Tess of the Storm Country

"I know, I know; and perhaps God won't forgive me, for I've been so wicked! I make up my mind every night, when I can't sleep, that I will tell; then in the daylight I am afraid."

Tess did not answer.

"I shall think every moment of the day about you two here. Oh, my precious baby! If I could only take him with me! That mark will never disappear," she concluded, rubbing the tiny red forehead with her fingers. "If he only goes when I do! God couldn't be so cruel as to let him live, with his face like that, and have neither father nor mother."

"Nope," replied Tess with decision. "He'll take the brat, too."

"Will he die soon, Tess?"

"Yep."

"Why do you think so? Why?"

"He air too thin to hold out much longer. He don't eat, nuther. He don't do nothin' but smack all day long on them sugar rags, like a suckin' calf. And there ain't no makin' him eat."

"But he doesn't cry much," argued Teola.

"That air 'cause he air so weak. Ma Moll were here with the hoss doctor, and they says he air to croak dum quick."

Teola raised her head, startled.

"Oh, I didn't know you had had a doctor. I was going to speak about it to-night." She dropped her eyes, reddened, and then added, "But the horse doctor, Tessibel?"

"Squatters allers has the hoss doctor--they air cheaper."

"But he can't die!" Teola moaned. "Not now--not yet! He has never been baptized. If he died now, he wouldn't go to Heaven!"

"Aw! shut up. He air a-goin' in faster'n any of them. Don't you worry yer head over that. God ain't that kind of a bloke that He wouldn't take in a sick brat what ain't never done no harm."

Tess had risen, and was standing over the child, Teola having placed him back in the bed.

"But you don't understand, Tess dear! You see, it's this way: the Bible says that if a child isn't baptized, he will go to a place where he must stay always. He won't go to Heaven. You understand?"

"Air the Bible a-sayin' that?"

"Yes."

"Won't he go to a place where God'll find him, if he ain't sprinkled?"

"No."

"That air strange. The poor brat air so blue, so shiverin'--he air so sick! Aw! Christ'll love him, 'cause he ain't got no friends."