oment he was leaning over her. He brushed back the tousled
hair from the girl's forehead, and pulled away the long curls seeped
with blood.

"I air yer friend, brat," he whispered. "Tell me 'bout it."

Tessibel had to confide in somebody.

"I'll get a rag first an' wipe ye off," said the dwarf. "My, but ye did
get a cut, didn't ye?... What did it?"

Gently he began to wash away the crimson stain from her face and neck.

"Somebody hit ye?" he demanded presently.

"Yep."

"Who?... Who dared do it?" The dwarf's face darkened with rage. "Where
were the brute that done it?"

"Andy," sobbed Tess, "I air goin' to tell ye somethin'; ye may think I
air awful wicked, but--but--Andy, don't tell Daddy, but in the spring I
air goin' to--"

"Yep, I know, Tess," he murmured. "I heard the woman yellin' at ye the
uther day way through my blankets. But 'tain't nothin' to cry over.
God'll bless ye, brat, and God'll bless--it!"

Her sobbing slowly subsided, and in halting words Tess told the dwarf
the story of the afternoon's dreadful experience.

"And, Andy, it were awful. Mr. Griggs wanted to let me go home, but the
uther men wouldn't, an' then the minister says like Jesus did to the men
who were goin' to stone the poor woman, 'Let him that ain't a sinner
throw the first stone,' an' Waldstricker picked up a great hunk o' coal
and hit me with it. Do ye suppose he air so awful good an' I air so
awful wicked he had a right to strike me?"

"Sure he didn't, Tess," Andy comforted. "Course not!"

The willows moaned their weird song to the night, the wind shrieked in
battling anger over the tin on the roof, while the snowflakes came
against the window like pale eyes looking in upon the squatter girl and
the dwarf on his knees beside the cot bed.

CHAPTER XXVII

DADDY SKINNER'S DEATH

It was Saturday evening, three days after Tessibel Skinner had been
churched from Hayt's Chapel. The night wind called forth moaning
complaints from the willow trees. The rasping of their bare limbs
against the tin roof of the cottage did not disturb Daddy Skinner
struggling for breath in the room below. All the familiar night-noises
kept a death vigil with the squatter girl.

A sound outside made her lift her head. Kennedy's brindle bull was
scratching to come in. She rose, went to the door and opened it. Pete
ambled over the threshold and curled down by the stove.

"Anythin' the matter, brat?" whispered Andy.

"No, I were lettin' i