Tess of the Storm Country Part 18

"But ye can seek his lovin's, can't ye?... I's a seekin' Daddy--and somethin' else."

"What?"

"To be readin' and writin' like--like the minister's gal does. I air a-seekin' it every day!"

"How?"

Tess flushed. She could not tell Myra of the long bearded G.o.d in the pine tree, nor of the stumbling prayers she had repeated night after night. Myra understood that she could sing, so Tess said laconically:

"I sings for it sometimes, and that air a seekin'."

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 bl.u.s.tering 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.

"Why, father, what's the trouble?"

"I was making a clerical call on Mrs. Robman to-day," fumed the Dominie, "and that girl of hers, and a saucy one she is, too, burst into the room, and, mother, what tale do you think she told--before us?"

Frederick glanced at his sister, but Teola's eyes were upon her empty plate. Mrs. Graves shook her head.

"That that Skinner girl came here last night and in all her rags and filth drank coffee from our daughter's cup! Madame, did you ever imagine that such a disgrace could fall upon you?"

Mrs. Graves looked helplessly from her husband's distorted face to her son and daughter.

"She came into your home," went on the minister, "and was asked to take refreshments from your cups. Mrs. Robman said that she disliked to think that such degraded guests were allowed in your home.... Do you understand what that means, Mrs. Graves?"

"Let Frederick explain, father," pleaded the trembling wife; "he was going to speak and you stopped him. What and how did it happen?"

"The girl came to the Rectory to ask prayers for her father," said Frederick, an expression darkening his eyes which his mother dreaded.

"Prayers ... prayers!" roared the minister, "Prayers for a squatter and a murderer!... And drinking coffee from your cups. Such a disgrace can never be lifted from this house."

"What hurt did she do?" irreverently asked Babe. Frederick was thankful for the child's frank question.

"Hurt? Harm, you mean. If she should just hurt a person that could be mended. Harm was what she did!"

"What harm?" persisted Babe.

"Madam, you see your children are all growing up like heathens. There arn't any of the parents whose sons and daughters were here last night, who won't think a long time before they allow them to come again. You understand, don't you, that that squatter covered with germs of all kinds drank from your daughter's cup."

Mrs. Graves started preceptibly. She was noted for a fear of germs.

"Teola, your mouth must be scoured with peroxide ... Oh, if some one would only tell me how it all happened!"

Frederick rose from his chair and impulsively laid his hand on his mother's shoulder. To Teola he looked so tall and strong, so capable of explaining, that she rose, too.

"I will tell you mother," said the student. "The girl was in distress.

In some way she had been led to believe that prayers, effective prayers, could bring about any desired result. She simply came to ask us to pray for her father."

Teola was by his side now, rea.s.suringly pressing his arm.

"And where would she go," she broke in suddenly, "if not to a minister's home?"

The pastor's whole family, at least the members that had been submissive--for Babe had always challenged her father's commands--was rising against him. His wife, instead of taking her willful children to task, was weeping; his son and daughter stood beside her refuting every word he said. He brought down his hand with a bang, his eyes narrowing into a slit.

"You will every one do as I say," he cried. "Frederick, you are to stay away from cla.s.ses for two days, your professors knowing that you have disobeyed your father. If your fellow students ask you why you are absent, you must tell them what I have said. And, you, Teola--"

Frederick stopped the rush of words.

"If I stay away from college two days," he said in a low tone, so deliberate that every word burned into the mother's brain, "I shall never go back again. I am no longer a child and I won't be punished. And what is more, I shall leave your home forever. You may take your choice, father, but not until I make another statement. The girl from the lake asked me to pray for her. That is my intention, and I shall do more if possible. I shall use every bit of influence I have to aid her father to escape hanging.... Also, if you punish Teola, you will never see me again."

Mrs. Graves had risen from her chair. She walked straight to her son--placed her hand upon him.

"Frederick, you wouldn't leave your mother?"

The strong arm pressed about the wearied little form rea.s.suringly.

"And you can bet, papa Graves," put in Babe, "that I'll go with mamma any old day, that's what I will."

Teola stood irresolutely, looking first at Frederick, then at her father. She went toward the minister and almost whispered,

"Father, let me speak! The girl came without having been invited by anyone, and she did not stay five minutes. She was drenched through, and cold ... I gave her my cup of coffee, and she stated her errand and went away."

The minister rose, leaving his supper untouched, put on his overcoat, not one remonstrating word coming from his family, and went out.

Pastor Graves made his way up the town through the main street to Bates'

drug-store, his hunger having died in his anger and amazement.

He was positive that he could have brought his children to terms, had not their mother taken sides with them. His thoughts went back to the early days of his married life when nothing had disturbed their peace; the children obeyed, and Mrs. Graves thought her husband's word the essence of all law.