old. To whom did she dare turn? Not to Ann or to Horace; for Lon
had forbidden it. To tell Flukey would only make him very ill again. Lon
was advancing toward her as these thoughts raced through her mind. She
drew back when he thrust out one of his horny hands.

"I ain't a goin' to hit ye, Flea; but I'm goin' to make ye know that I
ain't goin' to have no foolin', and that ye belong to me, and so does
Flukey, and that, when I come for ye, ye're to have yer duds ready."

Lem neared the open window, and Lon turned to follow him.

* * * * *

For fully three minutes after they had gone, the girl stood watching the
black hole through which they had disappeared, where now the snow came
fluttering in. Then she crept forward and lowered the window
noiselessly. With swift footsteps she ran back through the hall and into
the bedroom. After turning on the light, she drew on a dressing-gown and
slipped her feet into a pair of red slippers.

Somewhere from the story above came the sound of footfalls, and then
the creaking of stairs. The girl stood holding her hand over her beating
heart. A servant, or possibly Ann, had heard the noises and was coming
down. Suddenly into her mind came the prayer Floyd loved.

"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, look upon a little child."

She said the words over several times; but had ceased whispering when a
low knock came upon her door. She opened it, and saw Horace standing in
his dressing-gown and slippers. For a moment she looked at him with
almost unseeing eyes, and her lips moved tremulously, as if she would
speak and could not. Horace, noticing her agitation, spoke first.

"Fledra, I thought I heard you. I looked down and saw a light shining
from your window. Is anything the matter?"

Fledra could not find her voice to reply. She had not expected him, and,
locking her fingers tightly together, she stood wide-lidded and
trembling.

"Were you speaking to someone?" asked Horace.

"Yes, I was. I was speaking to Jesus just before you came. I was asking
Him to help me."

The man looked at the red gown hanging over her white nightrobe, the
tossed black curls, and the pale, sensitive face before he said:

"Fledra, whatever is the matter with you? Surely, there is something I
can do."

"Sister Ann said I would be happier, and we all would, if I asked Jesus;
and I was askin' Him jest now."

Horace eyed her dubiously.

"It is right to ask Him to help you, of co