Tillie: A Mennonite Maid | Page 7

she knew would be meted out to her.
"'Iwanhoe'--a novel! A NOVEL!" he said in genuine horror. "Tillie,
where d'you get this here!"
Tillie knew that if she told lies she would go to hell, but she preferred
to burn in torment forever rather than betray Miss Margaret; for her
father, like Absalom's, was a school director, and if he knew Miss
Margaret read novels and lent them to the children, he would surely
force her out of "William Penn."
"I lent it off of Elviny Dinkleberger!" she sobbed.
"You know I tole you a'ready you darsen't bring books home! And you
know I don't uphold to novel-readin'! I 'll have to learn you to mind
better 'n this! "Where d' you get that there candle?"
"I--bought it, pop."
"Bought? Where d'you get the money!"
Tillie did not like the lies she had to tell, but she knew she had already
perjured her soul beyond redemption and one lie more or less could not
make matters worse.
"I found it in the road."
"How much did you find?"
"Fi' cents."
"You hadn't ought to spent it without astin' me dare you. Now I'm goin'
to learn you once! Set up."
Tillie obeyed, and the strap fell across her shoulders. Her outcries
awakened the household and started the youngest little sister, in her
fright and sympathy with Tillie, to a high-pitched wailing. The rest of
them took the incident phlegmatically, the only novelty about it being
the strange hour of its happening.
But the hardest part of her punishment was to follow.
"Now this here book goes in the fire!" her father announced when at

last his hand was stayed. "And any more that comes home goes after it
in the stove, I'll see if you 'll mind your pop or not!"
Left alone in her bed, her body quivering, her little soul hot with shame
and hatred, the child stifled her sobs in her pillow, her whole heart one
bleeding wound.
How could she ever tell Miss Margaret? Surely she would never like
her any more!--never again lay her hand on her hair, or praise her
compositions, or call her "honey," or, even, perhaps, allow her to help
her on Fridays!--and what, then, would be the use of living? If only she
could die and be dead like a cat or a bird and not go to hell, she would
take the carving-knife and kill herself! But there was hell to be taken
into consideration. And yet, could hell hold anything worse than the
loss of Miss Margaret's kindness? HOW could she tell her of that
burned-up book and endure to see her look at her with cold disapproval?
Oh, to make such return for her kindness, when she so longed with all
her soul to show her how much she loved her!
For the first time in all her school-days, Tillie went next morning with
reluctance to school.

III
"WHAT'S HURTIN' YOU, TILLIE?"
She meant to make her confession as soon as she reached the
school-house--and have it over--but Miss Margaret was busy writing on
the blackboard, and Tillie felt an immense relief at the necessary
postponement of her ordeal to recess time.
The hours of that morning were very long to her heavy heart, and the
minutes dragged to the time of her doom--for nothing but blackness lay
beyond the point of the acknowledgment which must turn her teacher's
fondness to dislike.
She saw Miss Margaret's eyes upon her several times during the
morning, with that look of anxious concern which had so often fed her
starved affections. Yes, Miss Margaret evidently could see that she was
in trouble and she was feeling sorry for her. But, alas, when she should
learn the cause of her misery, how surely would that look turn to
coldness and displeasure!
Tillie felt that she was ill preparing the way for her dread confession in
the very bad recitations she made all morning. She failed in

geography--every question that came to her; she failed to understand
Miss Margaret's explanation of compound interest, though the
explanation was gone over a third time for her especial benefit; she
missed five words in spelling and two questions in United States
history!
"Tillie, Tillie!" Miss Margaret solemnly shook her head, as she closed
her book at the end of the last recitation before recess. "Too much
'Ivanhoe,' I'm afraid! Well, it's my fault, isn't it?"
The little girl's blue eyes gazed up at her with a look of such anguish,
that impulsively Miss Margaret drew her to her side, as the rest of the
class moved away to their seats.
"What's the matter, dear?" she asked. "Aren't you well? You look pale
and ill! What is it, Tillie?"
Tillie's overwrought heart could bear no more. Her head