"Your color’s pretty bad, father," she said, "and you look dead tired. Perhaps," she rose impulsively, "perhaps you’ve been laid up." "No, ma, no," he placed his big hands on her shoulders, forcing her down in her chair. "I haven’t been laid up. But I’ve been feeling mighty queer." He was immediately overwhelmed by a torrent of exclamations and questions from Mrs. Bunker and Indiana, while his wife sat pale and quiet, with heaving breast. "No, I don’t know what’s the matter with me," he answered. "No, I can’t describe how I feel. No, I have not been to a doctor, and I’m not going. There, you have it straight. I don’t believe in them." "Pa!" said Indiana, taking a stand in the centre of the room, "I want to say a few words to you." "Oh, Lord!" thought Stillwater, "When Indiana shakes her pompadour and folds her arms, there’s no telling where she’ll end." "I want to ask you if the sentiments which you have just expressed are befitting ones for a man with a family?" "Mother," said Mrs. Stillwater, "he always takes your advice, tell him he should consult a doctor." "Indiana has the floor!" said Mrs. Bunker. "Is it right that you should make it necessary for me to remind you of a common duty; that of paying proper attention to your health, in order that we should have peace of mind?" Indiana had been chosen to deliver the valedictory at the closing exercises at her school. This gave her a reputation for eloquence which she liked to sustain whenever an occasion presented itself. "I see your finish," she wound up, not as elegantly as one might have expected. "You’ll be a hopeless wreck and we’ll all have insomnia from lying awake nights, worrying. When we once get in that state—" she turned to Mrs. Bunker. "No cure," said the lady. "Nothing but time." Stillwater sat with his hand in his pocket and his eyes closed, apparently thinking deeply. "Well, I’ve said all I’m going to say." She looked at him expectantly. His eyes remained closed, however, and he breathed deeply and regularly. "I have finished, pa. Have you any remarks to make?" No answer. "He’s asleep, Indiana," said Mrs. Bunker, with a peal of laughter. "He is not," said Indiana indignantly. "He’s only making believe—" She bent down and looked in his face. "You’re not asleep, are you, pa?" "No, of course not; who said I was?" He sat up rubbing his eyes. "Did you get it all off your mind, Indy?" "You heard what I said, pa?" "Certainly; it was fine. You must write it down for me some day, Indy." "Would you close your ears and eyes to the still, small voice," said Indiana, jumping upon a chair and declaiming in approved pulpit fashion. "The voice which says, ’Go not in the by-ways. There are snares and quick-sands. Follow in the open road, the path of truth and righteousness.’ I want to know if you’re going to a doctor?" "Well, I suppose I must, if I want some peace in life."