"Ye're sick, brat," he stammered. "Be ye sick, my pretty?"
Dropping her eyes, Tessibel shook her head.
"Nope, I ain't sick," she faltered. "But—but—"
She wanted to throw herself upon her father's broad shielding breast and sob out her joy. But she couldn't do that so she stood hesitantly, her lips quivering.
"I air wantin' to be hugged in yer arms, Daddy Skinner," she told him. "Tell yer brat ye love her awful much."
And according to his custom in his daughter's sentimental moments, the fisherman, after dropping the door-bar, seated himself in the wooden rocking-chair, and held out his arms.
"I were just a sayin' to Andy, I wished ye'd come home," said he. "Love ye, kid?... I love ye better'n all the world, and everythin' in it.... Well! If my pretty brat ain't cryin'.... Sandy ain't been chasin' ye, has he?"
"Mebbe she air been a fightin' with her beau," piped the dwarf, from the ceiling.
The girl's mind traveled back through the events of the evening.
"Nope, I didn't fight with 'im, Andy," she smiled through her tears.