CHAPTER IX
The fraternities of Cornell University gave home and social comforts to students, rich and popular enough to be invited to join them. Each fraternity had its own spacious house, with its staff of servants, where the members lived during the college year.
Every first-year man had the ambition to join one, which if he attained assured him a luxurious home during the four years he spent in Ithaca.
One evening, three weeks after Tessibel's secret visit to her father in the city jail, twenty fraternities were preparing all the practical jokes which boyish minds could concoct, with which to initiate their new candidates to full membership. Five new men were to join the "Cranium" fraternity. The house of this society stood high upon the eastern hill above the lake and overlooked the forest-mantled town. The first story of the building contained the smoking, dining, billiard and two drawing rooms. Above were sleeping chambers and private studies for the students, and annexed to the house proper was a small stone structure built purposely for the initiation of the new members.
On this night all interest was centered upon the annex where Frederick Graves, Dan Jordan, Billy Dillon, Oscar Brown and Jimmy Preston were to be taken through the "stunts."
In the afternoon the five young men had been lockedin one of the student's rooms, and told that they would receive their dinner during the proceedings that evening. The gravity which had settled upon the upper classmen frightened the three smaller candidates, for Billy, Oscar and Jimmy were miniatures in size compared to Dan Jordan and Frederick Graves.
"Do you think they are going to hurt us," asked Billy Dillon, turning to the two larger students. "I don't want to be hurt—I like the thought of being a fraternity man, but I don't want to go through any business that will injure me."
"Neither do I," put in Oscar Brown. "I promised my mother—"
"It won't be well with you fellows if those chaps downstairs hear you talking that way," cautioned Jordan, "besides the initiation is only fun, and any of us are willing to stand jokes."
After a three-hour wait, a group of sophomores, and the freshmen's tormentors—appeared upon the scene and ordered the candidates to follow them into the dreaded annex. In this "torture chamber" the older members, juniors and seniors, seated on benches placed around the wall, were waiting gravely the arrival of their victims.
The honors of the occasion had been given into the hands of the sophomores, and as they trailed in followed by the quaking applicants, a hush fell over the expectant members of the society.
The five freshmen were ordered to stand in a row, and Richard Hall, the spokesman of the second-year class, came forward, holding up one hand in mock reverence.
"Gentlemen," he began, "I first christen you all in the name of the 'Cranium' Fraternity. I give you,Dillon, the name of 'Swipes.' You, Brown, shall be dubbed 'Shorts'—here he hesitated an instant, perusing a slip of paper which lay on the table beside him—Preston, you may add another 'S' to make a trio—your name shall be 'Spuddy.'"
Hall allowed his eyes to gaze reflectively upon Dan Jordan.
"To a big fellow like you, Jordan," he resumed, "I give 'Captain.'" His voice dropped as if he had either overlooked or forgotten Frederick, and the young fellow waited expectantly.
Suddenly Hall flashed him a glance, then dropped his eyes with twitching lips.
"'Parson' is good enough for you, Graves."
Sweeping the five candidates with his searching gaze, he took up the speech again—
"If at any time your fraternity brothers desire to call you by your new names and you refuse to answer, you shall receive the punishment which goes with disobedience."
"Gentlemen," he said again, dismissing the last subject with a wave of his hand, "it gives us great pleasure to receive you into this fraternity, but before we can give you full membership it is necessary for us to go through a few more formalities."
Hall's eye fell in hesitation upon the ponderous form of Dan Jordan.
"You will all no doubt soon see the value of prompt obedience," his voice rang out, and a smile touched each corner of his lips, but faded instantly.
The three little freshmen moved uneasily—Hall, with a touch of irony in his tones, directed the rest of his instructions to them.
"We have decided," resumed the speaker, "to initiate you fellows all at one time."
Oscar Brown sighed in relief. "Misery loves company," and if the society had any indignities to bestow, he would not be alone.
"We have found it necessary in times past," Hall took up again with a tragic tone in his voice, "to use discipline upon such occasions as this, and if by chance an incoming member becomes obstreperous, we employ a friend to help us—he holds an honored position in our fraternity ... Mr. Manchester, introduce 'Mazuka.'"
The sophomore thus adjured, stepped nimbly to the corner, and lifting from a hook a long vicious-looking carpet beater, brought it toward Hall.
"Handle him with reverence," shouted the spokesman, taking it carefully in his hands and turning it over with a benign smile. "Many a time has 'Mazuka' done good service for this frat! You will understand," the freshmen heard him say, "that an indecorous smile on any of your faces will immediately call for three strokes from 'Mazuka,'" and he waved the carpet beater threateningly, "and for disobedience you will get five. We will now proceed to business. 'Captain' Jordan and 'Parson' Graves, please step forward ... Blindfold the eyes of those two, Frank," Hall ended, addressing one of his classmates near him.
He turned to a group of his companions—and after whispering with them, came back saying aloud—"that's a good one to begin with."
Directing his eyes upon Jordan, he said:
"Down upon the floor and scramble like an egg, Captain."
A titter came from Billy Dillon.
"Duck that fresh chicken for laughing," shouted Hall, "and give him three strokes of the 'Mazuka.'"
A sophomore brought a pail of cold water, and two other students, grasping the little fellow, immersed his curly head in it. They then stood him on his feet and laid the carpet beater three times across his back. Billy almost wished he had not chosen the fraternity life, but the others were suffering with him, which made it easier than if he had been alone.
Meanwhile Dan Jordan was industriously trying to imitate a cooking egg.
"Scramble, Captain, scramble," cried a sophomore, prodding Jordan with a stick.
"Cook the 'Parson,' too," shouted some one, and Frederick was ordered to follow the movements of his friend.
A faint flush mounted to the broad brow of the minister's son and he hesitated.
"Bring the 'Mazuka,'" commanded Hall, and the eager sophomore rushed up with the persuader.
"Scramble, you," he roared, waving the carpet beater dangerously near Frederick's head, and down beside his strapping friend dropped the dignified Frederick—two more long legs, and two more heavy arms were wiggling over the floor.
"Those eggs are burning, give them some grease," suggested a senior from his seat near the wall.
An agile, willing sophomore snatched a bucket of water and emptied its contents over the two floundering giants. As the icy bath submerged the freshmen, DanJordan, sputtering and gasping, bounded to his feet.
"Five strokes of the 'Mazuka' for the 'Captain,'" shouted the delighted Manchester waving the carpet beater, "he got up without permission."
Three students held Jordan fast and the little sophomore, dancing with glee, belabored the huge half "scrambled egg," each blow resounding through the room.
"There! I guess that will hold him a while," chuckled the chastiser, putting the carpet beater under his arm, his face reflecting the pleasure of well-performed duty.
Frederick, wet and looking very bored, was still flopping about the floor, and after passing a few more remarks about rotten eggs and undignified positions, the sophomores allowed him to stand up.
"Now put the wet booby in the corner," ordered Hall, and Frederick was accordingly led away.
Oscar Brown and Jimmy Preston, a little pale after witnessing Dan Jordan's punishment, were then told to come forward. Both trembled perceptibly as they were blindfolded by a sophomore and commanded to lie upon their backs upon the floor.
"You fellows are going to get that dinner we promised you now," he said, stooping over the frightened prostrate students, and giving the bandages a last tightening pull; "the first course consists of something you are sure to like, and we guarantee them to be absolutely fresh. Bring the supper in, for these kids are hungry!"
Some one brought a dish and the two boys could plainly hear the rattle of the cover as it came off.
"Open your mouths," came the next command.
Oscar Brown timidly opened his lips and waited, but Jimmy Preston, thinking the joke had gone far enough, obstinately refused to open his lips.
Bang! came the carpet beater over the side of his leg, and his mouth flew open like a trapdoor.
"That's just a little reminder for you to do as you are told, Spuddy," the wielder of the "Mazuka" laughed.
"Here's the dinner, boys," cried Hall, "and I bet you can't imagine what we've brought you.... Do you know what that is, 'Shorts'?"
Brown shivered, for something snake-like and cold was drawn across his cheek.
"It's an angle worm," continued the speaker, "and you're going to eat it.... Don't be afraid, 'Spuddy,' you needn't wiggle, you are going to have one, too," he added the last part of the sentence, seeing a shudder pass over the form of the other blindfolded boy.
"Keep your mouths wide open," shouted a senior.
Simultaneously the two boys felt the promised but undesirable dinner drop into their mouths. With a groan Oscar Brown rolled over on his side and allowed his portion to fall slowly out. But Jimmy Preston, amid howls of joy from the onlookers, jumped to his feet and tore the bandage from his eyes.
"No fraternity for me," he yelled. "I've never heard of such a dirty trick. If you fellows—"
His disgusted gaze fell upon the plate held by a sophomore convulsed with laughter. Jimmy rubbed his eyes, blinked, and looked again—blank astonishment taking the place of his anger. In the dish were only a few strings of cold cooked macaroni.
"Golly! What a fool I am," and Jimmy glanced about upon the grinning faces with a sheepish air.
"That's what you are alright," said Manchester, trying to be serious and securing a better grip upon the carpet beater. "Who said you could take that bandage off. That will cost you five strokes of the 'Mazuka.' ... Here, fellows, hold him on his stomach over that chair, so that I can get in some of my fine strokes.... One ... two ... three ... four ... five ..."
Jimmy was jerked to his feet, the injured expression upon his sorrowful face plainly showing Manchester that his strokes had been telling ones.
"There! We're through with you for to-night, 'Spuddy,' old boy," said Manchester, proudly feeling his biceps. "Go sit down ... if you can," and Jimmy limped away with a muttered "thank heaven."
During a conference in undertones, amid giggling and snickering, Richard unfolded a new plan. Then he said in a loud voice,
"One of you fellows see if the surgeon is here yet. And hurry back."
Billy Dillon who had remained in trembling silence during the proceedings, received his bandage without a complaint, although his face was ashy pale, and his knees shook beneath him as Hall approached.
What did they want a doctor for? They surely wouldn't do—anything bad enough to need a surgeon. Thoughts like these went racing through his frightened mind, the sophomore leading him in terrifying darkness to a chair near by. Silence fell upon the room, and all that Billy could hear was his own excited breathing, made louder by the explosive beats of his heart.
"Swipes," he heard Hall say, "we've decided that we can't stand that pretty face of yours around, but as we like you and don't want to send you away, we will change the expression on it. A gash on each of those rosy cheeks will alter your whole appearance, so much, that not one of your lady friends will ever recognize you again. In after days, when you grow to be a man, you will thank us for this. Frank, tell Dr. Wallace to come in."
A pause ... and Billy heard the door open and close, and someone coming toward him, the person smelling strongly of drugs.
"Is this the unfortunate young man," asked a strange, but not altogether unfamiliar voice.
"Yes," Billy heard Hall answer in heartbroken tones, "and please, doctor, do the best you can for him."
"Oh, we'll fix him alright in just about a minute," responded the strange voice. "Mr. Hall, will you please hold his arms, for when patients are excited they sometimes forget themselves, and ... now ... my instruments, please."
Billy's arms were held tightly behind him, and for a moment he heard nothing—then came to his ears the sound of a box being unclasped and—horror of horrors—the rattle of surgical instruments.
Would they dare cut his face? Why his father would—
Billy felt the cold blade of the knife touch his flesh, and hot blood run down to his chin.
Upon this he became possessed by the strength of a giant. Jerking his hands loose he struck out with all his might, his fist hitting something with the force of a kicking donkey. There was a sound of some one fallingand a roar of laughter went up from the students as Billy was grasped by what seemed a thousand hands. The bandage was snatched from his eyes and he looked upon a sorry sight. Manchester, the expert wielder of the Mazuka, had failed as a surgeon. He lay a few feet away amid pieces of broken ice, which he had pretended was a surgical knife—his coat bespotted with hot milk which represented poor Billy's blood, and his left hand clasped tightly over a swollen eye.
"What hit me?" gasped the fictitious Dr. Wallace.
"What hit Manchester, fellows?" one of the seniors managed to howl out to the convulsed fraternity members.
"I believe that rascally freshman did it," exclaimed Manchester excitedly, "bring me the 'Mazuka,' and I'll put a bunch on him that never will come off."
"Gee Whiz! Look at his eye," some one called out.
This brought Manchester to a standstill.
"What's the matter with it," he groaned, putting his hand again to his face, "is it gone?"
The lids were puffed shut, and were rapidly darkening. Richard Hall, laughing uproariously, held a pocket mirror for the young sophomore to peep into. After a moment's contemplation of his bruised face, Manchester came forth in a hoarse whisper,
"That freshman's got to die—If I only ... had an ax," and his one eye gazed wildly around in search of a weapon.
"Come, come, Teddy Manchester," soothed a tall senior, "we'll arrange with the freshman alright. Don't work yourself into unnecessary excitement."
"And he shall use all his spending money for your tobacco, Teddy, for the entire year," cajoled Hall, "andblack your boots and brush your clothes, into the bargain, and besides you will get a chance to get even at the Freshmen's Banquet," he whispered.
"Gentlemen," he concluded, turning with a winning smile upon the assembled society, "we have five new members in the 'Cranium' Fraternity."
CHAPTER X
Minister Graves' city home, the Rectory, was a magnificent house, covered with a thick growth of ivy; one bay window ornamenting it on the west, another looking on the street.
The first evening in November, the family was seated about the table, the minister reading the evening paper. "Babe" was arguing with her mother that all little girls should be allowed to roller skate upon the pavement; that "there wasn't a bit of danger in it."
Frederick was silently eating his dinner—Teola following his example. Suddenly the minister ejaculated:
"Ah, that's good."
"What's good, father?" inquired Mrs. Graves.
"Skinner is brought to trial to-morrow. The paper says there isn't the slightest hope for him to escape. And listen to this:
"Of all the happenings in the annals of the Ithaca courts the following is the most extraordinary. Orn Skinner, the squatter, who is to be tried this week for the murder of Emery Stebbins, the game warden, is the father of a girl some fifteen years old. The day after his incarceration the girl presented herself at the office of the sheriff, asking permission to see her father. The sheriff thought wiser not and refused the request. But the night before last the girl was discovered ascending, like a squirrel, the thick growth of ivy that coversthe stone structure of the jail. For nearly a month she has been tramping the Lehigh Valley railroad tracks after dark, reaching the jail at midnight, and holding converse with her father on the stone sill of his cell window, two stories above the ground. The girl was closely questioned but refused to answer, probably fearing the consequences of visiting a prisoner without the consent of the sheriff. Skinner has been removed to an inner cell, the authorities fearing some plan of escape. The girl is very pretty, with long red hair, and brown eyes, and those who have seen her say that she is like a frightened rabbit, refusing to talk with any, save a few of her kind."
The Dominie grunted, as he finished reading.
"I should think they would remove him to an inner cell," said he. "Such goings on! The girl ought to have a taste of the rawhide."
"Maybe she loves her father and wanted to see him," ventured Babe, who had no reverence for paternal opinions.
"Love, love," retorted the Dominie, "all the love those people have in their lives you could put in a nutshell."
"Her father's trial comes up to-morrow—I wonder if they will allow the girl to attend."
This was from Frederick—he had not seen Tessibel since the night he had told her how to help her father. His face gathered a crimson shade as he remembered that he had promised her that he, too, would pray for her Daddy. The sympathy he had felt in his heart, throbbed again as he thought of her lonely grief—and the dead toad. He would keep his promise to Tess—praythat something might come into her life if somebody went out.
"Mother," said Teola, changing the subject abruptly, "why can't we have a toffy pull. I want one so badly."
"It's such a messy thing," sighed Mrs. Graves, looking about upon the tidy home, "and not one of you young people can keep your sticky hands from the curtains and furniture. But I suppose, if you will have it, nothing I can say will alter it. But remember this: I won't have those boys and girls tramping through my house and mussing up everything."
As they rose from the table Teola followed her brother into the hall.
"Frederick, if I arrange the toffy pull, do you suppose Mr. Jordan would come?"
She dropped her eyes—the blood curling to the edge of the tiny ringlets that clung to her forehead. Her brother gave a low laugh.
"He would be only too pleased, Sis, and he is a capital chap. He's a great favorite at the frat with all the boys. Shall I invite him?"
"Yes ... for day after to-morrow evening. Will that suit you?"
"Let me see," reflected Frederick, "we are having a meeting at the fraternity, but we might come down afterward, unless we are kept too late."
"Don't let them keep you," pleaded Teola, flashing her brilliant eyes into Frederick's face, "you and Mr. Jordan have influence enough to get away, even if you are freshmen."
The student stooped and kissed his sister fondly.
"I'll arrange it to suit you, Sister ... I want to go to the Skinner trial to-morrow. I suppose father will go, too?"
"Everybody will be there," rejoined Teola. "I wonder if his daughter will be permitted to see him after she has been discovered breaking the law."
This time it was Frederick who flushed—it suddenly dawned upon him that he was going to the court simply to see the squatter girl again. He explained his embarrassment by exclaiming:
"Poor little soul! She is the loneliest child in the world. I wish we could do something for her!"
"Father wouldn't let us," put in Teola in dismay; "then, too, I don't know what we could do for a squatter."
"Neither do I, that's the problem," finished Frederick, and after he was gone Teola mused long with Dan Jordan in her mind.
At the break of the first day of the Skinner trial, smoke could be seen curling up from the chimney of Tessibel's hut. A candle stood in the window, flickering its smoky flame toward the light streaks in the east. From the lighthouse to the ragged rocks the lake was covered with the ice and snow of an early winter. Beyond, the little waves curled up and washed over the frozen masses, adhering here and there, making an icy fringe along the edge. Flocks of wild ducks fluttered close to the lake surface, filling the morning air with discordant quacking.
Tessibel had not forgotten that her father was to be brought that day before his accusers,—she had made elaborate preparations for the reception of her dear one,when he should be free to return to her. She would stay in the shanty during the trial—and pray.
Daddy was playing a part in a most agonizing drama—he and the student and herself were the principals—while a few others, their enemies, made the background.
... When the curtain fell Tessibel would bring "Daddy" home to the hut—and it was for this that she was preparing.
The bed had been dragged from the wall, and the squatter girl was sweeping out the dust of ages which settled again upon the coats and among the webby meshes of the net now dry and shrunken from disuse. One leg was missing from the stove, but three red bricks shoved under the side did the work of the broken part; the ancient frying pan with patches of grease upon it suspended itself from a newly driven nail in the wall.
Tess had learned many things since her father's imprisonment—had learned that a girl of fifteen couldn't run barefooted in the open with impunity. She had found a pair of Daddy's old cast-off boots, tied rags about her feet, and clambered into them.
How like a woman she felt with covered legs! True, the water gushed in through the holes that Daddy had cut in the soles on the rocks, but the tops were whole—and Tess looked upon them with pride.
When the daylight flooded the cabin Tess blew out the candle and viewed her work with delight. How pleased Daddy would be—after this she would be a model housekeeper. He should sleep in the morning until she had prepared his breakfast, and her fingers would fly in the summer, gathering the berries and fruitto make more money so that he should not run risks with the netting!
That first day of waiting seemed interminably long, but Tess spent it happily, for ever vividly into her mind came the words of Frederick the student—that God would hear, and answer.
Day by day her faith in the efficacy of her petitions had grown upon her. In spite of the fact that she had been caught by Daddy's enemies in her nightly scrambles up the ivy at the jail, God had answered in letting her see her father so many times at the end of her midnight walks.
Three men of squatter's row staggered through the storm up the Lehigh Valley tracks. They passed the line of huts, making an occasional comment upon the inhabitants of some lighted shanty.
It was the evening of the second of November, the first day of Orn Skinner's trial. The squatters had turned out in great numbers to see how the humped prisoner looked before his condemnation, for all believed that the fisherman would hang. It would be establishing a new precedent if Skinner were acquitted—and Ithaca never established new precedents with squatters.
So mused the men as they sullenly toiled toward home, each satisfied in his heart that, if Skinner went the way of others from the row, it would be but another act of revenge upon the part of the townspeople, for had not one and every witness save Elias Graves testified that day to the good character of the accused man?
The headlight of a locomotive sent them to the side track.
"Orn's face were yaller'n saffron, wern't it, when Minister Graves said as how he were a cussed pap of a cusseder gal," said Ezy Longman to Jake Brewer and Ben Letts.
"He were that mad," agreed Letts, "that the humps on his back just riz up and down—he were that mad he were."
"But it were screechin' funny when the jedge made the parson speak out what Tess done," laughed Jake Brewer.
"You bet," assented Ezry Longman. "But why weren't she there to-day?"
"Don't know," answered Jake. "She were home, I guess. She 'lows as how her Daddy comes home to-morry ... I 'lows as how he don't."
"I 'lows it, too," grunted Ben Letts.
They walked on in silence for some time, the wind crooning its endless tune through the telegraph wires. As they passed Kennedy's, Pete, the brindle bulldog, howled in rage at not being able to attack the squatters. The dog snapped viciously at all strangers—and more than this would he have done if he had had an opportunity to reach Ben Letts and Ezra Longman. These men had spared neither stones nor sticks, in times past, to arouse the dog's ire; and Pete never forgot an enemy.
At the end of the lane, the candle in Skinner's window flickered them an invitation to stop. Tessibel answered their knock and embarrassedly offered each a chair as the door closed behind them.
"It ain't ended?" she faltered with a hasty glance at the three stolid faces, the post of Daddy's bed supporting the supple young form.
"To-morry," replied Jake Brewer.
Ben Letts moved uneasily in his chair. It was the first time he had ventured into the presence of Tessibel since he had put Frederick to death.
"He air comin' home, then?"
There was a question in the pleading voice as her eyes fell first upon one and then another.
"Nope," grinned Ezry, "he air to be took away."
Tessibel shrank back further and further, every muscle tired in its agony of burden-bearing. The rotten post squeaked loudly, bending beneath her weight, and over her in lightning rapidity swept the shadow of the rope, snatching her father from her—and God. The student had not limited the power of the cross; but Tess had discovered its limitations in Ezra Longman's statement—limitations that made her quiver with pain, as she pictured the evil thing which darkly menaced her loved one.
"He air a damn liar," burst forth Jake Brewer, "the jedge ain't said no words what Ezy says he has."
Tessibel heard and understood. The splendid, buoyant youth gathered instantly together, faith in the eternal promise of God sweeping over her once more. She might have known that Daddy was safe. Every long day had been filled with petitions, hurled at the feet of the Almighty: Tess, in her ignorance, had juggled with the sacred name of Jehovah, expecting the fulfillment of her prayers just as a boy, filled with ecstatic faith, expects his ball to come back to him after he has tossed it into the air. So would Daddy Skinner come to her, snatched from the shadow of an ignominious death, through some miracle of God's goodness.
"It air over to-morry?" she stammered, holding no grudge against Ezra Longman for his untimely joke.
"Yep."
"Then he air comin' home to-morry night?" she said almost in a whisper.
Ben Letts, looking at Ezra, closed one red lid, letting it fall slowly over the blurred blind eye. Neither he nor the boy spoke.
Letts brought his squint gaze back to Tess.
"He air comin' home to-morry night?" she repeated questioningly, raising her voice a little with an insistent glance at each fisherman. This time Tess read denial in their faces, but smiled radiantly. What did they knew about it? What did fishermen understand of the student's God ... of the faith that would bring Daddy home to her in spite of the twelve grim men, and all her father's enemies in Ithaca. Hadn't she consigned the beloved humpbacked father to Him who held the worlds in the hollow of His hand.
Ben Letts still gazed steadily at Tess, the red eyelids opening wider and wider. She had never been so beautiful before. During the past two months the girl had grown into a woman, into a soulful creature whom the squatter Ben ardently desired for his wife. Ah, he would see to that!
He shoved his great legs up and down before him tumbling these things over in his mind. The taming of such a girl would be his vicious delight. The first thing to do would be to ply the scissors to the red curls. Ben could see that the hair was clean, each curl clinging lovingly to its mate, yet living apart—so different from the matted locks of the Tess he had always known.
"Yer Daddy got good and mad to-day," remarked Jake Brewer abruptly, the deadly silence grating upon his nerves.
"What about?" said Tess sharply.
"Dominie Graves were in the witness-box, and said as how yer pap were a wicked daddy of a wickeder gal, and the jedge made him tell as how ye was so cussed, and yer daddy's humps riz up like a cat's back wet with cold tea."
Tess waited expectantly.
"And the Dominie said as how ye twiggled yer fingers to yer nose at him," continued Jake. "Did ye?"
The pale face went to a deep crimson—she remembered the day well. The Dominie had caught her stealing berries and like all the weaker ones in a strife Tess had used her tongue bitterly—and had twiggled her fingers.
The squatters went away, leaving Tessibel with a new feeling of shame. Ben Letts went with reluctance—he dared not remain. After Skinner had gone the way of all squatters who incurred the penalties of the law, he, Ben Letts, would have the girl for weal or woe.
CHAPTER XI
The last day of Skinner's trial found Tessibel taking her lonely way toward town. She was going for Daddy Skinner—to bring him home to a shanty which she thought was clean, although the ragged curtain still flapped its tatters over a dirty window and the cobwebs hung listlessly from Daddy Skinner's unused net. But Tess had done her best, and her heart sang with delightful expectancy as she neared the dangerous open trestle which spanned the Hoghole gorge.
When she turned into town, her mind was at work with the thought of how she would bring Daddy triumphantly through the row of squatter huts, lead him even through the streets of Ithaca. Her vivid imagination played with the scene: Frederick the student would see her; he would know that together they had saved the dearest life ever given into the hands of a jury.
Up the snow-covered street, through Dewitt park, and Into the little lane she tramped. Here Tessibel halted. The court-room was so crowded that an overflow of men stood in the street with overcoats tightly buttoned, stood listening for the words that would satisfy their demands: Orn Skinner must die. A demonstration of joy ringing from the court made the child shiver—then smile. Not even the wicked jeering of Daddy's enemies could shake her faith in the student's word. Twelve jurors sat in their chairs, but a useless set of men, fora unanimous ban of death had been pronounced upon the fisherman before any one of the jury had taken the oath. Some of the evidence did not reach their ears for they were thinking of other things—the man of two humps was as far away from their homes or their hopes, as the rope that would end him.
During the trial the prisoner had remained silent in his chair, with a stolidity that aroused no sympathy for him. Not once was he seen to lift his eyes to the judge; and but once, when Tess was being maligned by Dominie Graves, did the bible-back rise and fall as if the heart beneath were beating wildly. Skinner had not been allowed to testify in his own defense, and, knowing the futility of it, he had not insisted upon speaking.
His attorney made a few feeble remarks which, because of the speaker's indifference and his disbelief in his client, fell without effect. The prosecuting attorney took but ten minutes to sum up the case, telling the jury that they knew their duty too well for him to attempt to instruct them. "But," said he, "I will add one word of your own convictions. These people have infested our beautiful city, sapping its life like a great pest. The law is nothing to them—human life less. There is one thing, gentlemen of the jury, of which they stand in awe, and it is in your hands to give them one more lesson. That one thing they fear is—the rope."
He sat down amid a dense silence. The judge spoke shortly and the twelve jurors filed out past the stooping prisoner, who seemed to care so little that he did not look upon them as they went.
Twenty minutes elapsed and the court officer announced in stentorian tones that the verdict had beenreached. Solemnly the twelve men seated themselves whilst an expectant flutter passed over the room.
Then a voice droned:
"Prisoner, rise."
The lumbering form painfully raised its two humps.
"Prisoner, look upon the jury; jury, look upon the prisoner."
The grizzled head settled itself back between the two pulsing humps; the steady eyes under the shaggy brows looking out for the first time in two days upon the row of men who hated him—all popular citizens of Ithaca.
"Foreman, of the jury, have you found the prisoner innocent or guilty?"
A pause, a hush; then a deliberate:
"Guilty of murder in the first degree."
A little higher rose the bible-back of the fisherman, lower sunk the large head between the deformed shoulders, like the receding head of a turtle, hiding itself under its shell when an enemy draws near. Skinner still stood with hypnotized eyes fastened on the jury; one thought in his mind—Tess.
"Orn Skinner," began the judge, "is there any reason why the sentence of this court should not be pronounced upon you in accordance with the law?"
The fisherman turned his piercing eyes upon the judge, but attempted not to speak.
"Orn Skinner—"
The judge was interrupted, there was a disturbing commotion in the back of the court-room. He lifted his gavel for silence, his gaze falling upon a dripping, shivering, red-haired girl, who raised to his face a pair of copper-colored eyes in which shone asoul, the magnitude of which the judge could not fathom with all his dignity.
"Orn Skinner," he finished, turning again to the fisherman, "twelve men have found you guilty of murder in the first degree. The court, then, passes its sentence upon you: you are to hang by the neck until you are—dead."
The ponderous form of the doomed man straightened as though unafraid, whilst the commotion increased—Tess was madly tearing her way through detaining hands. Once free, she started up the aisle, the most ridiculous little figure ever seen in Ithaca. The red hair was in curls to the girl's hips—the young form covered with but a calico blouse confined about the waist by a piece of hemp rope. Four huge thorns held together the edges of a rent down the center of the skirt, which came just above the knees, Daddy Skinner's cowhide boots lifting themselves under the hem.
Every one save him whom she loved was unseen by Tess, and everything unheard save the terrible sentence of death.
The pain-puckered wrinkles settled out of the wan little face; a smile brightened the brown eyes and dimpled the tender twitching mouth, altering the woful expression—for what was the mandate of an earthly judge compared to the majestic promise of Heaven? the student had said—but her smiling eyes fell for a moment on those of Frederick Graves. The boy partly rose but sank back again, white to the ears, a picture of mental suffering. Here through the silence came a shock to the citizens of Ithaca. Sweet as a spring bird carolling its love song rose Tessibel's beautiful voice:
"Rescue the perishin'Care for the dyin'."
On and on up the aisle toward Daddy Skinner, forgetting or not knowing that she was desecrating the dignity of the honorable judge upon the bench, Tessibel clattered. Still no hand stayed her progress. Daddy Skinner was standing outside the railing, close to his attorney, guarded by a deputy. His fierce eyes turned at the sound of her voice, and the sight of his beloved snapped them shut like a vise.
The old beard, now shaggy and unkempt, trembled, whilst a parched tongue licked over the lips.
The long arms of the humpback slowly rose, and Tessibel sang herself into the throbbing bosom of her father.
The prisoner's great horny hand descended upon the curly head and for a moment the fingers of the girl tried to pry the wrinkled eyelids open. Her singing ceased, and she spoke—no great orator ever had a more intense audience.
"It air—it air Tess, Daddy Skinner, did ye think that her—had forgot—and Goddy?"
Everyone in the room heard the musical voice.
"The jedge didn't know," Tess went on, "that God promised that ye was to come home with Tessibel." And then, loosening herself from the trembling fingers, Tess leaned toward the judge, a wealth of hair falling over each shoulder.
"Did ye, kind, good man?"
His Honor, fascinated by the sight, bent toward her to make sure of her words.
"I air Daddy's brat," she urged with a smile, "and Goddy in the sky said as how Daddy Skinner would come home with Tessibel ... He air to go with me, ain't he?"
Her voice, raised in sudden entreaty, the long eyes filled with an anguished anxiety, sent a pang of pity unknown before through the heart of the judge.
The audience rose as one man—only a swish and another dead silence.
"Ye air to come, Daddy Skinner," and without waiting for any further consent she took her father's hand and drew him slowly through the aisle up which she had so lately sung her way.
A man stepped into her path from among the spectators. Tess glanced up, and saw before her the lowering face of Dominie Graves. From every other soul in that room she had been given the bible-backed prisoner, for the majesty of human law had been forgotten in the appeal to the higher one.
"Stop," shouted the pastor, determined to see the sentence of the court carried out. He had placed himself directly in the squatter-girl's path, and, turning toward the jury, flashed indignant eyes upon them.
"Have you all gone mad?" he demanded. "Are you going to allow a murderer to escape from your hands?"
For one instant the condemned giant and the man of God scanned each other's faces with intensity. There was dumb pleading in the one gaze, and hard supremacy in the other. A spasmodic tremor ran over the spectators—Tess had struck a note of tragedy in the affair which had been overlooked by the thoughtless throng.
The judge, startled, spoke confusedly,
"Of course, of course," said he, "such a thing as this—"
"Would make our city the laughing-stock of the state," put in Graves, his interruption of the judge passing unheeded. "Skinner, you know you can't leave this court with that girl—"
Here a small boy broke in:
"She's the girl that twiggled her fingers at the minister."
Dominie Graves hushed the speaker with a wave of his hand, and went on:
"You have committed a murder, Skinner, and have been condemned to die by hanging."
His voice was low and vibrant.
"And there's no escape for you, Skinner," he finished.
As his voice died away, Ithaca received another impetus to curiosity and interest. A tall man in the back row rose and came forward.
"Mr. Graves," said the stranger solemnly, "you say that this man is to hang for murder. I say that he shall be given another chance for his life, and that he shall not hang if I can prevent it."
Deforrest Young, the noted professor of law from the University, was looking at Graves. A frown gathered on the broad brow of the minister, and every one gasped as the professor took Tessibel's hands in his.
"My child," and he bent lower that she might hear, for her bowed head was the only evidence of her grief, "Your prayers have accomplished more than you think. Keep on praying and pray hard, and the next time you come here you shall take home—your Daddy Skinner."