"I may not be able to come down to-morrow, Tessibel," she said, looking up into the serious face, "because my brother is coming home early in the morning."
The frying-pan fell to the floor; the fat spattered and ran across the broken, tilted boards until it congealed into rounded miniature mountains. Teola turned a puzzled face toward the fishermaid, but there was nothing about the girl to tell her why the accident had happened, for Tessibel, grappling with a huge cloth, was wiping the floor furiously.
"I was saying, Tess," repeated Teola, "that I may not come down to-morrow.... Oh! hear how it rains, and the thunder!... Tess, since he died, and the baby came, thunder-storms make me shiver."
"It ain't nothin' that'll hurt ye," grunted Tess from her position on the floor.
"I know it, unless one stands directly in the lightning's path. But I am such a coward, Tessibel! You have so much faith—that's why you're not afraid."
The pathetic face turned suddenly upon Tess with a questioning look.
"My brother, you know, thinks you are such a good girl—and—and—you are a good girl, aren't you, Tess?"
"Squatters ain't never good," answered Tess in a low tone, her eyes dropping under the steady gaze of the other girl. "But I—I love the student's God, I does."
She was standing with rag hanging from her right hand, her face illumined by a deep flush that disappeared only when it met the red hair.