"They have need of it here, na doot."
"Well, they need something—love for God—or man."
"M—well! It's lettle I can do. The wumman can do more, if the mon'll be eatin' what they cuke for 'im," said the candid old Scotchman. "Mak' 'im eat. Mak' 'im eat."
Once more Tom pounded along the shining road to Kesota to meet the six-o'clock train from Chicago.
Herman, magnificently clothed in fur-lined ulster and cap, alighted with unusually grave face and hurried toward Mattie.
"Well, what is it, sis? Mother sick?"
"No; it's the teacher. He is unconscious. I've been for the doctor. Oh, we were scared!"
He looked relieved, but a little chagrined. "Oh, well, I don't see why I should be yanked out of my boots by a telegram because the teacher is sick! He isn't kin—yet."
For the first time a feeling of shame and confusion swept over Mattie, and her face flushed.
Herman's keen eyes half closed as he looked into her face.