for his masculinity had sought and found the natural opposite
forces of her sex. These thoughts he modified and voiced.

"Not quite from your standpoint, Ann; but possibly from Horace's."

Pale and distressed, Ann got to her feet.

"Then--then, of course, she must go," she said with decision. "I can't
have him unhappy, and--Why, such a thing could--never be!"

She could scarcely wait for Everett to depart; but suppressed her
anxiety and delicately turned the subject out of deference to Horace.
She listened inattentively as Brimbecomb explained some new cases that
he was soon to bring to court, and kissed him when he bade her
goodnight. Then, with beating heart, she sought her brother.

Unsmilingly, Horace asked her to be seated. His face was so stern that
she dared not at once speak of the fears Brimbecomb had raised in her
mind; but at last she said:

"Horace, I've been thinking since our last talk about the children--"
His sharp turn in the desk-chair interrupted her words; but she paused
only a moment before going on resolutely. "Don't you think that I might
put Floyd in a good private hospital where he would be taken care of,
and Fledra--"

His face turned ashen. Her fears were strengthened, and, although her
conscience stung her, she continued, "Fledra's getting along so well
that I would be willing to put her in a boarding school."

"Are you tired of them, Ann?"

"Oh, no--no, far from that! I love them both; but I thought it might be
pleasanter for you, if we had our home to ourselves again."

Horace looked at his sister intently.

"Are you keeping something back from me, Ann?" he demanded.

"Scarcely keeping anything from you, Dear; but I want you to be happy
and not to--" Horace rose in agitation, and quick tears blurred Ann's
sight.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Dearest?" she concluded.

"No!"

Reluctantly she left him, troubled and perplexed.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Lem Crabbe had cunningly planned to keep Scraggy under his eye and
follow her to the hiding place of their son. He realized that the lad
was a man now; but so much the better. He would obtain money from him,
or he would bring him back to the scow and make him a partner in his
trade. In spite of his wickedness, Lem had a strong longing for a sight
of his child. Many times he had meditated upon the days Scraggy had
lived in the barge, and, although he had no remorse for his cruelty to
her, he had regretted the death