r me!"

VI

JAKE GETZ IN A QUANDARY

Tillie's illness, though severe while it lasted, proved to be a matter
of only a few days' confinement to bed; and fortunately for her, it was
while she was still too weak and ill to be called to account for her
misdeed that her father discovered her deception as to the owner of
"Ivanhoe." At least he found out, in talking with Elviny Dinkleberger
and her father at the Lancaster market, that the girl was innocent of
ever having owned or even seen the book, and that, consequently, she
had of course never lent it either to Rebecca Wackernagel at the hotel
or to Tillie.

Despite his rigorous dealings with his family (which, being the outcome
of the Pennsylvania Dutch faith in the Divine right of the head of the
house, were entirely conscientious), Jacob Getz was strongly and deeply
attached to his wife and children; and his alarm at Tillie's illness,
coming directly upon his severe punishment of her, had softened him
sufficiently to temper his wrath at finding that she had told him what
was not true.

What her object could have been in shielding the real owner of the book
he could not guess. His suspicions did not turn upon the teacher,
because, in the first place, he would have seen no reason why Tillie
should wish to shield her, and, in the second, it was inconceivable
that a teacher at William Penn should set out so to pervert the young
whom trusting parents placed under her care. There never had been a
novel-reading teacher at William Penn. The Board would as soon have
elected an opium-eater.

WHERE HAD TILLIE OBTAINED THAT BOOK? And why had she put the blame on
Elviny, who was her little friend? The Doc, evidently, was in league
with Tillie! What could it mean? Jake Getz was not used to dealing with
complications and mysteries. He pondered the case heavily.

When he went home from market, he did not tell Tillie of his discovery,
for the doctor had ordered that she be kept quiet.

Not until a week later, when she was well enough to be out of bed, did
he venture to tell her he had caught her telling a falsehood.

He could not know that the white face of terror which she turned to him
was fear for Miss Margaret and not, for once, apprehension of the strap.

"I ain't whippin' you this time," he gruffly said, "if you tell me the
truth whose that there book was."

Tillie did not speak. She was resting in the wooden rocking-chair by
the kitchen window, a pillow at he