"Myry air happy," she burst forth; "happier than when she were livin' with you. She air with Ben Letts."
Satisfied, towering over her, blinked confusedly at her words. Puzzling, he drew his heavy brows down darkly.
"Myry were a-seekin' Ben," Tess went on hurriedly, "and the brat couldn't stay without its pa and ma. I says as how Myry air happy, Satisfied."
"She were a-lovin' Ben Letts?" The pain in his clouded blue eyes stung Tess to the heart. The grief of this lonely old man, bereft of his all, seemed the most tragic spectacle she had ever faced.
"Yep," she replied, trying to smile through her tears; "she were a-lovin' him, and were a-seekin' his lovin's all the time. It were only in the storm—she found what she were a-seekin'."
She turned her head sharply toward the dead.
"Ye can see she air a-smilin', Satisfied, can't ye? And Ben air a-huggin' her up to him. That air somethin' Myry wanted. And ye air a-goin' to leave them like that, ain't ye? Don't tear Ben's arms loose, 'cause Myry won't be happy if ye does. Can't ye put 'em in a box, just like they air?"
Longman made a protesting motion. Some fishermen had picked the two dead ones up, locked in each other's arms. And he himself had covered them with a sheet, without making an effort to part them. He had not thought of putting them in the squatters' cemetery together.
"And let the brat stay with 'em, too," Tess broke in on his reverie.
"Yep," he replied; "I lets 'em all stay together. What Myry seeked for and found, she can have for all of me."