"Ben were askin' to marry yer, Tess, weren't he?" demanded Myra as they approached the door.
Tess nodded.
"Were he sayin' as how ye could take care of him?"
"Yep."
"Be ye goin' to?" The intense longing and misery in her voice made Tess gasp:
"Nope, he air too mean a cuss to live. If he air the brat's pa, let the brat's ma take care of him. The brat air a good little devil."
Mrs. Longman was moving about in the loft overhead when the two girls entered the shanty.
Tess went to the wooden box and looked down upon the small, pinched face of the sleeping infant. The babe had worn out his little lungs, screeching in his pain, the small faded eyes rolling backward as he slept.
The young mother came quietly to the side of her Squatter friend.