nder Letts, convicted of grave robbing, had been sentenced to prison
and was still confined at Auburn.

During the weeks after Frederick's departure, Ebenezer Waldstricker had
been unusually busy. In May, just as the tardy promises of the Storm
Country spring, were beginning to be fulfilled by the full leaved
glories of early summer, little Elsie Waldstricker was born. A few weeks
later, the three of them had left Ithaca for a long period of travel.
Mr. Waldstricker had visited all his business friends and correspondents
and established many new connections. Proceeding leisurely around the
world, they'd returned to Ithaca not long after Elsie's third birthday.

During their absence abroad, except for the caretaker, the great house
above Hayt's had been closed. Affairs at the lake side had run along in
their usual way. Tessibel had been able to ameliorate the conditions of
her squatter neighbors and was regarded by the inhabitants of that end
of the Silent City, as their lady bountiful. They put her in a niche by
herself. None prouder than they of the evidences of culture and
refinement she showed, while with characteristic independence, they
called her "Brat" just as in the days, when she ran bare-legged and
dirty on the lake side.

Andy Bishop had occupied the room on the top floor of Young's home. He'd
devoted himself to the same studies Tess pursued and by greater
application had been able to overcome the handicap of the girl's
quickness and greater natural ability. Not so readily had he learned to
speak correctly. The idioms of his boyhood days still slipped out of his
mouth. But no suspicion of uncouth English marred the girl's speech.

Forlorn and abandoned, the Skinner shanty lay moldering under the
weeping willows. Summer heat and winter storms had worked their will
upon it. Thick grasses and tall weeds had driven out the squatter girl's
flowers and the hedge had grown into a tangled thicket.

The brilliant sun of a hot June morning found no more home-like place
than the old Graves house, where Deforrest Young lived with his squatter
friends. On the porch stood Tessibel Skinner. The girl's ruddy curls
fell in the same profusion as of old and shrouded a smiling, happy face.
Professor Young had caught her one day doing up the red hair in a great
ball on her head.

"Tess, it's a sacrilege," he protested sharply, "like wadding up the
petals of a rose or the leaves of a fern. Keep the curls, won't you?"

Below