biogenetic law that
ontogenesis is an abridged repetition of philogenesis."

"He says they believe in Genesis," remarked the Old Mennonite,
appealing for aid, with bewildered eyes, to the other members.

"Maybe he's a Jew yet!" put in Nathaniel Puntz. "We also believe," Mr.
Fairchilds continued, beginning to enjoy himself, "in the revelations
of science."

"He believes in Genesis and in Revelations," explained the president to
the others.

"Maybe he's a Cat'lic!" suggested the suspicious Mr. Puntz.

"No," said Fairchilds, "I am, as I said, a Truth-Seeker. A Truth-Seeker
can no more be a Catholic or a Jew in faith than an Amishman can, or a
Mennonite, or a Brennivinarian."

Tillie knew he was trying to say "Winebrennarian," the name of one of
the many religious sects of the county, and she wondered at his not
knowing better.

"You ain't a gradyate, neither, are you?" was the president's next
question, the inscrutable mystery of the applicant's creed being for
the moment dropped.

"Why, yes, I thought you knew that. Of Harvard."

"Och, that!" contemptuously; "I mean you ain't a gradyate of
Millersville Normal?"

"No," humbly acknowledged Fairchilds.

"When I was young," Mr. Getz irrelevantly remarked, "we didn't have no
gradyate teachers like what they have now, still. But we anyhow learnt
more ACCORDING."

"How long does it take you to get 'em from a, b, c's to the Testament?"
inquired the patriarchal Dunkard.

"That depends upon the capacity of the pupil," was Mr. Fairchilds's
profound reply.

"Can you learn 'em 'rithmetic good?" asked Nathaniel Puntz. "I got a
son his last teacher couldn't learn 'rithmetic to. He's wonderful dumm
in 'rithmetic, that there boy is. Absalom by name. After the
grandfather. His teacher tried every way to learn him to count and
figger good. He even took and spread toothpicks out yet--but that
didn't learn him neither. I just says, he ain't appointed to learn
'rithmetic. Then the teacher he tried him with such a Algebry. But
Absalom he'd get so mixed up!--he couldn't keep them x's spotted."

"I have a method," Mr. Fairchilds began, "which I trust--"

To Tillie's distress, her aunt's voice, at this instant calling her to
"come stir the sots [yeast] in," summoned her to the kitchen.

It was very hard to have to obey. She longed so to stay till Fairchilds
should come safely through his fiery ordeal. For a moment she was
tempted to ignore the summons, but her conscience, no