont with the Bible shut, yet! And he can put out
elocution that it's something turrible!"

"You are not a Mennonite, are you?" Fairchilds asked of the landlord.

"No," responded Mr. Wackernagel, with a shrug. "I bothered a whole lot
at one time about religion. Now I never bother."

"We had Silas Trout to lead the singin' this morning," continued Mrs.
Wackernagel. "I wisht I could sing by note, like him. I don't know
notes; I just sing by random."

"Where's Doc, anyhow?" suddenly inquired Amanda, for the doctor's place
at the table was vacant.

"He was fetched away. Mary Holzapple's mister come fur him!" Mr.
Wackernagel explained, with a meaning nod.

"I say!" cried Mrs. Wackernagel. "So soon a'ready! And last week it was
Sue Hess! Doc's always gettin' fetched! Nothin' but babies and babies!"

Tillie, whose eyes were always on the teacher, except when he chanced
to glance her way, noted wonderingly the blush that suddenly covered
his face and neck at this exclamation of her aunt's. In the primitive
simplicity of her mind, she could see nothing embarrassing in the mere
statement of any fact of natural history.

"Here comes Doc now!" cried Rebecca, at the opening of the kitchen
door. "Hello, Doc!" she cried as he came into the dining-room. "What IS
it?"

"Twin girls!" the doctor proudly announced, going over to the stove to
warm his hands after his long drive.

"My lands!" exclaimed Amanda.

"Now what do you think!" ejaculated Mrs. Wackernagel.

"How's missus?" Rebecca inquired.

"Doin' fine! But mister he ain't feelin' so well. He wanted a boy--OR
boys, as the case might be. It's gettin' some cold out," he added,
rubbing his hands and holding them to the fire.

That evening, when again Fairchilds was unable to have a chat alone
with Tillie, because of Absalom Puntz's unfailing appearance at the
hotel, he began to think, in his chagrin, that he must have exaggerated
the girl's superiority, since week after week she could endure the
attentions of "that lout."

He could not know that it was for HIS sake--to keep him in his place at
William Penn--that poor Tillie bore the hated caresses of Absalom.

That next