"Air the kisses what ye had from Ben Letts--burnin' ones? Did ye lose the thought of the night and the night things on the ragged rocks?... Did ye want 'em again and again--more and more kisses till they scorched yer face like the bread oven in the spring?" Tess had risen to her feet, had whitened to the small ears covered with the tawny hair. Myra had risen also. Both girls were eying each other with intentness. Tess started to speak again, coming forward a step toward the other squatter. "Did ye forget the storm, the wavin' trees and all 'cept--Ben Letts?" "Ye air been to the ragged rocks," moaned Myra, sinking down upon the floor in a heap. In a twinkling the meaning of Myra's words dawned upon Tessibel. "I ain't been there with Ben Letts," she replied suddenly. "I ain't got no likin' for the brat's Pa's kisses--" "But ye hev been to the ragged rocks," insisted Myra, settling back with a sob against the box where the child slept. "Nope, I ain't; but I had a kiss, and Myra, it were--like the singin' in the heavens what the song tells about--like the feelin' in here," she placed her hand upon her heart, her eyes flashing golden, "when the world air filled with flowers and the birds air a singin'.... Were it like that with Ben Letts? Were it?" "Nope," replied Myra sulkily, "Ben Letts ain't got no singin' kisses." She rose languidly, tucked the blanket closer about the sleeping child's head. "Tessibel," she broke forth hoarsely, "for all women folks there air brats a cryin' for their Pa's to tell 'em yep or nope. And there air men a-walkin' on the ragged rocks with singin' kisses for yer pretty face and tangled hair. There air a brat sleepin' till it's dead in the box." The tired young mother allowed her hungry gaze to fall upon the quiet infant. "Tessibel, yer brat--" But Tessibel bounded out of the door, over the snow-covered rocks like a deer. She would not lose the sweetness of the kiss in Myra's warning words--that penetrating holy kiss she had treasured for seven long days and nights. * * * * * The torturing thoughts that had filled the mind of Professor Young at finding Frederick Graves in the cabin of the fisher-girl were new sensations to him. He loved Tessibel, and in her lay his future happiness. Her stolid indifference to his endeavors to aid her through her father had blasted his hopes somewhat. Then again he would feverishly reason that she had been born to overlook all save those whom she desired and for whom she fought. It was like her kind. Excuses for the girl in the aid she had given the student ran willingly through his brain. If Tess had seen the young fellow in the storm, it was but like the tender, loving heart to aid him. It was no proof that Frederick had found a place in her affections. With these thoughts in his mind he had worked for several days, quietly hoping that the girl might seek him.