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?"

Dropping her eyes, Tessibel shook her head.

"Nope, I ain't sick," she faltered. "But--but--"

She wanted to throw herself upon her father's broad shielding breast and
sob out her joy. But she couldn't do that so she stood hesitantly, her
lips quivering.

"I air wantin' to be hugged in yer arms, Daddy Skinner," she told him.
"Tell yer brat ye love her awful much."

And according to his custom in his daughter's sentimental moments, the
fisherman, after dropp