The Secret of the Storm Country | Page 9

me."
Waldstricker glanced first at the little hut, then back at Tess.
"You don't mean you have faith in witchcraft?" he ejaculated, incredulously. "Why, girl, that's positively against the Bible commandments."
"Air it? Well I swan!" She nodded her head as though digesting a new idea. "Anyway, Mother Moll always tells me the truth. She can see things comin' years and years."
Waldstricker contemplated the grave young face for an instant, noting involuntarily the abundance and beauty of the wind-blown hair. He turned about on the path.
"I shall go with you," he said.
Her desire to forbid the proposed visit, struggling with her awe of the powerful man at her side, confused her. She couldn't think clearly. She twisted her fingers into her red curls.
"I'd ruther ye wouldn't," she explained. "Ma Moll hates strangers worser'n she does the old nick!"
Waldstricker ignored the girl's speech except that the frown deepened on his brow.
"Nevertheless I'm going," he returned, sternly. "I can't realize that God-fearing men and women have such iniquity among them. Come on; I'll go with you!"
Tess would gladly have deferred her visit until another day, and returned home, but she feared he'd follow her there. Here was a man of whom she was heartily afraid, and as she dared not defy him, she obediently walked across the gully bridge, and hurried along the path.
Then she paused, looking at Mother Moll's shack, snuggled in a jut in the ravine. It was quite close now. Tess knew the witch was at home, for a thin line of smoke drifted zig-zag from the toppling chimney.
She looked back and found Waldstricker eyeing her. She noted both corners of his lips were down now.
"I came from Ithaca purposely to see you and your father," said he.
Tess was so startled she took two sudden steps backward.
"My daddy ain't very well!" she exclaimed, nervously. "He don't like strange folks comin' around, Daddy don't."
Waldstricker shrugged his shoulders indifferently.
"However, I must see him," he responded.
Tessibel felt a surging anger against this man. He had the same imperious bearing she remembered in Dominie Graves.
"What fer? What d'ye want to see Daddy fer?" Her voice was compelling.
"About a matter that may make him a lot of money," the man explained, pompously. "When may I come?"
She considered a moment before replying. This put a different face on the matter.
"Could ye come tomorrow?" she demanded finally.
"Yes, at two, then. Tell your father, please."
"All right," muttered Tess.
Waldstricker's whip cut a cluster of wild flowers and nipped clean the stems of their upraised heads.
"Oh!" cried Tess, sharply, hurt to the quick.
As if reading her thoughts, he retorted, "A flower hasn't a soul, so what does it matter?"
Tess turned tear-dimmed eyes from him to Mother Moll's shack. Shocked at his brutality, his arrogant cruelty to the flowers she cherished so tenderly left her dumb. That his statement was false, she knew. To her the flowers expressed Love's sweetness and beauty, but she couldn't explain her faith to this haughty, dictatorial millionaire at her side.
She was all of a tremble as she mounted the narrow shanty steps.
An aged voice croaked, "Come in," in response to her knock. Before pulling the latch string, Tessibel paused and said to Waldstricker,
"Wait a minute! I'll go first, an' tell Mother Moll you're here."
She crossed the threshold and saw the old woman swaying to and fro in a wooden rocker.
"It air Tessibel, Mother Moll," she said gently. "I want to see what's in the pot."
Mother Moll smiled a withered, joyous smile.
"Come in, my pretty," she clacked. "Yer Moll's allers glad to see yer shinin' eyes. Come in, my love."
Tess advanced into the kitchen.
"That duffer Waldstricker's come along with me," she told her in a low tone.
The old woman struggled to her feet with the aid of her cane. Her watery eyes glared at the tall man in the doorway, and he as angrily stared back at her. The woman hobbled two steps forward.
"If ye've come for me to tell ye somethin', it won't be nothin' very pleasant," she growled at him. "Git me the pot, brat, dear!"
Tessibel went to the grate and lifted the iron kettle from the fire. It was steaming hot, and she brought it over, placing it at the woman's feet.
"Set down," the hag commanded Waldstricker. "I'll tell ye what's doin' in the pot, an' then git out! I hate ye!"
Waldstricker, with the peculiar down twist of his mouth, glanced darkly at Tessibel, but the girl's unresponsive, serious face turned his attention again to the witch.
"You're a wicked old woman," he said grimly. "The county should care for such as you."
But Mother Moll did not catch his words. She was crooning over the pot inarticulately. The seams in the skin around her eyes netted together, almost closing the flaming red lids. Through the narrow slits she was following the steam as it rose and