e," whispered Flea presently, "ye ought to see that room I slep'
in! It were finer'n this one."

"This be the promised land, all right, what Scraggy speaked about," said
Flukey. "There ain't no more places like it in this here world."

"I believe that, too," answered Flea, "and if we hadn't been hungry
we'd never have stealed, and we wouldn't have found Mr. and Miss
Shellington. Yet she says it's wicked to steal."

"So it be, Flea, and ye know it. All ye're tryin' to do now is not to
believe about that Jesus. I bet somethin'll come that'll make ye believe
it."

"Mebbe," mumbled Flea darkly; "but 's long 's 'tain't Pappy Lon or Lem,
I don't care."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

During the next two weeks, while Flukey was fighting with death, and the
great Shellington mansion was as silent as a tomb, Scraggy Peterson was
tramping back to the squatter country. When she reached Ithaca, she was
almost too ill to start up the Lehigh Valley tracks toward her hut. The
black cat clung to her tattered jacket, his wizard-eyes shining green,
as Screech Owl passed under the gas-lamps. It was almost ten o'clock at
night when she unlatched her shanty door and kindled a fire. The larder
was bare, save for some crusts of hard bread. These the woman soaked in
hot water and shared with the cat. Then, in a state of great exhaustion,
she picked up Black Pussy, blew out the candle, and, for the first time
in many days, slept in her own hut.

On the shore below Lem Crabbe's scow was drawn up near the Cronk hut.
The squatter and scowman were conversing in the dim light of a lantern
that swung from Lem's hook.

"Did ye make any hauls while ye was gone, Lem?" asked Lon.

"Nope, only sold the lumber. I ain't trying nothin' alone."

"It was cussed mean I couldn't go along with ye," Lon said; "but I had
to stay to hum. Did ye know that Mammy were dead?"

"Nope!"

"Yep, and buried, too! She fretted over the brats, and kep' a sayin'
they was dead in the lake. But I know they jest runned off some'ers."

"I know it, too," Lem grunted savagely. "The gal didn't have no likin'
for me."

"I jest see Scraggy come hum," ventured Lon. "She's been gone for a long
while. She were a comin' down the tracks."

Lem muttered a savage oath, and faced the scow preparatory to entering.
Looking back over his shoulder, he asked:

"Be ye comin' in, Lon?"

"Nope; I'm goin' to bed. Say, Lem, while ye was away, ye didn't get ear
of no good place to make a h