Tess of the Storm Country Part 47

"Tess!" she cried sharply. Never had the girl appeared in this light.

"It air hard on the little kid," Tessibel said meditatively, "when its ma says what another woman air a-mothering it for good and all."

This remark came forth in even tones. Teola had not thought of the harm she had done the child of Dan Jordan, by throwing the motherhood upon the squatter. She turned her troubled eyes, first upon Tess, then upon the child.

"Tessibel, I do love him, even if I disowned him. But I haven't the courage you have. You looked so beautiful when you said he was yours....

And Frederick is ill to-day."

Tessibel's heart thumped loudly.

"I heard him crying all night, Tess," went on Teola, "and, oh! so many times I wanted to go and tell him that you were--a good girl; but I didn't have the courage. But I know that sometime--Tess, will you pray for me?"

"I ain't doin' no prayin' to-day," replied Tess. "To-morry, mebbe....

Aw! I wanted the student to pray for Daddy, and to like me--"

Teola never forgot the scene that followed.

The fisher-girl settled in a heap upon the floor, bowed the tired head, and wept.

"Tessibel! Tess," called Teola, touching the girl's shoulder, "listen.

I'll tell him!--I'll tell him! He shall come back to you to-night--if it kills me."

Tessibel lifted her white face.

"Ye be goin' to tell him that the brat air yers?" queried she brokenly.

"I'll go and make it all right with him. He shall come to you to-day....

Oh, what a wicked girl I was! Kiss me, Tess."

Elias Graves' beautiful daughter sank on the breast of the squatter, and there was a kiss of forgiveness.

The baby whimpered. Teola drew away from Tessibel with a long sigh. She reached for the milk-can.

"There ain't none there," Tess said, with a touch of joy in her tones.

"It air all gone. He et all that you brought him."

"And I can't get him any more now," moaned Teola. "Oh, Tess, I'm so ill!

I wish I were dead!"

A tall boy had repeated the same words the night before. Tess drew herself up painfully. She pitied Teola from the bottom of her heart, but, in spite of her pity, she could not help the thrill of happiness when she thought of Frederick coming, and knowing all.

"It ain't no use to wish ye were dead," said she, "'cause ye can't allers die if ye wants to. When I thought Daddy was a-goin' to the rope, I say every day I were a-goin' to die.... Women ain't a-dyin' so easy."

She was preparing the warm sop for the child, and taking him from his mother's arm, she sat down in the rocking chair. She did not speak again until she had drained the sweetened water from the bread-crusts, and the child had smacked it down eagerly.

Suddenly she spoke, handing the babe to Teola.

"Can't ye put out a drop more milk evenin's?"

"I took all there was last night, and the night before, too. And this morning Rebecca was furious--she had to go without milk in her coffee. I don't know that I can get any to-night."

"The weather air so cold now," explained Tess, "Kennedy won't let his cows stay in the fields nights. I might crib some more if I could. Every time I steals up to yer house, I thinks yer woman'll see me; and yer Pappy and Mammy comes home to-morry."

Teola nodded.

"If yer Pappy catched me swipin' milk, he'd knock the head offen me. I steals it just the same.... I air afraid of yer Pappy, though."

"No wonder," replied Teola, and she lapsed into silence.

Her father hated the squatter girl--hated the fishermen who still plied their unlawful trade under the noses of the gamekeepers.

Teola was crying softly. She felt it was only just to relieve Tess of the stigma she had placed upon her. But to go home and face the proud young brother with the story of her sin--with the lie she had told--were almost unbearable. Then another thought pierced her. Could Tess keep the baby all winter? And would she herself have the courage to live, knowing that he might sometimes be hungry and cold? Frederick would help her.

She was glad she had decided to tell him.

As she walked up the long hill, she saw her brother standing on the porch, and noted the pallor of his face, the expression of misery in his eyes. At first the boy did not see her--not until she called his name softly.

Teola sank upon the upper step.

"It takes away my breath to climb that hill," she panted, when she could speak. "It grows harder and harder every day."

"I shall be glad when we leave this old cottage," was the boy's moody reply. "I never knew how much I hated the lake until to-day."

Teola did not answer to this, for she knew that she was to blame for that hatred. Frederick was looking at the hut under the willow wofully.

"If anyone had told me what I saw last night," he blurted out, a moment later, "I believe I would have killed him.... I loved her, Teola."

Now she would tell him--send him back to Tessibel with joy in his heart.

She sprang up impetuously.

"Frederick," she began quickly, "let me tell--"

But he interrupted her.

"You need not tell me that I have to forgive her for such a thing as this because of ignorance.... It's too horrible!... I shall never get the sight of that child out of my mind.... That streak of awful, lurid red ... that yapping mouth ... those clawing hands.... G.o.d! the disgust I felt.... Teola! Teola! You are ill! Rebecca, come here! Come! Come!"

Together they lifted her from the porch where she had fallen, like a man stabbed with a knife. Gurgling from her lips poured the fresh red blood from the diseased lungs. Teola tried to speak, tried to tell Frederick the truth, but the awful tugging in her chest, and her brother's order that she must not speak, closed her lips upon the good resolution. Added to his command came one from the doctor, who arrived later, that she must not speak one word until he came the next day. The hemorrhage had been brought on by Frederick's description of her child. After her brother had gone, she thought of the hour when she could tell him, but with a thankful feeling in her heart that it had been delayed a little time.

Until the great University bells chimed the hour of midnight, Tessibel waited in the hut for Frederick.

"She hes forgot to tell him," she muttered wearily, pulling the sleepy babe into her arms, "and--and he ain't a-comin'."