"It were awful cold under the bed," he told her. "Yer Daddy air asleep, so I came up here to keep warm!"
When he noticed the girl's unusual appearance, he scurried down the ladder, waddled across the kitchen, and stood in front of his friend.
"What air the matter, brat?" he quivered.
Solicitous, he helped her into a chair near the fire and took off her hat and coat. The blood from the neck wound had made crimson blotches on her white waist.
"Ye're hurt, honey," he cried, alarmed. "How'd it happen?"
"I air hurt a little," said she, faintly. "Fetch me some water, dear, an' don't--don't tell Daddy!"
"Get on the cot, kid," said he, "an' I'll put up the bar."
In another moment he was leaning over her. He brushed back the tousled hair from the girl's forehead, and pulled away the long curls seeped with blood.
"I air yer friend, brat," he whispered. "Tell me 'bout it."
Tessibel had to confide in somebody.
"I'll get a rag first an' wipe ye off," said the dwarf. "My, but ye did get a cut, didn't ye?... What did it?"
Gently he began to wash away the crimson stain from her face and neck.
"Somebody hit ye?" he demanded presently.
"Yep."
"Who?... Who dared do it?" The dwarf's face darkened with rage. "Where were the brute that done it?"
"Andy," sobbed Tess, "I air goin' to tell ye somethin'; ye may think I air awful wicked, but--but--Andy, don't tell Daddy, but in the spring I air goin' to--"
"Yep, I know, Tess," he murmured. "I heard the woman yellin' at ye the uther day way through my blankets. But 'tain't nothin' to cry over. God'll bless ye, brat, and God'll bless--it!"
Her sobbing slowly subsided, and in halting words Tess told the dwarf the story of the afternoon's dreadful experience.
"And, Andy, it were awful. Mr. Griggs wanted to let me go home, but the uther men wouldn't, an' then the minister says like Jesus did to the men who were goin' to stone the poor woman, 'Let him that ain't a sinner throw the first stone,' an' Waldstricker picked up a great hunk o' coal and hit me with it. Do ye suppose he air so awful good an' I air so awful wicked he had a right to strike me?"
"Sure he didn't, Tess," Andy comforted. "Course not!"
The willows moaned their weird song to the night, the wind shrieked in battling anger over the tin on the roof, while the snowflakes came against the window like pale eyes looking in upon the squatter girl and the dwarf on his knees beside the cot bed.