During the minutes Daddy Skinner lay grappling with death, Ebenezer Waldstricker sat in his handsome drawing room with an open Bible on his knee, talking to his wife.

"I've explained to you time and time again, Helen," said he impatiently, "why I struck her and I'm not sorry I did it."

"It seems awful, though," replied his wife, reflectively.

Waldstricker frowned into the wistful face.

"Why awful when the Bible ordered me to do it? I've given you the Master's own words to verify it. Didn't he say, 'Let the man without sin first cast a stone?'"

Mrs. Waldstricker raised her eyes to her husband's face.

"But Ebenezer—"

"There's no argument, my dear," the man interrupted. "I tell you I know whereof I speak. It came to me like a flash on Wednesday in the church ... I had to show the world a man—a man without sin."

Helen stared back at him in amazement. Her husband had never before expressed himself in quite such bombastic terms, and, oh, dear, she knew he was good; but for any human being to claim to be without sin! She'd never heard of such a thing.

"But, dearest," she argued pleadingly and partly rising, "are you sure?"

"I have no doubt about it," interpolated Ebenezer, striking his chest emphatically. "As I said, I know whereof I speak."

Helen sank down again.

"I'm glad you can explain it, dear," she murmured dubiously. "It'll be easier for you to make Deforrest understand about it when he comes. He's so wrapped up in that girl.... He'll be here in a few minutes, I think, if the train's on time."

"I'll make him understand all right," answered Ebenezer.

The words had scarcely left his lips before both husband and wife heard the approach of sleigh-bells.

"He's coming now," said Mrs. Waldstricker, and she rose and started to the window.

"Sit down and don't look as if you were going to die," her husband commanded. "But perhaps you'd better go to your room while I'm explaining the thing to him."

When Deforrest Young opened the door and walked in, his face was wreathed in smiles.

"Well, hello, everybody," he cried heartily. "It's an awful night."

Ebenezer rose and extended his hand.

"So 'tis," he agreed.

Helen went forward quickly and helped slip the snow-covered coat from Deforrest's shoulders. At the same time she lifted her lips for a kiss. How she adored this brother of hers, and how anxiously she desired he should be satisfied with Ebenezer's account of the church proceedings.

"I'm lucky to be home for Sunday," remarked Deforrest. "I was afraid the case wouldn't close before day after tomorrow. But the jury came in last night, and everything was quickly closed up."

"We read about it in the paper," said his sister sympathetically. "It must have been a harrowing thing to go through."

"It certainly was! But the acquittal helped. The woman is very young and without friends, and I was glad to get it for her."

"But she's bad!" cut in Waldstricker. "Every paper said she was guilty."

"But the jury pronounced her innocent," exclaimed the lawyer, "so that puts an end to the argument!"

Ebenezer fingered the leaves of the book he held.

"I've the happenings of a week to tell you, Deforrest," he stated deliberately, as if dismissing the former subject.

Professor Young bent down and slipped off his overshoes.

"I'm awfully tired, old chap," said he. "Won't they keep till morning? I'd like a bite to eat, and then—then bed." He smiled at his sister. "How about something to eat, sis, dear?"

"Helen, go see about supper for your brother," ordered Ebenezer.

Mrs. Waldstricker, seemingly glad to escape, left the room quickly.

"Fire ahead, Eb," said Young. "I suppose I might as well hear it now as any time."

"You sent Parson Griggs a letter for me to vote in your name?"

"Of course," responded Young. "I knew Helen was interested in the Christmas festival, and I thought you'd do as well as I."

"And so I did, brother," replied Ebenezer, pompously, "and your vote turned the tide into the channel God wanted it. Some members allowed their human feelings to run away with 'em."

Ebenezer's mysterious words suddenly awakened Deforrest's interest.

"Has something out of the ordinary occurred?" he queried.

"Yes," assured Eb, "but I've attended to it all right!"

Professor Young sighed.

"That's good! There, now, I'll sit by the grate and warm up while you tell me about it."

He dropped into a large chair, and extended his feet to the cheerful blaze. Waldstricker paused before making his explanation. At length:

"We put a member out of the church last Wednesday," said he, steadily.

Deforrest Young turned completely around and stared at his brother-in-law.

"Put a member out of the church!" he repeated, thunder-struck. "Why church a member?... That is out of the ordinary, I should say. What'd he do?"

"It wasn't a man, 'twas a woman."

"Well, for God's sake!" Deforrest's voice was low, deep, and filled with disgust. "I hope you men didn't make a mess of yourselves.... What happened?... Some girl kissed her sweetheart under the pine trees?"

The elder glanced over the top of his brother-in-law's head.

"Worse than that!" said he. "Much worse than that!... We churched a Magdalene!"

It took an appreciable length of time for Young's tall figure to rise from the chair. He turned around and stood with his back to the fire.

"I didn't know we had a Magdalene in the church," he commented drily, and then more impetuously, "Oh, Lord, why don't you spit it out and not beat all around the bush telling me?"

There was something about Ebenezer's slow manner of approaching the point that made Young impatient. In the meantime his mind was rapidly running over the women in the Hayt's congregation.

Waldstricker got up, too, drawing his big frame to its full height.

"We churched—Well, the fact is,—We churched Tessibel Skinner."

When the name fell upon Deforrest Young's ears, every muscle in his body became rigid, making him taller by inches.

"Tessibel Skinner?" he repeated mechanically, as if he'd heard awry. "Did you say Tessibel Skinner?"

Waldstricker took a long breath. Deforrest was receiving the action of the church with better grace than he had anticipated.

"Yes, Tessibel Skinner!" he repeated. "She's with child."

In the awful minute after the torturing words had fallen from the other man's lips, Deforrest Young felt as if he must tear the lie from the speaker's throat. For it was a lie! God! What a lie! A lie told against Heaven's best—the best girl in all the world. Without a word, he reached for his overcoat.

"What're you going to do?" demanded Ebenezer, a little perturbed. "You needn't see her.... She's been justly dealt with."

There was no answer from the tall lawyer. Only one thing was in Deforrest Young's mind—to go to Tessibel Skinner. He gave no thought to the wild night, no care for his own fatigue and hunger. Disdaining another glance at Ebenezer, he whirled to go. Helen's pale face appearing in the doorway made him pause.

"Deforrest," she quivered. "Deforrest, dear, oh, don't go out tonight! Stay and let Ebenezer tell you about it, do please! The church has done all it could—it must be all right if the church did it, Forrie."

Then Young's wrath broke loose....

"All right? All right?" he thundered. "The church has done all it can, eh? Well, by God!" He turned a livid face from one to the other. "What a cursed outrage!"

Waldstricker cried out, horrified.

"Man, man, what are you saying!... How dare you provoke the wrath of God!... How dare you question the decision of the church! Besides, I tell you she's a Magdalene. She's been justly punished. I attended to it myself."

Then Young saw clearly that the church action had but expressed his brother-in-law's will. He knew his implacable hatred of the squatters and particularly of Tessibel. He recognized that revenge had prompted him. Pushing the protesting elder aside, he ejaculated:

"You pious hypocrite! Get out of my way," and was gone.

The bitter winter wind nipped at Young as he strode down the steps and battled his way to the stables. Waldstricker's words were pounding at his brain like a hammer. What had they done to Tess? He remembered Ebenezer had said that his vote—his own delegated vote—had turned the tide against his pretty child!

He had no mercy for the stumbling horse as he spurred down the long drive, into the public thoroughfare, and thence to the shore road. When he came opposite to his own closed, uninhabited house, he could see by straining his eyes the dusky shadow of the willow trees shrouding the Skinner home.

A glimmer of light struggled from the curtained window of the hut. With desperate haste he tied his horse to the fence post. He could scarcely stop to spread over the animal the blanket he'd brought for the purpose.

Then as he waded through the snow and rounded the mud cellar a dog's mournful howling, pierced and punctuated by a girl's shrill, heart-broken cry, fell upon his startled ears. In another minute he had flung himself against the shanty door and forced it open. Kennedy's bulldog greeted him, growling, and beyond him, stretched out upon the body of her dead father, lay Tess. Hovering over her, chattering, was Andy Bishop, the dwarf, the condemned murderer of Ebenezer Waldstricker, Sr.