"Yes."
"Then, of course, it air so. Why didn't ye say so before? Could the brat be sprinkled this comin' Sunday?"
"Yes; yes, it is baptismal Sunday. Deacon Hall's new baby is to be baptized, and lots of others, too!"
"Then yer brat air goin' to be sprinkled with 'em," decided Tessibel.
"Tess!" gasped Teola. "How? How?... I should die if I had to take him to the church."
"I takes him," replied Tess grimly. "I takes him, and I says to yer pappy, 'Dominie, I knows that ye don't like me nor my Daddy, but here air a brat what air sick to death.... He can't find God by hisself 'cause he air too little, and God won't try and find him if he ain't sprinkled. Will ye do it?'"
Teola shifted her position, and looked into the squatter's face. It was gleaming with heavenly resolve and uplifted faith.
"Tess, would you dare?" gasped she.
"Yep! The little brat has to go. I takes him."