o have missed him. But the little boy, where is he?"

Miss Shellington threw open the door, and Vandecar's gaze fell upon a
tall boy, straight and slim, who pierced him with eyes that startled him
into a vague apprehension. He did not utter a word--he seemed to be
choked as effectually as if strong fingers were sunk into his throat.

Floyd loosened his hands from Ann's and stepped forward.

"I'm Flukey Cronk, Sir," he broke forth, "and Pappy Lon Cronk stole my
sister Flea, and he's goin' to give her to Lem Crabbe to be his woman,
and Lem won't marry her, either. Will ye help me to get her back?
Brother Horace said as how ye could. Pappy Lon's a thief, too, and so is
Lem. If ye'd see Lem Crabbe, ye'd help my sister."

Ann saw two pairs of mottled brown eyes staring at each other, and, as
she listened to Floyd's petition, the likeness of the boy to the man
struck her forcibly. The expression that swept over Governor Vandecar's
face frightened her, and she held her breath. But quicker than hers had
been the thoughts of the man. He staggered at the name of "Lon Cronk,"
and his mind coursed back to a heart-rending scene, to hear again the
deep voice of a big-shouldered thief pleading for a sick woman. Again he
saw the huge form of the squatter loom up before him, and heard once
more the frantic prayer for a week's freedom. He had not taken his eyes
from the boy's, and a weakening of his knees compelled him to grip the
back of the chair for support. With a voice thickened to huskiness, he
stammered:

"What--what did you say your father's name was, boy?"

"Lon Cronk, Sir--and he's the worst man ye ever see. I bet he's the
worst man in the state--only Lem Crabbe! He beat my sister, and were
makin' me a thief."

Governor Vandecar dropped into his desk-chair. For a space of time his
face was concealed from Ann and Floyd by his quivering hand. When he
looked up, the joy in his eyes formed a strange contrast to Ann's
tearful face. Floyd, thinking the change in the governor boded well for
Fledra, advanced a step.

"Sit down, boy," said the governor in a voice that was still hoarse.
"Now, then, answer me a few questions. Did your father ever live in
Syracuse?"

"Yep, me and Flea were born there."

"How old are you?"

"Comin' sixteen."

"And your sister? Tell me about her. Is she--how old is she?"

"We be twins," replied Floyd steadily.

The girl, watching the unfolding of a life's tragedy, was silent even to
hushing