Part 57 (2/2)
”I jest knowed old Eb couldn't get me,” she a.s.serted. ”Jesus sent ye jest in the nick of time, didn't he, huh?”
”But, my dear, listen,” Young argued, his love making him apprehensive.
”It's awful for you to be here alone and unprotected. Let me take you away somewhere.”
”I ain't alone,” Tess insisted confidently, serene courage resounded in the sweet voice. ”Jesus air here an' He keeps me safe all the time. He got Daddy out of Auburn an' kept Andy an' me in the shanty. Why, He sent you today. I know He won't let nothin' bad happen to me.”
Untroubled, the brave eyes looked into his, conveying a message of courage and perfect peace that somehow uplifted the man's anxious thought to catch a glimpse of her exalted faith.
”But you know, Tess,” he continued, ”you are not so well this winter and you ought to have some one here to look after you.”
Tess shook her head, the bronze curls twisting and falling over her shoulders and upon the arms embracing her.
”No, siree,” she answered. ”I can't have any one here, on 'count of Andy. Oh, ye mustn't worry 'bout me. I air all right an' will be every minute.”
”At least, dear,” Deforrest insisted, ”let me get a doctor and nurse when--when--”
The brilliant head suddenly bowed itself forward against Young's rough coat. For a moment, her high courage faltered, but not for long. Surely, the same power that had cared for her today would see her through this other trial.
”Nope, not any doctor or nurse,” she refused. ”I'll have Mother Moll.
She knows what to do an' she air safe.”
Withdrawing herself from Young's arms, she took his hand and kissed it.
”G.o.d sure air good to Tessibel,” she murmured.
A moment they stood there. Then the lawyer took up his hat and turned to the door.
”You know, Tess, I love you and want to help you always.”
In the doorway, he paused and with bared head heard the girl's parting speech.
”Sure, ye're lovin' me an' I air lovin' you, too. I know Mr. Young, love air here an' everywhere the hull time.”
CHAPTER x.x.xV
BOY SKINNER
A pale winter moon nestled among the snow clouds in the storm country.
The shacks of the squatter settlement were dark and silent, save for a slender little light glimmering from the side of the curtains of the Skinner shanty. Inside, all was quiet. The squatter girl had been in the valley of shadows, and had struggled back from its depths, bringing with her that miracle of miracles, a son, a little son not much bigger than the hand of a man; and, now, pillowed on her arm, very near her heart, lay a small head, a baby's head, covered with soft, damp curls.
Mother Moll had come and gone. When the old, old woman had looked down upon the girl, she'd smiled that senile smile of age that split her lips like a knife cut.
”Ha! So it air another brat comin' to the shanty,” she shrilled. ”Holy Mary! It air the way of the world, the way of woman.”
And now she'd gone, leaving the boy baby under the coverlet with Tessibel.
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