Her sobbing slowly subsided, and in halting words Tess told the dwarf the story of the afternoon's dreadful experience.
"And, Andy, it were awful. Mr. Griggs wanted to let me go home, but the uther men wouldn't, an' then the minister says like Jesus did to the men who were goin' to stone the poor woman, 'Let him that ain't a sinner throw the first stone,' an' Waldstricker picked up a great hunk o' coal and hit me with it. Do ye suppose he air so awful good an' I air so awful wicked he had a right to strike me?"
"Sure he didn't, Tess," Andy comforted. "Course not!"
The willows moaned their weird song to the night, the wind shrieked in battling anger over the tin on the roof, while the snowflakes came against the window like pale eyes looking in upon the squatter girl and the dwarf on his knees beside the cot bed.
CHAPTER XXVII
Daddy Skinner's Death
It was Saturday evening, three days after Tessibel Skinner had been churched from Hayt's Chapel. The night wind called forth moaning complaints from the willow trees. The rasping of their bare limbs against the tin roof of the cottage did not disturb Daddy Skinner struggling for breath in the room below. All the familiar night-noises kept a death vigil with the squatter girl.
A sound outside made her lift her head. Kennedy's brindle bull was scratching to come in. She rose, went to the door and opened it. Pete ambled over the threshold and curled down by the stove.