"I were a-goin' with him," she cried between her sobs, "I could have washed dishes in the prison—to be near Daddy. I air such a lonely Tess 'out him in the hut."
The student lifted her gently in his arms and seated her in the wooden chair. With the tenderness of a brother, he placed the great boots once more upon the girl's feet, and Tessibel was ready to start again upon her long tramp through the row of huts to her shanty home.
The tears had ceased to flow, and with bowed head she was hanging upon every word the student uttered. Professor Young went quietly out, unheeded by either girl or boy.
"No one blames you for your grief, child, at being obliged to leave your father," Frederick said huskily. "But are you going to take off the 'Armor of God' and forget all that He has promised you?"
Tessibel blinked ignorantly at the long words, "Armor of God," "Armor of God." It was something she had not heard before—perhaps it meant that the student's Christ would not help her now. It all came back in a flood of light—her utter faithlessness in the prayers of the student, in the pine-tree God who had waved her so many assurances. She had not dared to look into the noble face above her, but when they stepped from the jail into the street, she raised her eyes to Frederick's and murmured:
"I air sorry cause I were so cussed ... I only wanted to go with Daddy."
"I realize that," replied Frederick, making preparations to walk with her by drawing his coat collar tightly about his neck, "but it was impossible, and, from now until the time he comes back, study your Bible."
Tess halted a moment, looking up steadily into the dark eyes of the tall boy.