ster
Graves lifted their long ears and listened. Human steps at this time of
night were out of the ordinary. The dog at Kennedy's farm beyond the
tracks heard them, too, and bayed loudly. Then as they grew more
distinct he bounded toward the fence, capering madly about, to scent the
intruder. It was but a forlorn little figure, but Pete, the brindle
bull, lifting his voice in a pleased howl, crouched close to the fence
as a small hand came through to pet him.

"It air only Tess," said a voice in which tears had gathered. "Ye air
glad to see Tess, ain't ye?... Tess air glad to see ye, too ...
Frederick and Daddy air gone and I must be goin'."

Tessibel placed her face down near the big dog and he shoved out his
long red tongue, touching her with delight. The girl hugged the large
head with an admonishing appeal that Pete must go back to his
kennel--and stepped again to the track--that long, black winding road
which she must travel before reaching her destination.

It was raining again, the water falling in steady drops upon the bare
head. Frequently the girl wiped the water from her face with a torn
calico skirt. Once she sat down and gathered her feet under her wet
dress to stop their stinging pain--and here alone under the dark sky,
Tessibel offered up her first balanced prayer, for had not Frederick
said that God would save Daddy Skinner.

"He do say," and she lifted her eyes upward with a simultaneous wipe at
her face, "that there air a God who'll help my Daddy ... I wants to find
my Daddy ... for a minute ... a little minute ... be it pleasin' to ye,
Goddy?"

Tessibel always put "dy" to Dad to make it more effective--and it was
with the same sweet, serious voice, with which she would have pleaded
with her own father, that she made familiar with the majesty of heaven.
She could make no distinction between Daddy Skinner and Jehovah. Both to
her were the reigning powers of the earth. Daddy she had always known,
but the other--Frederick had said it was good to pray. She rose
stumbling, and at three o'clock in the morning entered the city of
Ithaca, walking up State street drabbled and thoroughly wet. She knew
the streets that led to the city jail, for many a time when selling
greens and berries had she gone steathily to the gray stone building and
examined the barred windows.

She crossed Dewitt park, and passed by the churches which surrounded the
jail. Around and around the ivy-covered stone structure wandered