e church. And, yes, I gets him a dress, too. See? And I
buys milk for him, and makes him eat, and he sleeps here," Tess pounded
her own strong breast, and ended, "till his dead pappy and his ma come
after him, poor little cuss."

Both girls cried softly, till Frederick's voice on the hill rang out
sharply in answer to a question from his father. Teola kissed her babe
over and over, drawing a small shawl about her shoulders, and picked a
path out through the fish-bones on the floor. When Frederick returned to
the boat, she was listlessly throwing small stones into the water.

CHAPTER XLI

Tessibel watched Minister Graves' yacht steam by the Hoghole, across the
head of the lake and into the inlet. With it went the hopes of
reconciliation with the student; the Dominie and his glowering glances
of hatred; and Teola with her illness, leaving her the helpless babe.

She suddenly decided to share her secret with Mrs. Longman. She would
beg a dress for little Dan to wear to the church for his baptism. She
had stubbornly kept the presence of the child in her hut from her
squatter friend, although Myra had usually had a way of worming into her
innermost confidence. But Tess had given her oath and loyalty to Teola,
and feared to tell the other girl the parentage of the child, lest Myra,
who loved Ben Letts, should blab the truth to him.

During the weeks the babe had been with her, Tess had sent endless
excuses about her absence to the Longman hut. She had to read the Bible;
was waiting for someone to bring her a message from Daddy; fishing;
getting ready for the winter; anything to keep Myra in ignorance of the
tragedy being enacted in Skinner's hut. But now Myra was gone with Ben;
Ezra was dead; and Mrs. Longman would not be curious about the little
child.

She prepared the basket with the clean clothes that Teola had left on
the tree, and, with the easy grace of a barefooted squatter, set out for
the ragged rocks with bounding steps.

[Illustration: SHE TOSSED HER FACE UP TO THE SUN.]

Across the lake the patches of forest, shaded with the scarlet and
green of dying leaves, relieved the bareness of the harvested
wheat-fields. Tessibel had a passion for the tumbling waves, they seemed
to speak an unknown language to her, but to-day the lake was smooth like
polished, clear, blue glass, and the birds were racing in flocks over it
from the north toward the south. Their flight was so rapid that the
squatter paused a