"Haw!" chuckled Ben, settling back against the child's box. "I says as how the gal comes to my shanty. She brings the brat to its pa."
Frederick moodily considered the ugly face. The sneer that accompanied the declaration roused his rage; the brute had sealed the doom of Tessibel Skinner. Again the student was oblivious of his love for the profession he had chosen; forgot that the one book he had studied more than any other taught him that the God he worshiped would avenge all wrong. In one step he was upon the fisherman. He lifted Orn Skinner's stool, and brought it down with a crash upon Ben's head.
Tess uttered a sharp, frightened cry, speeding to interrupt another blow.
"Get out of the way," cried the student, pushing her from him. "I am going to kill him!"
With no ungentle touch she grasped Frederick's arm, holding the stool in the air.
"Ye air to wait," she said, in low, swift tones, her gaze dominating his flashing eyes. "Ye'll kill him if ye hit him again.... Wait till I says what I's a-goin' to ... I loves my Daddy, that ye knows—better'n anything in the hull world—better'n God—better'n—better'n—"
"Better than the child?" demanded Frederick, placing his foot upon Ben.
A grunt issued from the girl's lips.
"Yep, a hundred times better than the brat! And I says this: that I hopes my daddy's neck'll be twisted by the rope, I hopes that I never sees him again"—her voice was raised high above the whistling wind and dashing rain—"I hopes," she finished, "that his soul'll shrivel in hell—"
"Stop! stop!" muttered Frederick. "Why are you saying such things?"