Tess saw the minister's family arrive in the small lake steamer, and saw
Frederick meet them at the dock. She was watching from between the
tatters of the ragged curtain, and noted that Teola had not come down
the hill with her brother. This disturbed the squatter, for the baby's
mother had looked ill when she left the day before, with the resolution
to tell the student her secret. As Minister Graves passed, she saw
Frederick looking fondly into his father's face, but he sent no friendly
glance toward the hut snuggled under the willow. The watching girl saw
that the student's face was haggard, and a thrill swept over her. It was
because of his love; he wanted to be with her! But he thought she had
been--Tess turned her head from the window, blinded by tears. But for
the child in the box! There swept into her mind a text she had learned.
"If ye have faith as a grain of mustard-seed, ye shall say unto this
mountain, remove hence to yonder place, and it shall remove." Ah! if she
could have such faith, only such a little faith, she could bring the boy
back--bring back, through God's goodness, the student she loved.
"I air a-lovin' ye, Jesus," she trembled. "I takes care of the brat till
he croaks. Give me back--"
Emotion left the prayer unuttered in her breast.
* * * * *
At eight o'clock that evening, Tess, hugging the fence, sneaked up
through the rain. She turned into Graves' orchard, scurrying barefooted
toward the house, casting glances at intervals behind her. Through the
small garret window she could see Rebecca moving in her room, preparing
to go out. The library, facing the lane, was dark. But the streak of
light flung long upon the porch told the squatter that the Dominie's
family was in the drawing-room. Tess ventured to the back of the house,
drawing near the dark kitchen. Here was where Teola had placed the milk
for several days. She scraped about in the inky darkness, but her
fingers touched nothing. The babe's mother had forgotten to put out the
pail! Until the coming of the Dominie and his wife, Tess had had but
little fear, but now her breath came spasmodically. There was danger of
detection if she crept into the kitchen to obtain the milk. If she could
only get into Kennedy's barn! If the cows were only out to pasture! Tess
turned the handle of the kitchen door softly, and stepped in. A light
streak came from the drawing-room, and she located the ice-safe through
the dim shadows. Teola had told her to take the milk from there if she
failed to find it outside. She advanced slowly into the kitchen, holding
her breath, but her heart thumped so loudly that she feared the family
would hear it.
Kneeling down at the refrigerator, she fumbled for the lock. The door
slid open silently. A small pail of milk stood behind the butter-plate,
and Tessibel, clutching it in her fingers, rose up. As she did so, a
light flashed into her face, and she looked up to find Dominie Graves
towering over her, his brows caught together with anger.
"So Miss Skinner is the thief who takes our milk! The hymn-singing
girl!... Ah, it is you!"
Tessibel dropped her eyes, still holding the can of milk.
"I air a-stealin' yer milk," she said presently, lifting her gaze. "Air
ye goin' to--let me have it?"
"No, my lady, I am not going to let you have it," he mimicked. "But
something else you are going to get."
The Dominie stepped to the kitchen door leading into the yard, and
turned the key in the lock. He placed the lamp on the table, the
squatter waiting with fear-laden eyes.
"For a long time," went on the Dominie, in slow, measured tones, "I have
thought it would be a good thing to give you a sound whipping. The Bible
says, 'Spare the rod, and spoil the child.' ... I am going to do
something your father forgot to do, Miss Skinner."
The sneer in his voice and his slur on her father brought a bright flush
of anger to Tessibel's face.
"Ye can cowhide me if ye wants to, but don't say nothin' against my
Daddy!"
"I'll say what I wish to! Now, then, how many times have you stolen from
this house?"
Tess looked about for some way of escape; then pondered.
"I dunno," she replied sullenly.
"I can just about tell," answered Graves. "Rebecca says that for many
mornings she has had no milk for her coffee. And I left the kitchen door
unlocked to-night purposely to catch the thief. Let me see.... I think
we've been robbed for ten days? That means ten good stripes for you,
Tessibel Skinner.... Put down that milk!"
"I won't do it," Tessibel whitened. She had not believed the minister
when he had threatened to whip her. He was trying to scare her. He would
probably take away the milk, and send her home again. But he had
stepped to the wall, and taken a riding-whip from a nail. Tess had seen
that whip before, once--the time she had twiggled her fingers. Graves
had shaken it at her from his saddle-horse. Then she had not been
afraid.... The clergyman came toward her.
"Ye hit me with that whip," growled Tess, "and--and--I'll kill ye!"
"Oh! you will, eh?... Well, then, there it is!"
A stinging blow fell across her shoulders, and another and another. The
slender body writhed silently, turned and twisted to escape the
descending whip. Drops of milk spattered upon the floor. Never before
had Tess known such physical pain. The minister was counting the blows
deliberately as they fell. At the eighth stroke, the girl opened her
lips and uttered a long, piercing cry--an intense, vibrating cry. The
last blow fell upon Tessibel's shivering back,--and Frederick appeared
in the doorway. His father leaning against the wall breathlessly, the
whip hanging limply from his hand; Tessibel Skinner, barefooted and
weeping, with a pail of milk clasped in her fingers--was what the boy
saw. He had no chance to speak before Teola, too, with streaming hair,
her nightrobe clutched convulsively in one hand, opened the hall door.
The scene whirled before her like a frightful nightmare.
The fisher-girl turned and faced her.
"Yer Pappy air a-beatin' me ... I hev a-been stealin' milk."
Her words fell between little, broken gasps. They touched Frederick as
he never had been touched before. He stepped forward hastily to speak.
"I air a-needin' the milk," she explained, bowing her head before him.
"I has to have it!"
The infant rushed into Frederick's mind ... the squalid cabin, that
twisting thing, with thin, discolored veins. It had been for him that
Tess had stolen. Teola staggered toward her father, a cough racking the
emaciated frame. Minister Graves threw his arms about her.
"Go back! Go back quickly, child! You should not have ventured out of
bed. I will settle with the squatter."
"You whipped her!" breathed Teola.
"Yes, and will again, if I catch her stealing from my kitchen. Now,
miss, you can go home. Put down that milk; and, if I find you here in
the future, I shall put you behind the bars, with your father."
Frederick counted the beats of his heart through the blank silence. He
felt impelled to reach forward to Tessibel,--to say something to relieve
the white, tense face. His father was waiting for the squatter to take
her departure. But Tess remained with the pail in her hand.
Suddenly she lifted her streaming eyes to the minister's face.
"I has been beaten.... And I air a-feelin' so--bad! Air I to have the
milk? I needs it." Tess sobbed again, and continued, "I ain't a-carin'
so awful about the lickin' as I does about havin' the milk."
She came forward close to him, with searching sweetness in her gaze. The
Dominie drew back, fearing the soiled dress would touch him. The girl
was making the appeal to him alone, and a cloud of color gathered
slowly over his face under her steady eyes. He regained himself, and
replied,
"No, you can't have the milk, no matter how much you may need it."
"Some one'll die without it," she entreated again, lowering her voice,
throwing no glance at the silent boy or shivering girl.
"Then let them die," retorted the clergyman. "I do not believe
you--anyway!"
He was weakening a little, the attitude of his son and daughter striking
him almost to consent. Frederick's eyes were filled with hauteur unusual
to the boy, and Teola was clinging to his neck, weeping wildly. The
children had never approved of his persecution of the squatters, but
both of them could see that the girl had been caught in open-handed
theft.
"Father," Teola implored, "give the girl the milk. She says she needs
it--"
"Yes, Father," interrupted Frederick, "give it to her.... She won't
steal again.... You won't, will you--girl?"
This was the first word to her since that night he had lost faith in
her. His voice seemed harsh; it fell upon her, numbing her senses. Her
body went cold as if a frosty gust had struck it.
"You won't steal again--ever? Will you?" demanded he.
Tessibel struggled to speak. At last there came a fluttered confession,
which made Teola Graves shiver like an aspen leaf. If she could only
summon courage to tell her arrogant father the truth! She could not bear
to look upon her squatter friend, nor upon Frederick's white face.
"I has to steal," said Tess. "I has to have the milk.... I can't get it
no way else."
"There! There!" exclaimed the Dominie, with a derisive laugh. "If that
isn't depravity, I don't know what is.... Now, then, miss, put down that
pail, and go!"
He strode forward and grasped the handle in his fingers. But Tess held
it firmly. Her mind flashed to the child in the hut, smacking fiercely
through the long night ... she thought of the morning, of the hungry
gray eyes and the ceaseless baby whimper--and defied the minister.
"I air a-goin' to have it," she insisted. "Take yer hand offen that
handle."
Graves gasped for breath, but did not relax his hold upon the pail. With
a motion as quick as lightning flashes, Tess lowered her head, and set
her teeth into the Dominie's fat white hand. A cry of pain escaped him,
and he opened his fingers.
"I said as how I got to have the milk--and--and I air got it! Open that
door!"
Tess shrieked out the last words, her eyes, full of hatred, bent upon
Graves. Frederick strode forward, turned the key in the lock, and Tess
sprang out.
* * * * *
Tessibel ran swiftly through the orchard, out into the lane, her rage
dying out in her fear for the babe. She had never left him so long
before. Her flesh still tingled from the Dominie's blows, but her
admission before Frederick that she was compelled to steal hurt her
worse than the blue welts rising upon her shoulders. She regretted, too,
that she had bitten the clergyman's hand, but that had been done for
the baby--little Dan had to live.
She came to an alert standstill in front of the cabin. She saw the light
from a candle flickering out through the window. Tess was sure she had
left the hut dark--she had extinguished the light just before going out
for the milk. Who was in the hut? Or had she made a mistake, and left
the candle there? For the sake of the child she had to enter. She set
down the pail, lifted her skirt, wiped away the traces of tears. Then,
flinging wide the door, she came upon Ben Letts.