heap on the ground.

John knelt beside her, and tried to comfort her. "Never mind; we'll go
and tell dad it was an accident."

But Molly only shook her head. "No," she said, catching her breath, as
she tried to speak, "'t won't do no good. He'll beat me. He's getting
over a drunk, so he wanted his beer, and he'll lick me."

John looked down sadly at the child for a moment. "I will take you home,
Helen, and then I will go back with Molly."

"Oh," Helen answered quickly, "let me go with you?"

"No," John replied, "no, dear. You heard what Molly said? I--I cannot
bear that your eyes should see--what must be seen in Tom Davis's house
to-night. We will go to the parsonage now, and then Molly and I will tell
dad about the beer." He lifted the child gently in his arms, and stooped
again for the pitcher. "Come, Helen," he said, and they went towards the
parsonage. Helen entered reluctantly, but without a protest, and then
stood watching them down the street. The little yellow head had fallen on
John's shoulder, and Molly was almost asleep.

Tom Davis's house was one of a row near the river. They had been built on
piles, so as to be out of the way of the spring "rise," but the jar and
shock of the great cakes of ice floating under them when the river opened
up had given them an unsteady look, and they leaned and stumbled so that
the stained plastering had broken on the walls, and there were large
cracks by the window frames. The broken steps of Molly's home led up to
a partly open door. One panel had been crushed in in a fight, and the