ment before replying. This put a different face on
the matter.

"Could ye come tomorrow?" she demanded finally.

"Yes, at two, then. Tell your father, please."

"All right," muttered Tess.

Waldstricker's whip cut a cluster of wild flowers and nipped clean the
stems of their upraised heads.

"Oh!" cried Tess, sharply, hurt to the quick.

As if reading her thoughts, he retorted, "A flower hasn't a soul, so
what does it matter?"

Tess turned tear-dimmed eyes from him to Mother Moll's shack. Shocked at
his brutality, his arrogant cruelty to the flowers she cherished so
tenderly left her dumb. That his statement was false, she knew. To her
the flowers expressed Love's sweetness and beauty, but she couldn't
explain her faith to this haughty, dictatorial millionaire at her side.

She was all of a tremble as she mounted the narrow shanty steps.

An aged voice croaked, "Come in," in response to her knock. Before
pulling the latch string, Tessibel paused and said to Waldstricker,

"Wait a minute! I'll go first, an' tell Mother Moll you're here."

She crossed the threshold and saw the old woman swaying to and fro in a
wooden rocker.

"It air Tessibel, Mother Moll," she said gently. "I want to see what's
in the pot."

Mother Moll smiled a withered, joyous smile.

"Come in, my pretty," she clacked. "Yer Moll's allers glad to see yer
shinin' eyes. Come in, my love."

Tess advanced into the kitchen.

"That duffer Waldstricker's come along with me," she told her in a low
tone.

The old woman struggled to her feet with the aid of her cane. Her watery
eyes glared at the tall man in the doorway, and he as angrily stared
back at her. The woman hobbled two steps forward.

"If ye've come for me to tell ye somethin', it won't be nothin' very
pleasant," she growled at him. "Git me the pot, brat, dear!"

Tessibel went to the grate and lifted the iron kettle from the fire. It
was steaming hot, and she brought it over, placing it at the woman's
feet.

"Set down," the hag commanded Waldstricker. "I'll tell ye what's doin'
in the pot, an' then git out! I hate ye!"

Waldstricker, with the peculiar down twist of his mouth, glanced darkly
at Tessibel, but the girl's unresponsive, serious face turned his
attention again to the witch.

"You're a wicked old woman," he said grimly. "The county should care for
such as you."

But Mother Moll did not catch his words. She was crooning over the pot
inarticulately. The seams in t