Twenty young people had gathered for the toffy pull at Minister Graves'.
Tess was the topic of conversation; every one was eager to talk of the
unheard-of action in the court-room that day.
"My mother says," chimed in a pretty girl, "that when that Skinner girl
walked up through the court room, she sounded like a horse trotting
along."
"She had on a pair of man's boots, that's why," said another, "but she
has a beautiful voice, hasn't she?"
This question was directed to Frederick Graves.
"Yes," he assented, flushing to his high-forehead line.
"And besides a beautiful voice," broke in Richard Hall, "she has a
mighty pretty face--and such hair! If she hadn't been crying and had so
many people around her, I should have spoken to her. She's worth
consoling!"
A sharp pang of jealousy shot through Frederick's heart. That another
should make lighter the burdens of the squatter girl filled him with
unrest. A pleading face flashed across his vision and Tessibel's voice
rang anew in his ears. He was living over again the moments spent in the
cabin, and his heart thrilled at the memory of the momentary glance sent
to him over the heads of the spectators in the crowded court-room.
Teola entered the drawing-room, turning the conversation from Tess to
the pleasure of the evening.
"Will some one help me pull the toffy?" said she.
Her eyes were upon Dan Jordan--he rose quickly to his feet and followed
the girl smilingly to the kitchen.
"I wanted you to help me get it ready," Teola said; coloring.
"I'm glad you chose me," replied Dan.
"I didn't ask you, did I?" The beautiful head hung low over the brown
mixture in the kettle.
"Your eyes did," laughed Dan. "Didn't you notice that none of the other
boys got up when you spoke." His glance filled with merriment as he went
on: "I think, too, that I should have been a little--jealous if anyone
else had--helped you."
"And your hands are so strong," murmured Teola.
"You only wanted my hands," queried the boy, trying to catch a glimpse
of her face. "I wish you had wanted me for some other--"
Teola stood with the long wooden spoon twirling in her fingers.
"I did want you for yourself, Dan--"
And then she stopped and nothing could be heard but the click, click,
click, of the toffy as it snapped to and fro in the huge fingers of the
student.
"I'm mighty glad that I chose Cornell for my college," broke in the boy
presently. "I thought first of going to Yale.... And you're pleased,
too, Teola, that I came to Ithaca? Aren't you?"
"Very glad," came the low voice distinctly.
"And I've never been so ambitious in all my life as I have since I've
been here, and known you, and I was wondering to-day if--if--"
Frederick's voice broke off the words; his big form loomed in the
doorway before Dan could finish his sentence.
"Haven't you kids finished that toffy? Better let me help, too."
There was a noticeable tremor in Teola's voice as she replied:
"We've finished, Frederick, and you can carry the butter and those
plates."
"I've something important to tell you, Teola," whispered Dan.
The girl did not answer, but the student knew that she would listen to
him in some future time.
The drawing-room was festooned with evergreens and winter ferns, wound
here and there with streamers of various-colored ribbons. Two large
lamps, one in the window, and the other on a table near the dining-room
door, sent forth their light through red shades. Glass dishes filled
with apples and golden oranges decorated the top of the piano and
surrounded the lamps.
When Dan and Teola left the kitchen, both flushed with the first
emotions of their youthful hearts, there came to them gurgles of girlish
laughter, intermingled now and then with the loud voice of some merry,
happy boy.
After two hours of strenuous toffy-pulling the tired young revellers sat
down to plates heaped with goodies.
Just at this juncture a ring of the door-bell pealed through the house.
A silence fell over the company and a sound of altercation came to them
distinctly. Suddenly the drawing-room door burst violently open and a
spectacle, in strange contrast to the cheery scene about them, flashed
upon the eyes of the young people. A red-haired girl, unkempt and
dripping, wild anxiety portrayed upon her face, stood in the doorway.
There was not the slightest embarrassment in her glance as her peculiar
eyes traveled the lines of boys and girls, sitting round the wall. When
at last they fell on Frederick, she took an impetuous step toward him, a
brilliant smile lighting the wan face. Stupefaction rested upon the
student as he recognized Tessibel Skinner.
"It air time--to pray," said she, looking straight at him, as he slowly
rose from his chair. "Daddy Skinner air to be took away--unless yer God
stops the rope."
Every word was distinct--unless God would stay the rope. The words
repeated themselves over in the boy's brain and his face deepened in
color. It was the beautiful faith of the wild, untaught young girl with
the hot blood rushing in her veins that called forth the flush. His
heart sickened with his own lack of confidence in God. He was to preach
of a crucified Saviour, but no such faith and hope as this of Tessibel
Skinner's would aid him. He was even now ashamed of the girl in cowhide
boots and torn, thin skirt.
As these thoughts floated past him, he saw the young squatter wither
under a giggle from a girl in the corner.
"Look at her feet," were the words that changed Tessibel's frankness to
embarrassment, her eager pathos to wofulness.
Tessibel shrank close to the door, for the first time realizing how out
of place she was.
"I were--I were--a fool to come, but--but--"
The earnestness of the vibrant voice, the proud, appealing young face
moved Frederick to pity and self-reproach.
"It was right--you should have come," said he, gently taking her hands,
"and no one dare question your privilege to ask a prayer for your
father."
Still retaining her fingers in his, he turned, explaining:
"This is Miss Skinner whose father is suffering now from a stroke of the
law. We, who have fathers and mothers whom we love, must wish her well."
Tessibel sank down, down, among her boots and rags, his words reducing
her to tears. Teola came to her brother's side. She had never before
been actually in the presence of a squatter, for, when they had brought
fish and berries to the back door, her mother had always ordered the
children to the front of the house; but now, filled with sympathy she
stooped down and placed her hand upon Tessibel's head. The touch was so
gentle that the fishermaid lifted her eyes to see who sorrowed with her.
The squatter covered the white fingers with tears and kisses. Then she
struggled to her feet, the nails in Daddy's boots scraping the polished
floor, making long white marks. To Tessibel there were no other persons
in the room save Frederick and his beautiful sister. She made a queer
upward movement with her head, wiping the tears away with the tattered
sleeve.
"I was afeared ye'd forget Daddy Skinner," she murmured. "The big man
from the hill said like you did. And I says it air prayin' time and I
comed."
She had forgotten the tears of a few minutes before, forgotten that
twenty pairs of searching youthful eyes watched her every movement and
mentally criticized her, from the masses of long hair to the rock-torn
boots on her feet. She only remembered the student--that he was smiling
into her eyes, and that, his sister, too, Teola Graves, had sympathized
with her.
With a radiant, grateful smile, she turned to go, the door opening under
her eager grasp. It was here that Dan Jordan spoke:
"Won't Miss Skinner have some coffee?"
Tessibel looked at him with an incredulous glance. He, too, had come
forward and stood with his kindly gray eyes fixed upon her face.
"Yes, yes, of course," hurriedly put in Teola, "pardon me--I forgot....
You shall have my cup.... Here, Tessibel! I may call you that, mayn't I?
Please drink some of mine."
Teola held the cup invitingly to the shivering lips, and Tessibel
swallowed it down in one gulp.
"I air goin' now," she said desperately, wiping away coffee drops that
lingered upon her face, "and ye ain't goin' to forget?"
This last was to Frederick, and he shook his head emphatically. He would
not forget again; he would make the girl's father a special medium to
establish a line of faith between the God he professed to love and
himself--the quality of which should be no less than the one that
Tessibel had cultivated during her weary weeks of waiting.
No thought entered anyone's mind of asking the girl if she were afraid
of the dark night--she seemed so much a part of the darkness, of the
falling snow and thrashing trees, that she was allowed to depart without
a question. As he stood on the Rectory steps, the clicking of the big
boots came to Frederick long after the slender form had disappeared from
sight.
After that the party broke up, for the merriment had died in Tessibel's
grief. An impression had been made upon the thoughtless boys and girls,
and a shadow rested on each face as they bade "good-night" to their
young hostess.
"She's the prettiest girl I ever saw," confided Teola to Frederick
afterward; "her eyes are the color of a marigold."
In her heart Teola was glad that she had gone to the squatter in
sympathy, for, upon leaving, Dan Jordan had whispered words that had
burned deep into her soul:
"You are an angel, Teola _dear_, and I--love--you."
For one instant the tall student had bent his head, laying his lips upon
hers--and had gone without another word.