Ezra looked so like a wandering night-shade, so tall, wet and thin, that Tess uttered a shriek. The lad pushed his way into the cabin, and dropped on the floor. All thought of the student was driven from Tessibel's mind by her superstition at the sight of the boy.

"Ezy, Ezy, air it yerself, or air it yer shade what air here? It air yer own self, ain't it, Ezy?"

"Yep."

"Where air yer been?"

"I dunno. I air sick unto death, I air."

"Have ye seen yer mammy?"

"Nope."

"Nor Satisfied?"

"Nope."

"Then ye be a-goin' there now, ain't ye?"

"Yep."

"Was ye to Albany?"

"Nope. I were sick in a house, and the big man from the hill were a-takin' care of me. I weren't a-goin' to stay no longer, so I runned away. I air a-goin' home to Mammy."

"Yep, that air right," rejoined Tess with conviction, "for yer mammy air a-grievin' every day for ye, and Satisfied air a-gettin' older and older-lookin'. They thought as how ye might be in Albany."

Another loud cry caused Ezy to turn his head toward the infant.

"Ye air the same as Myry," he said slowly; but before he could say another word, the girl interposed hastily: "It ain't my brat.... It belongs to a woman on the hill. I gets paid for it."