art beat wildly
with hope. If he would allow her to stay in the hut with him, she would
ask nothing better. His consent would come as a direct answer to prayer.
How hard she would work if Floyd and Horace were safe! Cronk coughed
behind his hand.

"Flea, turn yer head 'bout here; I want to talk to ye," he said.

The girl got up and came to his side. She was a pathetic little figure,
drooping in great fear, and hoping against hope that he would spare her.
She had dressed as he had ordered, and at her feet dragged a worn skirt
of Granny Cronk's. With trembling fingers she hitched the calico blouse
up about her shoulders.

"Flea," said Lon again, "ye came home when I said ye was to, and ye
promised that ye'd do what I said, didn't ye?"

"Yes."

"And ye remember well that I promised ye to Lem afore ye went away. I
still be goin' to keep that promise to Lem."

The bright blood that had swept her face paced back, leaving her ashen
pale. She did not speak, but swayed a little, and supported herself on
the top of his chair. Feeling her nearness, he shifted back, and the
small hand fell limply.

"Before ye go to Lem," pursued Lon, "I want to tell ye somethin'." Still
Fledra did not speak. "Ye know that it'll save Flukey, if ye mind me,
and that it don't make no difference if ye don't like Lem."

"Wouldn't it have made any difference if my mother hadn't loved you,
Pappy Lon?"

The question shot out in appeal, and Lon's swarthy face shadowed darkly.

"I never loved yer mother," he drawled, sucking hard upon his pipe.

"Then you loved another woman," went on Flea bitterly, "because I heard
you tell Lem about her. Would you have liked a man to give her to--Lem?"

As quick as lightning in the smoke came the ghost-gray phantom,
approaching from a dark corner of the shanty. Lon's eyes were strained
hard, and Fledra saw them widen and follow something in the air. She
drew back afraid. The man was staring wildly, and only he knew why he
groaned, as the wraith in the pipe-smoke broke around him and drifted
away. Fledra brought him back by repeating:

"Would ye have liked to have had Lem take her, Pappy Lon?"

"I'd a killed him," muttered Lon, as if to himself. "But ye, Flea," here
he rose and brought down his fist with a bang, "ye go where I send ye!
The woman's dead. If she wasn't, ye wouldn't have to go to Lem."

To soften him, Fledra knelt down at his feet.

"Pappy Lon," she pleaded, "you haven't got her, anyhow, and