"The world air waggin' yet, Orn," he remarked soothingly.
"Sure, but 'tain't much of a world," grunted Skinner, sighing.
Andy bent his head a little farther through the hole.
"It air a lot, while we got Tess," he answered. "We got Tessibel, ain't we, pal?"
The squatter's mouth wrinkled at each corner.
"Yep, I guess we got 'er all right, but I wish to God she'd come home."
"She'll be along soon," assured Andy, with a smile.
For a few minutes they remained silent. Then Orn Skinner burst forth again, "I ain't got as much use for that feller Tess loves as a dog has for a million fleas, an' I never liked 'is pa, uther...."
"Ye wouldn't wish she'd be lovin' Sandy Letts, even if he does make money, eh, Orn?" asked Andy.
"Thunder, no!" snorted Skinner. "I'd ruther she'd be dead 'n married to Sandy. But that ain't sayin' a honest squatter airn't better'n a high born pup.... I wish Tess loved a decent chap."
At that moment the speaker's daughter was standing alone on a small country inn porch, some miles from Trumansburg, waiting for her husband.
Frederick had gone to get the rig to take them back to the squatter settlement. There was absolute stillness, absolute calm everywhere but within herself. Her heart fluttered with new emotions, new desires, ambitions to make herself worthy of the man she'd married. Her eyes were on the sky, her soul among the stars, her own stars that had crept out one by one, each to look lovingly down upon her happiness.
What a glorious night it was! More wonderful than yesterday even! Or any of her many yesterdays! This hour, the climax of her love, had transported her through the mystery of immeasurable joy. She would never again be the old Tessibel. She was Frederick's wife! Her breath came in sudden, quick, happy sighs, for just then she heard his voice from out of the darkness. Ah, his tones, too, were deeper, richer than yesterday!
Even in the shadow, Frederick saw her distinctly as he came toward the house.
"My own little wife!" he whispered tumultuously. "How happy I am!"
"Won't ye take me home now?" murmured Tess. "It air late an' Daddy'll be worried."
"We'll start at once," promised Frederick tenderly, leading her down the steps.
* * * * * Daddy Skinner heard the horse coming down the hill, heard Frederick as he said his low, "Good-night, my darling," and unbarring the door, the fisherman waited impatiently for his daughter to enter the shanty.
One glance and he stretched out his hand.
"Ye're sick, brat," he stammered. "Be ye sick, my pretty?"