The Secret of the Storm Country
by Grace Miller White · English · Gutenberg #20548 · 633,961 chars · public domain (US)
The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Secret of the Storm Country
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: The Secret of the Storm Country
Author: Grace Miller White
Illustrator: Lucius Wolcott Hitchcock
Release date: February 8, 2007 [eBook #20548]
Most recently updated: December 5, 2021
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20548
Credits: Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET OF THE STORM COUNTRY ***
Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: "I CAST THE FIRST STONE," HE SAID SWIFTLY]
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
THE SECRET OF THE STORM COUNTRY
BY
GRACE MILLER WHITE
AUTHOR OF
TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY,
ROSE O' PARADISE, ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY
LUCIUS W. HITCHCOCK
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1916, by
Woman's World.
Copyright, 1917, by
Woman's World.
Copyright, 1917, by
The H. K. Fly Company.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
I Lovingly Dedicate this Book to
Lil And Arthur Miller
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I. The Squatter Folk 9
II. The Coming of Andy Bishop 16
III. Tessibel Meets Waldstricker 25
IV. Tess and Frederick 33
V. A Gossip With "Satisfied" 38
VI. Waldstricker Makes a Proposal 44
VII. Waldstricker and Mother Moll 53
VIII. Tessibel's Marriage 58
IX. The Musicale 64
X. A Victim of Circumstances 72
XI. Frederick Intimidated 80
XII. Making Ready for the Warden 86
XIII. Sandy Proposes to Tess 94
XIV. The Warden's Coming 99
XV. The Search 105
XVI. Tessibel's Secret 112
XVII. Tessibel's Prayer 124
XVIII. A Letter 131
XIX. Its Answer 137
XX. Madelene Complains to Ebenezer 144
XXI. The End of the Honeymoon 149
XXII. The Repudiation 152
XXIII. The Quarrel 159
XXIV. Waldstricker Interferes 164
XXV. The Summons 168
XXVI. The Churching 171
XXVII. Daddy Skinner's Death 182
XXVIII. Young Discovers Andy 189
XXIX. The Vigil 195
XXX. Sandy Comes to Grief 202
XXXI. Waldstricker's Threat 207
XXXII. Helen's Message 211
XXXIII. Hands Stronger Than Waldstricker's 215
XXXIV. Love Air Everywhere the Hull Time 222
XXXV. Boy Skinner 227
XXXVI. Deforrest Decides 232
XXXVII. The New Home 238
XXXVIII. Dinner at Waldstricker's 244
XXXIX. Father and Son 250
XL. Husband and Wife 256
XLI. Tessibel's Discovery 261
XLII. A Man's Arm at the Window 266
XLIII. Sandy's Job 271
XLIV. Sandy's Visit 276
XLV. Andy Vindicated 279
XLVI. Sandy's Courting 286
XLVII. Waldstricker's Anger 294
XLVIII. The Sins of the Parents 302
XLIX. Tessibel and Elsie 311
L. Tessibel's Vision 321
LI. The Christmas Guest 328
LII. The Storm 334
LIII. The Happy Day 339
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page.
"I cast the first stone," he said swiftly Frontispiece
"I will," gritted Waldstricker, in spite of himself interested
in the old woman's revelations 30
"I was wonderin' little one, when you say your prayers,
if you'd pipe one for me?" 111
"Hush!" he cried, "Haven't you any heart?" 157
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER I
THE SQUATTER FOLK
The lazy warmth of a May afternoon, the spring following Orn Skinner's
release from Auburn Prison, was reflected in the attitudes of three men
lounging on the shore in front of "Satisfied" Longman's shack. At their
feet, the waters of Cayuga Lake dimpled under the rays of the western
sun. Like a strip of burnished silver, the inlet wound its way through
the swamp from the elevators and railroad stations near the foot of
south hill. Across the lake rose the precipitous slopes of East Hill,
tapestried in green, etched here and there by stretches of winding white
road, and crowned by the buildings on the campus of Cornell University.
Stretched from the foot of State Street on either side of the Lehigh
Valley track lay the Silent City, its northern end spreading several
miles up the west shore of the Lake. Its inhabitants were canalers,
fishermen and hunters, uneducated, rough and superstitious. They built
their little huts in the simplest manner out of packing boxes and rough
lumber and roofed them with pieces of tin and sheet iron. Squatters they
were appropriately named, because they paid no attention to land titles,
but stuck their shacks wherever fancy indicated or convenience dictated.
The people of the Silent City slept by day and went very quietly about
their work under the cover of darkness, for the game laws compelled the
fishermen to pull their nets at night, and the farmers' chickens were
more easily caught, his fruit more easily picked when the sun was
warming China.
Summers, their lives were comparatively free from hardships. Fish were
plentiful and easy to take; the squatter women picked flowers and
berries in the woods and sold them in the city and the men worked
occasionally, as the fit struck them. But the winters were bitter and
cruel. The countryside, buried deep in snow, made travel difficult.
When the mercury shrank timidly into the bulb and fierce winds howled
down the lake, the Silent City seemed, indeed, the Storm Country.
"I were up to the Graves' place yesterday, helpin' Professor Young,"
said Jake Brewer, the youngest and most active of the three men.
"Never had no use fer that duffer, Dominie Graves, myself," answered
Longman. The speaker turned a serious face to the third member of the
party. "Ner you nuther, eh, Orn?"
Orn Skinner was an enormous man, some six and a half feet tall. Two
great humps on his shoulders accentuated the breadth and thickness of
his chest while they tended to conceal the length of his arms. A few
months before he'd been in the death house at Auburn. Through the
efforts of Deforrest Young, the dean of the Law College at Cornell, he'd
been pardoned and sent home.
The gigantic squatter removed his pipe from his mouth and smoothed the
thready white beard, straggling over his chin.
"Nope, I hated 'im," he muttered. "He done me dirt 'nough. If it hadn't
been fer Tess an' Lawyer Young, he'd a hung me sure."
"Ye didn't git the deed to yer shack land afore he died, did ye, Orn?"
interrupted "Satisfied" Longman. "Tessibel told ma the preacher promised
it to ye."
A moody expression settled in Skinner's eyes. "So he did promise it," he
explained. "He writ Tess a letter. He said as how he were sorry for his
meanness an' would give me the deed. But he didn't!"
A shrill voice calling his name brought "Satisfied" Longman to his feet,
and he hobbled away toward the shack.
"'Pears like 'Satisfied' ain't got much strength any more," said
Skinner. "He ain't been worth much of anythin' sence I got back."
"Him an' Ma Longman've failed a lot sence Myry an' Ezry died," agreed
Jake. "An' no wonder! Them two didn't amount to much to my way o'
thinkin', but their pa an' ma set considerable store by 'em ... Ben
Letts were a bad 'un, too. It used to make me plumb ugly to see 'im
botherin' Tess when ye was shet up, Orn, an' him all the time the daddy
of Myry's brat."
"Yep, Ben were bad," agreed Skinner. "I were sure he done the shootin',
but 'tweren't till Ezry swore he saw 'im that the lawyer could prove I
didn't do it. But Tess says Myry loved Ben. Women air queer critters,
ain't they?"
"Myry sure was," assented Brewer, thoughtfully. "In spite of Ezry's
tellin' her, Ben'd most drowned him, an' done the killin' they was goin'
to hang you fer, up she gits an' takes the brat an' goes off with Ben.
It were the worst storm of the year. No wonder him, Myry an' their brat
all was drowned."
Longman, coming out of the shack, overheard the last remark. The other
two fell silent. After he'd sat down again, he dissipated their
embarrassment by saying,
"But Tess says Myry air happy now 'cause she air got Ben. Fer myself, I
dunno, though. But, if Myry air satisfied, me an' ma air satisfied,
too."
The other two nodded in solemn sympathy. After a moment, Jake took out
his pipe and filled it. Holding the lighted match above the bowl, he
glanced at Skinner.
"Where air Tess?" he asked.
"She air up to Young's. He air learnin' her book stuff, an' his sister
air helpin' the brat sing. It air astonishin' how the brat takes to it.
Jest like a duck to water."
"Tess air awful smart," sighed Longman, "an' she air awful good, too.
She sings fer ma 'most every day. I heard her only yesterday, somethin'
'bout New Jerusylem. Ma loves Tessibel's singin'."
Then, for perhaps the space of three minutes, they lapsed into silence.
At length, Jake Brewer spoke,
"Be ye goin' to let her marry the Student Graves, Orn?" he asked.
"I dunno," Skinner muttered, "but I know this much, I don't like high
born pups like him hangin' 'round my girl. 'Tain't fittin' an' I told
Tess so!"
Orn knocked the ashes out of his pipe and rose slowly.
"Guess I'll be moseyin' 'long, pals," he smiled. "The brat'll be back
'fore long."
"Wait a minute, Orn," Longman broke in. "Ma's got some pork an' beans
she wants to send up to Mother Moll. She thought, mebbe, Tess'd take 'em
to 'er."
"Sure, 'Satisfied,' I'll take 'em home an' the brat'll take 'em up the
ravine next time she goes to the professor's."
"Mother Moll were the only one of us all," Jake told Skinner, while
Longman was in the shack, "what stood by Tess. She allers says Tess air
a goin' to surprise us all. She says as how the brat'll be rich an' have
a fine home. I dunno--but old Moll do tell the future right good when
she looks in the pot."
"She told the brat I were comin' home from Auburn," added Skinner, "when
it looked certain I were goin' to hang."
Longman came out of the shack with a pan in his hands.
"Yep," he corroborated. "An' she told ma years ago she'd lose her brats
in a storm. Old Moll air a wise woman, all right."
The dish of beans in his hand, the Bible-backed fisherman directed his
steps toward his own home, some distance away beyond the ragged rocks.
The old squatter walked slowly. His health had broken in prison and his
strength seemed hardly sufficient to move the big body. The path, an
outcropping ledge of the precipitous cliff, was very narrow because of
the unusually high level of the water in the lake. Picking his way
slowly, he considered reminiscently the events which had almost
destroyed him.
He recalled the long years of monotonous existence in the shack, the
hard nights pulling the nets and the varied scrapes Tess had tumbled
into. Then, suddenly, came the shooting of the game keeper, his own
arrest, trial and conviction. The white glare of hateful publicity had
been thrown, without warning, upon him and his motherless brat. He'd
been torn away from his quiet haunts at the lake side and shut up in the
narrow confines of a fetid cell. The enforced separation from his
daughter, at the critical period between girl and womanhood, had left
her alone in the shanty and exposed her to countless perils and
hardships. Unmitigated calamities, especially the long imprisonment,
they had seemed at the time, but the event proved otherwise.
Friends had arisen and helped him establish his innocence and win his
pardon. The responsibilities thrown upon the squatter girl had been met
with love and courage and had disciplined her high temper and awakened
her ambition. The dirt and disorder that had formerly obtained in the
shack had disappeared. Her housewifely arts had transformed the hut into
a comfortable home, rough to be sure, small and inadequate, but
immaculate and satisfactory.
The shanty stood on a little point of land projecting into the lake.
Huge weeping willows shrouded it from the sun in summer. They mourned
and murmured of the past, when the breezes of morning and evening
stirred their whispering leaves. Their bare limbs thrashed and pounded
the tin roof when the storm winds tore down the lake. In front and to
one side, Tessibel's new privet hedge shone a dark, dusky green, and the
flower beds were beginning to show orderly life through the blackish
mold. The shack itself was rather more pretentious than most of the
squatter shanties. It had two rooms and was thoroughly battened against
the storms.
Coming into the path, Orn met his daughter and went with her to the
house.
The greatest change the year had brought was in the girl herself. She
had ripened into the early maturity common to the squatter woman. She
was no longer the red-haired tatterdemalion who had romped over the
rocks and quarreled with the boys of the Silent City. Her tom-boy days,
amid the ceaseless struggles against the hardships of the Storm Country,
gave to her slender body strength and lent to it poise and grace.
Bright brown eyes lighted by loving intelligence illumined her face,
tanned by sun and wind, but very sweet and winsome, especially when the
curving red lips melted into a smile. A profusion of burnished red
curls, falling about her shoulders almost to her hips, completed the
vivid picture. Tess of the Storm Country, the animate expression of the
joy and beauty of the lake side in spring, was the boast of the Silent
City.
* * * * *
Late that same night, Tessibel lay asleep in the front room of the
shanty. Four miles to the south, Ithaca, too, slept,--the wholesome
sleep of a small country town, while Cayuga Lake gleamed and glistened
in the moonlight, as if fairies were tumbling it with powdered fingers.
Above both town and span of water, Cornell University loomed darkly on
the hill, the natural skyline sharply cut by its towers and spires.
An unusual sound awakened her. She lifted her lids and glanced about
drowsily, then propped herself on one elbow. Her sleep-laden eyes fell
upon the white light slanting across the rough shanty floor. Suddenly,
like a dark ghost, a shadow darted into it--the shadow of a human head.
At the first glimpse at it, Tessibel looked cautiously toward the
window, and there, as in a frame, was a face--a man's face. Tess dropped
on her pillow. For possibly two minutes, she lay quietly waiting, while
the shadow moved curiously to and fro on the floor. Twice the head
disappeared, and as suddenly returned, poised a moment, then, like an
image moving across a screen, was gone. Instantly Tess sat straight up
in bed. Perhaps one of the squatters needed her. She crept to the floor,
yawning, tiptoed to the door, and unbarred it. Without pausing to cover
her feet, she stepped outside, the fresh scent of May blossoms sweeping
sweet to her nostrils. The warm night-wind, full of elusive odors,
brushed her face like thready cobwebs, that broke at her touch, only to
caress her anew.
Midnight held no fear for Tessibel, for she loved every living creature,
those traveling by day being no dearer than those flying by night. She
felt no deeper thrills for the bright-winged birds singing in the sun
than for yonder owl who screeched at her, now, from the weeping willow
tree.
After picking her way to the front of the shanty, she made a tour of the
house and encircled the mud cellar, calling softly the while. No one
appeared; no voice, either of friend or stranger, answered the
persuasive importunity of Tessibel. But, after she was again in the
doorway, she heard north of the shanty the crackling of twigs as if some
stealthy animal were crawling over them. If there were an intruder, he'd
gone, and the girl, satisfied, went back into the house and once more
lay down to sleep.
When she woke again, Daddy Skinner was moving softly near the stove,
kindling the fire, and Tessibel lay in languid silence. She watched him
yearningly until he felt her gaze and looked at her. His twisted smile
of greeting brought an exclamation of love from the girl. All the
inhabitants of the Silent City knew this crippled old man could play on
the emotions of his lovely young daughter as the morning sun plays upon
the sensibilities of the lark. How she adored him, in spite of his great
humps and his now hobbling legs!
Soon, her father went to the lake for a pail of water, and she sprang
from the cot and dressed hastily.
CHAPTER II
THE COMING OF ANDY BISHOP
Later in the forenoon, when Tessibel returned home from an errand to
Kennedys', she found Daddy Skinner on the bench at the side of the
shanty, one horny hand clutching the bowl of a pipe in which the ashes
were dead. It took but one sharp glance from the red-brown eyes for Tess
to note that his face was white, almost grey; she saw, too, with a
quiver of loving sympathy, that his lower lip hung away from his dark
teeth as though he suffered. She sprang toward him, and dropped to her
knees, at his side.
"Daddy Skinner!" she exclaimed. "Daddy Skinner, ye're sick! Ye're sick,
darlin'!... Tell me, Daddy, what air the matter? Tell Tessibel."
She laid her hand tenderly on his chest. His heart was beating a heavy
tattoo against the blue gingham shirt.
"Ye hurt here?" she queried breathlessly.
The pipe dropped to the soft sand, and Skinner's crooked fingers fell
upon the profusion of red curls. Then he slowly tilted up her face.
"Yep, I hurt in there!" he muttered brokenly.
And as ashen and more ashen grew the wrinkled old countenance, Tessibel
cried out sharply in protest.
"Why, Daddy, what d'ye mean by yer heart's hurtin' ye?... What do ye
mean, Daddy?... I thought the doctor'd fixed yer heart so it wouldn't
pain ye no more."
The man considered the appealing young face an instant.
"I want to talk to ye about somethin'," said he, presently, "and I know
ye'll never tell anythin' Daddy tells ye."
With a little shake of her head that set the tawny curls a-tremble,
Tessibel squatted back on her feet.
"'Course I won't tell nobody, but if ye've got a pain in yer heart,
daddy, the doctor--"
"I don't need no doctor, brat. I jest--jest got to talk to ye, that air
all."
A slender girlish figure cuddled between Daddy Skinner's knees, and warm
young lips met his. Never had Tess seen him look just that way, not even
when he had been taken from her to prison. The expression on his face
was hopeless, forlornly hopeless, and to wait until he began to speak
took all the patience the eager girl-soul could muster.
"Brat, dear," he sighed at length, "I ain't needin' to tell ye again
what I went through in Auburn, hev I?"
Brown eyes, frightened and fascinated, sought and found the faded greys.
"'Course not, Daddy Skinner! But what fer air ye talkin' about Auburn
Prison?... Ye promised me, Daddy, ye'd forgit all about them days, an'
now what're ye rememberin' 'em fer?"
Skinner's face blanched, and drops of sweat formed in the spaces behind
his ears and trickled in little streams down his neck.
"I got to remember 'em, child," he groaned.
"What fer I want to know? Ye'd best make a hustle an' tell me or, in a
minute, I'll be gettin' awful mad."
The pleading, sorrowful face belied the threat, and a pair of red lips
touched Skinner's hand between almost every word.
"Do ye bring to mind my tellin' ye about any of the fellers up there,
Tessibel?" came at length from the man's shaking lips.
Tess stroked his arm lovingly.
"Sure, Daddy, I remember 'bout lots of 'em, an' how good they be, an'
how kind, an' how none of 'em be guilty."
"Ye bet none of 'em be guilty," muttered Daddy Skinner. "Nobody air ever
guilty who gets in jail.... Folks be mostly guilty that air out o'
prison to my mind."
"That air true, Daddy Skinner," she assented, smiling. "Sure it air
true, but it ain't no good reason fer you to be yappin' 'bout Auburn,
air it?... Now git that look out of yer eyes, an' tell Tessibel what air
troublin' ye!"
But Daddy Skinner's grave old face still kept its set expression. The
haunted look, born in his eyes in the Ithaca Jail, had returned after
all these happy months. Tess was frantic with apprehension and dread.
"Ye know well's ye're born, Daddy, nobody can hurt ye," she told him
strenuously. "Ye've got Tessibel, and ye've got--" She was about to say,
"Frederick," but substituted, "Professor Young."
The girl lovingly slipped her fingers over her father's heavy hand and
drew it from her curls.
"Ye're goin' to peel it off to me now, ain't ye?" she coaxed.
"Let's go inside the shanty," said the fisherman, in a thick voice.
With the door closed and barred, the father and daughter sat for some
time in troubled silence.
"I asked if ye remembered some of my pals in Auburn Prison, an' ye said
ye did, didn't ye, Tessibel?" asked Skinner, suddenly.
Tess gave an impatient twist of her shoulders.
"An' I told ye I did, Daddy," she replied. "'Course I do. I ain't never
forgot nobody who were good to you, honey."
"An' ye're pretty well satisfied, ain't ye, brat, most of 'em there air
innercent?"
"Ye bet, Daddy darlin', I air that!"
"Well, what if one of them men who were good to yer old father'd come
an' ask ye to do somethin' for 'im?"
With an upward movement of her head, Tessibel scrambled to her feet.
"Why, I'd help 'im!" she cried in one short, quick breath. "I'd help
'im; 'course I would."
"An' ye'd always keep it a secret?"
"Keep what a secret?"
Daddy Skinner's face grew furtive with fear.
"Why--well now, s'posin' Andy Bishop--ye remember Andy, the little man I
told ye about, the weenty, little dwarf who squatted near Glenwood?"
Tess nodded, and the fisherman went on, hesitant.
"He--were accused--of murderin'--"
"Waldstricker--Ebenezer Waldstricker's father?" interjected Tess. "Sure,
I remember!" Her eyes widened in anxiety. "Andy were sent up there fer
all his life, weren't he? An' weren't he the one Sandy Letts swore
agin?... 'Satisfied' Longman says Waldstricker give Sandy money for
tellin' the jury what he did."
"Like as not," answered Skinner. "Anyhow, Bishop were there fer life! He
air been there five years a innercent man.... My God, _Auburn fer five
years_!"
The last four words were wailed forth, the look of hopeless horror
deepening in his old eyes. Then he threw back his shoulders and spoke
directly to Tess.
"Well, what if he skipped out o' jail, an' what if he'd come here an'
say, 'Kid, 'cause what I done fer yer dad, now you do somethin' fer
me!'"
Tess was trembling with excitement as she stood before her father. The
generosity of her loving nature instinctively responded to his apparent
need. She was instantly eager to show her love and loyalty.
"I'd do it, Daddy!" she exploded. "I'd do it quick!"
"But what if--if--if--if--it made ye lots of trouble an'--an'--mebbe
some of yer friends--if they found it out--wouldn't think 'twere right?"
A queer, obstinate expression lived a moment in the girl's eyes. Then
she smiled.
"I ain't got no friends who'd say it were wrong to help somebody what'd
helped my darlin' old daddy."
Skinner bent his heavy brows in a troubled frown over stern eyes.
"But ye couldn't tell yer friends about it, kid," he cautioned.
A mist shone around the girl's thick lashes.
"Daddy, ye know I never blat things I hadn't ought to.... Slide yer arms
'round yer brat's neck, look 'er straight in the eye, an' tell 'er 'bout
Andy; an' if she can help, she sure will."
A noise in the vicinity of the cot gave Tessibel an involuntary start.
She turned her head slowly and saw two feet protruding from under her
bed. Clinging to Daddy Skinner, she watched, with widening lids, a
dwarfed figure crawl slowly into full view, and Tess found herself
staring into a pair of beautiful, boyish, blue eyes.
A slow smile broke over the dwarf's face.
"Yer brat's the right sort, Orn," he cried, in the sweetest tenor voice
Tess ever heard. "Ye don't need to make her promise no more.... Her word
air good's God's law."
"So it air, Andy," replied Orn. "Tessibel, this air my friend, Andy
Bishop, an' he were a good pal, as good as any man ever had."
For one single, tensely-strung moment, Tessibel contemplated the ugly
little figure and the upraised, appealing face. Then as a sudden sense
of protection spurred her to immediate action, she sent back a welcoming
smile. Two or three quick steps took her to the dwarf's side.
"I air going' to help ye, Andy," she announced brokenly. "Ye was in
prison fer life, wasn't ye, huh?"
"Yep, an'--an' I broke out, kid.... An' I ain't able to tell how I done
it."
"Oh, never mind that!" soothed Tessibel. "Ye was lookin' in the window
last night, wasn't ye?"
The dwarf rolled his eyes at the squatter, then back to the girl.
"Yep, that were me, but I didn't do no murder, brat; that air the main
thing an' Sandy Letts lied when he told the jury I done it."
"He said as how ye gunned Ebenezer Waldstricker's father, eh?" Tess
interrupted. "Eb air the richest man in Ithaca, an' him an' his sister
air been to Europe, but they come back early in the spring. I see 'em
every Sunday at Hayt's when I go there to sing. He air goin' to marry
Mr. Young's sister, Helen, an' he air gittin' some pink peach when he
gets her, ye can bet on that."
"But he'll get me by my neck if he can," lamented the dwarf, in despair.
"Waldstricker air a mean duffer--a mighty mean duffer."
"He air awful religious," reflected Tess, soberly. "I s'posed he were
awful good."
The dwarf made a gesture of disgust with his hand.
"Well, good or bad, I never killed his daddy," he returned. "I saw Owen
Bennett when he done it, but him an' Sandy socked it off on me. I got
life an' Owen got ten years.... There ain't no makin' him own up he done
it, air there, Orn?"
"Nope," mumbled the fisherman. "Most men won't take life sentence by
confessin' when by keepin' still they c'n git off with ten years."
"Mr. Waldstricker air a awful big, handsome lookin' man," asserted Tess,
thoughtfully. "Folks says he air good to the poor, too. He air the
biggest, fattest, elegantest elder in our church."
Andy flipped his fingers in the air and summed up what he thought of the
last statement in five words.
"Shucks! That fer the church," mocked he.
"It air just like Sandy Letts to lie about ye," remarked Tess, changing
the subject abruptly. "There ain't a hatefuller man in the Silent City
'n him. He makes a pile of money, though.... Once last fall he dragged
the lake fer two students an' got a thousand apiece fer handin' 'em over
to their folks, dead."
"He'd git five thousand fer handin' me over to Waldstricker, alive,"
replied Andy, solemnly. "I wouldn't a gone up if 't 'adn't been fer him.
He can lie faster'n a horse can trot."
Heaving a deep sigh, Orn turned to his daughter.
"What we goin' to do with my pal, Tess?" he asked. "He's got to keep out
of sight of folks.... Eb Waldstricker's five thousand bucks fer gettin'
'im back to Auburn will be settin' men like Sandy flyin' all over the
state."
The dwarf shivered from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.
"I don't want 'em to git me," he whimpered disconsolately. "Ye won't let
'em git me, will ye, Orn?... Will ye, kid?"
Tess cheered the dwarf's despairing mood by a reassuring smile and
confident nods of the shining curls.
"Nope," she promptly promised.
And, "Nope," repeated Orn, grimly. "Git back under the bed, now, old
man. Any minute Sandy might be comin' in. Ye can't depend on that
squatter. He'd steal the pennies off'n his dead mammy's eyes."
As was her habit when thinking, Tess threaded her fingers through
several red curls, while her eyes followed Andy Bishop crawling feet
first under her cot.
"I bet ye didn't do nothin' wicked, ye poor little shaver," she
remarked.
"Bet I didn't do no Waldstricker murder," answered the dwarf.
"I know where I can hide 'im," she then said, with a satisfied smile.
"I'll fix up the garret fer 'im. 'Tain't very big, but no one but me
ever goes up there. You, there, under the bed, ye ain't 'fraid of bats
or owls, air ye?"
"Nope," came forth a sweet voice. "I ain't 'fraid of nothin' nor nobody
but Ed Waldstricker and Sandy Letts."
Tess giggled in glee.
"Well, they nuther one of 'em gits in my garret if I see 'em first,"
said she, "an' the owls air as tame as cats, an' 'll be company when
ye're lonely nights. Deacon air the speckled one an' he loves every inch
of Daddy an' me. If ye're good to 'im, he'll love you, too, Andy."
Turning to her father, "The person what'll help Andy air Professor
Young, I bet."
Daddy Skinner's face fell perceptibly, and two long lines marked off the
sides of his nose.
"Who's he?" came from under the bed in a stifled breath.
"He air a awful nice man," explained Tess. "He lives in Graves' old
place on the hill, an' he learns me new things out of books every
day.... His sister's teachin' me to sew, too. I told ye she air goin' to
marry--"
"Tessibel," interrupted Skinner, gravely fearful. "Ye said jest now
Waldstricker were a goin' to marry Young's sister. That makes them two
families kinda like one. Ye bet Young'd stand by his sister's man....
See?... Besides that, Young air a lawyer, an' if ye tell 'im about Andy,
it'll sure be 'is duty to pinch 'im an' put 'im back where he were."
"He helped you once, Daddy!" the girl rebuked him.
"But I were in jail all the time, don't ye see the difference, brat?...
Till 'twere proved Ben Letts done the murder, I were kept in jail, too,
an' they'll put Andy back if ye say anythin' to Young 'bout it."
"They sure will," came the dwarf's sobbing tones.
Tessibel sighed.
"Well, us uns'll have to keep our clacks shut 'bout 'is bein' here,
then," she acquiesced, "an'--an'--Andy'll have to keep in the garret
till the man in Auburn coughs up, that air all, huh?... He can come down
sometimes when it air a rainin' hard or dark nights when there ain't
nobody around, an'--an'--darlin', ye can offen chat with 'im when I air
outside watchin' fer folks.... Now, can't ye, Daddy?"
The young speaker went close to her father, smiling. She wanted to chase
that hunted look from his eyes, to make him feel a little more secure
about his prison friend.
"Please don't be lookin' like that, sweety," she pleaded. "Ye're just
like ye was goin' dead.... I tell ye nobody'll hurt the poor little
feller in the garret.... I'll see to that.... I'll fix it up all comfy
fer 'im."
With this idea of future protection for the little man, Tessibel began
to reconstruct the shanty. Dark curtains were hung at the square little
windows, for it was quite a daily occurrence for Sandy Letts to peek
through them before entering the door. Tessibel didn't wish to shut out
the sunshine and moonbeams, but then there was Andy Bishop to think of,
and Andy already had a warmer place in the squatter girl's heart than
even the sun or moon. Tessibel was beginning to love him, not only
because he'd been a friend to Daddy, but on his own account, because he
was a soul in torment and needed her.
It took quite three hours to arrange the garret for the dwarf's
occupancy. There were many pieces of fishing tackle to be sorted and
hung in the kitchen rafters. The nuts that had been spread out on the
floor to dry, now had to be gathered in sacks and stored in the mud
cellar. The cobwebs must come down, and a cotton tick filled with new,
fresh straw to be put in the garret. It was about three o'clock when
Tessibel ushered the little man up the ladder and displayed the clean
attic.
"'Tain't high 'nough fer me to stand up in," she told him, "but ye'll
get along all right, an' I air goin' to fix ye somethin' so ye can see
to read.... Can ye read?"
"Sure, I can read." Andy's voice rang with pride. "My ma, she's dead
now, she learned me how, she did!"
"Then I'll get ye lots of books," replied Tess, "an' ye'd best always
keep hid less'n I let ye down, 'cause Sandy might catch onto yer bein'
here. Waldstricker's money'll set loose a lot of sneaks like him lookin'
fer ye!"
Late that afternoon the dwarf ate his first meal in the garret, and
Tessibel and Orn Skinner ate theirs at the table, but the conversation
of the father and daughter intermingled now and then with a soft
statement or a question from above, and there was happiness in the
Skinner hut.
As soon as they finished supper, Tess went to the foot of the ladder and
called softly.
"I air goin' to tell ye somethin', Andy,--ye listenin'?"
"Yep, brat. Sure, I air listenin'."
"I air a goin' somewheres to find out somethin'," announced the girl
mysteriously. "Mebbe when I get back I'll tell ye what ye'll like to
hear.... Ye'll stay hid, won't ye?"
"Sure so," agreed Andy.
After bending to kiss her father affectionately, the girl said to him,
"Now, Daddy, I air goin' out a little while, an' you two be awful
careful how loud ye talk.... Somebody might hear ye!"
And for a short moment after the girl had gone there was silence in the
shack. Then a prolonged sigh drifted from the garret.
"My God, Orn, but she air a fine young thing fer ye to be fatherin',
huh? Ain't she?"
Andy's voice, though but little more than a whisper, expressed his
wonder and admiration.
"God's best," muttered Orn, and once more they lapsed into the
companionable silence of good friends.
CHAPTER III
TESSIBEL MEETS WALDSTRICKER
The shanty door closed behind Tessibel, and her hand still on the knob,
she hesitated a moment before starting for Mother Moll's. The girl had
kept her promise of the year before, for every week she had caught and
cleaned a mess of fish and carried them up the ravine to the woman's
shanty. But today, Tess wanted to consult the seeress about Andy. She
believed implicitly in the fortune-pot. Hadn't the old, old hag told
her, long ago, when Daddy Skinner was in prison, that the state couldn't
hurt him, and other things, too?
Turning into the lane up the hill, she met Sandy Letts carrying his drag
and a great coil of rope.
"Hello, kid," he greeted her. "How air yer Daddy?"
He eased his load to the ground and straightened up, slowly stretched
his mighty arms, and shrugged the stiffness out of his powerful
shoulders. Sandy and his burden filled most of the path.
Tess, desiring to avoid contact with him, stopped a few paces away.
"Daddy ain't so well these days, Sandy," she answered. "His heart hurts
'im."
"Ain't that too bad?" the man sympathized. "But, then, brat, yer daddy
ain't so young as he were once. Reckon he air not long fer this world.
When yer Daddy croaks, what'll you do, Tess? Ye'll need a home. Ye ought
to be gettin' a man."
The squatter'd stepped forward directly in front of her while he was
urging his suit.
"My daddy ain't old an' he ain't goin' to die, uther," flared Tess, an
angry light in her brown eyes. Oh, how she loathed and hated this fellow
who blocked her way! "You shan't say such things about my daddy! I don't
want any man but 'im." Noting his unshaven cheeks, loose hanging lips,
the lips and his large irregular teeth discolored with tobacco, the girl
drew back with a gesture of instinctive repulsion. "I wouldn't take you
anyway."
Instead of answering her, the squatter placed his great hands upon her
shoulders, and holding her thus at arm's length, looked down at her. Her
straight young figure, glowing face, and flaming eyes under the ruddy
aureole of her hair made a picture of grace, beauty and passion that
would have fascinated a more fastidious observer than Sandy Letts.
"God, girl, but ye air a beauty!" he cried, enraptured.
Tessibel's struggles to get away from the grip of the heavy hands
aroused the evil passions of the man's nature into insistent activity.
"Here, brat, give yer man a kiss," he commanded, and at the words, his
hands slipped from her shoulders, and his strong arms began to close
around her body. His face was so close she had to force her hand in
between his lips and hers. Then she made a desperate struggle. Rearing
the red head backward, she succeeded only in freeing herself partially.
"You let me go, you Sandy!" she cried out sharply. "I'll tell my Daddy
on you. Let me go!"
Then she went at him, kicking his shins with her feet, poking him with
her knees, and gouging his eyes and digging his face with her nails. As
well might Sandy try to make love to a cornered wildcat. He threw her
from him, and Tess, springing up, uninjured, raced up the hill. Sandy's
words, broken by fierce oaths, overtook her,
"You just wait! I'll tame ye yet, ye devilish brat, ye!"
At the top of the lane, Tess stopped to get breath. The familiar sounds
of the early summer evening assailed her ears. The narrow lake shone in
the clear light of the dying day like a broad strip of silver set in the
bosom of the hills. Her eyes rejoiced in its calm beauty, and a feeling
of peace and security grew in her thought.
Tess was about to cross the ravine when a step behind her caused her to
turn. Ebenezer Waldstricker, riding whip in hand, was coming toward her.
At his unexpected appearance, the blood fled from her face, leaving her
quite pale and trembling. This was the man who was seeking Andy Bishop
as at one time Dominie Graves had sought her father. How lordly he
seemed, looking down upon her unsmilingly from his great height.
Arrogantly he surveyed her from head to foot.
"You're the little church singer, aren't you?" he questioned after a
while.
Tess noticed with fascination that one corner of his mouth curled up as
if smiling, while the other was rigidly drawn down. She'd never seen an
expression just like that before.
"Yep," she murmured, dropping her lids.
"Where are you going?" asked the man, tersely.
Tess glanced about. She wanted to turn and run, anywhere to escape from
the brilliant dark eyes and the unmatched lips.
"I were goin' to see Mother Moll," she stammered, slowly. "She lives
over there in the gully." She hesitated, pointing to Moll's shack.
"Sometimes she reads out of the fortune-pot fer me."
Waldstricker glanced first at the little hut, then back at Tess.
"You don't mean you have faith in witchcraft?" he ejaculated,
incredulously. "Why, girl, that's positively against the Bible
commandments."
"Air it? Well I swan!" She nodded her head as though digesting a new
idea. "Anyway, Mother Moll always tells me the truth. She can see things
comin' years and years."
Waldstricker contemplated the grave young face for an instant, noting
involuntarily the abundance and beauty of the wind-blown hair. He turned
about on the path.
"I shall go with you," he said.
Her desire to forbid the proposed visit, struggling with her awe of the
powerful man at her side, confused her. She couldn't think clearly. She
twisted her fingers into her red curls.
"I'd ruther ye wouldn't," she explained. "Ma Moll hates strangers
worser'n she does the old nick!"
Waldstricker ignored the girl's speech except that the frown deepened on
his brow.
"Nevertheless I'm going," he returned, sternly. "I can't realize that
God-fearing men and women have such iniquity among them. Come on; I'll
go with you!"
Tess would gladly have deferred her visit until another day, and
returned home, but she feared he'd follow her there. Here was a man of
whom she was heartily afraid, and as she dared not defy him, she
obediently walked across the gully bridge, and hurried along the path.
Then she paused, looking at Mother Moll's shack, snuggled in a jut in
the ravine. It was quite close now. Tess knew the witch was at home, for
a thin line of smoke drifted zig-zag from the toppling chimney.
She looked back and found Waldstricker eyeing her. She noted both
corners of his lips were down now.
"I came from Ithaca purposely to see you and your father," said he.
Tess was so startled she took two sudden steps backward.
"My daddy ain't very well!" she exclaimed, nervously. "He don't like
strange folks comin' around, Daddy don't."
Waldstricker shrugged his shoulders indifferently.
"However, I must see him," he responded.
Tessibel felt a surging anger against this man. He had the same
imperious bearing she remembered in Dominie Graves.
"What fer? What d'ye want to see Daddy fer?" Her voice was compelling.
"About a matter that may make him a lot of money," the man explained,
pompously. "When may I come?"
She considered a moment before replying. This put a different face on
the matter.
"Could ye come tomorrow?" she demanded finally.
"Yes, at two, then. Tell your father, please."
"All right," muttered Tess.
Waldstricker's whip cut a cluster of wild flowers and nipped clean the
stems of their upraised heads.
"Oh!" cried Tess, sharply, hurt to the quick.
As if reading her thoughts, he retorted, "A flower hasn't a soul, so
what does it matter?"
Tess turned tear-dimmed eyes from him to Mother Moll's shack. Shocked at
his brutality, his arrogant cruelty to the flowers she cherished so
tenderly left her dumb. That his statement was false, she knew. To her
the flowers expressed Love's sweetness and beauty, but she couldn't
explain her faith to this haughty, dictatorial millionaire at her side.
She was all of a tremble as she mounted the narrow shanty steps.
An aged voice croaked, "Come in," in response to her knock. Before
pulling the latch string, Tessibel paused and said to Waldstricker,
"Wait a minute! I'll go first, an' tell Mother Moll you're here."
She crossed the threshold and saw the old woman swaying to and fro in a
wooden rocker.
"It air Tessibel, Mother Moll," she said gently. "I want to see what's
in the pot."
Mother Moll smiled a withered, joyous smile.
"Come in, my pretty," she clacked. "Yer Moll's allers glad to see yer
shinin' eyes. Come in, my love."
Tess advanced into the kitchen.
"That duffer Waldstricker's come along with me," she told her in a low
tone.
The old woman struggled to her feet with the aid of her cane. Her watery
eyes glared at the tall man in the doorway, and he as angrily stared
back at her. The woman hobbled two steps forward.
"If ye've come for me to tell ye somethin', it won't be nothin' very
pleasant," she growled at him. "Git me the pot, brat, dear!"
Tessibel went to the grate and lifted the iron kettle from the fire. It
was steaming hot, and she brought it over, placing it at the woman's
feet.
"Set down," the hag commanded Waldstricker. "I'll tell ye what's doin'
in the pot, an' then git out! I hate ye!"
Waldstricker, with the peculiar down twist of his mouth, glanced darkly
at Tessibel, but the girl's unresponsive, serious face turned his
attention again to the witch.
"You're a wicked old woman," he said grimly. "The county should care for
such as you."
But Mother Moll did not catch his words. She was crooning over the pot
inarticulately. The seams in the skin around her eyes netted together,
almost closing the flaming red lids. Through the narrow slits she was
following the steam as it rose and disappeared in the air. Then slowly
her finger began to trace shadow outlines in and about the pot.
"Mister, I see ye crowin' like a barnyard cock," she croaked, "and ye
think ye're awful smart and awful rich. An' so ye be, but some day--"
She stopped, sank back, then looked again into the steaming kettle. "I
see a wee leetle man like this--" She raised the cane beside her, and
Waldstricker, startled, leaned nearer the ragged grey head. "I see ye
huntin' the leetle man--like a dog hunts a rat."
"Yes, yes!" from Waldstricker, "and what else, woman?"
Lowering her stick again to the floor, Mother Moll rested her weight
upon its crooked handle and for a time muttered over the pot with raven
hoarseness.
"Ye think ye're smart, but ye ain't as smart as ye think ye air. The
leetle man sets on yer head--"
The hag paused, cracked forth a gurgling scream, then proceeded. "He
sets on yer head and lays on yer heart, an' with all yer money, ye can't
find 'im."
"I will!" gritted Waldstricker through his teeth, now, in spite of
himself, intensely interested in the old woman's revelations.
"Ye won't," rapped out the seeress. "Not till it air too late. I see--I
see--" Lifting one hand, the bony old finger made rapid gyrations above
the pot.
"What do you see?" burst forth the man impatiently.
"Hair," cried Mother Moll, swaying nearer him, "hair stranglin' yer
throat till ye can't speak, curls weavin' round yer neck like a
hangman's rope."
Waldstricker glanced backward at the squatter girl. She stood in rigid
silence, listening intently. Her hair, copper-colored in the light from
the window at her side, framed in its shining curls a face rapt and
absorbed. Waldstricker leaned forward again, the better to see the
rising steam wraiths.
"I see all ye love best sufferin'." Letting the cane fall clattering to
the floor, Mother Moll continued, doubled-fists outstretched to the man
before her. "I see the shadow of shame gathering about ye, I see a
girl--a little girl--yer sister--holdin' out her hands pleadin' to some
other man--" Again the aged voice trailed into that chattering laugh.
"An' I air seein' somethin' else." The old woman rubbed the palms of her
horny hands together and pitched forward on her toes. She lifted her
shaking, wizened face and thrust it so near the man that he drew back
with a rough ejaculation. Then smiling a wide, toothless smile, she laid
her finger on her lips. Drawing it away again, she mumbled.
"Hair stranglin' 'em both, same as you, long curls like snakes
stranglin' all of ye. God! _what hair!_"
Waldstricker, with flashing eyes, suddenly got to his feet.
"Come out of here," he ordered Tess, roughly. "That hateful hag! The
hateful wicked old woman!"
A wild, exultant yell left Mother Moll's lips.
"_Yep_, get out o' here!" she shrieked. "Get out quick, both of ye! Yer
lives'll twine like this, an' this, an' this." Tensely she locked
together her bony fingers. "An' hair'll strangle ye, wretched man, an'
may ye never breathe a fine breath after it touches yer proud throat!"
Moved by a kind of superstitious horror of the prophecies of the old
witch, Waldstricker pushed her roughly aside, seized Tess by the arm and
dragged her out of the house. On the path he let her go and stood
transfixed, as though the length and abundance of the red curls, falling
in disordered confusion to her hips, fascinated him. Then he lifted his
great shoulders, and a tense breath slipped through his teeth.
"What an awful old woman!" he flung out disgusted. "If there's any power
in law or money, I'll root her out of that shanty as I will the rest of
her tribe."
Tess was thoroughly frightened. His ruthless roughness hurt her and his
threats against Mother Moll and the squatters terrified her. Would he
try and root Daddy Skinner and herself from their shanty? No, he
couldn't! He couldn't! Neither would his long, powerful hands place
their grip upon the life of the dwarf. Mother Moll had said so, and she
believed--oh, how she believed it!
Waldstricker started to speak again, but unable to bear longer the cruel
corner-curl of his lips, Tess of the Storm Country turned and fled
swift-footed away toward the lake. The man watched the flying figure
bounding along toward the span of blue water. Then with another flip of
his whip, which struck the heads from the flower stems, he wheeled about
and walked swiftly up the hill.
[Illustration: "I WILL!" GRITTED WALDSTRICKER THROUGH HIS TEETH, IN
SPITE OF HIMSELF, INTENSELY INTERESTED IN THE OLD WOMAN'S REVELATIONS]
CHAPTER IV
TESS AND FREDERICK
Tessibel left Waldstricker with but one idea buzzing in her active
brain; to reach Daddy Skinner--to tell him all that had just happened.
She fled around the mud cellar and opened the door with swift-coming
breath. When she entered the kitchen, her father was seated on her cot.
He raised his eyes and greeted her.
"Daddy," panted the girl, closing the door, "I jest seen Waldstricker
an' he air a comin' down here tomorrow. I don't know what he wants, but
Andy mustn't come out of the garret, not fer anythin'. An', Daddy!" She
paused with a sudden sob, "He says he air a goin' to root Mother Moll
off'n her place. But don't let 'im turn us out of our shanty, will ye,
Daddy?"
"Nope," answered Skinner, grimly. "I ain't held it all these years to
let it go now fer a duffer like him."
"An', Daddy dear," blurted Tess, "Mother Moll told old Waldstricker's
fortune out of the pot, an' she says as how he ain't never goin' to git
Andy back to Auburn till it air too late, even if he uses up all the
money he air got. What d'ye think o' that?"
A little groan came from the garret. It no sooner fell on Tessibel's
ears than she scurried, nimble-footed, up the ladder. Poking her head
through the hole in the ceiling, she peered around. It was very dark,
and even straining her eyes, she could see nothing.
"Andy!" she whispered. "Andy, dear!"
"I air here, kid," murmured the dwarf from a dark corner.
"Don't be worrin'," encouraged Tess, softly. "I air begun to love ye,
Andy, an' you bet nobody durst touch ye. Whatever ye hear, be mum. Daddy
and me'll take care of ye, an' God will too."
Later she left the shanty in deep thought, and by the time she had
wended her way to the ragged rocks to meet Frederick Graves, she had
uttered many tense little prayers for the suffering dwarf in her attic.
These rocks were a bower of delight to the sentimental girl. It was here
in the gloom that in every expression of nature Tess heard Frederick's
voice; his clear tones came swiftly on the wings of the wind, in the
sonorous clap of the chimes as they spread their chant over the lake.
She was now seated on a broad, grey rock-slab, bending slightly forward,
listening for her lover's step.
"Frederick!" she breathed in delight as a tall form loomed from the
shadowy path.
In another moment she felt herself gathered into strong arms, and for a
while the boy and girl were silent in their mutual happiness. The
lakeside was quiet except for the sound of the tumbling waves and the
intermittent rumble of a train on the tracks above.
Now and then, far back in the forest, an owl whoo-whooed in croaking
tones, and in a nearby tree a family of baby birds twittered
continuously in their sleep.
All the daisies in the meadows, all the nodding buttercups in the
fields, seemed to be blossoming in Tessibel's heart at one time. She was
in Frederick's arms, and the whole world could offer her nothing more.
"Tessibel, my little love," began Frederick, between caresses, "you
remember what I begged you to consent to early in the spring?"
Tess made a movement to sit up.
"Ye mean--?" she stammered, confused.
Frederick drew her close.
"I want you to marry me right away," he murmured, entreatingly.
The words were whispered in passionate sighing out of the darkness into
her ear. Tess drew back a little.
"Right away?" she repeated, gulping. "What do ye mean by right away,
darlin'?... Now?"
Again strong arms evidenced strong affection.
"Yes--now," answered Frederick, earnestly. "You must! You must!... I
can't be happy unless you do--Oh, Tessibel! Won't you, Tess?"
Never had anything thrilled her as his halting insistence.
"An' Daddy Skinner--air he to know?" she stammered, chokingly.
"No, no!"
"An'--yer mother?"
"Well, not--not quite yet, dear."
Two slender hands covered a scarlet face, and tears trickled between
tense fingers.
"Then I can't!" Tess caught her breath in a sob. "I jest can't! Oh, why
couldn't Daddy know--an' yer mother, too?"
Frederick strained her against his breast.
"Because they can't--not yet," he whispered. "Not a soul must know. Just
you and I, darling. It'll be all right, dear, and I need you more and
more--every day."
The deepening tones in his voice frightened, while they thrilled her.
She pressed him back to look into his eyes, but even through the growing
gloom she could see the blue-veined lids were closed.
"Frederick," she murmured, drawing her face backward. "Frederick, let me
tell ye somethin'. Everybody had ought to know when a girl gets married.
Oh, they ought to know, so they ought. Daddy Skinner an' yer mother,
too."
Then of a sudden she was attacked by a strange tugging in her own heart.
She tried to free herself from his arms, but her resistance only made
him the more determined to bend her to his wish. She had always been
submissive, and he'd worshiped her for her womanly acquiescence to his
will. Trembling fingers forced her face upward and hot lips sought and
found hers. She shivered under the strong masculine pressure.
"Now listen to me, my love," he continued between fierce kisses. "Come
with me tomorrow night, and we'll get married and--and--"
Tess was trying heroically to hold to the principle she knew was right,
even though her heart directed otherwise.
"Not less'n I tell Daddy," she breathed back.
Her low denial served only to lock Frederick's arms more tightly around
her.
"You've got to come and you mustn't tell him, either," he urged. "You
mustn't!"
Succeeding at last in releasing herself, Tessibel sighed. She wanted to
be firm with him, to impress lovingly upon him her reason for refusing
him; but when he reached forth and folded her again in his arms, that
fine firmness gave way. She burst into wild weeping, holding him close
as he held her, trying through broken sobs to tell him what was
burdening her heart.
"It air like this, dear," she wailed, dismally. "Oh, I want to marry ye
more'n anything, but I've never deceived Daddy a bit in all my life. I
never done nothin' less'n I told 'im, and, Oh, I want to tell him,
Frederick! I do want to tell 'im!"
Frederick hadn't anticipated this resistance on Tessibel's part.
"Tess," he said, almost angrily, "I wouldn't ask you to do anything
wrong." Then softening, he pleaded accusingly, "You don't love me well
enough to be my wife."
"It'd be wicked," whispered Tess, falteringly.
"It would be right!" cried Frederick, in quick contradiction. "Tess, you
will, you will!"
The red curls shook slowly a mute negation.
"I don't believe you love me at all," groaned Frederick. Then taking a
long breath, "You want me to be unhappy, I know you do."
She lay limply in his arms while through the sensitive, honest mind
raced all the objections against his desire. There were his powerful
friends--his college--his--
"Yer mother--don't want ye to marry me," she cried, suffering.
"I know it," returned Frederick, promptly. "Still a man can't _always_
please his mother. Why, darling, what kind of a world would this be if
mothers picked out their sons' wives? A poor place! I can tell you."
"But yer mother air awful good and loves ye just like Daddy loves me,"
argued Tessibel, "an' when ye don't do right, everything goes wrong. If
Daddy Skinner ain't to know--"
"Nor anybody else," cut in the boy, growing moody after his sharp
retort. "I won't have any one know about it. Tessibel, I want this more
than anything else in the world. I love you--I love you, and you love
me. Then why not? You do love me, don't you?"
"That air why--I do what--ye want me to, I s'pose."
And as the halting words fell from her lips, the student crushed her to
him.
"I want you, dear," he breathed warm in her ear, "and it won't have to
be a secret over a year, not much over a year, darling, and
I'll----I'll----Oh! You will, Tessibel? You will?"
"Frederick!" she acquiesced, weakly. "Oh, Frederick darlin'!"
And for some time after her sudden consent, they sat on the rocks close
in spirit--close in thrilling nearness. Perhaps twenty minutes later,
Tess drew from the boy's arms.
"Daddy air callin' me," she said, softly.
And she went back to the shanty with the words, "I'm goin' to be married
tomorrow," ringing in her heart.
CHAPTER V
A GOSSIP WITH "SATISFIED"
The next day, directly after the midday meal, Tessibel went to see Mrs.
Longman, whose triple tragedy had made the woman an invalid, with broken
nerves and useless hands. Every few days since the drowning of Myra
Longman and Ben Letts and the baby, the squatter girl had carried to the
sick woman some little offering to gladden her lonely existence. As Tess
walked along the rocks, the image of Frederick Graves persistently
pervaded her thoughts. Before the going down of another sun he would be
her husband. Of course, just now she couldn't leave Daddy Skinner and
Andy Bishop, but by the time Frederick had a home ready, Andy would be
free from the charge of murder, and Daddy would live with them.
Tess never paused on the rocks between her home and the Longman shanty
that she did not think of Myra, and thinking of Myra brought the vision
of Teola Graves. A lonely little heart twist followed for the dead baby
who had been born in her hut. This day she did not hesitate as long as
usual. She must return quickly to Daddy Skinner and help keep guard over
Andy Bishop. Waldstricker was coming at two o'clock!
Rounding the lake point, on which stood the hut of her squatter friends,
she spied "Satisfied" seated on the bench near the doorway. Tess waved
her hand, and the old fisherman signaled in return.
"Ma thought ye'd be comin' soon, brat," was Longman's greeting.
"I air brung her some salt-risin' bread," Tess announced, sitting down
beside the fisherman.
Longman moved his pipe to one corner of his mouth.
"It air good o' ye, Tess," he thanked her, puffing. "Me an' ma air
lonesome--me an' ma air."
Tessibel touched him with affectionate assurance.
"I love ye, an' Mammy Longman, too," she smiled. "I air glad to bring
somethin' when I can."
For a few moments they sat quietly, the man smoking his pipe. Then he
slowly knocked the ashes from its bowl, giving it a final rap in the
hollow of his hand.
"Every day me an' ma miss Myry an' Ezry more," said he, stolidly. "Us
uns just plumb lately made up our minds both them kids was too good to
live, but us uns'd be awful satisfied to know if they air happy."
Tessibel brightened. She flashed a radiant smile at the sad-faced man.
"Sure, they be happy!" she ejaculated. "Everybody air happy in Heaven;
Ben Letts air a singin' 'round the throne jest the same's the rest of
'em air."
In open disbelief Longman slowly shook his head.
"Myry never could sing--Myry couldn't," he answered, moodily, and his
voice sank on the last two words.
Tess knew that, too, for she had heard the young mother try many times
to quiet the brat with the uneven, discordant tones of her voice; but
she knew, too, the great difference between Heaven and earth. She gazed
out over the lake dreamily.
"But ye see, 'Satisfied' darlin'--" she began.
"An' once, when Ben were soused," interrupted Longman, hoarsely, "I
heard 'im singin', 'Did ye ever go into an Irishman's shanty?' It were
more like a frog croakin' than a man singin'."
"But folks don't never get soused in Heaven," Tessibel imparted,
reverently, "an' they got a mess o' angels up there--" She looked
upward, a solemn expression on her young face--"angels what Jesus keeps
jest to learn folks how to sing. The brat's singin' too, as much as a
little kid can, 'Satisfied'."
She edged a little nearer and slipped an arm around the fisherman's
shoulders.
"It air just like this, honey, down here there air such a lot of work
jest to get fish an' beans. Up in Heaven they don't do nothin' but dance
around the throne an' sing all day. So everybody's got to learn how or
he wouldn't have nothin' to do."
"Well, I swan!" ejaculated "Satisfied," smiling wryly. "Will ye tell ma
about it like ye did me, Tessie? Ma air been worryin' fearin' Myry
weren't comf'table."
Tess bobbed her curly head.
"I'll tell 'er in a minute," she assured him; "but, 'Satisfied,' I were
a goin' to ask ye somethin'."
Longman nodded.
"An' I were goin' to ask you somethin' too, brat," he said. "How air the
singin' goin' in church?"
Tessibel sparkled like the morning dew.
"Oh, it air goin' fine, 'Satisfied.' I love it more'n more. Miss Young
helps me with my songs an' she's learnin' me to sew, too. Why, I git my
five dollars every Sunday jest as reg'lar as Sunday comes. I ain't never
knew how far a fiver could go afore. We won't be needin' nothin' this
winter, Daddy and me won't, dear."
She gave a delicious giggle to which Longman added a chuckle.
"That air good, brat," he replied. "There ain't nothin' like home
comfort in this world."
"An' ye see, 'Satisfied,' I ain't lettin' my Daddy fish much now, only
'nough fer us an' fer Professor Young an' Ma Moll.... Daddy ain't very
well."
"He air gettin' old," sighed Longman, taking up his pipe.
"No, he ain't," contradicted Tessibel, quickly. "He air got somethin'
the matter with 'is heart. Mr. Young had a doctor fer him, an' he says
he mustn't work. Now I got my singin' he don't have to.... Why,
'Satisfied,' I air savin' 'nough money to get a new bed an' a overcoat
for Daddy. A bran new overcoat, too! Nothin' second-hand, ye bet! He
ain't goin' to git no cold this winter, bless 'im!"
Longman allowed one of his thin arms to fall around the straight young
figure.
"That air nice, Tessie," he returned admiringly. "Ye be a pert brat, you
be!"
Tess paused a moment or two.
"'Satisfied,'" she hesitated, going back mentally to her former unspoken
query, "do ye know the Waldstrickers?"
Longman nodded.
"I knowed the old man who was murdered--young Eb's father. Made some
stir in town when he got shot!"
"Eb's been home quite a while now," observed Tess thoughtfully.
Longman's head and shoulders moved several times in affirmation.
"So ma read out'n the paper," he then said, "an' Bishop's lit out from
the coop, too, ain't he?... Funny how he done it!... Bigger men'n him
stay there all their days.... They'll find 'im, though, them prison
folks will, poor little duffer!"
Tess caught the sympathy in the squatter's voice.
"I air hopin' they don't," she sighed quickly.
An inquisitive, almost furtive expression shot into the fisherman's
face.
"When ye goin' to git married, Tess?" he hesitated.
Tessibel shook her red curls, flushing.
"Oh, I ain't knowin' jest the time yet," she parried. "Ye know,
'Satisfied,'--"
"Don't ye ever see much of the student nowadays, eh?" the squatter cut
in.
Because of its sudden palpitation, Tess laid her hand over her heart.
Oh, if she could only tell her old friend that that very night she'd
belong to Frederick forever! Passion leapt alive into her eyes, and her
cheeks flushed.
"I air a lovin' him, 'Satisfied,'" she murmured.
Longman made a nervous movement with one hand and shook his head.
"Tess, I been goin' to tell ye somethin' fer a long time," he stammered,
almost inaudibly. "Ye won't git miffed with a old friend, will ye?"
"Sure not, 'Satisfied'," asserted Tess, gently.
"It air 'bout Student Graves," explained Longman.
A glint of gold flashed from under her lowered lids and a slow, deep
scarlet ran in waves upward from her chin.
"What 'bout the student?" she demanded, dropping again to the bench and
placing the basket at her feet.
The squatter looked down. It was hard to say what he must with the young
face so confidently questioning.
"He air a goin' round with a nuther girl," he barked presently. "I been
hearin' an' so air ma--"
Tessibel rose, startled, and once more took up the basket. Some
gossiping tongue had been reviling her dear one.
"It air a big lie, 'Satisfied'," she uttered breathlessly. "I don't want
to hear nothin' against 'im uther. What tongue told ye that only wanted
to make ye feel sad fer me." She paused, then turned, but whirled back.
"When ye love a person an' love 'im hard, lies told about 'im don't set
well. Ye know they don't, Daddy Longman."
"Sure, I know it," replied the squatter, in quick-spoken sympathy. "Only
ma and me thought as how ye ought to know the things we heard."
Tess was standing rigid, gazing stormily defiant into the weather-beaten
old face. Wasn't she going to be married to the student that night! And
how many, many times Frederick had told her he loved but her; that no
other woman could ever take her place!
"I ain't goin' to believe it, if the hull hellish world tells me so,"
she flashed forth tempestuously. "Now I air goin' to give the bread to
Mammy Longman, 'Satisfied'."
Longman stayed her with a word.
"Ye ain't mad at me, brat, be ye?"
Tess stretched forth impetuous fingers.
"Nope, only I love the student, that air all! An', 'Satisfied,' I air a
cussed brat to be swearin' when Frederick says as how it air wicked. I
keep forgettin' when I git mad."
The squatter sighed, making a quick shake of his head and several weird
clicks with his tongue. Moodily he watched the bounding youthful figure
until it disappeared through the shanty doorway. Fully ten minutes
passed before Tess reappeared.
"Ma were satisfied with the bread, eh, brat?" asked Longman, in a
cuddling tone. "Ain't she likin' it, honey?"
Tessibel choked suddenly. There was something in the quavering tones of
the old fisherman, of the lonely, bereaved old man, that saddened her
loving heart. She went to him and touched him impulsively.
"Yep, she liked it, 'Satisfied'," she murmured, "an' I told 'er all
about the singin' in Heaven. She hadn't thought Ben Letts might be there
with Myry an' the brat.... Most folks ain't knowin' how awful long the
forgivin' arm of Jesus air."
And kissing the old squatter once more, Tessibel started homeward.
CHAPTER VI
WALDSTRICKER MAKES A PROPOSAL
While Tess was making her call at Longman's, Helen Young was
entertaining her fiance, Ebenezer Waldstricker.
"I shall never be satisfied until Bishop is back in Auburn, Helen," said
he, snipping the end from a long cigar.
The girl held up her needle and deftly shot the thread through the eye
of it.
"He's sure to be, dear," she soothed. "Here's Deforrest!" She hesitated,
laid down her work and stood up.
Professor Young shook hands with Waldstricker as his sister went to his
side smilingly.
"Ebenezer wants me to go down to Skinner's with him," she explained.
"Won't you come along, too, Forrie?"
The lawyer threw an interrogative glance at the churchman.
"Certainly," he answered. "Why? Anything particular?"
The question was asked of Waldstricker, who lifted his shoulder with a
long breath.
"Yes," he replied. "I've a little plan to get hold of Bishop! I'm
certain sooner or later he'll land back here among his own people. If I
can whet their appetites with money, they'll turn him over the moment he
appears."
"No doubt," observed Young. "But the Skinners--What have the Skinners to
do with him?"
Waldstricker thought a moment, inhaling the smoke the while.
"The girl, Tessibel, who sings at church might be of great assistance to
me," he said presently.
"How?" interjected Deforrest.
"Why, she goes among the squatters daily and would be likely to know if
Bishop sneaked into any of their huts. If I can interest her in the
reward--I've an idea she'll be of service to me."
"Perhaps," responded Young, in a meditative manner.
Waldstricker looked at Helen smilingly. "I think I started to give you
an account of what happened yesterday," he said. "Did I tell you I came
to see you, dear?"
Helen sat down and resumed her work.
"Yes, Ebenezer, but I was out!" she smilingly nodded. "I'm so sorry. If
I'd known, I wouldn't have gone to town!"
"It didn't matter at all." Then he laughed, coloring a little. "Of
course, I always hate missing you."
A loving look passed between the two, and Waldstricker proceeded, "But
as long as I was here, I thought I'd speak to Skinner. On the way down
the hill I met his daughter coming up. Rather startling personality,
that girl! But she's woefully ignorant!"
"She hasn't had much chance, poor little thing," excused Helen. "She
really has a beautiful voice, though."
"So I've noticed on Sundays."
"And she studies every minute," Professor Young thrust in, "and is so
eager to learn; she's advanced amazingly!" He laughed in a reminiscent
manner.
"One day," he proceeded, much amused, "she ran up the hill after me. I
didn't notice her until she was at my side, all out of breath. 'Well,
some little girl's been running,' I said."
"I want to learn things," she panted.
"Then I asked, 'What things?' and she answered, 'Oh, all about readin'
and writin' and the things big rich folks know. If I had books, I'd
learn 'em too.' ... Naturally I bought the books."
"Naturally," laughed Waldstricker.
"Well, I stopped to ask where she was going and if her father was at
home. Then she told me that she was on her way to a seeress, Mother
Moll, she called her, wasn't it?"
"Yes," assented Young, nodding his head. "The old woman lives on the
north side of the gully."
Waldstricker bent forward and pursued. "I went into the hut with the
girl." He stopped and his lip took an upward curve. "The old hag tells
fortunes from a pot, a steaming pot full of boiling water, I think."
Here he turned suddenly on Deforrest. "That's got to stop, Young. It's
against the Bible, prophesying and the like."
"She's really a harmless old thing, though," replied the lawyer
sententiously, "and every squatter on Cayuga Lake loves her. Believe me,
Eb, she's absolutely harmless."
"Not harmless if she's disobeying God's law," contradicted Waldstricker,
seriously. "Isn't there some way by which she can be turned out of the
shack?"
Deforrest shook his head. "Not that I know of as long as she holds her
squatter rights. Her people take care of her, and she tells their
fortunes to pay for food." He broke off the explanation, only to take it
up again, "No, there isn't any way to oust her. Frederick Graves' father
tried to get the Skinners off, but failed."
"Oh, I didn't know," observed Waldstricker. "I must have been away at
the time." He drew out his watch and looked at it. "Shall we go on down,
Helen? It's a little early. I told the girl I'd come at two, but a half
an hour doesn't matter.... I can't rest until I get hold of that dwarf."
During the interval in which Helen went for her garden hat, Waldstricker
said to Deforrest,
"I may need you, Young, in this Bishop case. I'm privileged to call upon
you, of course?"
"I'll do anything I can, Ebenezer," agreed Young.
So it happened that when Tess rounded the mud cellar, she glanced up the
hill and saw the three making their way leisurely toward the lake. She
gave one bound and literally hurled herself through the shanty door into
the kitchen.
"Walderstricker air comin!" she hissed through her teeth in quivering
excitement. "Scoot under the tick, Andy! An', Daddy, get on my cot, an'
don't say no word less'n they ask ye something face to face.... Let me
do the talkin'."
She had no more than settled her father on the cot and heard the last of
the dwarf's burrowing in the attic when a long shadow fell across the
threshold. Stepping forward, she met Deforrest Young, who held out his
hand to her.
She greeted her friend with a dubious smile, and taking his hand, bowed
awkwardly to his sister. In her confusion she ignored Waldstricker
entirely. Their presence in the squatter's hut was so portentous and the
time for the preparations to receive them so short, Tessibel's wits
almost deserted her.
"Come in, all of ye," she stammered, at last, and stepped backward
across the uneven kitchen floor toward the cot at the further side of
the room.
Then she placed chairs for them, and when all were seated, settled
herself on the floor near Daddy Skinner, and shaking her curls back from
her face, looked with grave brown eyes from one to the other of the
ominous group.
"I'm very glad to see you, Tessibel," said Helen graciously.
"I air awful glad to see you, too, Ma'am," returned Tess, still
embarrassed.
Miss Young smiled toward Ebenezer, then back at the girl.
"You remember Mr. Waldstricker, don't you, Tess, dear?"
Tessibel allowed her gaze to rest on the elder. Of course she remembered
him. What did he desire of Daddy Skinner? That was all she wanted to
know.
"Yep," she answered, more calmly. "I remember 'im, sure I do! He--"
Waldstricker interrupted her with a quick interrogation.
"We had a little meeting yesterday, didn't we, Miss Tessibel? You didn't
wait for me to tell you what I wanted." He delivered this most affably,
and Tess counted him very handsome, indeed, when both corners of his
mouth went up, but she knew that other trick of those lips. Not knowing
how to explain her flight, she kept silent. Deforrest noted the shadow
that clouded the lovely face and ascribed it to embarrassment. Thinking
to put her at her ease, he asked,
"Have you been studying today, my dear?"
"Well I guess I have!" The girl sent him a radiant, grateful smile. "I
studies every day, an' air learnin' my Daddy a lot of things now, ain't
I, Daddy?" She looked backward at the man on the cot as she asked the
last question.
"Yep," affirmed Skinner, faintly.
"Daddy air sick," she explained. "You'll be excusin' 'im if he don't
talk. I'll do all the gabbin' if ye don't mind."
Tessibel had regained her self-control. She knew that Waldstricker's
presence meant danger to her loved ones, Daddy and Andy Bishop. In their
defense, eager to hinder him, her quick thought sought his purpose in
coming to the shack. Could it be about Mother Moll, she wondered. She
would ask him. Looking up at Waldstricker, she addressed him timidly,
"I hope, sir, ye ain't mad at Mother Moll any more?"
Waldstricker, intent upon his idea of interesting her in the search for
his father's murderer, waived her question aside. He would attend to the
witch and her fantastic mummeries later.
"Never mind the old woman now," he began pompously. "I came here today
on purpose to see you about another matter."
Why, yesterday he had said he wanted to talk to Daddy; now today he
wanted to speak to her. She sat up a little straighter, each shoulder
carrying its load of red curls, the ends of which lay in a bronze
tangle.
"I'd do anything I could," she answered shyly, a lovely red dyeing her
face.
"I knew you would! Mr. Young has told me how anxious you are to learn
and to improve your condition.... Isn't that so?"
Tess nodded, looking from the speaker to Deforrest, who threw her his
ever-ready smile. Her gaze returned to the churchman and he continued,
"Now, I've a plan which, if it succeeds, will give you lots of money!
You could do almost anything you'd want to then."
Tess didn't move, only stared back at the handsome, swarthy face
incredulously.
"I couldn't earn much," she ventured, gulping. "I get five bucks every
Sunday fer singin' at the church, but--"
"Oh, I don't mean a few dollars," Waldstricker told her. "I was talking
about a lot--thousands."
Daddy Skinner straightened out on the cot and Tess tried to swallow, but
couldn't. She knew now that he referred to the reward for Andy.
"Lordy massy!" she got out at last, huskily.
Deforrest Young coughed, and Waldstricker's hand went quickly to his
face.
"I'll explain about it," he said, "and then you can decide if you wish
to do it."
"All right," replied Tess, leaning her chin on her hand. "Gowan an' blat
it out."
"I suppose you know my good old father was murdered," the visitor asked
her after a slight period of silence on his part.
Andy and what he had told her about the brawl in the saloon raced
through Tessibel's mind.
"I heard 'bout it," she replied, nodding.
"And you've heard, too, probably, the man who murdered him escaped from
Auburn a little while ago?"
Tess wanted to say "No," but she feared a long explanation would follow
which might trouble Daddy and the wee man in the garret, so she
acquiesced by bowing her head. "I guess he were the man Daddy were
talkin' 'bout, weren't he, Daddy?"
She turned toward her father, but his red lids were closed, and he was
breathing heavily.
"Daddy goes to sleep awful easy!" she excused to all three. Then she
told Waldstricker, "Yep, Daddy said the man broke out o' jail."
The man she spoke to looked keenly at her.
"The officers feel pretty sure he'll make his way down the lake side,"
he explained, "eventually landing among his own people."
A flash of the brown eyes and a quick stiffening of the supple body
under the red curls expressed the girl's resentment at the slur implied
in the speaker's statement.
"Among us squatters, I s'pose ye mean?" demanded Tess, belligerently.
"Yes," nodded the elder, with a contemptuous smile at the angry young
face.
Tess hated that tone in people's voices when they talked about
squatters.
"And I was wondering if you wouldn't like to earn the reward offered for
Bishop's capture," Waldstricker finished abruptly.
Tessibel's foresight had discounted the effect of this announcement. To
save Andy, she must deceive Waldstricker and persuade him to leave the
search of the Silent City in her hands. Her brown eyes were bright with
her purpose; she smiled slowly up at him showing every white tooth.
"You bet I would!" she exclaimed, shaking her curls as she tossed her
head. "How much air it, huh?"
"Five thousand dollars," replied Waldstricker.
"Jeedy!" gasped Tess. "That air a pile of money. I bet I earn it!...
What'd ye bet?"
She turned impetuously to Deforrest Young, and he laughed.
"I hope you may!" was all he said.
Tess was all eagerness now, her cheeks flaming and her eyes dancing.
"But I wouldn't know the man if I seen 'im in any of the squatter's
huts, huh?"
She flung this at Waldstricker, more of a question than a statement.
"He's a dwarf," he answered immediately, "and very small--like this.
Sandy Letts knows him and is looking for him, too."
At his statement, Tessibel's quick imagination pictured Sandy's brutal
face and greedy eyes, and for a moment her flaming courage almost
faltered.
"If a dwarf sneaks down here," she observed with a sweep of her hand
toward the door, "I'd get 'im easy. I know everybody."
"But would I have to halve up with Sandy, eh?" she continued, as though
struck with a new thought.
"Not unless Sandy helped you find him," Ebenezer replied genially. "You
could do as you pleased about that."
"Oh, Sandy couldn't help me, not a bit," Tess argued earnestly. "Sandy
ain't liked any too well 'round here."
"Well, manage it as you choose."
Waldstricker smiled at his success with the girl. "I don't care for
Sandy myself," he continued. "All I want is to get Andy Bishop." His
face hardened with hate as he pronounced the dwarf's name.
Tess put her hands under the curls over each shoulder and drew them
together beneath her chin.
"Five thousand dollars!" she ruminated. "I'd have a bully time a
spendin' it, wouldn't I?... I'd buy my Daddy a new overcoat every day
fer a year, an' I'd git 'im four new beds--one fer every corner of this
here kitchen, an' I'd git 'im a flannel shirt thick as a board to keep
the pains from 'is bones.... Then, I'd buy me a cow an' a calf an' a
horse an' a little baby pig an' a few cats an' a lot of dogs, an' I'd
let all the squatter brats play in my flower garden--"
Helen broke off this chatter with an amused laugh.
"Then mebbe I'd go to school a while," Tess kept on, "an' learn myself a
lot out o' books, an' after that I'd take singin' lessons an' I'd sing
to everybody what asked me--Then mebbe--" She dropped back for lack of
words. "I wonder if that'd take the hull of the five thousand."
Waldstricker stood up.
"You've got the right idea of spending money," he laughed. "And now,
young lady, we'll leave you, and if you hear that this dwarf is in any
of your friends' huts, you let me know, and I'll come right down."
"Sure," said Tess, heartily. "Ye bet I will."
Scrambling to her feet, she lifted the ruddy curls and flung them back
on her shoulders. To Ebenezer, watching her, came like a haunting memory
the witch's cry, "Hair, stranglin' ye--God, what hair!"
But he dismissed the suggestion easily and turned to Helen, smiling.
"Why not bring Miss Skinner to the next musicale and have her sing?...
Wouldn't you like that, Tess?"
"I'd get scared stiff," gasped Tessibel, terrified.
"But, Tess, dear," Helen thrust in, "I'd teach you the songs, and--"
The girl was looking down upon her dress, her face gathering a deep red.
Miss Young divined what was going on in the girlish mind.
"And I'd help you make a new dress," she went on.
"A hull lot of money folks'd be there, eh?" Tess demanded. Oh, how
afraid she always was of a crowd of those--different people!
Her words directed Waldstricker's attention to the contrast between this
squatter girl in the bare shack and the fashionable folk who'd throng
his spacious drawing room.
"Well, a few," he answered, "but you come along with Miss Young just the
same, will you?"
Tessibel took the outstretched hand awkwardly enough and as quickly
dropped it and began to fumble with her own fingers. She looked down at
the floor while she traced a line on it with her toe.
"Mebbe," she replied in a very subdued voice.
She stood in the door and watched them walk slowly up the hill. Then she
turned back into the kitchen.
"My God, brat!" sobbed a voice through the hole in the ceiling. "Wasn't
that a nice list of beautiful things ye was goin' to buy? Oh, kid, I air
bettin' Waldstricker gits me."
Tess chuckled low, as she turned her face upward.
"Andy," she said, "ye needn't be worryin' 'bout me an' Jesus handin' ye
over to that old elder. Why, Him an' me air goin' to stick to you like
pitch to a nigger."
She turned to go, but hearing a sigh, took four steps up the ladder and
finished,
"Why, honey, Waldstricker air got as much chance a ketchin' you as a
tallow dog has chasin' an asbestos cat through hell."
CHAPTER VII
WALDSTRICKER AND MOTHER MOLL
"Deforrest is so interested in the little Skinner girl," Helen Young
explained to Ebenezer Waldstricker when they were alone after supper.
"Ever since he helped to get her father out of Auburn, he's done all he
could for her."
"He's a philanthropist at heart, I imagine," remarked Ebenezer,
agreeably.
"Yes, and so good to everybody. Dear Forrie! I wish he'd meet the right
woman and marry her. He'd be so happy in a home of his own. When I think
of leaving him alone--"
The tender face flushed crimson, and happy eyes dropped under the man's
bright gaze. He reached over and took a slender hand in his.
"But you're not sorry you're coming with me, are you, dear?" he chided
gently, and Helen lifted her head with a glad cry.
"Oh, no, no, darling!... I'm the happiest woman in the world!"
"And I'll keep you so," replied Ebenezer, in earnest.
"I was thinking, though," observed Helen, after a moment, "that
Deforrest might come with us if he hasn't made other arrangements."
Waldstricker contemplatively kissed each pink finger of the small hand
he held, then pressed his lips to the soft palm.
"I should like very much to have him, Helen," said he. "I'm very proud
of your brother, you know."
"You can't make me happier than to praise him," she smiled.
For several minutes no more was said. Then Waldstricker spoke as though
thinking aloud,
"I wonder if that little Skinner girl will be of any assistance in the
matter of locating Bishop?"
"Perhaps," replied Helen. "She seemed very eager to get the money! Don't
you think so?"
"Yes, I think she did, but I've been wondering if she's trustworthy. Is
she, Helen?"
Miss Young made a hasty affirmation.
"Yes, indeed, she's more than that!" she exclaimed. "She wouldn't
deceive any one she loves for anything in the world, so Deforrest tells
me."
"I sincerely hope so," sighed Ebenezer. "I've quite set my heart on her
helping me. Money is no object in a matter like this."
"Of course not," murmured Helen, sympathetically.
"Letts also is doing some good work," Ebenezer continued. "He's been
through nearly every hut on the Rhine."
Helen shivered. "I can't tolerate that man around," she replied. "Once
in a while he comes here to see Deforrest or to sell something, and I
can't get him away quickly enough."
"He's a good spy, though. That's all I want. He and the Skinner girl
ought to produce that dwarf between them."
"I hope so for your sake, dear," murmured Helen.
Waldstricker took out his watch and glanced at it hurriedly.
"It's time for me to go, sweetheart," said he. "I want to get home
before dark. Come as far as the lane with me--do!"
"The twilight is lovely, isn't it?" whispered the girl, when they were
traversing the pear orchard.
"Made more lovely because of you," replied Waldstricker, sentimentally.
"How romantic you are tonight, dearest!" Helen laughed.
They had turned slowly up the hill, when suddenly Helen stopped and
slipped her hand into Ebenezer's arm.
"There is that old woman you heard read from the fortune pot!" she
exclaimed. "Let's step one side until she's passed us? She rarely lets a
person go by without speaking."
Waldstricker threw up his head arrogantly.
"I'm not afraid of the hag," he replied pompously.
Together they advanced up the hill. Mother Moll, leaning on her cane,
crept slowly down toward them. When her faded, nearsighted eyes caught
sight of the two approaching figures, she halted in the middle of the
road until they were almost upon her. She stared at Waldstricker fully
fifteen seconds, while he looked steadily back at her. Then her withered
lips spread wide in a sneering, cackling laugh.
"So he air aready been settin' on yer head an' layin' on yer heart,
mister," she greeted him, "the leetle man like this, huh, ain't he?"
She shook her cane at the tall man and clacked at him again. Helen was
conscious that at Moll's insults, Ebenezer's anger was rising by the
minute. She was herself greatly moved by a kind of superstitious awe of
the old woman's cryptic utterances. But seeking to avoid any further
unpleasantness, she smiled in a friendly manner and asked,
"How do you do, Mother Moll?"
The hag thrust forward her face and raised one withered arm,
"I air fine, young lady," she screamed, crooking her fingers at the
girl, "an' feel finer'n you can do this day, or ye'll ever with him."
She pointed her cane at the scowling, dark-faced man; and slowly bobbed
her head back to Helen. "Yer life'll draw out long an' terrible, till
ye'll wish ye hadn't never seen 'im. He'll set up a knot hole an' drag
ye livin' through it. Then he'll turn yer heart inside out an' haul ye
back again."
She paused, while Waldstricker's face grew darker and darker. The frown
on his brow roused Helen to action.
"Let's go on, dear," she whispered. "Don't pay any attention to her
foolish talk."
"Not yet," returned Waldstricker, ominously. "Not yet!"
Moll laughed discordantly, shaking her head until the wisps of gray hair
fell in strings about her face.
"He knows I ain't done tellin' ye what'll happen if ye line yer life
with his'n," she croaked. "Lady, he air wicked, awful wicked, an'
nothin' but misery, deep an' plentiful, air a goin' to make him any
better. Every one he loves--"
Incoherently, she rambled on and the man's countenance took on an
expression of such rage that Helen Young uttered a cry of dismay. She
had never seen Ebenezer in one of his savage moods. Before she could
draw him away, he had lifted his riding whip and a sudden twist of his
arm brought it sharply down on the grandam's thin bent shoulders.
"Ebenezer!" screamed Helen, horrified.
"Drat ye, ye brute!" cried Moll, tottering back, "an' twice drat ye!"
She swayed forward on her cane. "Ye can lick me till I die, an' 'twon't
change yer own life any. It'll only add to the sufferin' ye got to go
through yerself."
Waldstricker's arm went up again, but Helen grasped it frantically.
"Ebenezer, don't!... Don't strike her any more. Please!... Go home,
Mother Moll.... Please go! Oh, do!"
The old woman leaned heavily on her stick, tearless sobs shaking her
emaciated frame. For a space of sixty seconds her watery, faded eyes
stared into Waldstricker's flashing dark ones--then she drew a long,
convulsive breath.
"It air like ye to hit the awful young an' the awful old," she shrilled
at him, "but, 'twon't do ye no good. Curls'll bring yer to yer knees,
hair'll make yer heart bleed blood redder'n the sun, an' the leetle
man'll jerk 'em tight 'bout yer throat till ye thunder out fer mercy."
"Come along," muttered Ebenezer, roughly, to Helen. "If she torments me
any more, I fear I'll kill her."
His words were not so low but they caught the quick ear of the old
woman.
"Kill me, yep, kill me, ye proud whelp! Go 'long; do it, ye big coward!
Before ye're done with life, ye'll hate yerself worse'n uther folks hate
ye."
She hobbled a little distance, reaching backward to rub her shoulders.
Then she twisted completely around, facing the other two.
"Mind my word, pretty miss," she croaked in half grunt, half yelp. "Let
'im go like ye would a snake; like ye would a slimy worm a crawlin' at
yer feet." Still snarling in pain, she lifted one shaking arm and
pointed a crooked forefinger at Waldstricker. "She won't always stay
with ye, ye skunk ye!" Then she staggered away, Helen and Ebenezer
staring after her until she was lost in the gloom of the gully.
"Isn't she dreadful?" Ebenezer said, with a rueful laugh.
"She's so old," was Helen's gentle reproof. "She's not accountable for
anything. Deforrest says she's very good to the other squatters."
"They're an unseemly mess." The man struck at an overhanging bough
savagely. "And your brother has power enough to remove the worst of them
if he wanted to. That old hag, for instance--"
"Deforrest wouldn't do it," interjected Helen.
"He may if I make it worth his while," replied Waldstricker. "But there,
I was foolish to let 'er get on my nerves so. I beg your pardon, dear.
My only excuse is I dislike to see the laws of God broken in such an
iniquitous way. Why, I felt when I struck her the righteous indignation
the Master must have felt when he drove the money changers from the
temple."
Helen looked at him, startled. She was shocked at his words, as she had
been terrified by his act.... A dreadful doubt darted into her mind. Was
Mother Moll right? Could she be? Instantly she dismissed the suggestion,
condemning herself for paying any attention to the empty vaporings of
the half-witted, childish, old woman. She was sorry for Moll, of course,
and grieved and hurt because Ebenezer had lost his temper and struck
her. But her loving heart excused him. Certainly the provocation had
been great. Old Moll was unusually impertinent.
Intent to repair the momentary disloyalty of her doubt, she pressed his
arm lovingly.
"There, dear, let's not speak of it again. It's over now and we'll
forget all about it."
A little later, when Waldstricker was moodily riding toward Ithaca,
Mother Moll's hateful prophecies repeated themselves in his mind.
CHAPTER VIII
TESSIBEL'S MARRIAGE
During the few hours after the departure of Waldstricker, Professor
Young and Helen, Tessibel Skinner was preparing for her marriage. For
the present she had dismissed her fear for Andy Bishop and had turned
her attention to her own wonderful secret, her marriage to Frederick
that evening. She went so nervously from one thing to another that when
she stood fully dressed before her father, he scrutinized her
inquiringly; but he confined his curiosity to the simple question,
"Goin' out, brat?"
"Yep, Daddy," admitted Tess, confused for an instant, "an' darlin',
don't worry if I ain't back fer quite a little while. I air goin' to
ride with Frederick." She leaned over him and cupped his bearded face
with her hands, her eyes like stars, first shining, then shadowing. "Ye
trust yer Tessibel, don't ye, Daddy Skinner?"
Since the first instant she'd been placed in his arms, a wee baby, the
squatter had never ceased to marvel at her loveliness. An expression of
adoring affection settled over his face.
"Sure, I air a trustin' ye, child," he assured her huskily, "or I
wouldn't be lettin' ye run 'round wild on the rocks like ye're doin'....
Ye won't be gone too long, honey?"
"Nope," answered Tess, kissing him, "bar up, darlin', an' don't open to
any knock lessen ye know who 'tis," and she ran out of the shanty and
closed the door behind her.
"Fine lookin', yer girl, eh, pal?" remarked Andy, presently, from the
ceiling.
"Yep," agreed Orn, morosely.
"She air got a beau, now, ain't she, old horse?"
The fisherman's face darkened with anger.
"Yep, an' I hate 'im like I hated his pa. But when a girl air fell in
love with some feller, that air all there air to it."
"I hope he won't never hurt her," sighed the dwarf.
"He better hadn't!" mumbled Skinner.
During the silence that followed between the squatter and his prison
pal, Tessibel was climbing the hill to meet Frederick. Many conflicting
emotions took possession of her as she neared the summit. After tonight
she would no longer be Tessibel Skinner, but Frederick's wife, and he,
her husband, her own forever and forever. This night-ride would be her
cherished secret until Frederick gave her permission to tell Daddy
Skinner--until the whole world should know. Her mind was busy with the
events of the last thirty-six hours. She was cogitating upon the
happiness of her future, when she saw the waiting vehicle ahead of her,
and Frederick's dark figure silhouetted in the moonlight. Faster and
faster fluttered her heart, and faster and faster moved her feet. She
reached the carriage without the student's realizing it.
"Frederick!" was all she had breath to say.
At the whispering of his name, the young man sprang to the ground. In
another moment he had Tessibel in his arms.
"You've come!" he murmured low, kissing her. "Oh, my dearest, you're
here!"
Then he lifted the slender figure into the buggy. Even in the pale
light, Tessibel noticed his face gleamed white, and his eyes shone
darker than usual. She sat very quiet as he gathered up the reins, and
it was not until they were well on their way along the Trumansburg road
that the boy turned to her. How beautiful she looked, her shoulders
completely covered with dusky-dark curls and her head bowed in maidenly
shyness! All his doubts as to the expediency of his act were set at
rest. She was deeply essential to his happiness, to his progress. To
know she was his wife, married to him, so that none could separate them,
would make his absences from Tessibel much easier to bear. He had in the
past feared Deforrest Young. Now that fear was being set at rest. He
never had worried that Sandy Letts would win Tess any more than he had
been apprehensive of Ben Letts before the drowning of the squatter. The
one person he stood in awe of was his mother. Again his eyes sought the
silent girl at his side. She had ever been a hallowing influence in his
life, and to lose her would be worse than death. After tonight the glory
in those unreadable brown eyes would ever shine for him. He threw one
arm across her shoulder, and drew her closer. "My little moonlight
girl!" he breathed in ecstasy, his cheek against hers. "Are you happy,
my sweet?"
Tessibel couldn't have spoken if she had so desired. Her heart seemed
filling her throat. Happiness hushed her voice, and gratitude to God for
giving her Heaven's best prevented her expression of it.
The next twelve miles were passed in silence. And ever after, when
Tessibel in imagination recalled the white road, winding its way into
the hills, the quietude of the countryside, the shimmering moonlight, it
seemed like nothing real. And she remembered, as in a daze, Frederick
taking her in his arms after the minister had married them--how he had
called her over and over his wife, his darling, and other whisperings
divinely sweet.... In memory all those hours were like strangely
mysterious dreams.
* * * * *
Daddy Skinner was waiting for Tessibel. He had sat listening for hours,
mostly in silence, a deep brooding expression bending his ragged brows
together in a stern frown.
From his position in the attic, Andy Bishop could see the fisherman's
face. The dwarf was quick to recognize that something was wrong with his
friend.
"The world air waggin' yet, Orn," he remarked soothingly.
"Sure, but 'tain't much of a world," grunted Skinner, sighing.
Andy bent his head a little farther through the hole.
"It air a lot, while we got Tess," he answered. "We got Tessibel, ain't
we, pal?"
The squatter's mouth wrinkled at each corner.
"Yep, I guess we got 'er all right, but I wish to God she'd come home."
"She'll be along soon," assured Andy, with a smile.
For a few minutes they remained silent. Then Orn Skinner burst forth
again,
"I ain't got as much use for that feller Tess loves as a dog has for a
million fleas, an' I never liked 'is pa, uther...."
"Ye wouldn't wish she'd be lovin' Sandy Letts, even if he does make
money, eh, Orn?" asked Andy.
"Thunder, no!" snorted Skinner. "I'd ruther she'd be dead 'n married to
Sandy. But that ain't sayin' a honest squatter airn't better'n a high
born pup.... I wish Tess loved a decent chap."
At that moment the speaker's daughter was standing alone on a small
country inn porch, some miles from Trumansburg, waiting for her husband.
Frederick had gone to get the rig to take them back to the squatter
settlement. There was absolute stillness, absolute calm everywhere but
within herself. Her heart fluttered with new emotions, new desires,
ambitions to make herself worthy of the man she'd married. Her eyes were
on the sky, her soul among the stars, her own stars that had crept out
one by one, each to look lovingly down upon her happiness.
What a glorious night it was! More wonderful than yesterday even! Or any
of her many yesterdays! This hour, the climax of her love, had
transported her through the mystery of immeasurable joy. She would never
again be the old Tessibel. She was Frederick's wife! Her breath came in
sudden, quick, happy sighs, for just then she heard his voice from out
of the darkness. Ah, his tones, too, were deeper, richer than yesterday!
Even in the shadow, Frederick saw her distinctly as he came toward the
house.
"My own little wife!" he whispered tumultuously. "How happy I am!"
"Won't ye take me home now?" murmured Tess. "It air late an' Daddy'll be
worried."
"We'll start at once," promised Frederick tenderly, leading her down the
steps.
* * * * *
Daddy Skinner heard the horse coming down the hill, heard Frederick as
he said his low, "Good-night, my darling," and unbarring the door, the
fisherman waited impatiently for his daughter to enter the shanty.
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?"
Tess sobered instantly. She was always very careful not to be irreverent
about sacred things.
"You can bet your boots, I air some _awful_ religious," she acquisced
earnestly. "I've knowed about God and Jesus ever so long."
"That's nice," responded Burnett, becoming grave in his turn.
Oh, would he never go! Would he never finish?
When Burnett walked toward the ladder, she sighed dolefully.
"Does your foot hurt you, kid?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
"Nope," faltered Tess. "I guess I were a thinkin' what'd happen to the
little man when ye get 'im."
The warden was trying the strength of the ladder.
"Oh, I'll hike him back up state quicker'n scat when I get my fingers on
'im," said he, his head disappearing in the hole in the ceiling.
In less than thirty seconds he was down again and had taken a squint
under the bed.
"There isn't any dwarf under there either," he said, amusement in his
tones. He stretched forth his hand, reaching down to the girl on the
cot.
"Now, don't hold nothing against me, kiddie, for comin' here, will ye?
Just shake hands with a feller and say it's all right, eh?"
Tessibel lifted the owl high in the air and opened her fingers. There
was a small ghostly flutter and in another instant Deacon had
disappeared into the garret.
She gave the warden both her hands, and for the little minute Burnett
stood by the bed holding them in his and assuring her of his good will.
Tessibel sent up a prayer of thanksgiving. Her little Andy, Daddy
Skinner's friend, was saved!
When Burnett reached the door, he looked back at her. The girl's lips
were parted in a brilliant, farewell smile. He whirled about and came
toward her again.
"Kid," he said huskily, "I'm a hard-headed old cuss, harder'n brass
tacks. I been made so by just such men as Andy Bishop--" He paused, and
during his short hesitation, pregnant with meaning, Tessibel kept her
eyes on him. "I was wonderin', little one," he finished, shame-faced,
"when you say your prayers, if you'd pipe one for me. I need it, so help
me God, I do."
In another moment he was at the door, and in response to the hasty
glance he sent her, Tess flung him a misty, loving smile.
"Sure, sir, sure I will," she called, "an' thank ye for bein' so kind."
Burnett strode out; Tessibel rolled off the dwarf's body to one side of
the cot, and Andy gave an audible grunt.
"I air gee-danged glad that air over," sighed Tess. And as she lay very
still, the warden's hearty voice came floating to her.
"That's a mighty fine girl you got, Skinner."
Tess also heard her father's husky reply. "Bet yer life, she air....
Good day to ye, sir."
Shortly after, the anxious listeners in the shanty heard the click of
the horse's shoes and the rumble of the departing wheels on the stones
amid the wagon's creaking complaints against the steepness of the hill.
CHAPTER XVI
TESSIBEL'S SECRET
Tessibel Skinner had been married to Frederick Graves for six long
weeks: She had become somewhat accustomed to the deception practiced on
Daddy Skinner, and Frederick was constantly allaying her fears and
misgivings by telling her that she belonged to him now; that she was his
darling, his joy, the better part of his life. Many times he assured her
between kisses that it wouldn't be necessary to keep the marriage secret
long. Each day, each hour, each minute, the girl-wife basked in the
thought of her young husband's love. She unfolded the hidden beauties of
her nature to him as spontaneously as the opening flower responds to the
genial warmth of the rising sun.
Early one morning Tessibel arose, a new light shining in her eyes.
Because Daddy Skinner was still abed, she started to the shore for
water. It was a glad, shining, diamond-studded earth that greeted the
view of the expectant girl; there was wonderful stillness everywhere,
and for some minutes she stood contemplating the scene before her. South
from the Hog Hole to the northern curve at Lansing, the lake was
dappled, its surface broken here and there by little capfuls of breeze,
which dimpled in the light, while the smooth spots reflected the blazing
glory of the morning sun. The leaves of the weeping willow tree swept
the rapt, upraised face, and Tess drew down about her head and shoulders
one of the thickest branches. These century-old trees were really a
vital part of her life--old loves to Tessibel, loves that had kept watch
over her since the day of her birth in the shanty.
[Illustration: "I WAS WONDERIN', LITTLE ONE, WHEN YOU SAY YOUR PRAYERS,
IF YOU'D PIPE ONE FOR ME"]
A brilliant flame flooded her face.... Frederick stood with her in
spirit nearness. What she would tell him that evening would be whispered
so low that not even the nesting birds could hear. She imagined the
tenderness with which he'd clasp her in his arms, and thrilled,
visualizing the darkening of his eyes. Tessibel was painting
pictures--her exalted soul running the gamut of joy.
What a wonder-world it was! What a glad, peaceful, new day, her first
real day of living--the beginning of life itself; Frederick's life and
her life! Now, of course, he would tell his mother they were
married--would take her to Daddy Skinner, and--and--She could plan no
farther just then. Her whole being was God-lifted. Even the waves
lapping at her feet seemed to speak the language of a world to come.
She dipped the pail into the lake slowly, filling it with water. Then
with a last sweeping glance over the golden-tinted waves, she returned
to the shanty. Daddy Skinner by this time was seated in his chair, his
grey face wearing an expression of misery.
"Ye air sicker this morning, honey, huh?" asked Tess anxiously, lifting
the pail to the table.
"Yep, brat, awful sick, but mebbe I'll feel better after a while."
"Yer coffee'll be ready quicker'n scat, dear," said the girl. "Flop on
my bed an' stretch out a minute. Tessibel'll get her daddy's breakfast."
Five minutes later she had fried the fish and made the coffee.
"I air goin' to give Daddy his eatin's first, Andy," she called up
through the hole in the ceiling.
"All right; sure, do, kid," assented the dwarf.
* * * * *
Daddy Skinner gradually felt better, and during the morning Tessibel's
youthful spirits rose by leaps and bounds. All through the day she
warbled out her happiness, lovingly bantering the two crippled men. Thus
the minutes crept on to eventide, to that hour on the ragged rocks with
Frederick.
She left the shanty early, that she might commune undisturbed for a time
with her dear wild world. Through the gloaming the dull sound of the cow
bells came distinctly from Kennedy's farm. The roosters were crowing a
last good-night to the sun. The monstrous shadows of the great forest
trees were going to sleep in the earth for another night. While the
daylight was fading, the girl sat relaxed against the rocks, her
unfathomable eyes contemplating the purple-spanned lake. She had drifted
into a reverie ... blissfully dreaming, with Frederick the foremost
figure of her dreams. The solemn descent of night ever signified the
mystery of his love to her. Now, from the fullness of her unalloyed joy,
she glanced up at the sky and blessed the whole world. In imagination
she deciphered the words the stars were forming. Stretched from pole to
pole, they lettered the heavens with the wonders of infinitude. In a
diadem of gold, "God is love" was written; from the unsearchable north
to the south where in their turn the slender rimming clouds sent it on
to the world beyond. "God is love," whispered the swaying trees, and
"God is love" came softly to the ear of the sensitive girl, as an echo
is flung back from the rocks and is sent home to its maker.
And even as Tess dreamed, the passion stars in their invisible courses
bent toward her. Impulsively she lifted her arms upward toward those
twinkling participants of her secret, emblems of the immeasurable glory
of her love for Frederick. By a simple turn, she could see the tree of
her old-time fancies, the familiar figure in the tall pine, with
swaying, majestic head and beckoning arms.
At that moment, she perceived Frederick making his way along the ragged
rocks. She could hear her heart's blood pulsing madly, striking at her
wrists, throbbing at her temples, making a race the length of her
quivering body. Now, she could see him plainly in the dim light, and a
smile deepened the dimple at each corner of her mouth. An indefinable
shyness kept her from running to him to tell her glad tidings. But what
made him walk so slowly and with hanging head? It wasn't like Frederick.
Something unusual had happened or he would not lag so in coming to her.
She was even more mystified at the peculiarity of his greeting. With
nerves as tautly drawn as fiddle strings, she remained very still. In
his own time he would tell her all about it. She lifted her arms, but
Frederick, unheeding, sank to the rocks beside her. She laid her hand
on his, expressing her love to him by the simple contact.
"Don't!" he said shortly. He drew away from the caressing fingers
impatiently. "I've come to tell you something."
"Well, here I air," answered Tess, quietly.
There was an exquisite tenderness in the young voice. In the white light
of the early evening Tessibel could see Frederick's brows fiercely drawn
together. Probably his mother was worse and that accounted for the
change in him. She became instantly all devotion.
"Air ye goin' to tell me about it, honey?" she entreated softly. "It'll
make ye feel better.... Tell Tessibel."
He turned away, and moved nervously until his shoulders were fitted into
a rock cavity; then, he dropped his head back with a prolonged sigh. It
was even more difficult than he had imagined.
"Of course I needn't tell you ... that I love you, need I, Tess?" he
stammered, after a while.
He could not assure her too many times of his affection. She leaned
against him, adoring, wrapped in the delight of his love as a water lily
is wrapped in its green sepals.
"I know it, dearest!" she murmured, much moved. "Ye tell me that every
day. But what else air ye--"
"You'll forgive me, and not be ... too unhappy?" Frederick interrupted
her anxiously.
Unhappy, while her whole being was transfused with ecstasy! Unhappy,
when his life and hers intermingled in one glad, glorious song of
inseparable unity! There never could be a diminution of her joy.
Frederick loved her! That was enough.
"There ain't nothin' I wouldn't forgive," she vowed, misty-eyed.
"But, Tess, I feel as though you won't forgive me this," sighed
Frederick. "But if you'll promise me--"
"I do--I will," she interjected, sitting up. "Why, of course, I'd
forgive ye anything."
Frederick dared not look at her. Even in the twilight he could feel her
eyes searching his face for an explanation.
"I need you to help me, Tessibel," he said at length.
Help him! Hadn't she ever been ready to help him? He had but to ask her.
She dropped her head against his arm again.
"Tell Tessibel," she urged, smiling.
One slender, girlish arm slipped lovingly about him. A set of small
fingers took his cold hand in a firm grasp.
"Tess loves ye, dear," came soothingly. "Now tell 'er, an' then ye'll be
happier."
Shame rose rampant in the boy's breast.
"I can't do it," he muttered under his breath.
But he knew all the time he would. The events of yesterday, culminating
with Waldstricker's brilliant offer, closed every other path. He
groaned, catching his lips tensely between his teeth. Some one had to
suffer, but the sacrifice must not touch his mother nor estrange the
Waldstrickers. That Madelene would be wronged by his action gave him
little concern. But at that moment to hurt the girl at his side; oh, how
he hated the bitter necessity! Conscious of the despicable part he was
playing, but having really decided, he drew himself from the girl's
arms. To gain a little more time, he thrust his fingers several times
through his damp hair.
"Tess," he hesitated, "you've promised you'd never tell about our being
married."
An encouraging touch turned the boy's twitching face to hers.
"An' I ain't never goin' to till ye let me," she asserted soothingly.
"Ye ain't lettin' that worry ye, darlin', eh?"
She encouraged him to answer by the tender cadence on the end of her
question.
"No, no, Tess!" Then desperately, "Oh, in God's name, how am I ever
going to get it out?"
Tessibel became suddenly terror-stricken. It must be something very
serious to force from him such language in such heart-rending tones. She
shivered nervously.
"You mustn't think for a moment, Tess," the boy burst forth, with
renewed courage, "that I don't love you! I shall love you always,
always."
"Always," echoed Tess, reassured. If Frederick loved her, nothing else
mattered. Perhaps his mother was--Her thought snapped in two at an
ejaculation from Frederick.
"And what I do is because--well, because--I must," he stammered. "You
understand that, don't you, sweetheart?"
"Sure," agreed Tess, puzzled.
"And nothing will ever be changed between you and me--"
"Nothin' can ever hurt us, Frederick," she interrupted quickly.
And Tess believed this to be the eternal truth. Faith the size of a
grain of mustard seed had piloted her through severe storms. Since Daddy
Skinner had been restored to her, that faith had grown to the size of
the mountain itself.
"I won't let it," went on the student, swiftly. "Neither must you. You
must trust me--you must believe! No, don't p
Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/20548