"Now, Keith Burton, this beatin' the bush like this don't do one mite
of good. You might jest as well out with it first as last. Now, what
is it you want?"

Keith drew a long sigh.

"Well, Susan, there IS something--a little something--only I meant
what I said about the johnny-cake and the rhymes; truly, I did."

"Well?" Susan was smiling faintly.

"Susan, you know you can make dad do anything."

Susan began to stiffen, and Keith hastened to disarm her.

"No, no, truly! This is the part I want. You CAN make dad do anything;
and I want you to do it for me."

"Do what?"

"Make him let me off from school any more."

"Let you off from school!" In her stupefied amazement Susan actually
forgot to pick up another plate from the dishpan.

"Yes. Tell him I'm sick, or 't isn't good for me. And truly, 't isn't
good for me. And truly, I am quite a little sick, Susan. I don't feel
well a bit. There's a kind of sinking feeling in my stomach, and---"