"But he air dead," philosophized Tess. "He ain't with no other girl."
Teola shivered violently.
"Oh, I know that; I know that. But I—I need him. I want him so!"
"But he air dead," said Tess again steadily.
For many minutes neither spoke. For Teola's new burst of agony settled a solemnity upon Tess which she could not throw off. Forgetting her squatter position, she slipped her hand between the white fingers of the weeper. Teola did not care if the girl's finger-nails were filled with black soot, did not care if the squatter were covered with a dirty, ragged dress, or if her bare feet were calloused from the rocks. Tess was a human being who sympathized with her, and sympathy was as necessary to Teola's soul at that moment as breath was to her body. In the spasmodic whitening of the other girl's face Tess realized a desperate heart agony.
"THEN YE AIR COMIN' HOME WITH ME TO THE SHANTY."
"Ye air sick," she said at last, an enlightened expression widening her lids. "A woman's kind of sick, ain't it? Eh?"
"Yes," answered Teola, flushing deeply; "yes."