With the agility of a hare, Tessibel dashed around him toward Frederick, and snatched the blankets from the bed. The workings of Ben's mind were so slow that the form of the student loomed up, before he realized that the minister's son was in Tessibel's cabin. "Ye air here to save me, Frederick," cried Tess, the light of the lantern sending a ray into the upturned widening eyes. Letts dropped his under jaw, his body relaxing in fear. He was an arrant coward like the most of his downtrodden race. Then something shifted through his thick brain, and he smiled knowingly. "So the high and the low air together--eh? The Dominie's son, and the fisherman's brat--the student--and the--" Before he had finished the sneering words, Frederick had struck him full in the face. Boyish dignity--his father's position--God--everything was forgotten save Tess. He only knew that she was being maligned, and that her holy mission of rescuing him from the frost of a night like this was being turned into evil by a squint-eyed fisherman whom he had never seen before. Into the man's fat flabby body crashed Frederick's strong fists. Tessibel stood looking on, her head bent forward alertly. One arm was clasped about her neck--excitement sparkling from the flushed face and panting lips. Once the throat sound that came when she was excited rolled forth; otherwise she was silent. Thrashed from side to side, his ragged coat made worse by the severe shaking Frederick was administering, Ben Letts groaned audibly. "Have you had enough?" demanded the student, standing over the fisherman. "Yep, I's a goin' home." Tess laughed low and wickedly. She loved to see the blood oozing from the mark in the ugly face. Every drop matched those dragged from the hearts of the brat's mother, who had suffered for Ben, and of the poor little miserable child himself, struggling for life in the Longman shanty. "You'd better go home," ordered Frederick, "and I want to tell you something. If I ever hear you uttering a word about my being in this hut, I'll follow you to the ends of the earth, and flog the life out of you.... Don't try any of your tricks on me, either." Frederick shivered as the wind swept cold from the frozen lake to his damp brow. Ben had lifted his lantern and was swaying toward the door. "I'll go hum," said he, "but I ain't done with ye--some day--" Frederick bounded forward like a whiplash, but Tess held him back. Ben gave a quick jump and was gone. "He wasn't worth a-hurtin' any more," Tess commented, lighting a candle. "I know he air the man what killed my other Frederick." The name slipped out with loving intonation. Then the boy and the girl turned and faced each other. The shanty rocked in the wind like the cradle of a child. The willow mourned its tale of winter over the roof, scraping the broken tin in hollow groans, shrieking now and then as a gust roared through it.