Suddenly she spoke, handing the babe to Teola.
"Can't ye put out a drop more milk evenin's?"
"I took all there was last night, and the night before, too. And this morning Rebecca was furious—she had to go without milk in her coffee. I don't know that I can get any to-night."
"The weather air so cold now," explained Tess, "Kennedy won't let his cows stay in the fields nights. I might crib some more if I could. Every time I steals up to yer house, I thinks yer woman'll see me; and yer Pappy and Mammy comes home to-morry."
Teola nodded.
"If yer Pappy catched me swipin' milk, he'd knock the head offen me. I steals it just the same.... I air afraid of yer Pappy, though."
"No wonder," replied Teola, and she lapsed into silence.
Her father hated the squatter girl—hated the fishermen who still plied their unlawful trade under the noses of the gamekeepers.
Teola was crying softly. She felt it was only just to relieve Tess of the stigma she had placed upon her. But to go home and face the proud young brother with the story of her sin—with the lie she had told—were almost unbearable. Then another thought pierced her. Could Tess keep the baby all winter? And would she herself have the courage to live, knowing that he might sometimes be hungry and cold? Frederick would help her. She was glad she had decided to tell him.