"Your daddy air a dirty duffer," said Jake. "Give 'er a whack in the face, Tess."
He came forward from his place by the door and stopped near the two girls. The fisherman raised his own fist, and Tessibel moved a little aside. She regretted, now, that she'd loosened the little one's bonds or had done anything to relieve her suffering. She didn't care what they did to Waldstricker's girl. If they wanted to strike her, what affair was it of hers?
She turned her eyes upward, and, there, from among the rafters, she seemed to see Boy's face smiling down upon her. Love, shining from the dear eyes, radiated bliss and joy. How very sweet and peaceful he appeared! Then, Brewer's voice penetrated her consciousness. He was leaning over the rigid little girl.
"Brat," he was saying, "you air goin' to get the lickin' of yer life, an' don't ye ferget it."
"Pretty lady, help baby," mourned Elsie.
Tessibel shoved the squatter aside.
"Don't touch 'er yet," she said in low, distinct tones.
Jake took something from his pockets and thrust it into the girl's hands. It was a small, wiry, riding whip.
"It air the one her pa used on Boy," he muttered. "I stole it from 'is stable."
Tessibel uttered a cry and dropped the whip. The terrible scene in the lane, invoked by the speaker's words and the sight of the whip, poured into her mind a new flood of hate.