"It air good to forget—sometimes," she stammered, "I air a forgettin' all but the—student."
As on that memorable day when "Daddy" had been taken to prison in Auburn, and she had planted herself in his arms not to be removed, so Tess hung to Frederick. Ben Letts was forgotten, the suffering child in the Longman shanty whom she loved was forgotten; even Daddy Skinner was forgotten. Tessibel had found her man, and all the experiences of her kind could not help her in her hour of temptation.
"Tessibel, Tess, we can't forget, stand up." The boy's words spread through the dazed brain. Frederick dragged her arms from his neck, forcing her to the stool.
"Tessibel, have you forgotten—the Christ, your father and me?"
Had she forgotten him? Only him she had remembered—only his voice rang through her like the sweetest music. But she was so quiet now that the boy seated himself beside her, drawing her hands into his.
"Tess," he began, intensely, bending to look into the flushed face, "Tess—look at me!"
Slowly the brown eyes dragged their gaze upward until the boy and girl were staring wide-lidded directly at each other.
"Tess, have you ever thought that, some time, we might be more to each other—some time in the future when you have learned and studied much?"
Wonderingly she drew her hands from his, hiding them in the folds of the torn gingham skirt.
"I air a squatter," she got out at last. "You be high—I air low, as Ben Letts said.... But, but," she faltered, finishing her sentence brokenly, "But I's yer squatter."