"Yes, yes; that's the way to do," replied Teola, with a faint smile. "If I can't get the milk out, you go into the kitchen. Simply take all you can get. Take all you want. My father and mother will be home soon. They know by this time I am ill. My brother also gets back from camping at the same time. You see how careful I shall have to be, Tessibel. And in September, we go back to the city, for school always takes us home then. If I could only have my own baby. My own precious baby!" Tessibel grunted. Teola misunderstood her. "Oh, I am grateful to you, dear! I think that you are the best girl in all the world. So does my brother Frederick. He says--" She stooped to cover the child, her voice ceasing. The babe had been carefully tucked in. "He's a been sayin' what?" The tones of the squatter were eager, her eyes so bright that Teola did not answer for a moment. "He says that there is no girl as good as you, and that your faith in God is what he would rather have than anything else in the world.... Oh, Tess, if I could only believe, and be sure that soon the baby and I could go to--his father!" "If ye asks, ye can go," replied Tess solemnly. "The student says what ye asks with faith ye'll get. Ain't that enough to prove it?" This fell reverently from the lips of the girl. Faith in Frederick rather than faith in God had given birth to her believing soul. But neither girl realized it. Both were silent for some minutes. Teola was looking dreamily at the opposite hill, the basket with its precious burden already hanging on the squatter's arm. Tess had learned that such loud smacks as the infant was giving were indicative of hunger. So she made a move to go. "I takes him back to feed him. He air hungry." "Oh, Tess, if I could only feed him! If I could only always have him! I wish--I wish I were a squatter. Then I would face the world with my baby.... Oh, I am so unhappy and ill!" True, she was ill, for there came to Tessibel's ears a cough that echoed against the rocks with the familiar sound of death in it. It sounded like that of a fisherwoman she had known in a shanty below the great rocks, who had died and been taken to the Potter's field. "I air a-prayin' every day," said Tess, with a lump in her throat, "that ye be taken with the brat to the sky--to the brat's pa what ye loves.... Air that the prayin' ye wants?" Teola nodded, and Tess, smiling tenderly, hesitated, and whispered: "The student's God can do anything He wants to. Asks Him to let ye go 'cause ye be sick, and the brat air sick, too, and--the winter'll be cold for him." She touched the handle on her arm lightly, turned, and disappeared.