"Daddy! Darlin' old, good Daddy, look at yer dear brat, an' listen to 'er."
"I air a listenin', my girl," he said between set teeth. She put her head directly in line with her father's vision.
"Look at me, Daddy," she craved tremulously, "an' listen to me. Can't ye remember how ye came back from Auburn like the innercent man ye were?"
"Yep," whispered Skinner.
"'Twere the Christ on the cross helped ye, Daddy. Ye air wishin' to go away now with my mummy, huh?"
"Yep," groaned Skinner. "God, aw kind, merciful God, let me go!"
Tess laid him gently back on the pillow. A bright light flashed into her soul. The red in her eyes turning almost to black.
"Then go, my darlin'! Go, Daddy," she moaned, rising and looking upward. "Take 'im, Mummy, little love-mummy, take 'im back to Heaven with ye."
Inspired by that smiling face in the rafters, Tessibel opened her lips and began to sing, "Rescue the Perishin'; Care for the Dyin'."
It was a glorious strain that echoed and reechoed around and around the shanty kitchen. It gathered within its heavenly power the moaning of the wind and the haunting noises of the tin-rusted roof. Even the weeping willows, bowing their mournful heads in sympathy, could no longer be heard in their endless chant.
Strangely stirred, Pete struggled up, disregarding the dwarf's desire to detain him. He placed his forefeet on the edge of the bed, lifting his head to the girl's shoulder. Responsive to the pressure of his body, she threw her arm around him. Gravely the golden eyes of the great dog regarded his suffering master on the cot as the tender melody of the song continued to fill the shanty.
Tessibel ever afterwards remembered Daddy Skinner's eyes as for those last few moments he lay looking at her. They were kindly, tender, smiling, as he watched her lips moving in the song he'd always loved to hear her sing.
He seemed to realize that she was singing him into the very presence of the Savior of the world--into the presence of Him who was leading Tessibel Skinner and her squatter father through their garden of Gethsemane.
"Rescue the Perishin'; Care for the Dyin'."
On and on she sang, and on and on the dying man gropingly felt his way to Eternity. Sometimes he smiled at her; sometimes at the wraith in the rafters. But not for one moment did the voice of the little singer cease its insistent cry for a complete rescue.
The dwarf was silent, his shining face reflecting the peace and security of which the squatter girl sang.