, 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.

"God 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 XXXV

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