"Yes, and will again, if I catch her stealing from my kitchen. Now, miss, you can go home. Put down that milk; and, if I find you here in the future, I shall put you behind the bars, with your father."
Frederick counted the beats of his heart through the blank silence. He felt impelled to reach forward to Tessibel,—to say something to relieve the white, tense face. His father was waiting for the squatter to take her departure. But Tess remained with the pail in her hand.
Suddenly she lifted her streaming eyes to the minister's face.
"I has been beaten.... And I air a-feelin' so—bad! Air I to have the milk? I needs it." Tess sobbed again, and continued, "I ain't a-carin' so awful about the lickin' as I does about havin' the milk."
She came forward close to him, with searching sweetness in her gaze. The Dominie drew back, fearing the soiled dress would touch him. The girl was making the appeal to him alone, and a cloud of color gathered slowly over his face under her steady eyes. He regained himself, and replied,
"No, you can't have the milk, no matter how much you may need it."
"Some one'll die without it," she entreated again, lowering her voice, throwing no glance at the silent boy or shivering girl.
"Then let them die," retorted the clergyman. "I do not believe you—anyway!"
He was weakening a little, the attitude of his son and daughter striking him almost to consent. Frederick's eyes were filled with hauteur unusual to the boy, and Teola was clinging to his neck, weeping wildly. The children had never approved of his persecution of the squatters, but both of them could see that the girl had been caught in open-handed theft.
"Father," Teola implored, "give the girl the milk. She says she needs it—"