"Not much," moaned Teola. "Not much! Poor little baby Dan!"
The mark gleamed out on the wizened old face, the deep veins in the thin skin showing darkly. To Tess it looked more horrible than in the night before. But she had to reassure the mother--the little mother who, before that year, had never known one twinge of agony.
"It sure goes away sometime," said Tess.
Teola took the infant in her arms for a moment only. Moving the child caused the large grey eyes to open, the mouth widening into a yawn.
"Take him, Tess!" mourned the mother. "Oh, I--I want to die. Dear God! Dear, good God! Dan!... Dan, I want to come to you!"
In the presence of such grief Tessibel was silent.
She covered the infant again, and for some minutes she sat by the bed, with her fingers tightly pressed in those of Teola. It was a tragedy with which Tess could not cope. So she remained there until Teola cried herself into a quietude that left an expression of wonder, knowledge and sorrow. As Tess led her up the hill to the minister's cottage, she saw that tears would come no more; that the mother would never know the emotions of a girl again. Teola resembled the squatter, Myra, with her pain-drawn face.
"She falled from the rocks," glibly lied Tess, as Rebecca placed the pale girl in a chair. "Better put her in bed.... She has a bad ankle.... She couldn't walk much."
The frightened maid quickly responded to the advice of the squatter.
"She found me," pleaded Teola, "and you will let her come once in a while to see me?"
Rebecca hesitated.
"Your mother and father--"
"They are not here yet, and I am so lonely and ill. Let Tessibel come once in a while!"
"I have my doubts," said the maid, and she followed Tess down the long stairs, just to see that the fisher-girl did not steal anything. Let that dirty squatter come into a minister's home! No, not again, vowed Rebecca inwardly. It was only the girl's duty to save a human being from a fall over the rocks. Tess turned and faced the woman when they were alone.
"I air a-comin' again," she said slyly, "and I ain't one what tells that ye slides from the house every night to the lake with Deacon Hall's coachman, I ain't. I has a tongue in my head, I has, but it ain't a-waggin' 'bout no coachman and yerself."