pumping into it didn't look as if lugging water agreed with her.
Besides, I wanted a drink."

"You didn't get one," retorted Kent, wisely.

Jot cast a sidewise glance upon him.

"I said I wanted one, didn't I? Anybody can want a drink."

"And take your remedy. Dose: lug one pail o' water for an old woman.
If not successful, repeat in ten min--"

Jot made a rapid spurt and left his teaser behind. When Old Tilly had
come abreast of him again, he reached out a brotherly hand and bestowed
a hearty pat on his arm.

"Good boy!" he said, and unconsciously his voice was like father's,
miles back in the kitchen doorway. It was the way father would have
said it.

"That's the way to do. We'll pick up 'errands' to do for folks. What's
the use of being knights?"

And Old Tilly's turn came next, in the way of driving the cows out of
somebody's corn patch and propping up the broken fence. If it took but
a few minutes, what of that? It saved a bent old man's rheumatic leg's,
and the gay whistle that went with it drifted into an open window and
pleased a little fretful child.

"My turn next!" shouted Kent, gliding away from them out of sight over