ng
Tessibel Skinner and her squatter father through their garden of
Gethsemane.

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

On and on she sang, and on and on the dying man gropingly felt his way
to Eternity. Sometimes he smiled at her; sometimes at the wraith in the
rafters. But not for one moment did the voice of the little singer cease
its insistent cry for a complete rescue.

The dwarf was silent, his shining face reflecting the peace and security
of which the squatter girl sang.

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

The beautiful voice did not falter. Suddenly the powerful lungs of the
fisherman gathered in one long, last breath, and when it came forth to
meet Tessibel's song, the broad shoulders dropped back, the chest
receded, the smile faded from the gray eyes--and Daddy Skinner was dead.

He had died listening to those appealing, melodious words, "Rescue the
Perishin'; Care for the Dyin'." That sudden collapsing change in the
gaunt figure seemed to freeze the very song on Tessibel's lips. Her
voice trailed to a limp wail, as if an icy hand had caught her throat.
Silence succeeded silence. Even the storm seemed for an instant to still
its raging roar, then Pete threw back his head and howled his grief. As
his resonant cries filled the shack and mingled with the turmoil of the
elements, Tess clung to the dog, staring with horrified eyes at the huge
beloved form crushed and crumpled upon the cot. Death had come and gone.
The mystery in the shadowy rafters had taken Daddy Skinner away.

The dwarf raised his head and looked at Tess. Slowly he leaned over and
pressed his lips to Orn Skinner's brow, and as he rose, he lifted the
girl's rigid arm from the tawny back and seized the dog by the collar to
quiet him.

Then came one of those unthinkable, weird cries, a nightmarish cry from
the girl's throat, and--as God tempereth the wind to the shorn lamb, so
in Divine pity he covered Tess of the Storm Country with mental
oblivion.

CHAPTER XXVIII

YOUNG DISCOVERS ANDY

During the minutes Daddy Skinner lay grappling with death, Ebenezer
Waldstricker sat in his handsome drawing room with an open Bible on his
knee, talking to his wife.

"I've explained to you time and time again, Helen," said he impatiently,
"why I struck her and I'm not sorry I did it."

"It seems awful, though," replied his wife, reflectively.

Waldstricker frowned into the wistful face.

"Why awful whe