One glance and he stretched out his hand.

"Ye're sick, brat," he stammered. "Be ye sick, my pretty?"

Dropping her eyes, Tessibel shook her head.

"Nope, I ain't sick," she faltered. "But—but—"

She wanted to throw herself upon her father's broad shielding breast and sob out her joy. But she couldn't do that so she stood hesitantly, her lips quivering.

"I air wantin' to be hugged in yer arms, Daddy Skinner," she told him. "Tell yer brat ye love her awful much."

And according to his custom in his daughter's sentimental moments, the fisherman, after dropping the door-bar, seated himself in the wooden rocking-chair, and held out his arms.

"I were just a sayin' to Andy, I wished ye'd come home," said he. "Love ye, kid?... I love ye better'n all the world, and everythin' in it.... Well! If my pretty brat ain't cryin'.... Sandy ain't been chasin' ye, has he?"

"Mebbe she air been a fightin' with her beau," piped the dwarf, from the ceiling.

The girl's mind traveled back through the events of the evening.

"Nope, I didn't fight with 'im, Andy," she smiled through her tears.

Daddy Skinner's beard rubbed lovingly over the dishevelled curly head.

"There! There! My little 'un!" he singsonged. "I'll rock my babe a bit. Ye stayed out too late, I air a thinkin'."

Oh, to tell him everything that had happened in the past few hours. But she had promised Frederick, and Tessibel would rather have died of grief than betray her trust. She put her lips close to the fisherman's ear.

"I air lovin' the student, Daddy," she whispered. "I didn't see Sandy tonight. I jest been with Frederick."

The squatter's only answer was to press her lovingly to him and for a long time he swayed back and forth slowly. Suddenly he ceased rocking.

"Ye'd best git to bed, baby," said he. "Crawl back, Andy, and let the brat undress."

Andy's shining face disappeared with a "Good night, brat," and "Good night, old horse."

The father and daughter heard him settle himself on the straw tick, and soon all was quiet above. And later by half an hour, Tessibel was dreaming of the young husband who that day had opened a new world to her, who had led her from girlhood into the immensity of womanhood.



CHAPTER IX

THE MUSICALE

Tessibel, arrayed in her new dress and slippers, a roll of songs under her arm, stood in the shanty kitchen. Neither Daddy Skinner nor Andy had made any comment when she told them she had really consented to sing at the home of the dwarf's enemy. Now she craved their commendation. A little doubtful, she went to the ladder, and glanced upward. The dwarf was nowhere to be seen.

"Andy," she called softly.

"Huh?" drifted from somewhere above in the darkness.

"Crawl to the hole, dear, an' squint down at my dress."

A little scramble and a face peered down upon her,

"Ye been a cryin', Andy," said Tess, a break in her voice. "What ye been a cryin' fer, honey?"

"Seem's if Waldstricker air goin' to take ye away from my pal an' me."

Daddy Skinner gave a grunt with no articulate word in it. Tess whirled around on him and fastened her bright eyes upon her father's bent head.

"Daddy," she began tremulously, "air you an' Andy thinkin' things ye hadn't ought to of Tessibel?"

Skinner shook his head.

"Me an' Andy hates Waldstricker, that air all," he said.

Tess shrugged her shoulders.

"I ain't et up with love fer him uther," she offered in defense, "but Miss Young wanted me to—oh, daddy, why didn't you tell me I couldn't go right at first—"

"Of course, ye be goin'," broke in Daddy Skinner, "but don't ye forgit us, my pretty!"

Tess gurgled in joy. She went to her father's side and gathered the dear head into her arms.

"If that air all what air worryin' ye, then kiss yer brat," said she. "I air goin' to sing an' mebbe I'll only see Waldstricker to speak to 'im. If he says anythin' 'bout Andy—"

"What'll ye tell 'im, kid?" gasped the dwarf.

"Oh, I'll string 'im like I allers does," returned Tess. "Now you're done squallin' like a baby, look at me!"

"Ain't she swell?" enthused Andy. "Orn, have ye looked 'er over?"

"Sure," mumbled the Squatter, "an' she air finer'n silk."

Tessibel hugged her father again, fluttered a kiss from the tips of her fingers to the little man above, and repeating her usual admonition to them, not to talk aloud, she started for Young's with palpitating heart. Deforrest met her as she ascended the front porch. Smiling he took her hand. His eyes expressed his approval of the winsome face and the trim figure in the new dress.

"Prompt as usual," he greeted. "How beautiful you are tonight, my dear!"

The color swept to Tessibel's face in great waves. She loved everything beautiful, the roses, the violets, the blue of the sky! Even the night things were beautiful, too. Did Professor Young think her beautiful like all these wonders? She smiled, her face shining in its mantling crimson. Deforrest took her arm, leading her into the living room, where Helen stood at the table, drawing on a long white glove.

"Gaze upon your handiwork," laughed her brother. "Quite a surprise for Ebenezer and his friends, eh?"

Helen examined Tessibel from the top of her head to the tip of her pretty boots with critical, gratified eyes.

"Yes," she decided, "you're all very satisfactory, Tess." Then to her brother, "Now, let's go, dear."

When Deforrest drove his horses up the long roadway leading to the Waldstricker mansion, Tessibel noticed the house was lighted from cellar to garret, that a long line of vehicles was making its slow way to the porch. Her heart fluttered with embarrassment. As they drew up to the stone veranda, Tess reached spontaneously for Helen Young's hand.

"It seem's if I jest couldn't sing afore such a awful lot of folks," she murmured helplessly.

Helen returned the pressure of the cold fingers.

"Try to imagine you're in church," she suggested. "You won't break down, my dear, I feel quite sure."

"I—I—air goin' to try to be awful careful anyhow," replied Tess, hopefully, but she heaved a deep sigh as Deforrest Young lifted her quite into his arms and placed her on the low, broad porch-stone.

Amid a crowd of laughing people, they passed into the house, and while they were removing their wraps, Helen took the opportunity to give her little protege a few last admonitions.

"Don't forget to put the 'g's' on your 'ing's,' and remember always to say 'your' quite plainly," she whispered.

"I will," Tessibel promised.

By this time, they had entered the crowded reception hall, and the squatter girl's heart leapt into her throat when Ebenezer Waldstricker came forward to meet them. He welcomed Helen Young tenderly, taking her hands in his. Tess noticed both corners of his mouth were up.

"I'm so happy to have you here, Helen, my darling," he murmured, bending over the hands he held.

A flushed face smiled into the speaker's.

"And I'm happy to be here, too, dear." Then turning, Helen announced "Here's Miss Skinner ... Tessibel, Mr. Waldstricker."

Until then the Elder had not seemed to be aware of the girl's presence, but at the introduction he extended his hand, formally polite. When, in shy greeting, Tess lifted her eyes, one corner of his mouth drew down rigidly. She was more at ease when Deforrest Young joined them. Her welcoming smile caused that gentleman's heart to bound in delight. They made their way slowly and with difficulty down the long hall, Tessibel growing more and more conscious of the curious glances directed at them from all sides. When they reached the drawing room door, her agitation grew perceptibly, having noticed that Waldstricker was detaining Helen. Deforrest held her arm with an encouraging pressure.

"Don't be afraid, dear," he whispered in her ear. "You'll stay near sister and me the entire evening. There!" They had crossed the room and neared a row of chairs arranged against the wall. "Sit down by this open window. My sister will be here soon.... Why!—Why! childie, you mustn't tremble so!"

A mist gathered under Tessibel's lowered lids. Each moment she grew more frightened, and from the corner of her eye measured the distance between their place and the piano. Oh, how thankful she was when Miss Young took a seat beside her. Near the door she recognized Madelene Waldstricker. Across the distance Tess studied the girl a moment. How pretty her gown was!

Tessibel glanced down at her own dress; at her rounded arms shining white under the little ruffle of fine lace. Her dress was pretty, the prettiest she'd ever had, and gratitude toward the woman at her side overcame for the moment her embarrassment. Presently Waldstricker came to them with the request for a song, and Deforrest Young escorted Tess to the piano. He pitied her from the bottom of his heart, as she clutched frantically at his arm.

"You've only to be yourself and sing as you do for us, my dear," he bent to whisper, "everybody will love you then."

That magic word "Love!" It always thrilled Tess into doing her best, and she must do no less tonight for her friends' sake. She sank down quite helplessly into the chair to which Deforrest led her and watched Ebenezer escort Helen to the piano. Her muscles grew taut with fright. How she wished to be back with Daddy Skinner and Andy! But she took the song Deforrest handed her, and through a veil of embarrassment, saw his smiling face close to hers.

"Sit here," he said, in low tones. "I shall be near you."

In one melodious touch of ivory keys, Helen started the prelude and every one in the room grew silent and attentive. Then from the side of the instrument there suddenly appeared before the quiet audience a radiant vision, a girl with tawny, glittering curls hanging in a golden fire-shower about her slender figure. The unfathomable brown eyes swept over the throng a quick glance, then dropped to the sheet of music in her hand.

A spontaneous murmur of admiration fell from many lips. For an instant Helen Young's hands poised above the keyboard, then descended; and as spontaneously as a bird begins its love song to the blue, so Tessibel Skinner began to sing.

The powerful voice rose up and up in seeming unending volume,—up and up until Deforrest Young sank against the wall and locked his fingers together. How had his sister dared to risk such a song with such a child!... Then he took a long satisfied breath, for he saw the little singer sang as a lark sings, without fear or self-consciousness, without knowledge of limitation to her thrilling harmony.

When Tess ceased on a high note, held until it drifted softly to the furthermost corner of the room, a round of applause went up to the high ceiling, and Miss Young, glancing around proudly at Tess, smiled and nodded. The girl felt another song thrust into her hands. This time she was less tremulous and sent back to Deforrest Young a charming, youthful smile. Helen's fingers rippled over the keys softly for a minute or two, and once more Tess began to sing.

"That I may know the largeness of God's love, teach me the fullness of thine own," she thrilled forth.

A groan forced its way almost to Deforrest Young's lips. What a child she was! Yet she sang that song with the abandonment of passion known only to a woman. How beautifully, lithely young she looked, standing there with those flowing, shimmering curls and the tender, throbbing voice pleading to be taught the fullness of human love, that she might find the largeness of the Infinite. Turning swiftly to the window, he pressed his lips together to stifle his emotion. He could no longer bear the stab at his heart, nor risk the mist rising in his eyes. Tessibel, wholly unconscious of the stir she was making, sang on and on, her gaze on the sheet in her hand. Suddenly she raised her eyes and there near the door was Frederick Graves, his face waxen white, his dark gaze bent upon her. Close beside him stood Madelene Waldstricker. But a single instant Tess faltered in her song. Then again, passionately, insistently, and tempestuously she sang, "That I may know the largeness of God's love, teach me the fullness of thine own!"

She saw his lids droop as she carefully pronounced each beautiful word, and saw him, without a glimmer of recognition for her, turn to the girl at his side. He hadn't even welcomed her with his eyes. Never before had he failed to greet her smilingly. She chilled to the bone, nor dared look again. When the song was finished, she sat down limply. Deforrest Young, strangely stirred, took her hand.

"Sweet child," he murmured, "it was delightful! Lovely!"

At the same moment Waldstricker was bending over Helen Young.

"My dear, how ambitious you are for so young a pupil!" he laughed.

"There's nothing she can't sing," she replied, rising. "Hasn't she a wonderful range?"

"Very," replied Waldstricker, and he, too, turned to look at the squatter girl.

Tess was striving to listen to Deforrest Young, but her disturbed mind was where Frederick stood with Madelene Waldstricker. Her whole loving heart desired him to come and speak to her.

"I never heard her sing like that before," Madelene was saying to Frederick. "I believe you know her quite well, don't you?"

"I know who she is," stammered the student, flushing, "but as to saying I know her well—"

"She's very beautiful!" interjected Madelene.

Frederick lowered his head flatteringly, "Not as beautiful as another girl I know," he whispered, and Madelene dropped her eyes with a happy sigh.

"Let's go and speak to her," she suggested. "I feel I must, I'm the hostess, you know."

Frederick reluctantly fell into step with her, and together they crossed the room, a striking picture of entrancing youth. Tessibel's heart ached at the unusual sight. For one burning moment she wanted to scream, to spring up and do some terrible thing to the small girl walking so familiarly at her husband's side. Then she looked away miserably. She could not bear the sight, nor did she turn again until she heard a strange, rather high, girl's voice say,

"It was very lovely, Helen! Such a surprise to every one! I'm ever so grateful to you."

"Tessibel, this is Miss Waldstricker," introduced Helen.

Tess raised a scarlet face at the sound of her name.

For one moment the two girls gazed into each other's eyes. Each had in her panting heart a feeling of proprietorship for the tall, dark boy standing moodily behind Madelene. Tess knew he was there, yet did not look at him.

"You've a beautiful voice," observed Miss Waldstricker, with a shade of condescension in her manner.

Tessibel could feel the blood pulsing even to her finger tips. What did she care for compliments from Madelene Waldstricker? She wanted to hear them from Frederick! Miss Waldstricker whirled suddenly to bring him into the conversation.

"Mr. Graves.... Ah, yes, of course, you know Miss Young, and this—and this is—Miss Skinner, Mr. Graves."

Then Frederick bent over Tessibel's hand, and her fingers shook in his. She raised her eyes slowly and he was looking upon her as if she were a thing apart from him now and ever would be. A crimson wave flew to her face—a flood tide of humiliation.

"I've met Miss Skinner," she heard in a low, unfamiliar tone. "Your voice, Miss Skinner, as Miss Waldstricker says, is very beautiful."

The accent of the ice in his words caused her to withdraw her hand from his instantly. She was stung to the quick by his coldness and indifference. She could not answer him. Was this her Frederick—this the boy who had so often knelt at her feet in ardent adoration? He had gazed at her as if she'd been a stranger, had praised her singing only by repeating what another girl had said. Her head burned like fire, and her heart gave a rebellious, defiant twist. She was his wife. All the passion within her tempestuous soul raged in stout protest against his treatment of her. Couldn't—oh, he could have said—have said—just a little something! Then anger fell from her in a trice. Desolation like an ash encompassed her. Of course, she was but a squatter; Frederick was ashamed of her, ashamed he even knew her. It was just at that moment she saw her husband place Madelene's fingers on his arm and laughingly move away with her. Tess started out of her jealous agony as some one touched her arm. Deforrest Young was smiling down upon her.

"Let's go to supper," he invited.

The girl made an effort to master her confusion. Slowly she rose and took the professor's arm. The unfamiliar, embarrassing formality helped to hide her anger and consternation. She found herself positively unable to eat. When had she ever been capable of taking food when her heart filled her throat? She was conscious every moment of the presence of her husband and Madelene a little farther down the table, and that Frederick's attention was wholly taken up with his companion. She had but to raise her eyes to see Madelene's face beaming with pleasure.

Suddenly the voice of a stranger roused Tessibel from her bitter meditation.

"I heard, Mr. Waldstricker, you've located Andrew Bishop. It's true, I hope."

If it hadn't been for the queer feeling in her legs, Tessibel would have stood up. Located Andy Bishop—where? Why in her shanty, of course,—up in the garret under the straw tick. If they had found him, it must have been there. When? Tonight, since she'd left home. She bent over and searched the table for Waldstricker. He was seated next to Helen Young, and his gaze was directed toward his questioner.

"Well," he replied, "that's not quite right, but we hope—" he hesitated, swept his flashing eyes to Tessibel and smiled, "we hope to have him back in Auburn soon. I have two good detectives working for me."

Taking a deep breath of relief, Tess subsided in her chair, and she was not sorry when the signal was given for the company to leave the table.



CHAPTER X

A VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANCES

Frederick Graves had just left Tess at the shanty door. He had found it difficult to explain away his conduct on the evening of the musicale at Waldstricker's.

"It were awful," sobbed Tess, after Frederick had mollified her anger somewhat. "I wanted to die! Ye looked like some big man I didn't know 't all."

"Silly baby," laughed the student. "There were so many people there who know my mother—" He paused and kissed the upraised, tearful face passionately. "I didn't think you'd care. I supposed of course you'd understand. I'm awfully sorry you didn't. You'll forgive me, darling, won't you?"

Tess snuggled nearer him. She wanted to forget how unhappy she'd been.

"Sure, I don't care now,—such a awful lot," she sighed.

Later in the evening, when he came into the hall of his home in Ithaca, he was greeted by his young sister, Babe.

"Fred," she called softly, "come on up, mother wants you."

For some minutes after taking off his hat, he remained in the lower hall considering just what to say to his mother. Shaking his head dismally, he mounted the stairs and went reluctantly to the front room. He hated scenes with his mother. He hated everything about the house, hated even the thought of going back to school. He wanted to take Tess away from the lake—make a home for her—to be with her always. How dear she had grown day by day since he'd married her! His very being fired at the memory of her clinging sweetness.

When he opened his mother's bedroom door and walked self-consciously forward to turn up the light, a fretful voice from the bed halted him.

"Fred, if you're going to make the room bright, please bring the screen forward."

He dropped his hand from the gas jet.

"It doesn't matter," said he, sulkily, and he moved to the foot of the bed. "Let it stay as it is.... Babe said you wanted me."

Mrs. Graves settled her glasses on the bridge of her nose and looked at him.

"Yes! I did tell her to send you in. What's the matter? Anything?"

"No." The answer was brutal in its curtness.

"You've been with that Skinner girl again." The woman sat up in bed and exclaimed angrily. "I can tell by the way you act."

A sudden fury took possession of the student.

"Of course, I haven't been to Skinner's," he contradicted roughly. "Didn't I tell you I wouldn't go and see her any more? What do you want now?"

Relieved by his words in spite of the ugly way in which they were uttered, Mrs. Graves sank back on the pillows. "Sit down," she invited.

He was too nervous and angry willingly to grant even so small a request just then.

"I can listen as well standing here," he answered crossly.

"But I can't talk as well when you stand," insisted Mrs. Graves, peevishly. "Frederick! What's happened to you since your father died? That squatter girl's turned your head. I know it. She's completely spoiled you."

Tessibel and all her girlish sweetness came vividly across the boy's mind. It was ridiculous to blame Tess. Ah, if he were as good as Tess desired him to be, his life would be the most exemplary.

"Please leave her name out of it, will you?" he rasped rudely. "Even if I can't see her, I won't hear anything against her."

Mrs. Graves sat up in bed, throwing back wisps of gray hair, that persisted in falling over her nose.

"Oh, you won't, eh?" she shrilled loudly. "Well, now, you listen to me.... You'll hear what I please to say to you, young man. It's a good thing you don't go to Skinner's any more. It's time you were interested in a decent girl. You've got to marry sometime. It's just as easy to love a rich girl as a poor one. Why don't you propose to Madelene Waldstricker?"

"Madelene's all right, I suppose," the boy answered "but I don't want to marry her."

"You better want to," his mother rejoined tartly. "You've got to do just that very thing."

"You're crazy, Mother. I won't do it. What do you take me for, anyhow? Get that idea out of your head and keep it out."

"If your father were here, you wouldn't dare to say such things to me.... I want you to sit down, do you hear?"

Frederick dropped into a chair wearily. The time had come to tell his mother that Tessibel Skinner was his wife. After that was done, there could be no such arguments. He started to speak, but his mother interrupted him.

"Madelene Waldstricker's wild over you," she explained. "You can't deny you've shown her open attention, at the same time you've been stealing down to that Skinner girl's hut.... Oh, don't deny it any more! But Madelene doesn't know very much about that, and she has lots of money. It's your duty to Babe and me."

"I won't marry her, or anyone else," Frederick repeated.

His voice was very low but every word was distinct.

Mrs. Graves lifted her pillow, turned it over, patted, and sank back upon it.

"Why?" she demanded, searching his face with accusing eyes. "Because of that fisherman's—"

Now he would tell her; now he would explain! He coughed, took out his handkerchief and wiped his lips.

"I shouldn't think you'd say anything against Tessibel Skinner," was what he said at last, "considering what she did for us."

Mrs. Graves uttered a scream, and covered her face with her hands.

"Now throw that in my face, will you?" she cried. "Can't you let me forget my shame and disgrace? Can't you see that girl coming into my life would bring constantly before me my daughter's downfall and death?"

Her voice was tragic, and Frederick's heart always had been tender toward his mother. He saw as vividly as if it had happened but yesterday Teola dying in the church. It had been such a dreadful experience for all of them. Frederick had never doubted for one moment that that terrible ordeal had been the cause of his father's death. He went quickly forward and slipped one arm about her shoulders.

"I'm sorry, mater," he murmured. "There, forgive me!—There!—Don't cry!... Now don't get nervous—the doctor said you mustn't cry."

Mrs. Graves shivered in the strong arms.

"I've reason enough to cry," she whimpered brokenly. "You won't do anything to help me, and you're the one who should."

"I'll go to work," he said eagerly. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "I'm tired of college anyway!"

"Go to work!" echoed his mother. "What could you do? You wouldn't get ten dollars a week. Nor anything like it. You haven't any profession, and what is there in Ithaca to do anyway?... Oh, if your father'd only lived!"

She broke into a fresh burst of tears.

"Hush, please, dear," said Frederick, smoothing back the grey hair. "Go on and tell me what you want. There, see, now, I'm listening."

Mrs. Graves used her handkerchief vigorously.

"I said I wanted you to marry Madelene Waldstricker," she responded in ruffled tones. "You've but to ask her, and she'll jump. Babe says she talks of you all the time, and is frightfully jealous of you."

A fair, lovely face, glorious glistening brown eyes, and shrouding red curls passed between Frederick's vision and his mother's face, and he groaned.

"Don't! I said not to talk of Tess."

"But I can't help it," snapped Mrs. Graves. "I've got to tell you about Madelene, haven't I? You must ask her now.... She's staying here tonight."

Frederick withdrew his arms from under his mother and dropped his face hopelessly into his hands.

"Oh, God, help me!" he groaned between his fingers. "I can't do that, Mother! I can't!"

A tender hand went out slowly and touched him. He lifted his face with a sharp gesture and grasped his mother's fingers in his.

"Don't ask me to do that, oh, don't, darling mater, don't!" he moaned. "Anything else—I'd do anything else."

The feminine fingers closed over the masculine ones.

"I must ask you, my son," insisted Mrs. Graves, gently. "It's the only hope I have.... I've kept so many things from you, but now I'll tell you why. The lake place is mortgaged to Ebenezer Waldstricker for more than it's worth, and I've borrowed a lot of money from him and from Madelene."

Frederick's hands fell from his face.

"Good God! My God!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I couldn't—I couldn't, Fred, but now you see why you must do this for all our sakes. I haven't any money at all only what they let me have. Babe and I won't have any place to go if you don't help. Oh, Fred, you will think of it, dear, you will?"

The boy got up feeling as if something worse than death had happened to him. He saw no way out.

"Yes, I'll think of it," he temporized.

Mrs. Graves sank deeper into her pillow and closed her eyes with a long sigh. Frederick said no more, but turned quickly and went out of the room.

He staggered downstairs like a drunken man. He ought to have told his mother he was married to Tessibel Skinner. He couldn't marry any other woman!... How could he, when he was already married—married to the sweetest girl in the world? Oh, to get away somewhere to think quietly! To get something to stop the throbbing in his head! This new horror facing him was more than he could bear. He'd go back now and tell his mother he was married to Tess.... No, he'd wait until morning! He opened the library door and stepped in, crossed the room slowly and drew down the curtain. Turning, he saw a girl rise from the divan. Madelene Waldstricker reached out two rounded arms with an impatient gesture.

"Ah, you've come," she said, smiling into his eyes.

Frederick gazed at the small girlish figure curiously. The new interest in her awakened by the talk he'd just had with his mother, contended with the image of Tess in his mind—radiant, loving, splendid Tess.

He walked to the table and feigned interest in a book.

"I've been with my mother," he said hesitatingly.

"Yes, I know," asserted Madelene, coming to his side, "and she's awfully ill, isn't she?"

"More nervous than anything," replied the boy, impatiently.

"The doctor told your sister and me this afternoon she must have perfect rest if she ever recovers," explained Madelene. "He says she ought to be in a good health resort.... I wish I could help her."

"She tells me you have," blurted Frederick.

"But not so much as I'd like to," Madelene assured him softly.

There was deep sympathy in her voice, and Frederick looked at her critically. This small brown girl had taken on new significance to him. She had come into his life suddenly as a large part of it, that deadening financial part that tied him hand and foot and made him feel like a galley slave. But he could never marry her, never! He belonged to Tessibel Skinner by all the rights of Heaven and earth. He studied the eager girl again—for so long a time that she dropped her lids, blushing. Truly, Tess and Madelene formed a strange contrast—his bride with the red gold of her curls and eyes holding him a willing captive, and this bright-eyed, brown-skinned, little creature, before him with that eloquent, calling appeal of money for his mother.

Never before had he thought any one could for any reason whatever come between him and Tessibel Skinner. He did not concede it now in its fullness, but Madelene was looking pleadingly into his face and had spoken of his mother with tender sympathy. He suddenly reached out and took her hand. He would tell her of his young wife. He would take her into his confidence right then, and all would be well for them both—and for Tess.

"Listen, Madelene," the boy said earnestly. "I have something to say to you."

At the touch of his fingers, Madelene went white and swayed toward him. Her head fell forward on his chest, and his arms closed around her, as if to keep her from falling. Of a sudden, a flushed face was lifted to his, and a smile flashed around a rosy mouth.

"Oh, I'm so happy, oh, so happy!" whispered pursed lips.

And Madelene sighed as she dropped her head against him once more. For the moment Frederick's mind went blank, but the girl's voice drew him back.

"Oh, I was afraid you loved that girl who sings in the church," she was saying. "I've heard so often you did. I just couldn't bear the thought of it, Frederick. Your mother and Babe kept telling me you didn't, but I suppose I was a little jealous."

She laughed and snuggled nearer him. But a short hour before another girl, the girl he adored, his wife, had been in the same tender position. He was so dazed that for the moment he could not find words for an answer. Then slowly he led her forward to the divan.

"I want to talk to you," he ventured hesitatingly.

"Oh, I love to hear you talk," Madelene babbled with joy.

Frederick flushed. He'd have to tell her of his marriage with Tessibel before she really admitted anything that would afterwards make her sorry.

"What I've got to tell you is very serious," he said at length. "You'll listen to me, Madelene?"

Five small fingers touched his lips.

"Nothing is serious now," came the interruption, "not now that I know you love me. It's all I want in the world to make me supremely happy," and she sighed.

Frederick shuddered. Why, he hadn't told her he loved her! He was as far from loving her at that moment as the very stranger on the street.

"But it's something you must know," he thrust in desperately.

"I know what it is," averred the girl smiling. "I know all about it.... It's just money, that horrid old money your mother borrowed of brother and me.... But what does money matter? I've lots of it, bunches of it, and more than enough for us all, and so has Ebenezer."

Frederick shook himself impatiently. She must listen while he explained the impossibility of their ever being anything to each other.

"I couldn't take—"

"I'm not asking you to take anything but me," laughed the girl. "Just me, see? There, dearest! Now don't talk of anything disagreeable tonight. I just want to be happy."

And like a contented, purring kitten, she once more settled herself against him. Somehow Frederick couldn't tell her of Tessibel just then. The right moment had come and gone. In the morning he would! By the light of the day it would be easier. Then he would explain everything to her and his mother.

"Put your arms around me," whispered Madelene.

Thrusting Tessibel from his mind, he drew the little figure close into his arms.

"Kiss me," she breathed, and two hours later, when Frederick Graves shut his bedroom door, he had promised to marry Madelene Waldstricker.



CHAPTER XI

FREDERICK INTIMIDATED

Confused and angry with himself and Madelene, Frederick crossed the room slowly.

What an awful mess! Married to Tessibel and engaged to marry Madelene! His mother sick and head over heels in debt to the Waldstrickers! The situation was becoming more complicated by the hour. He sat down by the open window to think. The simple thing, and what he really wanted to do, was to announce his marriage and let himself and the others take the consequences. He didn't intend to give up Tess, and for a few minutes his memory was alive with all the suffering of his brave young wife during the past two years. What she had done for his sister Teola made him shudder with grief. There was no other woman in the world like Tess, and the sweetness of his intimate experiences since his marriage touched him to tears.

"I won't give her up," he groaned aloud, "whatever happens, I'll stand by Tess. She's worth all the rest—I love her better than life itself. In the morning I'll tell mother and Madelene the truth."

But no sooner had he reached this conclusion, than the many embarrassing consequences his confession entailed presented themselves. He could hear his mother's querulous complaints. She hated Tess, blaming the little squatter girl for the trouble which had made her an invalid and taken her husband from her. Would he be compelled to choose between his affection for his mother and his love for Tess? No, surely not that!

Yet there was Madelene! How could he face her, after all that had happened. He bitterly regretted his weakness in permitting the girl to avow her love for him, in engaging himself to her.

And worst of all, that harrowing debt! He groaned at the thought of it.

Madelene had told him, "Your mother won't have to worry any more, dear. We can send her away for a nice, long rest, and when Professor Young's lease is up, we'll fix the lake place for a summer home."

"If I could marry Madelene," he thought, "the debts—"

He got up, lighted a cigarette, his fingers shaking so he almost dropped the match. He couldn't marry Madelene!

Yet to acknowledge his relation to the squatter girl meant a certain and final break with the Waldstrickers, the financial ruin of himself and his mother.

Even at that cost, he must do it. Tessibel was his wife, his dear little wife. He had promised to make a home for her. But how? Could they get along at all, and what would he do with her impossible father? As his mother had said, he had no ability to earn anything. Bitter tears of discouragement filled his eyes.

Suddenly, a thought found its way into his brain and seemed to clear the situation completely.

"If I could explain it to Tess," he whispered, "and she would consent, everything would be easy. I know she'd help me!"

Again and again, and from many different angles, the argument repeated itself.

He lay wakeful in bed, his mind a confused jumble of diversified thoughts, in which his mother, then Tess, and again the Waldstrickers demanded his attention and sought to influence him. Worn out, at length he fell into a troubled sleep.

He was late in rising the next morning. When he finally went into his mother's room, he found Madelene seated by the invalid's side, holding her hand. Frederick knew by the expression on their faces, that the girl had confided to his mother the agreement made in the drawing room the evening before. Smiling a little uncertainly, he crossed the room.

"Good morning, mater! Good morning, Madelene!" said he.

Madelene smiled shyly, stood up and moved a little away. Frederick bent over his mother, who kissed him and murmured, "I'm so pleased and happy."

He straightened up and took Madelene's outstretched hand, very much inclined to tell them both then how impossible it was for him to carry out his engagement. But his mother, ostentatiously turning on her pillow, cried laughingly.

"Don't mind me, children, dear!... Kiss your sweetheart, if you want to, Frederick!"

Snuggling to his side, Madelene threw her arms around his neck, and whispered,

"You do love me, dear, don't you?"

Smiling into her eyes, he kissed her.

"Of course I do," he lied promptly. "Don't you know it, little girl?"

After breakfast, Mrs. Graves summoned them to her room again. Relieved of her pressing anxieties, and excited by the sudden fruition of her cherished plans, she looked and acted much better. She talked gaily to the young people of their future, laughed at the girl's blushes, and chaffed her son about his coming responsibilities.

"Frederick," she suddenly said more soberly. "I think you should go right away now and see Ebenezer, and ask him properly for Madelene's hand."

Feeling that such a course would commit him irrevocably, the boy hesitated.

"Don't be afraid, Fred dear," Madelene broke in. "I know Eb likes you, and," blushingly, "I think he will not be much surprised, either."

If he could only summon courage enough to tell Madelene before they met her brother! Perhaps if he could get the girl alone he might.

"Come along with me," he said spontaneously. "We'll go together."

"Then wait until I get my hat," and she danced away, the happiest girl in Ithaca.

On the way down the street, although he responded with dutiful tenderness to his companion's conversation, his mind was busy with the same old question: What should he do about Tess? If he could tell Madelene, or perhaps it would be easier to make Ebenezer understand his position.

But before he came to a decision, they met Mr. Waldstricker coming out of the First National Bank on Tioga Street. He looked very prosperous, very powerful, as he stood smilingly waiting for them.

"We were just coming to see you, Eb," said Madelene, blushing. "Frederick—well, we both wanted to speak to you."

"All right, little girl," Waldstricker said pleasantly. "If it is something special, we can go to the office; or perhaps you can tell me here."

Hoping to gain courage by further respite Frederick suggested,

"We'd better go to the office, I think."

But Madelene was too full of her new happiness to brook any more delay.

"Oh, you men!" she exclaimed. "Don't be so formal and business-like!" She took hold of one of her brother's hands, while she held Frederick possessively by the arm. "We came to make an announcement and receive your congratulations, and I want them now."

"So that's it?" chuckled her brother, smiling into her shining eyes. "Well, I am pleased! And I do congratulate you both, heartily. Fred, run into the office in about an hour, I want to talk to you."

Frederick brightened.

"And I want to talk to you," he answered.

He swung to Madelene's side, drew a long breath and made a quick resolution that before long he would make his confession to Ebenezer.

At the appointed time, Frederick entered Waldstricker's office. He'd resolved to make a clean breast of his marriage to Tess. But without giving him a chance to say anything more than "Hello, Ebenezer," that gentleman began,

"Glad to see you! Sit down.... So you think you want to join my family, do you? I suppose you know you're asking a great deal, when you haven't any money or any profession, either. But then, my sister's fond of you, and that means a lot. Fortunately, she has enough money so that you need not worry about that. The question is, can you make her happy?"

He paused. Frederick fingered his hat, let it slide to the floor, and picked it up before answering.

"Mr. Waldstricker, I think ... I want first ... I can't ... You see...." He wanted desperately to tell the powerful man at the table that he couldn't marry his sister, but somehow the words wouldn't come.

The older man thought he knew the cause of the young man's hesitation.

"There, there, my boy!" he laughed, pleased at his own insight. "Don't try to explain anything. I know it's been hard for you. Frederick," he continued more soberly, "as you know, I'm Madelene's only near relative. Her mother has been dead many years, and since father ... was killed, she has only me left. I want her to be happy, ... to have everything that makes life worth while. She's chosen you, and I feel sure she's wise in her choice." He stood up, his great height towering above the boy, who also rose. Ebenezer thrust forth his hand and took Frederick's. "I'm giving her to you," he went on. "Make her happy and there's nothing I won't do for you."

Of course Frederick couldn't just then tell this man, who trusted him, that he was already married to a squatter girl. Perhaps later—yes, later he would. He hung his head in shame and the elder man, again mistaking the emotion, ascribed it to diffidence.

"Mr. Waldstricker," began Frederick, "you were so kind to my mother and so was Madelene. I'm not fit to marry your sister."

"Pshaw, boy, you're too modest!" Waldstricker laughed good-naturedly. "If she's satisfied, that's all there is to it."

Turning back to the desk, he seated himself.

"Sit down again, Fred," he continued. "Have you planned to get married immediately?"

Frederick shuddered. It seemed as if a great gulf were opening under his feet and he were about to be swallowed up.

"Well, we hadn't considered that," he hesitated embarrassedly. "Probably not for two years yet, until I get through college."

Here was a ray of hope. Lots of things could happen in two years.

"Nonsense!" was Waldstricker's prompt rejoinder. "Why should you bother with college? You'd better get married right along and go to Europe for your honeymoon. Then when you come back, take your place in my business and help me. I need some smart young fellow, and there's no sense in wasting your time at college. It isn't as though you had your own way to make."

Frederick sought to make objections to these plans, but Waldstricker impatiently got to his feet and stood looking down at the boy in the chair.

"It's settled then, isn't it? Say no more about it," he said with finality. "Run along and hunt up Madelene and tell her what I've said."

In parting, Waldstricker shook hands with Frederick, and placing his hand on the boy's shoulder said with genuine emotion in his voice, "Make her happy, my boy, and there's nothing in the world too good for you."

Frederick went into the sunshine, his head in a whirl. Waldstricker's promises unfolded visions of ease and success surpassing in splendor his wildest dreams. He had not meant to betray Tessibel nor to deceive Madelene. Yet since these things were forced upon him, he would see what he could do, but he took a long, deep breath when he thought of how difficult it would be to explain his action to Tessibel.



CHAPTER XII

MAKING READY FOR THE WARDEN

The next day, while Frederick was studying over the problems relating to his engagement to Madelene Waldstricker, Tessibel Skinner was sitting with Helen Young on the veranda of the latter's home. The young squatter girl was receiving a lesson in sewing.

"It air goin' to be pretty, ain't it?" she asked, holding up a blue chambray dress.

"Yes, very," replied Helen. "You're doing nicely. I'm very proud of you, dear!"

A shadow crept into Tessibel's eyes.

"I'll be a missin' ye awful after—after—"

"But you may come as often as you like to—our—home after we're married," said Helen, affectionately. "Mr. Waldstricker will soon grow fond of you, too, and the distance is only a little over a mile, short cut."

"But you'll be so rich," sighed Tess, "an' mebbe'll be awful busy."

"Never too busy to see my friends," Helen smiled. "There! Now you've been sewing an hour.... Let me hear you read.... By the way, I meant to tell you last night's paper said they're trailing the man who killed Mr. Waldstricker's father down here. The offer of five thousand dollars' reward is stirring a lot of men to hunt for him."

"I thought as how they'd lost 'im, sure," remarked Tess, inwardly quaking.

She forced her voice to say this in a tone as nearly natural as possible.

"Yes, I think the paper says they did lose track of him," replied Helen, "but they've suddenly found his trail again.... He must be somewhere near here. A deputy warden by the name of Burnett is coming to Ithaca.... Mr. Waldstricker will be very much pleased if they find him."

Tessibel's questioning gaze prompted Helen to proceed.

"The paper says, too, the men up there in Auburn are pretty sure he's somewhere among his own people."

A scarlet wave dyed Tessibel's face, and then receded. Her eyes drew down a little at the corners.

"Ye mean 'mong the squatters, don't ye?" she queried sharply. "Squatters air jest as good as any one else, Miss Young."

"Well, now, dear, I didn't mean they weren't," Helen laughed pleasantly; "and I'm sure if they're all like you, Tessibel, they're very nice indeed."

The memory of Teola Graves, the small, sickly baby, and the sudden death of Minister Graves passed through Tessibel's mind. The promise to her of the deed to the land on which their shanty stood was also in that procession of ghosts belonging to the past.

"Daddy and me was goin' to own our hut ground," she confided thoughtfully, "but—but—the dominie died afore we got it—so we air squatters yet jest the same as the rest. Squatters be awful nice folks! Most of 'em air better'n me."

"Well, anyway," took up Helen, wishing to keep off dangerous ground, "the paper says the warden's going to start from the head of Cayuga Lake and search every house and cabin until he—"

Tessibel rose to her feet unsteadily. In her vivid imagination she saw the strong arm of the law reach out from Auburn Prison and drag from her care and protection the wee, twisted little man chanting over the verses and prayers she'd taught him.

"I ain't a goin' to read today,—I got to go now," she gulped. "Good bye, Miss Young."

Daddy Skinner unbarred the door when he heard Tessibel call his name. At the sight of his young daughter's agitated face, the fisherman slid into his chair, beckoning her to a place on his knee.

"What air doin', Tess?" he questioned swiftly. "Ye're as white as bleached starch."

Tess placed her finger on her lips, glancing in the direction of the garret. Getting up, she barred the door and crept back to her father's side.

"Burnett air a scootin' down here after Andy," she murmured, too low for the dwarf to hear. "Miss Young says it air in the paper. I got to tell the poor little feller now so he won't die o' fright when the warden comes."

She went to the ladder and looked up through the hole. Then she set one foot on the lower rung and began to sing softly,

"Rescue the Perishin'; Care for the Dyin'."

And on and on she sang, in throbbing melody, to the end of the hymn. Tess had long ago discovered the fear-dissipating qualities of "Rescue the Perishin'." A long happy sigh in the attic told her the dwarf had enjoyed her song.

"Andy," she called in a low tone, "come down an' set beside the cot. I has to talk to ye."

Andy needed no second invitation. His legs were stiff but his heart full of good cheer, as he scrambled down the ladder with the Bible in his hand. Crawling across the floor, he propped his bent little body against the cot, and looked inquiringly at Daddy Skinner, and Daddy Skinner stared moodily back at him.

"Andy," Tess began, squatting beside him. "Ye remember how slick Daddy Skinner hopped out o' jail an' right back to me?"

Andy bobbed his head.

"Yep, I remember, brat," he responded. "I were glad fer him, but I sure were sorry fer myself when he left Auburn."

"An' I were that happy I nearly died," replied Tess, musingly. "Well, I air goin' to show ye a verse in the Bible what hauled 'im smack out o' prison." Tess took up the holy book and opened it. "There! now read it.... Right where my finger air! See?"

For several seconds Andy studied the words under Tessibel's pointing finger, and Daddy Skinner evinced his interest by bending nearer in a questioning attitude.

"If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed," Andy spelled haltingly, and then glanced up, mystified. "Why, it air talkin' about movin' mountains.... Ain't it, Tess?"

"Sure!" agreed Tess, displaying her white teeth in smiling affirmation. "See?"

Andy shook his head.

"No, I don't see, brat," he replied. "I ain't wantin' to move no mountains, I ain't."

Tess flung back her curls impatiently.

"Oh, Andy, yer head air all bone. Now look at me."

Misty, eager eyes were raised to the girl's.

"Can't ye see, Andy dear," she proceeded solemnly, "it air harder to get a mountain out of yer way than 'tis to stay out of prison."

"Mebbe 'tis," conceded Andy, brightening. "I never thought of it like that."

"But ye must begin thinkin' quick," ordered Tess. "Now every minute of the day ye air to say over an' over verses I show ye. And the man who helps folks move mountains'll keep ye right in this shack.... I air thinkin' that'd suit ye some, huh?"

Andy looked at her meltingly.

"I'd ruther be here than any place in the hull world," he murmured in reverent humility.

"Then," avowed Tess, "I air a goin'—Oh, Andy, I got to tell ye somethin', honey, an' I—"

"What?" gasped Andy, faintly.

Tess paused an instant.

"Burnett's pell-mellin' down from Auburn after ye," she blurted. "I just heard it at Young's."

Andy's face blanched to the hue of death. He had been so satisfied—so secure in the little garret under the protection of his friends, and now he would have to go back after all.

"Burnett?" he repeated almost inaudibly. "Burnett's comin' after me?"

Tess reached out and touched him.

"But he ain't knowing ye air here," she asserted hastily. "An' he ain't a goin' to know it uther. An' I tell ye, Andy, if ye'll learn yerself that verse 'bout the mustard seed, it'll keep ye here."

"I'll learn it, brat," promised Andy, but he seemed as if turned to stone.

"But what be we goin' to do, kid?" asked Skinner, a look of helplessness wrinkling his face.

"I dunno," replied Tess, with her hand still on the dwarf's arm.

And that was true, too! Tessibel didn't know just at that moment what she could do to save Andy from the officers, but of one thing she was certain; that beyond where the birds flew, and above the fast-moving clouds, and over all and under all, was an arm and a love upon which she had leaned and trusted, and they had never failed her. With this thought deepening the red-brown eyes, she turned and looked first at her Bible-backed father and then at the little dwarf.

"There air one thing ye both got to do," she instructed them. "Ye got to stop yer worryin' an' ye got to stop bein' 'fraid."

Andy's jaw dropped.

"Stop bein' 'fraid!" he muttered. "Stop bein' 'fraid! God, Tessibel, ye don't know what it means to allers be in the shadow of the prison, you don't."

"Oh, yep I do," interposed Tess, blandly, "'course I do. Weren't Daddy Skinner there? An' Daddy never'd got out in this world if it hadn't been for a helpin' hand; the same'll help you, Andy."

"She's talkin' of Professor Young," grunted Orn, glancing at the dwarf.

Tess turned to her parent impatiently.

"I ain't nuther talkin' about Professor Young, Daddy. I ain't goin' to tell him Andy's here 't all! I'll tell you both who I mean right now."

The men leaned forward, the dwarf's head shooting out like a turtle's.

"Who d'ye mean?" he entreated brokenly.

The color mantled Tessibel's brow and swept in rich waves over the lovely, earnest face.

"Jesus," she breathed radiantly, flashing her eyes from one to the other. "Jesus jest air a dotin' on ye, Andy, ye poor little dub ye! He allers dotes on folks in trouble."

"Shucks!" grunted Andy, and "Holy thunderin' Moses!" fell from Daddy Skinner.

Tessibel stood up, an angry glint in her eyes.

"Ye can say, 'Shucks!' if ye want to, Andy, 'cause you don't know nothin'; but, Daddy Skinner, you ought to be ashamed of yerself. Why, he's the man what got ye out of jail! I couldn't a done nothin', an' Professor Young couldn't a done nothin' uther if Jesus hadn't helped him. An' now ye're saying, 'Holy thunderin' Moses,' just's if ye didn't believe it."

The fisherman drew a shaking hand across his shaggy chin whiskers.

"I s'pose I do believe it, brat," he groaned, "but it air all so kind a mysterious like, an' Young, ye know—Young fought like the devil to git me back home."

"I know he did, Daddy," affirmed the girl, "but can't ye see ye'd a gone to the rope if—"

A shrill cry broke from the dwarf, interrupting Tessibel's explanation. Those ominous words recalled his own terror of Auburn Prison. Tears gathered thick in his eyes and ran down his cheeks. The sight of the little man's misery so affected Tessibel that she wound one arm about his neck.

"Andy, darlin'," she comforted, "don't blubber like that. Don't I say! There, put yer head on Tessibel's shoulder! I air a goin' to mother ye a bit."

She took up her skirt, wiped away the dwarf's fast-falling tears, and then her own.

"Now ye mustn't snivel," she faltered, trying to be courageous. "Why, if ye keep it up, I don't know what Daddy an' me'll do. Listen, Andy, listen to Tess."

Placing a slender finger under his chin, Tess drew the wry face up until his tearful eyes were directed into hers.

"Andy," she imparted, "there ain't a deputy in this hull world can get ye, an' don't ye be worryin' 'bout it. Jesus'd butt in an' help ye afore the man could get his nippers on ye. He'll fix it so they can't get ye, I bet."

And of a truth, Tessibel knew whereof she spoke.

"But Burnett'll be here most any time, now," shivered the little man, his chest rising and falling with emotion, "an' I tell ye, Tess—" Here he straightened up, his eyes glistening. "I tell ye, once let 'im git after a house he thinks a feller air in an' he'd turn it topsy-turvy, tissel end up. Why, Burnett can smell a man from prison a mile. I know him, I do! Hain't I seen,—and you have too, Orn,—many a poor cuss get away just like I did, mebbe over the river, mebbe a hundred miles or two, or he might even git in another state, but Burnett'll haul him back by his neck, jest the same."

Andy wilted at the end of his long speech like a hothouse plant in the frost.

"But he ain't a goin' to git you, Andy dear," Tess interposed, hugging the bent little figure. "Me an' Daddy loves ye, an' we'll hide ye, we will. Be glad ye're little, honey. If ye was big, it'd be harder to sneak ye out of sight."

"I don't see where ye're goin' to hide 'im, Tess?" remarked Skinner, making the statement a question by the rising inflection in his voice. "It air jest like Andy says, if Burnett gits on 'is scent, he'll find 'im all right, all right, an' five thousand dollars'd spur any man on to hunt 'im down."

The squatter girl smiled in sudden decision.

"They won't find 'im where I put 'im," said she, decisively.

"Tell us about it, brat," urged her father, wistfully.

Tess thought a minute, and hummed a minute.

"He air goin' to get put in my straw tick! That air where ye're goin', Andy," she explained presently. "An' I air got to be awful sick an' git in bed an' stay there. I don't know anything else to do! Oh dear! I can't look sick to save my life, can I?"

She got up and went to the glass and considered minutely her own rosy reflection. After contemplating it for some time, she came back and sat down, leaning a dimpled chin on the palm of one hand.

"I guess as how I don't need to be sick anywhere inside me," she decided. Then a smile smoothed away the slight pucker on her brow. "I know! I could hurt my foot, couldn't I? I guess as how that air best.... I'll hurt my foot.... Mebbe I'll sprain my ankle. I dunno yet, but I'll be a bed all right, an' I'll have Deacon with me. I bet when that warden sees me spread on that cot an' a owl starin' at 'im, he won't even think o' askin' me to git up."

The dwarf uttered a weird cry in chorus with a groan from the squatter.

"What'll ye do, if he tries to take ye offen the bed?" Orn questioned.

Tess tossed the profusion of curls over her shoulder, and her smile showed two rows of white teeth.

"I'll grin at him first, like this," she laughed, "an' if that don't do no good, I'll sing at 'im. I air bettin' he won't touch me then. But if he goes to haul me off, I'll holler an' make such a fuss I bet he'll be glad to let me alone."

With this statement, Tessibel rose and finished, "Get off'n that bed, Daddy. I air goin' to begin rippin' the tick now. If them deputies be comin' down the lake, us uns got to be ready.... It's only straw, ye know, Andy, an' awful soft. I'll fix yer head so it'll hang out a little. Then ye can breathe."

Before the shadow of the willow trees went to sleep in their soft earth bed late that afternoon, Tessibel had fitted the dwarf into the space she had made vacant in her straw tick. At the top of the springs, which consisted of taut ropes, she made a comfortable pillow for the little man's head. And then they waited, the hearts of the two men heavy with bitter fear, and the heart of the girl vibrant with faith that all would be well with her friend.



CHAPTER XIII

SANDY PROPOSES TO TESS

Andy Bishop was stretched out in the middle of Tessibel's straw tick, while the girl measured her length on the cot to assure her father that the dwarf would be fully concealed from prying eyes.

"Does he seem all hid, Daddy Skinner?" queried she.

The squatter walked to the head of the cot and peered from all points of vantage.

"He sure air, kid," he chuckled. "I can't see nothin' but a row of red curls a mile long. Andy'll git back in the garret all right if Burnett don't pull you off'n that bed."

"He won't do that," said Tess. "Jesus'll see I stay on it, I bet."

"There's some un a comin' now," hissed Skinner between his teeth, startled. Tess had no more than cuddled under the blanket when a loud knock resounded throughout the shanty. Daddy Skinner lifted the bar and opened the door, his large form filling the narrow door-frame. At the sight of Sandy Letts' smiling face, he stepped back, relieved.

"God, Sandy," he grinned, "ye might as well kill a man as scare him to death. Come in an' set."

Lysander stepped into the kitchen, and his eyes fell upon Tess.

"What air the matter with the brat?" he asked, looking from Orn to the girl lying there so languidly.

"She air kind a hurt—" began the fisherman.

"My foot air all packed up in a rag," interjected Tess. "I air always doin' something to myself. The next time I come jumpin' down the lane, I hope I won't be hurtin' my ankle."

She smiled wanly at Sandy, and he grinned back at her.

"If I knowed ye was sick, Tess, I'd a brought ye some candy," said he, good-naturedly.

"Candy ain't good for a girl's teeth," sighed Tess. "Don't never bother 'bout bringin' it, Sandy."

"A pound or two won't hurt ye," asserted Letts. "An' when I likes a girl, I allers bring 'er sweets. I say kid, ye do look awful pretty, layin' there with your curls all stretched out that way. Now, my cousin Ben, he wanted to marry ye, too, but he never liked yer hair; I love it."

"Daddy were jest a sayin'," put in Tess, with a fleeting glance at her father, "that it air mighty good for my curls to get spread out like this. Wasn't you, Daddy?"

Daddy Skinner stared at her, and her warm, glowing smile gave strength to the old man's heart. Without waiting for his reply, Tess turned to Letts.

"Where ye been, Sandy, an' what ye been doin'?" she asked, simulating an interest she did not feel.

Lysander, pleased at the attention, thrust his thumbs into the armholes of his vest and spread out all his fingers, giving a little important twist to each.

"I been down to Riker's a searchin' their shack fer Andy Bishop," bragged he, "an' now I air goin' to Longman's."

A little groan fell from Tessibel's lips.

"I air ashamed of ye, Sandy," she said slowly. "Longmans wouldn't have no murderer in their hut.... They be awful good folks.... Ye know they be, Sandy."

"Sure I know it, Tessie, but I've said as how I air goin' to search all the squatters' huts an' I air goin' to do it, I can tell ye that."

Tess smiled at him wistfully, pleadingly.

"I'd hate ye all my life, Sandy Letts," she vowed, winking one eye at the burly squatter, "if ye'd come in my house and butt 'round. Course ye can do it if ye want to, but I'd never speak to ye again in the hull world."

Sandy threw back his head and guffawed.

"I wouldn't do nothin' like that to you, pretty kid," he answered with pride in his tones, "'cause I know if ye had that dwarf in this hut ye'd pass him up to me quick.... Five thousand ain't to be got off'n every bush these days. I air after that Waldstricker reward, an' I air goin' to get it!"

Tess spread a little wider a few of the dusky, shining curls.

"It's a lot o' money," she said thoughtfully.

Letts hitched his chair nearer the cot and bent over eagerly.

"Sure it air, Tessie," he said, "an' I air here today a purpose to tell ye somethin'. I want you an' yer pa to listen wise to me fer a minute. I air goin' to git that there five thousand an' I air goin' to marry you."

Tess started to speak, but Lysander stopped her with a wag of his head and a wave of his hand.

"I said for ye to listen," he cried brusquely. "Ye ain't havin' offers like mine every day, miss, an' yer Daddy won't never have no chances like I air givin' 'im. I said listen, an' here air what I say.

"It won't be more'n a week afore I hand that dwarf over to the warden. Burnett air comin' down from Auburn. He air almost here by this time. Then when I git the money, I air a goin' to put yer Daddy in a nice place where he'll get rid of 'is rheumatiz, an' after that I air goin' to fix my shack up with a lot of new stuff, an' ye can have the choosin' of it, brat, an' there air my word, by God."

Sandy gazed from father to daughter with a broad smile. He had delivered his speech in pompous pride, his voice rising higher and louder with each word.

"What do ye say, Orn?" he demanded.

Skinner looked at Tess out of the corner of his eye. He could see her lips moving ever so slightly, and he knew she was murmuring a prayer for the little man in the straw. His own eyes felt stinging tears around their lids.

"Ye'll have to settle it with the brat," said he at length, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "I've allers said 's how if Tess wanted to git married, I wouldn't say nothin' 'gainst it, as long as she got a good man."

"An' I air that," Sandy affirmed positively. "'Course I been in jail more'n fifty times, an' mebbe I'll git in fifty times more, but that don't do a man no harm as I knows of. I'd allers leave a little money home for my fambly."

He threw his bold, black eyes upon the little figure in the bed, and the girl dropped her lids.

"How about it, Tessie?" he wheedled in low tones.

Tess wriggled. She didn't know just what answer to give. She wanted to keep the big squatter good-natured, yet desired that he should go away. She was sorry for the little man beneath her.

Prompted by instinct, she turned her solemn brown eyes upon Letts.

"I'll say this to ye, Sandy," she began. "If ye'll let me alone, an' not be tryin' always to kiss me—"

Lysander cracked his knee with one large fist.

"I ain't never got a kiss from ye yet, brat," he chuckled.

"'Course not," she responded; "but 'tain't because ye ain't fit fer one, now air it, Sandy?"

"No, ye can bet on that," laughed the man, "an' I got marks on my shins to this day you put on 'em the last time I tried it. But I like to see ye fight, brat, I swear I do.... Now, how about gettin' married to me, huh?"

Tessibel contemplated the heavy face a moment. She was going to drive a hard bargain with Lysander if she had to drive any at all.

"Ben used to make me awful mad teasin' for kisses," she exclaimed. "I told him an' I air tellin' you, Sandy, I ain't goin' to give any man my kisses less'n I marry him."

Letts puffed out his chest and struck it with a loud resounding whack.

"I air glad of that," he grinned. "It sounds good to me, you bet. I don't want no other man palaverin' over my woman. I got—"

"An' you been makin' me mad lately, too, Sandy," Tess interrupted, "what with runnin' after me an' makin' me fight to keep my own kisses, I don't have no peace. Now, I'll tell ye what I'll do. You get busy an' find Andy Bishop, an' git that five thousand, then ye come here again an' ask me what ye just did, an' ye see what I say to ye. Eh? How'd that suit ye?"

A scarlet flush rushed over Lett's swarthy skin.

"But ye got to promise me ye won't ever try fer no more kisses, till I git married to ye, Sandy," Tess continued. "You said what you wanted; now, I've said somethin', an' I mean it too."

Letts shifted one large boot along a crack in the floor. He was thinking deeply.

"That's pretty tough on a feller when he air lovin' a girl the way I love you, brat," he said after a while.

"But ye got to promise what I want ye to, Sandy, or mebbe I'll git married to some 'un else."

"Ye'd better not, kid," he muttered darkly, "if ye don't want to git yerself an' the other fellow into trouble."

"Then ye'd best promise 'bout the kisses," returned Tess, decidedly.

"I'd kiss ye now fer a two cent piece," he undertoned passionately, but Daddy Skinner had his hand on the other man's arm before he could move toward the cot.

"I wouldn't do nothin' like that, Sandy," he said, ominously. "No man don't kiss my brat less'n she air wantin' his kisses. Tessibel said as how when ye git Bishop an' the five thousand, ye can come back.... Today, she ain't feelin' well, an' I air goin' to ask ye to go along home, or wherever ye were pointed fer when ye stopped 'ere."

Then Daddy Skinner opened the door.

"The leaves won't be fallin' from the trees, brat," he flung back sulkily, "afore I come fer ye, an' don't forgit it!"

Daddy Skinner closed the door and dropped the bar after his departed guest, and there was silence in the shanty until the sound of Lysander's footsteps faded away.

Then Tess crawled off the dwarf and stood up.

"Landy," she groaned, "wouldn't that crack yer ribs! Now I got to be prayin' to beat the band every minute to keep Andy in the garret an' to save me from bein' married to the hatefullest old squatter devil in the hull world."



CHAPTER XIV

THE WARDEN'S COMING

At ten o'clock in the morning, the day after Andy Bishop was fitted into Tessibel's straw tick, a covered runabout wound its way along the lower boulevard running to Glenwood. Two men were seated in it, solemn, dark-browed men, with dull eyes and heavy faces. The man holding the reins was heavy set, square shouldered, and more sternly visaged than his companion. Some one had said of Howard Burnett, that the Powers, in setting him up, had used steel cables for his muscles and iron for his bones; and surely there was a grim grip to his jaw that presaged evil to those opposing him.

"Devilish queer," he muttered, after a long silence, "how that little dwarf ever disappeared the way he has, isn't it, Todd?"

"Not so strange after all," protested Todd. "Andy Bishop could crawl into a rabbit hole and still give the rabbit room to sleep."

"That's true, too, but you'd think his deformity would prevent his getting very far.... Now wouldn't you?"

"Well, I don't know about that, either." The speaker struck a match under the lapel of his coat, and cupping the tiny flame in his hand, held it up to the dead cigar in his mouth, and added between puffs, "Human nature's a funny thing!... Now Andy's got a kind a pleasin' way with him ... even if he is deformed, ... and he's got a peach of a voice. Why, he speaks as soft as a woman.... I wouldn't want him to ask me to do anything I was set against if I didn't want to do it."

"Rotten rubbish!" spat out Burnett. "I don't give a tinker's damn about his voice. It's up to me to run the dwarf to earth, and I'm goin' to do it."

After a very long silence, Todd turned to Burnett.

"But what does get me is why the five thousand Waldstricker's put up, ain't been bait to catch Bishop before this," he said ruminatively.

"Well, it hain't, that's evident," growled Burnett, setting his teeth.

As a rabbit lifts its head, frightened at unusual sights and sounds, so Jake Brewer lifted a startled face as Howard Burnett pulled up his horse suddenly at the squatter's side. The warden stopped the man's progress by lifting his hand.

"Say, you, wait a minute there," he added to his imperative gesture.

Jake paused, curious and attentive.

"Haven't seen a dwarf, anywhere, named Bishop, have you?" Burnett shot forth, leaning toward Brewer.

The squatter shook his head. "There be some Bishops round here," he retorted surlily, "but there ain't no dwarf as I know of by that name."

"Where's the road leadin' down to that row of shacks by the lake?" demanded Burnett. "Ain't there a lot of squatters living there?"

Brewer assented by a wag of his head.

"No end of 'em," said he, "but there ain't no very easy way gettin' down with a horse.... Still, mebbe ye could.... Might tie yer wagon an' walk down."

"Who're you?" shouted the warden, gruffly.

Jake cringed as if the questioner had struck him.

"Jake Brewer," was the unsteady response.

"What's your business?"

"I ain't got no real business," replied the other apologetically. "I fishes an' hunts an' things like that."

"A squatter—eh?"

"Yep, I air a squatter all right," Jake admitted, "but I air a decent man, an' allers been decent. I don't do nothin' I hadn't ought to."

"Who's sayin' you do?" snapped Burnett. "Now, I want to ask you a few questions. I'm from Auburn Prison, and if you lie to me, I'll put you where the dogs won't bite you.... Do you get me?"

Jake's jaw dropped, but he stood still, and looked at the officer anxiously.

"Yep, I get ye," he returned submissively, "an' I ain't a goin' to lie to ye nuther.... What do ye want?"

Burnett's fierce eyes bent a compelling glance on the man in the road.

"How many squatters 're living down by the lake?" he demanded harshly.

Brewer thought a minute.

"I calc'late mebbe there air fifty, mebbe a hundred," he answered. "I ain't never counted 'em, mister."

Jake moved on a little, but the warden stopped him peremptorily.

"Any jail birds down there?" he thrust at him.

Brewer made a negative gesture.

"Not's I know of," he stammered.

"Ain't nobody down there been in jail? Anybody ever been to Auburn?"

Jake's crooked fingers mounted from his hair line to the back of his skull, lifting the soft cap partly from his head. Then he scratched his chin thoughtfully.

"Well, there ain't no guilty man down there," he said, at last. "There air Orn Skinner—"

Burnett gave an exultant cry.

"My God, I'd forgotten he came from this part of the country! So Skinner's here among this set of squatters, eh? What luck! I'll bet—"

"Ye won't find no dwarf in Skinner's shanty," expostulated Brewer with conviction.

"That's up to me to find out!" growled the warden. "Where does Skinner live? Near here?"

Brewer's fingers directed south.

"First turn to the left, 'bout a mile ahead," he pointed out. "Skinner's shack air close to the lake. A hedge and lots of flowers air growin' 'round it."

Burnett tightened his lines, chirruped to the horse, and drove on, the squatter staring open-mouthed after him.

* * * * *

The summer sun bathed the hillside and warmed the Skinner shanty. Tessibel's hedge lifted its green head upward as if to catch the golden rays. The flower beds rimmed the hut like a bewildering, gorgeous rainbow. Everything belonging to Tess seemed at absolute peace with itself and the world.

Orn Skinner, his head sunken between the two humps on his shoulders, was lazily whittling a stick when the sound of a horse's hoofs in the lane near Young's barn arrested his attention. It was the one sound the squatter expected that day, yet dreaded. Furtively, he leaned back near the partly open door.

"Some 'un's coming, Tess," he warned.

Evidently, the fisherman did not expect an answer, for he straightened up once more and proceeded to whittle. The pitter-patter of the trotting horse, and the clatter of the wheels upon the flinty road, broke rudely upon the familiar little noises of the quiet summer morning. One sidewise glance satisfied Orn that the men in the vehicle were from Auburn prison. He stopped whittling but a moment when Burnett drew up.

"Hello, Orn," called the officer, stentorian-voiced.

"Hello," and the squatter made a polite salute with his stick.

Burnett tossed the reins to the man at his side and climbed to the ground, advancing toward the fisherman.

"This your hut, Skinner?" he interrogated.

Orn Skinner's tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. He endeavored to speak, but apprehension and dread had apparently paralyzed his vocal organs. He hadn't fully realized until that moment how desperate the venture to which he had committed himself and Tess. Between Andy Bishop and this formidable giant from Auburn was but the brave little daughter inside the hut. Would she be able to carry through the hazardous task she'd undertaken?

"You remember me, don't you, Skinner?"

It took several seconds before the fisherman could clear his throat enough to speak.

"Yep," he succeeded at length in muttering. "I remember ye all right.... Ye air Burnett from Auburn, ain't ye?... What do ye want around here?"

Suddenly there came to the powerful officer a wild desire to throttle the heavy-headed squatter. He had a feeling that this man knew more than he could be forced to tell, perhaps.

"Better hold a civil tongue in your head, old fellow," he threatened, "if you know what's best for you."

Orn lifted one great shoulder.

"Ye ain't got nothin' on me, Burnett," he snarled defiantly, "but I know ye wouldn't be comin' 'round here if ye didn't have somethin' to come fer."

The warden shoved his grim face so close to the speaker's that he drew back, intimidated.

"Sure, I come for something," snorted Burnett, viciously.

"Then peel it off," answered Skinner, deep in his throat. "I air listenin'."

He was bending so far back now that his shaggy head rested against the shanty boards. Burnett was piercing him with a strange, mesmeric gaze.

"Where's Andy Bishop?" boomed like thunder from the warden.

That name, though he knew his questioner's errand, so suddenly falling on Orn's ears, congealed his blood and knotted his muscles with fear.

"Andy Bishop?" he echoed irresolutely. "Andy Bishop? Who air Andy Bishop?"

Burnett lifted a huge fist, but dropped it again. The time hadn't arrived to punch from Skinner the knowledge he wanted. Later, perhaps—

"Now none of that, Skinner," he barked savagely. "None of that, you hump-backed brute. You know perfectly well who I mean, and you know where the dwarf is, and we want him and we want him quick.... He made his getaway from Auburn.... Now give him up, see?"

Second by second, and minute by minute, Orn Skinner was gathering his courage and strength. All through his life he had been used to brutal officials like Burnett; so swallowing hard, he raised his great gray head and looked straight into the other's dark face.

"If ye mean that little dwarf who were up to Auburn when I were there, I don't know nothin' about him," he said. "I ain't never heard he come from this end of the lake."

The warden's fist knotted once more.

"You're a liar, Skinner," he scraped from his throat. "Now look here! I know confounded well you know where he is. If you don't want me to hand you trouble by the bushel, you'd better cough up that little dwarf. Get me? Eh?"

The fingers holding the broad-bladed knife sank to the fisherman's knee, and for a moment the stick Orn had been cutting poised in the air. Then a slow, broad smile showed his discolored teeth.

"It air the truth I been tellin' you," he declared deliberately. "I don't know nothin' about Bishop, an' I don't want to know nothin'.... Ye ain't got anything on me, Burnett. I air a livin' here peaceful with my kid."

"Well, I'm goin' to search your shanty, anyhow," Burnett growled menacingly, his under jaw sticking out like a bull dog's.

"Well, search it, I ain't carin'," consented Orn. "But my kid air sick in there, an' I don't want ye to scare her."

Without waiting for further parley, Burnett, like an enraged lion, bounded to the shanty threshold and one long stride took him well on his way across the kitchen. Suddenly he stopped, staring straight ahead of him, as if some shining spectre from another world had appeared in his path.



CHAPTER XV

THE SEARCH

Burnett wiped his hand across his eyes to efface the vision which so unexpectedly impeded his official progress. It was the sight of a girl, nestled on a cot, and over the pillow upon which her head rested was strewn in a wild, magnificent disarray, a profusion of tawny curls, such as he never had seen. For a moment the corpulent deputy from Auburn, the terror of all the criminals in the country around, forgot his delegated obligation to the state. Tessibel Skinner's two slender arms huddled a small, speckled hoot owl; and as in a dream, Burnett noted the girl's red lips touched the bird affectionately in a hasty little caress. Another thing he noted was the unflinching and prolonged questioning glance with which the red-brown eyes met his. Tess couldn't speak a word at first, now that she was actually face to face with the man after Andy. He was even sterner than she had imagined he would be.

Quite gravely she considered his big frame from head to foot, took hasty account of the firm setting of his jaw, and the deep, clean-cut lines from his eyes to his chin. Then, she smiled a rare, enchanting smile, the deepening dimples around the red moist lips suffusing the deputy warden with a warm, welcoming glow.

"I heard ye talkin' to Daddy, mister," she said, gulping. "I air awful glad ye came in to see me too. I'd a been hurt if ye'd gone without my gettin' a peep at ye."

During each infinitesimal space of time, Burnett stood in the sunshine of Tessibel's smile, his austere churlishness was slipping from him like a loosened garment. As if forced by an unseen hand, he took one step nearer her.

"Set down, sir," invited Tess, clutching the owl with one hand, and making an elaborate sweep with the other. "That air Daddy's chair—ye air awful handsome and big, but the chair'll hold ye all right."

Burnett caught his breath and sank into the indicated seat. He'd intended to turn that shanty over from top to bottom, to rip it almost to the ground. But the sight of the red-headed sprite on the cot fondling a woodland owl, and the effect of her smile upon the beating of his heart, dissolved his rage and stayed his action.

"Well, I'll be damned!" was all he said, and Tess smiled again. She didn't mind if he swore. The one thing she desired was to get rid of him as soon as possible. She was conscious of the gyrations of Andy Bishop curled in the straw under her slender body, and she knew her curls were shrouding a face distorted with anxiety.

"Are you sick, kid?" questioned Burnett, when he could draw a natural breath.

"Well, ye see," acknowledged Tess, "I ain't 'xactly sick, but I got my ankle all packed up. Sometimes girls hurt their ankles an' they have to put a rag 'round 'em."

Tessibel was very careful not to say she'd hurt hers in this explanation to Burnett's question.

"An' then ye see, sir," she pursued, "if ye turn yer foot over an' can't walk, ye have to go to bed a spell, huh?"

"Well, I should say so!" asseverated Burnett, mustering the manner he always used with ladies. "Say, by George, I didn't know Orn Skinner had a pretty kid like you."

"My, didn't ye?" gurgled Tess, with shy lids drooping and her color mounting. "I thought everybody in the hull world knew I were Daddy's brat. He air had me fer ever so long. I been growed up for a lot of years." She shifted the owl in her arms. "This owl air named Deacon.... Want to pet 'im a minute, huh?"

The warden threw back his head and roared. He felt as if he'd been hung up for days by the thumbs—that this girl had mercifully cut the ropes and let him down once more to peace and happiness.

"No, thanks, I'll let you keep your pet," he laughed good-humoredly. "Queer play fellow for a girl, that's my opinion."

After a few more compliments, through which Tessibel flirted her way into the big man's regard, the officer rose to his feet.

"Little lady, I came here for a specific reason," he announced. Unquenchable mischief shone upon him from smiling, enquiring eyes.

"Oh," giggled Tess, "anyway, I air awful glad ye come."

The grim lips of the deputy curled upward again. Tess adored his mouth twisted at the corners like that.

"I might as well get it over first as last," ventured Burnett. "But I'm more'n anxious you shouldn't be mad at me. The fact is we've traced a man down from Auburn—"

Tessibel interrupted him, startled; at least she acted so.

"From Auburn!" she gasped.

"Yes, ma'am, a murderer! Andy Bishop. Little man like this," the warden explained, measuring a short space from the floor. "By some means or other he wriggled his way out of prison—"

Tessibel's lips trembled and she turned her eyes away. Old memories rushed over her, memories of the cold winter when she'd been alone in the shack.

"An' ye thought 'cause Daddy'd been up there once, the man must a run right straight here, huh?" she accused, with a sob in her voice.

"Well, I'll admit till I saw you I thought—I thought, but now—," a negative gesture with his hand finished his answer.

Tessibel turned withering, tear-wet eyes on her visitor.

"I 'spose ye air thinkin' my Daddy even had something to do with his flyin' the coop?" she flared up. "Air that it?"

"No! No! I didn't think that at all," the under-warden made haste to deny. "I just couldn't think that about your father."

Tessibel dimpled, suddenly glowing like a vivid poppy.

"Thank ye," she whispered, wiping away the tears. "Why! My Daddy wouldn't do nothin' bad for anythin' in the world. He's the best old Daddy livin'."

"Of course he is," vouched the warden, placatingly, "but what I want to know is would you mind, or would it hurt your feelings—The fact is, I came to search this house."

Tess had expected this, and without demurring, flashed forth,

"Ye mean ye want to go 'round it, don't ye, lookin' in all the corners an' places; air that it, sir?"

Burnett acknowledged this by a nod.

"Sure, search it if ye want to, I don't mind. Ye'll 'scuse me not gettin' up, won't ye? There ain't much to search, but ye can go in the garret if ye want to. It air only a cubby hole; even the weest man in the hull world couldn't stand up in it."

Andy stirred perceptibly beneath her.

"Then there air Daddy's room," Tess continued, "an' this room air the kitchen an' the dinin' room an' the parlor, an' all the other rooms.... An'—an' it air my room, too."

"My God, but you're a cute kid!" he chuckled.

Tessibel's laugh rang out deliciously fresh and free, and Burnett caught it up and sent it back in one loud guffaw. Then the girl lifted one of her curls and spread it out to its extreme length. Tess had been born possessing all the arts of her sex, and used them effectively, upon an occasion like this.

"I wish my ankle wasn't wrapped up," she smiled hospitably. "I'd show ye 'round the shanty myself. Ye noticed the hedge when ye come in, didn't ye? Well—I planted that an' all the flowers—and this owl belongs to me an' I keep 'im in the garret,—an'—I almost got a dog once, but not quite! Job Kennedy owns 'im, an his name air Pete, but he likes to live here better'n he does to Job's." Tess gasped for breath and flushed rosily. "But I air keepin' ye, sir," she excused, "an I mustn't do that. You go on and look in Daddy Skinner's room an'—then ye go up in the garret, an' then ye can look behind the chairs an' behind the stove, an' ye can look under the bed—"

She paused dramatically and held up a warning finger.

"Please don't scare none of my bats nor my uther owls in the garret. They be awful nice bats an' awful nice owls too! Ye wouldn't hurt 'em, would ye, mister?"

"I won't do anything you don't want me to, kid," the infatuated man promised. "Honest, I won't search the house if you say not."

"Oh, sure, search it," insisted Tess. "Then ye'll be pretty sure there ain't nobody hidin' 'round."

Burnett walked toward Daddy Skinner's room.

"I wouldn't mind havin' a daughter like you," he vowed, looking back. "I got two nice boys to home, but I tell you a man misses a lot in the world, if he doesn't have a girl. Why, kiddie, I've had a better time in the past five minutes than I've had in the past five years." He paused, his hand on the latch of the door into Daddy Skinner's room.

Tessibel gurgled and giggled, and giggled and gurgled, as if she hadn't a care in the world although she felt a paralyzing pain in her heart for the dwarf beneath her. Then she threw a mischievous glance into the man's face and offered,

"While ye air searchin' the shanty, I'll sing to ye, huh?"

"Now, can ye sing?" interrogated Burnett, smilingly.

"Oh, Golly, sir, I been singin' since I weren't no bigger'n this owl," replied Tess. "I'll begin now."

She knew Andy must be numb with fright and the weight of her body, and remembered how many times when he had been kept in the garret long periods together, while people were coming and going, and danger ran high, she had sung to him—it had soothed his pains, allayed his agony.

So as Burnett disappeared from sight into the little back room, Tessibel began to sing the old, but ever newly encouraging song,

"Rescue the Perishin'; Care for the Dyin'."

And in the fleeting moment during which the officer from Auburn was searching Daddy's room, her hand went backward quickly and reassuring fingers touched the dwarf's face concealed by her curls, and still she sang,

"Rescue the Perishin'; Care for the Dyin'."

Then Tess felt Andy's body relax and heard the faintest possible sigh.

When Burnett came forth unsuccessful but cheerful, her fingers were toying with her curls, and she broke off her song, question him with her eyes.

"There ain't a soul in there," laughed the man. "I might a'known Bishop wasn't around here; in fact, I did know it the minute I looked at you, kid. Now, just as a matter of law and order, I'll take a peep in the garret and under the bed, and then I'm done ... Say, you got some voice, ain't you, kid?"

"It can holler good and loud," grinned Tess.

"And you're some religious, I bet, according to the hymn you've been singin'," went on the warden. "Now ain't you?"