f newspaper to stammer forth the words she knew.

But it was a Bible she needed--to learn about the student's God and the
Christ. Tess was more interested in the cross than the crown, more
interested in the nails that had opened the wounds in the Saviour's
hands and feet, than in any royal head-covering that might come in some
future time to her. There was too much misery in her own life, too much
desperate desire for her loved one, to allow the glitter of a promised
crown to affect her. She wanted to know of the suffering Christ, to
read of how He had promised--Here Tess stopped and tossed back the red
hair. What was it she wanted to read about? Ah, yes--not heaven and its
glories nor hell and its terrors, but of Daddy Skinner back in the
shanty.

The Bible would tell her just how to bring him back,--but where should
she get one? At the squatter mission, of course. Tessibel remembered
that once she had been coaxed to enter the mission, but the children had
laughed at her rags and after that she could not be induced to go again.
Then in the bitterness of her heart she had thrown stones and clay from
the edges of the track through the open window upon the other children,
and had been told by the superintendent never to come near the small
church again. But that was four long months ago, and not once
since--since the horror of Daddy's going, had she even looked toward the
mission.

The dusk fell, slowly striking out the day-shadows from the railroad bed
and she halted where the two tracks met. The mission was opposite her.
Would she dare ask for a Bible? A rich, warm light flooded through the
window and then the old squatter who had kept the place in order for
many years came out and closed the door. Tessibel's eyes followed his
form through the dim twilight until he disappeared into his shanty.

Her hand clutched convulsively the knob of the mission door; it yielded
to her touch, and for the second time in her life Tessibel Skinner was
inside the mission room. The small reed organ stood open: a hymn book
stretched back with a rubber band caught her eye. A bright bit of red
carpet wound its way about the altar. The squatter did not pause to
examine the pictures on the wall nor even an instant before the glowing
fire. Her eyes were searching for a Bible--the shade deepening in them
as she sidled toward the nearest seat.

She read "H-y-m-n-a-l" on the back of the first book--dropping it she
gathered up another.

"H-o