sted.

A hopeless shake of the bowed head accompanied the whispered answer.

"I can't, Andy! I can't!... I'm so afraid!"

"What you 'fraid of, brat, dear? Jesus air loving you same's He did in
the shack. He got Daddy Skinner out of prison, an' he took care of me,
didn't he, huh?"

Maddened by suffering, she drew herself impatiently, away from the
dwarf.

"Don't, Andy! I don't want to hear! He let Waldstricker whip my baby."

Although the young mother could hear the muttered prayers of the dwarf,
no answering faith came into her soul. Hot hatred of the man who'd
struck her son surged through her. Never again would she think of him
without the raging cry within her for revenge. Her anger barbed the
shafts of his rancor and dulled her own understanding of Life and Love.
Resentment inhibited every constructive effort. The courage, even the
desire to fight against death's coming, was wanting.

"I hate 'im worse than anything in the world," she muttered.

"Yes, darlin'," soothed the dwarf.

"I'd like to kill him. Oh, I must do something--" She tried to get to
her feet, but Andy held her tightly.

"Stay here!" was all he said, and Tess ceased to resist.

At midnight Boy died. He went away very quietly, without a cry or
struggle. At the very last, he turned upon his side, looked into his
mother's face, his eyes unshadowed and joyous. He smiled a little,
sighed with the passing breath, "Mummy," and sank to sleep. So dazed was
Tessibel that without protest she allowed Deforrest to pick her from her
knees and carry her out of the room.

Mother Moll and Andy performed the necessary services to the mortal clay
that'd been their darling. Loving fingers, tenderly touching the
delicate body, made Boy ready for the grave. Through the stillness of
the night, the sighing of the ceaseless wind of the Storm Country,
soughing of death and desolation, called to their minds the weird
superstitions of squatter lore. The old witch mumbled of signs, portends
and warnings, and uttered dire prophecies in which her wrath at
Waldstricker found expression.

* * * * *

While Tess and her squatter friends were carrying Boy through the sullen
cold to God's wind-swept half-acre, Ebenezer Waldstricker sat before the
glowing hickory logs in his sumptuous library. Several letters in his
morning mail required his presence in the city. On the table before him
lay a list of things he intended to buy for little Els