The story was so tame—so unlike what Tess had expected to hear that she drew a long, disappointed breath. There had been a vague wish within her heart that she were going to be of infinite benefit to him. It was such a little thing to lose a fine supper. His life had not been in danger as she had supposed.
"You understand, Tess, that it's a disgrace to our class not to have the president there," Frederick burst forth, "even if he is kept away by force. I would rather sacrifice anything than have it happen—only, I do not want to harm your good name, Tessibel."
Tess stared at him blankly.
"Squatter's brats don't have no names.... Ye can't do me any harm."
"Oh, yes, I could," insisted Frederick. "What if that scoundrel who was here a little while ago should say that I were here?... It would harm us both."
Tess paused in her breakfast preparations long enough to say simply,
"Yer Christ wouldn't let him harm ye, would He?"
The boy swept her with an incredulous glance.
Did she so thoroughly have faith in a miraculous interference in human affairs by divine power? The delicate face was lighted with exquisite coloring which came and went in the morning light like the tints of a sea-shell. The bright trustful eyes were shining into his, every motion of the lovely head and body bespeaking the blind faith in which the squatter girl lived. Frederick found himself wishing impetuously with all his soul that he could command a faith like hers. His own seemed so dead, so unlike a living faith that he sighed as he turned toward her.
"Tessibel," he said honestly, "you are a better girl than I am a boy ... I am learning many things from you." Then, looking up with a smile after a moment's thought, he finished: "No, I believe with you, that it is impossible for him to harm one of us if we have faith in God."