The Search

During each infinitesimal space of time, Burnett stood in the sunshine of Tessibel's smile, his austere churlishness was slipping from him like a loosened garment. As if forced by an unseen hand, he took one step nearer her.

"Set down, sir," invited Tess, clutching the owl with one hand, and making an elaborate sweep with the other. "That air Daddy's chair--ye air awful handsome and big, but the chair'll hold ye all right."

Burnett caught his breath and sank into the indicated seat. He'd intended to turn that shanty over from top to bottom, to rip it almost to the ground. But the sight of the red-headed sprite on the cot fondling a woodland owl, and the effect of her smile upon the beating of his heart, dissolved his rage and stayed his action.

"Well, I'll be damned!" was all he said, and Tess smiled again. She didn't mind if he swore. The one thing she desired was to get rid of him as soon as possible. She was conscious of the gyrations of Andy Bishop curled in the straw under her slender body, and she knew her curls were shrouding a face distorted with anxiety.

"Are you sick, kid?" questioned Burnett, when he could draw a natural breath.

"Well, ye see," acknowledged Tess, "I ain't 'xactly sick, but I got my ankle all packed up. Sometimes girls hurt their ankles an' they have to put a rag 'round 'em."