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Updated: June 13, 2025
It was silhouetted against a light streak in the southern sky, its long arms extending straight into the air. The branches of the tree had always made a fantastic figure in Tessibel's eyes. It took the form of a venerable old man and it had been one of her vivid imaginings, since she could remember, that some time the man shaped against the skies would step down in the flesh.
Tessibel's maternal instinct was being strongly developed in her agony of the hour, and the identity of Frederick the student, was lost in Frederick, the toad, her one little friend, to whom she had told all her sorrows, and had been ruthlessly torn from her.
The room whirled around before Tessibel's gaze. She tried to draw her breath beneath the tightening grasp. The door burst open, and Frederick Graves received a desperate look of entreaty from the squatter-girl. The babe smacked loudly. The September wind whirled its rain and dead willow leaves over the hut floor. A rasping sound, like the filing of a saw, came from the tin roof.
And then they waited, the hearts of the two men heavy with bitter fear, and the heart of the girl vibrant with faith that all would be well with her friend. Andy Bishop was stretched out in the middle of Tessibel's straw tick, while the girl measured her length on the cot to assure her father that the dwarf would be fully concealed from prying eyes.
"Yep; to-day. He air a-growin' a little more pert." "Glad for Myry," was Tessibel's comment. "Ye ain't heard nothin' from yer Daddy, have ye?" asked Ben, presently. "Yep. I had a letter from him. He air a-comin' to the shanty as soon as he air out." "He ain't a-goin' to get out!" "Yep, he air; sure he air." "Air he a-knowin' of yer brat?" Ben was staring at the child. Tess stared back at him.
Presently, in the arms of the tall figure, she could discern a bundle, a small bundle. She watched them until she heard their steps on the porch. When Deforrest placed the baby in her arms, and she noted Andy's happy face, Tessibel's joy was complete. Three years and a half had passed since the birth of Tessibel's baby, a period of growth and security for the squatter girl and Andy Bishop.
In the scuffle neither heard the step on the porch and neither saw the tall form loom in the doorway. Sandy wrenched at the red hair, drawing Tessibel's face upward. Then Deforrest Young grappled with him, and in the one blow he landed under the squatter's chin, the angry lawyer concentrated the vim of years of exasperated waiting. Sandy slumped to the floor.
"I can't get my breath when I think of telling him, Tess." "He ain't to know never, then?" bounded from Tessibel's lips, the passion in the tones lowering the voice almost to a whisper. "No," replied the young mother; "I can't tell him." The squatter just caught the next words, "But I am going to die, too, Tess." The conviction in the statement made Tess spring back. "Ye ain't yet.
It no sooner fell on Tessibel's ears than she scurried, nimble-footed, up the ladder. Poking her head through the hole in the ceiling, she peered around. It was very dark, and even straining her eyes, she could see nothing. "Andy!" she whispered. "Andy, dear!" "I air here, kid," murmured the dwarf from a dark corner. "Don't be worrin'," encouraged Tess, softly.
Frederick, ashy-pale, struggled for control; a consciousness of the ignorance of the girl and his own godly profession broke upon him; and he sank upon the stool with a sob. His face in his hands filled Tessibel's soul with remorse. Delicately, with the touch of a lady born, she rested her hand upon the student's dark head.
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