"I got my baby!" she broke in. "He air over there. Take a peep at 'im."
There was no embarrassment in the bright smile she sent him, no sense of shame in showing her friend the dear little being who had come to her out of the Infinite to be worked for and loved. Young smothered a groan but he turned obediently and went to the chair in which the baby was cradled.
Folding back the blanket, he gazed at the sleeping infant. Manlike, he was experiencing the passionate wish that this small boy were his own. Jealousy, sudden and violent, assailed him. Hardly could he restrain the words of interrogation and denunciation that demanded utterance.
The mother's question brought him back to the cot.
"He air beautiful, ain't he?" she breathed, a misty gleam on her lashes.
"Yes," said Young, and he sat down in Daddy Skinner's big rocker.
"Wouldn't ye like to hold him?" Tess hoped he would.
"Not yet," replied the lawyer. "I want to know more about him. You must tell me now whose son he is, and let me help you decide what to do about it.... Won't you trust me a little, Tess, dear?"
He hitched his chair nearer the cot and looked earnestly into the dear, brown eyes she turned fearlessly and unashamed up to his own.
"He air mine," Tessibel told him, and a tender smile played about her lips, "but I can't tell ye any more.... There ain't nothin' to do about it. It air all right—huh?"