"Yep, this mornin' in his shanty. He were cut bad. They got the horse doctor to sew him up. He air sick, Ben air!"
"And the brat," demanded Tess, changing the subject purposely.
"Sick the hours through," replied Myra bitterly. "He hes got the pitifullest cry that breaks my heart all the time. But he ain't so sick as his pappy."
"Ben Letts ain't a-goin' to die, air he?"
Tessibel's woful expression caused Myra to shake her head emphatically, her thin lips twitching, then tightening under the nervous strain.
"Nope, he ain't, but he air goin' to be sick a long time. He air the brat's pa, and I want to do somethin' for him."
"What?"
"He air wantin' to see ye, Tessibel. Will ye go to him?"
"Nope," Tess burst forth spontaneously.
Myra looked at her curiously.