to the kitchen door leading into the yard, and
turned the key in the lock. He placed the lamp on the table, the
squatter waiting with fear-laden eyes.

"For a long time," went on the Dominie, in slow, measured tones, "I have
thought it would be a good thing to give you a sound whipping. The Bible
says, 'Spare the rod, and spoil the child.' ... I am going to do
something your father forgot to do, Miss Skinner."

The sneer in his voice and his slur on her father brought a bright flush
of anger to Tessibel's face.

"Ye can cowhide me if ye wants to, but don't say nothin' against my
Daddy!"

"I'll say what I wish to! Now, then, how many times have you stolen from
this house?"

Tess looked about for some way of escape; then pondered.

"I dunno," she replied sullenly.

"I can just about tell," answered Graves. "Rebecca says that for many
mornings she has had no milk for her coffee. And I left the kitchen door
unlocked to-night purposely to catch the thief. Let me see.... I think
we've been robbed for ten days? That means ten good stripes for you,
Tessibel Skinner.... Put down that milk!"

"I won't do it," Tessibel whitened. She had not believed the minister
when he had threatened to whip her. He was trying to scare her. He would
probably take away the milk, and send her home again. But he had
stepped to the wall, and taken a riding-whip from a nail. Tess had seen
that whip before, once--the time she had twiggled her fingers. Graves
had shaken it at her from his saddle-horse. Then she had not been
afraid.... The clergyman came toward her.

"Ye hit me with that whip," growled Tess, "and--and--I'll kill ye!"

"Oh! you will, eh?... Well, then, there it is!"

A stinging blow fell across her shoulders, and another and another. The
slender body writhed silently, turned and twisted to escape the
descending whip. Drops of milk spattered upon the floor. Never before
had Tess known such physical pain. The minister was counting the blows
deliberately as they fell. At the eighth stroke, the girl opened her
lips and uttered a long, piercing cry--an intense, vibrating cry. The
last blow fell upon Tessibel's shivering back,--and Frederick appeared
in the doorway. His father leaning against the wall breathlessly, the
whip hanging limply from his hand; Tessibel Skinner, barefooted and
weeping, with a pail of milk clasped in her fingers--was what the boy
saw. He had no chance to speak before Teola, too, with streaming hair,
her ni