Half an hour later found the lawyer astride his horse, his fine face clouded in sorrowful thought.
He cantered along the hard packed road. Here he noted the shimmering veil of ice over some brooklet waterfall in a cleft of the hill side.
There the precise punctures of a rabbit track dotted the level snow of the woods. Beyond a herd of cattle standing placidly around a straw-stack blew clouds of vapor from their steaming nostrils. The silent beauty of the hills, glistening in their frosty covering, set off to advantage the silvery sheen of the ice-laden lake. Through the trees, he caught occasional glimpses of East Hill winter-wrapped in its white mantle. Just north of the city shone the resplendence of the ice-cloaked rocks and waterfalls of Fall Creek Gorge, like a massive garniture emblazoned on the mantle's skirt. The unbroken calm of the quiet winter afternoon touched the rider's overwrought heart and awoke in him a sense of the peace and the dignity of the visible creation. The untroubled serenity and repose which all nature presented, soothed his troubled spirit. Something of the unruffled confidence expressed by Tessibel, when he'd last left her, penetrated his revery. Her words, "I know Love's everywhere the hull time," had comforted him many times, and now they came again upon their healing mission.
Tessibel's baby was one week old. This afternoon she lay partially dressed on the cot while Andy was plying his noiseless way about the kitchen. He stopped a moment on the journey to the stove and smiled at the young mother.
"I bet he comes today," said he. "You'd better be gettin' that sorrow offen yer face, brat."
"I ain't right sorryful, Andy," she answered. "I was jest thinkin' of all the good things Mr. Young air done for me, an' hopin' he'd get you free, too. Mebbe when Spring comes, Andy, you can run in the woods with me!"
"I air prayin' for it every day, kid."
"When you ain't afeered of Auburn any more," said the girl, after a moment's silence, "we'll go away from this shanty, an' mebbe we can both work. That'd be nice, eh, Andy?"
"Anything'd be nice if I air with you, an' the baby, brat," he choked.
"Oh, you'll stay with us all right," smiled Tessibel. "Daddy left me to take care of you an' I air goin' to do it!"
Conversation lagged for a time. The dwarf poured out a cup of tea, and placed a large slice of bread on a plate with some potatoes and meat.
These he took to the bedside.
"I don't know what we'd a done without Jake," he observed, drawing his chair to the table.
Tess was beginning to eat a late dinner. Between bites she smilingly assented.
"Jake air a awful good man.... Andy, ain't the baby stirrin' on the chair?"
The dwarf went to the improvised cradle and carefully drew away the blanket.
"He wants turnin' on 'is other side, that air all." With deft fingers he rolled the baby boy over, placed the sugar rag between the twisting lips, and went back to his dinner.
"Jake was tellin' me this morning," she continued, "Sandy Letts got three years and a half in Auburn."
"That'll be dreadful for him," the little man responded, thinking of his lonely years in prison. "But body-snatchin' air an awful thing. Reckon he won't try it again when he gets out.... Eh, kid?"
"At any rate, he won't be after us for a while," she replied, sighing contentedly.
"Well, I must slick up a bit," Andy announced presently. "I want to get the shanty fixed. Young'd think I weren't doin' right by ye, if 'tain't red up, brat."
"When I tell him all ye've done," she smiled affectionately, "I bet he'll be praisin' ye."
Then they were silent until the little man'd gathered and washed the few dishes.
CHAPTER XXXVII
THE NEW HOME
WHEN Professor Young arrived at the end of the lane near the Skinner's shack, he dismounted, blanketed the horse and hitched him to the fence.
The approach to the hut had been shovelled recently and the snow was banked high on either side. He hurried along the path and knocked at the door.
A stir in the shanty told the lawyer the dwarf was seeking the attic.
After an instant of quiet, he heard Tessibel's voice.
"Who air there?"
The man's nerves throbbed quick response to the clear young tones that came sure and strong through the shack boards.
"It's I, Tessibel," he answered.
And at his answer the bar raised from its holder and Young opened the door and stepped in. The change from the brilliant glare of the almost horizontal beams of the declining sun on the sparkling snow to the half-light of the closely curtained room, obscured his vision for a moment. But by the time he'd removed his cap and rebarred the door, he could discern the familiar outlines of the shanty kitchen. He saw Tess, half-risen on the cot. She rested on one elbow and stretched the other arm out to him. Her face, wreathed in smiles, shone a cordial welcome.
When he'd gone to her and snatched the extended hand in both his own, she bent moist lips and touched the back of the fingers.
Her spontaneous joy brought him a sudden hope that tingled through his blood and warmed it. To see her so well, so sparkling and joyous, lifted his burden of anxiety and warmed in him a glow of profound thanksgiving.
"Tessibel!" he greeted her, relief and yearning compressed into the one word.
It was some time before either spoke. In Tessibel's heart swelled an affection such as she held for no other person. In Young's, in spite of his self-communion on the way, surged the insistent call of the man for his mate, a hopeless longing which might never be satisfied.
"I'm glad it's over, child," he said softly. "My sister told me--"
"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?"
"Oh, my dear," sighed the man. "I hoped you'd relieve my mind a little.