forward and took her into his
confidence. "I don't mind if my wife is smart, so long as she don't
bother ME any!"

With this telling climax, the significance of which Miss Margaret could
hardly mistake, the doctor fell back again in his chair, and regarded
with complacency the comely young woman before him.

But before she could collect her shocked wits to reply, the entrance of
Jake Getz's son, Sammy, interrupted them. He had come into the house at
the kitchen door, and, having announced the object of his errand to the
landlady, who, by the way, was his father's sister, he was followed
into the sitting-room by a procession, consisting of his aunt, her
husband, and their two little daughters.

Sammy was able to satisfy but meagerly the eager curiosity or interest
of the household as to Tillie's illness, and his aunt, cousins, and
uncle presently returned to their work in the kitchen or out of doors,
while the doctor rose reluctantly to go to the stables to hitch up.

"Pop says to say you should hurry," said Sammy.

"There's time plenty," petulantly answered the doctor. "I conceited I'd
stay settin' with you this evening," he said regretfully to Miss
Margaret. "But a doctor can't never make no plans to stay no-wheres!
Well!" he sighed, "I'll go round back now and hitch a while."

"Sammy," said Miss Margaret, when she found herself alone with the
child, "wasn't your mother afraid YOU would get ill, coming over here,
on such a cool evening, barefooted?" "Och, no; she leaves me let my
shoes off near till it snows already. The teacher we had last year he
used to do worse 'n that yet!--HE'D WASH HIS FEET IN THE WINTER-TIME!"
said Sammy, in the tone of one relating a deed of valor. "I heard Aunty
Em speak how he washed 'em as much as oncet a week, still, IN WINTER!
The Doc he sayed no wonder that feller took cold!"

Miss Margaret gazed at the child with a feeling of fascination. "But,
Sammy," she said wonderingly, "your front porches get a weekly bath in
winter--do the people of New Canaan wash their porches oftener than
they wash themselves?"

"Porches gets dirty," reasoned Sammy. "Folks don't get dirty in
winter-time. Summer's the time they get dirty, and then they mebbe wash
in the run."

"Oh!" said Miss Margaret.

During the six weeks of her life in Canaan, she had never once seen in
this or any other household the least sign of any toilet appointments,
except a tin basin at the pump, a roller-towel on the porc