The Secret of the Storm Country | Page 4

a face--a man's face. Tess dropped on her
pillow. For possibly two minutes, she lay quietly waiting, while the
shadow moved curiously to and fro on the floor. Twice the head
disappeared, and as suddenly returned, poised a moment, then, like an
image moving across a screen, was gone. Instantly Tess sat straight up
in bed. Perhaps one of the squatters needed her. She crept to the floor,
yawning, tiptoed to the door, and unbarred it. Without pausing to cover
her feet, she stepped outside, the fresh scent of May blossoms sweeping
sweet to her nostrils. The warm night-wind, full of elusive odors,
brushed her face like thready cobwebs, that broke at her touch, only to
caress her anew.
Midnight held no fear for Tessibel, for she loved every living creature,
those traveling by day being no dearer than those flying by night. She

felt no deeper thrills for the bright-winged birds singing in the sun than
for yonder owl who screeched at her, now, from the weeping willow
tree.
After picking her way to the front of the shanty, she made a tour of the
house and encircled the mud cellar, calling softly the while. No one
appeared; no voice, either of friend or stranger, answered the
persuasive importunity of Tessibel. But, after she was again in the
doorway, she heard north of the shanty the crackling of twigs as if
some stealthy animal were crawling over them. If there were an
intruder, he'd gone, and the girl, satisfied, went back into the house and
once more lay down to sleep.
When she woke again, Daddy Skinner was moving softly near the stove,
kindling the fire, and Tessibel lay in languid silence. She watched him
yearningly until he felt her gaze and looked at her. His twisted smile of
greeting brought an exclamation of love from the girl. All the
inhabitants of the Silent City knew this crippled old man could play on
the emotions of his lovely young daughter as the morning sun plays
upon the sensibilities of the lark. How she adored him, in spite of his
great humps and his now hobbling legs!
Soon, her father went to the lake for a pail of water, and she sprang
from the cot and dressed hastily.
CHAPTER II
THE COMING OF ANDY BISHOP
Later in the forenoon, when Tessibel returned home from an errand to
Kennedys', she found Daddy Skinner on the bench at the side of the
shanty, one horny hand clutching the bowl of a pipe in which the ashes
were dead. It took but one sharp glance from the red-brown eyes for
Tess to note that his face was white, almost grey; she saw, too, with a
quiver of loving sympathy, that his lower lip hung away from his dark
teeth as though he suffered. She sprang toward him, and dropped to her
knees, at his side.

"Daddy Skinner!" she exclaimed. "Daddy Skinner, ye're sick! Ye're
sick, darlin'!... Tell me, Daddy, what air the matter? Tell Tessibel."
She laid her hand tenderly on his chest. His heart was beating a heavy
tattoo against the blue gingham shirt.
"Ye hurt here?" she queried breathlessly.
The pipe dropped to the soft sand, and Skinner's crooked fingers fell
upon the profusion of red curls. Then he slowly tilted up her face.
"Yep, I hurt in there!" he muttered brokenly.
And as ashen and more ashen grew the wrinkled old countenance,
Tessibel cried out sharply in protest.
"Why, Daddy, what d'ye mean by yer heart's hurtin' ye?... What do ye
mean, Daddy?... I thought the doctor'd fixed yer heart so it wouldn't
pain ye no more."
The man considered the appealing young face an instant.
"I want to talk to ye about somethin'," said he, presently, "and I know
ye'll never tell anythin' Daddy tells ye."
With a little shake of her head that set the tawny curls a-tremble,
Tessibel squatted back on her feet.
"'Course I won't tell nobody, but if ye've got a pain in yer heart, daddy,
the doctor--"
"I don't need no doctor, brat. I jest--jest got to talk to ye, that air all."
A slender girlish figure cuddled between Daddy Skinner's knees, and
warm young lips met his. Never had Tess seen him look just that way,
not even when he had been taken from her to prison. The expression on
his face was hopeless, forlornly hopeless, and to wait until he began to
speak took all the patience the eager girl-soul could muster.

"Brat, dear," he sighed at length, "I ain't needin' to tell ye again what I
went through in Auburn, hev I?"
Brown eyes, frightened and fascinated, sought and found the faded
greys.
"'Course not, Daddy Skinner! But what fer air ye talkin' about Auburn
Prison?... Ye promised me, Daddy, ye'd forgit all about