rom the bed
to-day."

Tessibel bent over the wrinkled face, and looked determinedly into the
blood-shot eyes.

"I got someone what air sick," she exclaimed, grasping the hag's arm
forcibly. "Ye air to come with me.... See? And if ye does come, I gives
ye a mess of eels every week for a year--and more'n that. I'll pick yer
berries from yer own patch, if ye can't pick them yerself."

"Who air a-ailin'?" asked the old woman, crawling out of bed.

"Never mind. Come along."

It was a strange couple, forging the gorges and gullies, pushing aside
the brambles to the lane almost opposite Minister Graves' home. In the
summer's quietude, the squatter girl could mark the long chairs on the
Dominie's front porch, and the hammock sagging from the hooks in the
corner. No one saw the witch and Tessibel enter the hut; no one heard
the girl slip the night lock into its fastening. Teola, frightened and
miserable, raised her head, and looked once at Mother Moll, then dropped
it again.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Dusk had fallen over the lake, closing the shanty within the shadows of
the weeping willows. Mother Moll had departed before sunset. Tessibel
had four candles streaming their twinkling light upon the bare floor of
the hut, and was busying herself at the stove. A voice from the bed
faintly whispered:

"Did you tell Rebecca what I told you to? Tell me again what you said to
her."

"I telled that ye was to stay to-night with a girl below the ragged
rocks, and she didn't give a dum. She air only a workin' girl; she ain't
yer own flesh and blood."

"And the baby, Tessibel? May I see my baby?"

"Nope, not to-night."

"Please, Tessibel! Please! Are his eyes grey, and has he dark hair on
his head?"

"If ye don't shut up, I takes the brat to Ma Moll.... Now, then, drink
this tea, and eat this bread. To-morry ye has to go home, ye know."

"But my baby, Tess! What shall I do about my baby?"

The nervous whining in Teola's voice brought Tess over to her. The
squatter forced the soiled blanket over the young shoulders.

"If ye sleeps to-night, I tells ye in the mornin' about the brat....
Sleep, now."

For more than an hour Tessibel sat with Teola Graves' baby clasped
tightly in her arms, moving back and forth silently in the wooden
rocker. A broken board squeaked now and then under the girl's weight,
but she slipped the chair into other positions, and rocked on.

She marveled at the child born but that afternoon. The eyes