Myra grunted.
"I can't sing," and she frowned.
The babe whined in the cradle and Tessibel took him up. The glorious voice hushed the child to sleep, Myra Longman bitterly scanning the beautiful face. There were only two years between her and Tessibel, and her own poor, ghastly wrinkled face looked years older. If she were only pretty, Ben might love her. Tess had the splendid vigor of healthy youth—Myra, the worn-out complexion of a bad digestion. Beans and bacon had made the one beautiful—and destroyed the other.
Suddenly Myra leaned over with a new expression in her eyes.
"Tessibel, I tries to seek Ben Letts and his lovin's for me and the brat."
Tessibel placed the small boy in the box, then she and Myra obeyed Mrs. Longman's fretful demand that they draw up and eat.
CHAPTER XV
That evening Minister Graves came blustering in after his family were seated at the table. What was this ridiculous thing that he had heard? His home disgraced, his position ruined, his children ostracized. He glanced at Teola and Frederick. His wife, fastening Babe's napkin under the child's chin, remonstrated.