pent; and finally, he and Tillie, as he
painfully gathered from the letter, were "making up" to a degree that
might end in her wanting to marry the fellow.

Mr. Getz meant to tell Tillie that he had received this letter; but
somehow, every time he opened his lips to speak the words, the memory
of her wild-cat behavior in defense of the teacher that afternoon in
the woods, and her horribly death-like appearance when she had lain
unconscious in the teacher's arms, recurred to him with a vividness
that effectually checked him, and eventually led him to decide that it
were best not to risk another such outbreak. So she remained in
ignorance of the fact that Fairchilds had again written to her.

Carlyle's "Gospel of Work" was indeed Tillie's salvation in these days;
for in spite of her restless yearning and loneliness, she was deeply
interested and even fascinated with her teaching, and greatly pleased
and encouraged with her success in it.

At last, with the end of her first month at William Penn, came the
rather dreaded "pay-day"; for she knew that it would mean the hardest
battle of her life.

The forty dollars was handed to her in her schoolroom on Friday
afternoon, at the close of the session. It seemed untold wealth to
Tillie, who never before in her life had owned a dollar.

She' did not risk carrying it all home with her. The larger part of the
sum she intrusted to the doctor to deposit for her in a Lancaster bank.

When, at five o'clock, she reached home and walked into the kitchen,
her father's eagerness for her return, that he might lay his itching
palms on her earnings, was perfectly manifest to her in his unduly
affectionate, "Well, Tillie!"

She was pale, but outwardly composed. It was to be one of those supreme
crises in life which one is apt to meet with a courage and a serenity
that are not forthcoming in the smaller irritations and trials of daily
experience.

"You don't look so hearty," her father said, as she quietly hung up her
shawl and hood in the kitchen cupboard. "A body'd think you'd pick up
and get fat, now you don't have to work nothin', except mornings and
evenings."

"There is no harder work in the world, father, than teaching--even when
you like it."

"It ain't no work," he impatiently retorted, "to set and hear off
lessons."

Tillie did not dispute the point, as she tied a gingham apron over her
dress.

Her father was sitting in a corner of the room, shelling corn, with
Sammy