Like the kindly eyes of a welcoming friend, the two great lights upon the posts of Waldstricker's gateway met Tessibel Skinner as she struggled between the tall stone pillars to the private driveway. In sheer fatigue, she allowed Elsie to slip to the snow and sank down beside her. Her heart sang with joy and thanksgiving. She was going to give Helen her dear, golden-haired baby. There was no thought, now, of her hatred for Ebenezer, only wondrous anticipation of his joy at receiving his little girl out of the storm. Through the white light, Tess could outline the rounded figure in the snow. Rhythmical breathing assured her the little one slept in security. Once more, Tess got to her feet and, once more, she gathered up the living bundle. She was almost at the end of her journey. The short rest had given her new strength, and when she got to the stone porch she was able to mount the steps, and move laboriously, almost breathlessly, to the door. Memories keenly bitter-sweet rushed over her. The last time she was on that spot she was going to sing for the master's friends. What numberless happenings loomed before her mental vision, happenings to her and to Waldstricker. She was too dazed, too cold, to consider them in sequence. In the confusion of her soul, only two things stood out distinctly. Her marriage to Frederick Graves and Boy's shining face when the assurance had come to her that he lived and would ever live. Then Deforrest Young—Ah, yes, she had forgotten him! In a little while she would see him, and he would take her back to Mother Moll and Andy.

She was directly in front of the heavy portal, now, and with one stiff set of fingers she laid hold of the handle and twisted the knob. The door opened under her pressure and displayed the long reception hall. A rush of warm air welcomed her, and she uttered one little cry and staggered across the threshold.

Helen Waldstricker and Madelene Graves were waiting wearily for some message from the searching party. Hours had passed that seemed like centuries strung into eternities, hours that had brought no word of the lost baby. Suddenly, Helen sat up as an unusual sound came to her ear.

"Did I hear something?" she asked. "I thought it was a voice."

"Only the wind," answered Madelene, drowsily.

The girl was thinking of Frederick and dreaming what their life might be, now that they were beginning again. Of course, he was ill—very ill, but she'd take him away and nurse him back to health again.

Then, another hoarse little sound forced its way through the closed door, and Helen got up and opened it. In that moment, when she looked the length of her spacious hall, the whole world took on a gladness unsurpassed. True, the door was open and the blizzard battled in and flung its snowflakes to her very feet; but across the doorway was a human body—Tessibel Skinner, and at her side, a rosebud face from which the blanket had fallen. Mrs. Waldstricker gave a glad cry and sprang forward. Tess tried to get up but failed. All she could do was to whisper,

"I've brought you back your baby." Then, she crumpled forward over Elsie Waldstricker in a forlorn, snow-covered heap.

By that time, Madelene was in the hall. She recognized Tessibel, and felt a keen thrill of biting pain. She had suffered much from this beautiful squatter girl, but she, also, realized that Tess had brought the child back to her distracted parents. Between them, the two women managed to carry the girl and baby into the library. Both were crying, and Elsie, too, now awake, was insisting that her mother "Rock baby."

To answer their hysterical questions, when her throat was so hoarse, was impossible for Tessibel.

"Let her rest right here, then," said Helen. "Mercy me! If the child hasn't some of Deforrest's clothes on. Let's take the baby upstairs, and, Madelene, you bring down some dry things for Tess.... Here, Tess, dear, let me wrap you in this for a few minutes."

Tessibel sank into the warm woolen robe Mrs. Waldstricker placed about her. Then, the two women went upstairs with wee Elsie. Tessibel felt the warmth from the fire permeate her whole being. She had suddenly grown so sleepy! It was delightful to be able to close her eyes and watch in perfect peace the figures of her dreams! Memories, deep and entrancing, engulfed her. Many forms passed to and fro across her vision. There were the dark faces of her squatter friends, then Ebenezer Waldstricker. Her lids lifted heavily, her eyes centering upon another face—a face which made her cry out and struggle to her feet with trembling desire to get away. Frederick Graves closed the door behind him softly and the girl noted how thin and sick he looked and that his twitching lips tried to smile her a welcome.

"Tessibel," was all he said. She sank back into the great chair, white and weak, her face strung with terror.

Frederick didn't pause to ask why she was there. It was enough to know she was near him, and he forgot all else; his recent promises to Madelene,—Ebenezer and his mother. Only, did he remember that his young squatter wife, the mother of his baby son, was near enough for him to take her in his arms. Ah, yes, he'd take her away, right then, just as he had planned to do so many, many times. He bent over her, his breath coming in labored, explosive gusts.

"Tess, darling," he murmured, much moved. "How wonderful you should be here tonight. Say something to me, sweetheart."

Tess attempted to push him from her. The touch of her hand thrilled him to his toes. How he would care for her—take her away from her squatter world, that stormy world filled with sorrow and pain! His world should know of her goodness, her loyalty and strength.

"I'll tell Ebenezer I'm your husband, Tessibel," he breathed in her ear. "Oh, my darling, what joy there is in store for us, what wonderful happiness—"

"No, no," cried Tess.

Then, again, he seized her hand, murmuring,

"Yes, yes, my love! I know it's hard to forgive me, but I've never loved any one but you. I didn't even try to care for Madelene. I couldn't. And, now, my precious—"

"Please, don't say such things," cried Tess. "I only came—"

She wrenched her fingers loose from his and through her own interruption, he went on quickly.

"Oh, my dearest, be a little kind to me. Forgive all I've done. No, I shan't let you go until you promise me something—you must listen!"

Driven on by the passion dominating his weak body, Frederick dragged her to him. Deforrest Young came into the girl's mind. How she loved him! She would not tolerate Graves' hateful embrace. She made a frantic struggle against the arms holding her.

"Frederick, Frederick!" she gasped.

"No, I won't listen, Tess," he cried. "I'm sorry enough for all I've done and I won't go away from you any more."

He crushed his mouth against her cheek. She should not baffle him thus. Now, that she was in his arms, his hot breath mingling with the warmth of hers, he was sure she could not resist him. Suddenly, she ceased to struggle—Limply, she lay against his breast. How he loved her! Frederick remembered with a thrilling, cutting desire that in those dear, olden days, she had been the sweeter and better part of himself. He had come back to fight for her, to take her and the boy away. Between passionate kisses, new resolves raced through his fevered mind. He told himself no barrier was strong enough to keep him from her. But he had forgotten Ebenezer Waldstricker. It was not until he heard a short, sharp ejaculation that he turned partly around. His brother-in-law was standing in the open door, clad in a long fur garment, his handsome face dark with terrible anger. Frederick dropped one arm, but tightened the other about the squatter girl.

Waldstricker could feel himself growing hot to the edge of his collar. At the sight of the girl he hated, a sudden fury took possession of him.

Tess became aware that the crimson churchman was looking her over from head to foot. She flushed painfully as she realized her masculine attire and thrust one hand behind her to loosen Frederick's arm, while with the other she steadied herself against a chair. She could not force herself to speak.

Waldstricker cleared his throat.

"How long has it been considered good taste, Mr. Graves," he demanded icily, "for a man to bring his mistress into his wife's home?"

Every word was perfectly articulated. Frederick grew deathly sick and sat down quickly, making a violent gesture with his hand. He wanted to deny Waldstricker's deadly insult, but he, suddenly, had no strength. How Tess came into the house he did not know. But he did know she was not there at his instigation. He could see that Waldstricker had hurt her beyond expression, too. She was staring at his brother-in-law, silent, as if frozen by his cold contempt.

Looking from one to the other, Ebenezer went on.

"It is my painful duty to ask Miss Skinner to leave this house ... now," said he.

Frederick managed to stand up and fling one protecting arm about the pale girl.

"Not in this terrible storm, Ebbie," he got out hoarsely.

"She came in the storm," returned the elder, "and I see no reason why she can't go back in it. She seems nicely dressed for such weather."

He went forward and seized her arm and quickly swung the slender form from Frederick's embrace. The girl was so dazed and weary she made no resistance. The powerful elder snatched up her coat and cap and roughly put them on her. Then, he pushed her ahead of him through the long reception hall. Tessibel had not spoken a word, nor did she speak when Waldstricker pulled open the door and, with a low growl, shoved her out into the darkness. When he returned to the library, he found Frederick stretched out upon the divan. A look of death had spread over his face, and the appeal in his eyes brought the elder forward quickly.

"Fred, what possessed you to bring that girl here?"

"I didn't. I found her here," murmured Frederick. "She'll die in the storm. Call her back, Eb, she'll die—"

"No, she won't," replied Waldstricker, gruffly, "and what's more I won't have her here. How she had a nerve to come at all, I can't see.... Where's Helen?"

"Upstairs with Madie, I guess," sighed Frederick.

"Poor Helen," groaned Ebenezer, moodily. "If I could only give her some news of Elsie. But I feel sure we'll have her home by morning."

"I hope so!" answered Frederick. Then, he raised on one elbow and spoke with difficulty. "Eb,—Ebenezer, I've something to tell you." The effort made him gasp for breath, and fall back.

"I guess I'm done for," he muttered.

"I'll call Madelene," said Waldstricker, turning quickly.

"No, no, Ebenezer. Come here. There, now, let me tell it. I—I—married Tessibel Skinner before I married Madelene."

Waldstricker staggered back. He was appalled at the death-stricken face opposite. He knew Frederick was dying, and had no doubt he was telling the simple truth. The world seemed turned upside down. Now, in the light of this new knowledge, he could see many things. He shuddered when he thought of Tessibel. He and his were in the squatter girl's power. What mercy could he or Madelene expect at her hands? The shame and disgrace would kill his sister. Had the Skinner girl come to his house to claim her husband?

At that moment, he heard Mrs. Graves' step on the stairs. He turned, intending to ask Frederick not to tell Madelene of his secret marriage, but quickly changed his mind. Frederick was too ill; the first thing was to relieve his suffering.

"Get some water," the elder commanded when she appeared in the doorway. "Fred's sick."

Madelene dropped the armful of clothes she held and fled to obey. When she came back, the young wife tenderly ministered to the dying man. Never before had he seemed so dear!

"I think we'd better call a doctor," said Ebenezer, and he went out.

For a moment, he felt impelled to go to his wife, to tell her how sorry he was for all his ugly moods. He blamed himself bitterly for Elsie's disappearance. If her mother had been home, the little girl would not have gone away.

In the servant's quarters, he gave orders that a doctor should be sent for. As he came back to the reception hall, he saw Helen looking down up him,—and she was smiling. How could she smile when the world was no longer glad, no longer beautiful? But a few hours before he had left her in tears, almost insane. Now she stood quietly, happily, as if joy unlimited were hers.

Mrs. Waldstricker placed her fingers on her lips.

"Come up, dear heart," she whispered.

Ebenezer mounted the stairs.

"I'm so miserable, Helen," he said. "I don't know what to say."

Helen stood on tiptoe and put one arm around his neck. She drew the massive head down and pressed her face to her husband's cheek.

"I don't think there's anything much to say," she said softly, "but to thank her for bringing her back."

Waldstricker straightened himself impatiently.

"Brought who back?" he demanded. "What do you mean? My God, Helen, the whole house has gone mad."

"Didn't you see Tessibel in the library?" Helen asked. "She—"

"Well, I should say I did," Ebenezer snorted, "and I cleared her out of there. How dare the impudent huzzy come to my house?"

"Great Heavens! Ebenezer!" exclaimed Helen. "She carried Elsie all the way from the lake!"

When these words fell upon Waldstricker's ears, he couldn't comprehend their import entirely. Elsie was found! But—Then, the full horror of his impetuous action burst upon him. The squatter girl had brought her back! Oh! Brute and fool that he was! He groaned and started to speak but his wife's voice interrupted him.

"Elsie's in here. Come see her! Won't you come, dear?"

The husband followed his wife through the nursery door, and as he centered his eyes upon the little bed in which his baby lay, life turned over for Ebenezer Waldstricker. He bent down and placed a reverent kiss upon the flushed, sleeping face. Then, he turned to Helen.

"I'm going to find Tessibel Skinner," he said, and, abruptly turning, went out.

Deforrest Young forced his foaming horse into Waldstricker's gateway and galloped up to the porch. It took him but one brief moment to fling himself to the ground, and up the steps into the house. Andy had told him Tess had gone to Ebenezer's with little Elsie. To know his darling was out in such a night nearly drove him mad. It hadn't taken him long to decide to go after her.

Meeting Ebenezer coming down the stairs, the lawyer's first demand was,

"Where's Tessibel—" and Waldstricker's reply came low and self-accusing.

"I sent her home, but, Deforrest, I didn't know about her bringing Elsie, then."

The lawyer didn't wait to ask anything more. Sick at heart and apprehensive, he went from the mansion and into his saddle and once more out between the great stone gate posts.

When the church elder pushed her through the doorway, into the winter night, Tessibel stood one moment swaying, back and forth, in an effort to steady her mind enough to plan her next action. She knew the long, wintry road to the lake must again be traversed before she could lie down and rest. A sob came to her lips. She was so tired, so wearily unable to think. She had wanted to stay where it was warm, to wait until Deforrest came after her; but Mr. Waldstricker had almost thrown her into the snow. He had told her she couldn't stay, so, of course, she couldn't go back. How cruel he had looked and how strong his hands were! Once, some one had said Waldstricker's hands were stronger than God's. But, no, that wasn't true! She and Andy had proved it false. It was just that Waldstricker didn't like her; he didn't like any of the squatters, that's why he made her go away. Probably, he wasn't as glad as she thought he'd be to get his baby back. She drew her coat closer about her shoulders and stepped from the porch. The snow had ceased to fall, and the wind had quieted its turbulent raging. Very cold and quiet, the whole white night-world seemed. Of a sudden, the solitude was pierced by a hoarse sound from a sleepy fowl in the great barn below in the meadows. A night bird uttered a shrill, belligerent cry and sank to silence in his tree top. Tess turned her head sharply. These life-sounds out of the dusky beyond came from her friends. She wasn't afraid, only cold and chilled to her body's depths. Slowly, she went down the drifted driveway to the Trumansburg road and turned lakeward. She wondered if it was safe to return home cross-lots when she was so tired. It was shorter through the fields, but her legs seemed almost unable to bear up her weight in the deep snow.

At the top of the hill, opposite the Stebbins' homestead, she crouched down to rest a moment. Once, she thought she heard a horse. It might have been, but if so, the animal had passed, for no longer could she hear the thud of hoofs upon the snow road. Then, something touched her, and she turned her eyes upward. There, in the sky, was a moon—Was it her moon, that pale riding thing, taking its way through the white clouds? How cold it looked, and how cold it was! She shivered, settled a little in her coat and closed her eyes. A moment later, something brushed her hand. Slowly, the long red-brown lashes lifted and the red-brown eyes settled upon a figure bending over her, a figure, white like one of Mother Moll's conjured ghosts. Tessibel wanted to go to sleep. Why had the night stranger touched her, just then? Oh, she was out in the snow. A person ought never to lie down in the snow. Daddy Skinner had told her so many times. She mustn't sleep. She must get up instantly—but—her legs were too stiff, too difficult to move. Then, the figure faded slowly from her vision. How heavy her chest felt. A moonbeam lay slant-wise across it. That couldn't be so heavy, just a bit of the moonlight. Why, of course, something else was cradled in the white beam. Tess looked closer. A babe, as fair as an unblemished rose leaf, lay straight across her breast and considered her with unfathomable, interested eyes.... It was Boy—her Boy—she had him back again. Then, he hadn't been put in a little box in the ground beside Daddy Skinner. She managed to raise one arm and drop it across the small body. How lovely he was, this moonbeam babe, so white, so gentle and dark-haired.

Tessibel was warmer since he had come to her; her arms no longer trembled, but her legs seemed to have lost their desire to walk. She felt glad of that, too, because she was too tired to walk, anyway, and the baby was very sweet. Then, once more, a long shadow came between her and the moon and someone bent over her. Ah, 'twas Daddy Skinner, the same beloved, heavy humped-shoulders—the same precious face, and he was fondling the moon baby, and twice kissed her with tender, twitching lips. She smiled happily and moved a little in the snow. She tried to catch Daddy's hand, tried to call his dear name, but only a little sound came from her tightened, frozen throat. Then, smiling, Daddy Skinner went back to the moon, and Tess, drowsily, cuddled the white babbling closer, and went to sleep.

Deforrest Young brought his horse to an abrupt standstill. Had he heard a faint sound off there in the path? With a sudden spring, he dismounted. Over near the fence, he thought he had seen through the streak of light a human hand move upward and then sink into the snow. He paused a moment and shuddered. Had he lost his senses through the suffering the week had brought him? He shook himself and turned to his horse again. No silly vision should drag him across a snowdrift on such a night. He was going home to Tessibel. In hesitant quandary, he still stood staring west to the rail fence. Then, something impelled him to do the very thing he had decided would be fruitless.

One bound took him through the piles of snow at the side of the road. The lawyer bent down, his heart tightening with fear. A human being lay close to the fence. Young quickly pulled the face into the moonlight. The quiet, death-like form was Tessibel Skinner.

A huge sob tore its way from the lawyer's throat, and burst fiercely through his teeth. Was she dead, his dearest who had received evil, perhaps death, for the good she had done?

Above his head the limbs of a great tree sang their song of winter to the night. Deforrest remembered Tess had always loved the whispering of the wind. A low cry followed by words fell from his lips.

"Love air everywhere the hull time," he sobbed. "Oh, Love, Divine, merciful Love, protect my pretty child!"

In another sixty seconds he was pounding through the snow road toward the lake with a sleeping red-haired girl in his arms.

It was broad day when Tessibel opened her eyes. She lay for some time looking at the ceiling, then around her. She was alone in the room, yes, in her own room at the lake. Something had hurt her dreadfully, for even her arms ached so she couldn't move them. She wondered where Andy was, and Mother Moll, and if Deforrest were home.

She tried to sit up, but the pains shooting through her body made her content to be quiet.

Later, by a few moments, when Deforrest Young opened the door and stole in, she smiled wanly at him.

"My little girl's had a good sleep," he said softly, coming forward. Then, he took her hand and stood looking down upon her, his whole soul in his eyes.

"Tessibel," he hesitated, "do you remember what happened last night?"

Tess stared at him, a little pucker between her eyes. Last night? What about last night?

Oh, yes, she did remember. Elsie Waldstricker at the squatters; her own struggle through the snow to the mansion on the hill; how Waldstricker had turned her away.

"Yes, I remember," she whispered. "Did you find me, Uncle Forrie?"

Sudden tears swept away Young's vision. He nodded his head.

"And my brother-in-law's downstairs and wants to speak to you, Tessibel," said he.

Tess made a negative shake with her head, and a look of fear crept into her eyes.

Through Waldstricker's baby she had measured the height of God's love and forgiveness, and through his own unrighteous arrogancy she had plumbed the depths of human woe. She thrilled at the thought of little Elsie, of Helen's joy this birthday of Jesus, the tender teacher of her youth. She would have welcomed them, but she didn't want to see Waldstricker. By the crack of his whip, he had destroyed her love-life, as a bubble from a child's pipe is broken by a gust of wind. But before she could frame her refusal, Ebenezer Waldstricker appeared in the doorway. He came forward to the bed and held out his hand.

"Tessibel," he said huskily, "I'm bowed with shame before you. Child, I cannot tell you how sorry I am."

Tess took his hand without the slightest show of hesitation.

"I'm glad you've got your baby home," she murmured brokenly, and that was all.

A great emotion shook Ebenezer's soul as a giant oak is shaken in a mighty wind.

"Last night when I sent you away," he explained tensely, "I didn't know about your bringing her back. I appreciate, child, that's no excuse for me. Nor did I know, then, that you were married—"

He stopped, the bitter pain in his throat aching his voice into silence.

"Mr. Graves is dead," he whispered, "and my sister—"

"Oh, I'm so sorry for her, Mr. Waldstricker," cried Tess, struggling up.

Deforrest stepped forward to Ebenezer's side and supported her.

"Yes, you would be," the elder asserted. "Your heart is so tender.... My poor little Madelene—I fear the shock will kill her. She doesn't know yet that she really had no husband."

Tessibel's eyes grew large with astonishment. Then, Frederick had exonerated her to Waldstricker. Her eyes sought Deforrest Young's.

"Mr. Waldstricker told me downstairs about it, my darling," he said tenderly. "My brave little girl!"

Tess flashed a sudden look at Ebenezer.

"Mr. Waldstricker, I never want your sister to know she wasn't Fred—I mean Mr. Graves' wife," she told him. "It won't do any good and I'd rather you wouldn't tell her."

Then, surely, did Tess win from her proud enemy all the respect and reverence he could bestow on any human being. Ebenezer Waldstricker lowered his lips and pressed them to the slender hand he held.

"My dear, my dear," he moaned. "If I could only undo some of it."

Oh, how Tessibel wanted some of it undone, too. Her red head bowed slowly over his strong white hand.

"Oh, Mr. Waldstricker," she burst forth with sobs, "I want my little baby so bad, so awful bad."

Ebenezer uttered a groan and wheeling quickly went from the room.

Later in the day, when they were alone together, Deforrest sat down beside Tessibel.

"Now, you can tell me all about it, child," he said.

"Yes," whispered Tess; and she did. It was difficult to go back to those long, terrible years through which she had stumbled in shame and disgrace, but Deforrest Young upheld her by sympathy and encouragement. When the pitiful tale was finished, he bent forward and drew her into his arms.

"This Christmas is the happiest of my life," he murmured.

Hearing Andy on the stairs, they'd just taken more conventional attitudes when he burst into the room.

"Mother Moll's been havin' a seance all to herself," he grinned, "an' she says, there's a wedding ring hanging over the brat's head, an' she said to tell you, Uncle Forrie—" He paused, giggled a little and ended—"Red curls'll twist around your heart so close ye won't ever get away."

Then the dwarf toddled back upstairs, chuckling to himself.

"Mother Moll's right," whispered Deforrest into the small ear. "I'm the happiest man in all the world, Tessibel."