"Go home," the minister said hoarsely; "and may God forgive us all."
How Tessibel found her way home, she could never afterwards tell. Spent by the struggle with the storm, she staggered into the shanty. It took almost the last atom of her strength to close the door against the howling blizzard. Leaning against the wall, she looked up and saw Andy staring at her from the hole in ceiling, his fingers on his lips.
"It were awful cold under the bed," he told her. "Yer Daddy air asleep, so I came up here to keep warm!"
When he noticed the girl's unusual appearance, he scurried down the ladder, waddled across the kitchen, and stood in front of his friend.
"What air the matter, brat?" he quivered.
Solicitous, he helped her into a chair near the fire and took off her hat and coat. The blood from the neck wound had made crimson blotches on her white waist.
"Ye're hurt, honey," he cried, alarmed. "How'd it happen?"
"I air hurt a little," said she, faintly. "Fetch me some water, dear, an' don't—don't tell Daddy!"
"Get on the cot, kid," said he, "an' I'll put up the bar."