ain't no marks of nails on 'em, air there, kid?" he demanded,
solemnly.

The pursed, hurt lines around Tessibel's mouth softened a little.

"No," she murmured wearily, again. "No, Andy."

The dwarf reached and took one of the girl's hands. It lay on his own
quite limply.

"Look at me, brat, dear."

The red-brown eyes moved toward the upturned face.

"Tessibel, will ye think of this one little thing?

"The Christ's holdin' his hands over the hull world, givin' everybody
peace; you an' me, too, brat-kid. Waldstricker's hands ain't dragged me
back to Auburn, an' God's hands has kept me here.... You showed me that
from the beginnin', eh, brat?... It's sure, ain't it?"

He hunched himself nearer her, his face beautiful with faith.

"Ain't it true, kid?"

"Sure! Sure, it air true!" faltered Tessibel.

"Then if God's hands kept me here in the shanty 'gainst all Waldstricker
could do, can't they keep you here, huh?"

Tessibel's head lifted suddenly. What was Andy saying about
hands--Waldstricker's and--and--With her free fingers she brushed the
dampened curls from her forehead. Waldstricker's hands! Oh,
incomparable memory! How could she have forgotten the hands of the
Christ! They had brought Daddy Skinner from the shadow of the rope. She
had forgotten the power of those hands.... Hands of peace--hands of
love! As shadows fade before the majestic advance of the sun, so under
the inrush of divine light did the agonized expression fade from
Tessibel's eyes. The menacing figure of Waldstricker slipped away like a
gliding night-serpent, and Tess got to her feet.

"Andy," she breathed, bending over him. "Oh, Andy, darling! Ye're
telling me Jesus can keep me from bein' sent to that awful place? Ain't
that what ye're tryin' to show me?"

The dwarf scrambled up, reaching forth his hands.

"And he sure can, brat," he made answer. "Waldstricker can't pull ye out
of this hut when God's holdin' ye in."

Andy was smiling his rare, boyish smile. A large lump rose in Tessibel's
throat.

"I air goin' to ask God to hold me here, Andy," she choked brokenly.

So when night closed the grey eyes of the winter day, and darkness
descended on the Skinner shanty, a red-haired squatter girl and a wee
dwarf knelt in the glow of the hut lamp and petitioning lips framed in
whispers a simple prayer for their protection.

* * * * *

The next day passed, quiet in the shanty and over the shining span of