er future. When
Young glanced again, the fisherman had seated himself and had slipped
Tessibel from his shoulders, gathering her closely into his great
embrace--for she was the brawn of his brawn and the bone of his bone.

Under the squatter's huge red arm, the fisher-girl had wedged her head
tightly, the low brows were taut with pain, the bronze eyes defiantly
closed. Tess was as firmly fixed in her position as the iron chains that
encased her "Daddy's" ankles. She had come to stay with Daddy Skinner,
to go with him where he went, in spite of the great man from the hill,
in spite of the majesty of the law--even in spite of Daddy himself.

The deputy warden with open watch stood over the prisoner with observing
eye. The fifteen minutes allowed the girl were gone, and he slowly
touched the humpback on the shoulder.

"Time's up, Skinner," said he. "Sorry, but it's the law, you know."

Skinner tried to draw the curly head from under his arm but the muscles
in the girl's body only tightened, the white lips grew more rigid.

"It air time fer me to go, Tess," murmured the squatter in her ear.

"I air--I--I air a goin' with ye."

The words were scarcely more than the flutter of a breath. The deputy
warden stepped forward a little, then back to his place by the door; the
professor rose but sank again to his chair; the bible-back of the
fisherman pulsated as if a separate heart was beating in each great
hump. Tess was as immovable as if nature had aided her to grow into her
position. Skinner again tried to loosen the bare red arms.

"Ye can't go to prison with me, Tess," he said coaxingly; "set up like a
good brat ... Daddy'll kiss ye good-bye."

"I air goin'," she insisted. "It air like a dead man's yard without ye
in the shanty.... I can wash dishes. I can do a hull lot if ye'll take
me with ye, Daddy Skinner."

Not one whit less rigid was the slender body, the closed lids only
pressed tighter together.

The deputy grunted impatiently.

"Come, Kid," said he gruffly; "it's the law ye're tamperin' with. Do you
hear? Let the prisoner go."

Professor Young felt his throat tighten. The pitiful sight of the girl,
the ragged skirt, the terrible unkemptness of the small body, almost
brought a shout from his lips. It was a new sensation to the learned
man, a stinging, rebellious, pitying sensation, a feeling that he wanted
to shake the girl from her father's arms, and then care tenderly for
her. One great boot had fallen