She went to the door to call the children in front the porch and the lawn; and Mr. Getz again bent over the child.
"Can you eat along, Tillie?"
Tillie weakly shook her head.
"Don't you feel fur your wittles?"
"No—sir."
"Well, well. I'll send fur the Doc, then, and he can mebbe give you some pills, or what, to make you feel some better; ain't?" he said, again passing his rough hand over her forehead and cheek, with a touch as nearly like a caress as anything Tillie had ever known from him. The tears welled up in her eyes and slowly rolled over her white face, as she felt this unwonted expression of affection.
Her father turned away quickly and went to the table, about which the children were gathering.
"Where's Sammy?" he asked his wife. "I'm sendin' him fur the Doc after supper."
"Where? I guess over," she motioned with her head as she lifted the youngest, a one-year-old boy, into his high chair. "Over" was the family designation for the pump, at which every child of a suitable age was required to wash his face and hands before coming to the table.
While waiting for the arrival of the doctor, after supper, Getz ineffectually tried to force Tillie to eat something. In his genuine anxiety about her and his eagerness for "the Doc's" arrival, he quite forgot about the fee which would have to be paid for the visit.