his short ears
perked up with happiness at the prospect of supper. When the craft
touched shore the girl rose and ran toward it. Almost in fear, she
searched the face of the youth at the rudder with eyes so like his own
that they seemed rather a reflection than another pair. She said no word
until she took her position beside the boy on the shore, slipping her
hand into his as she walked by his side toward the hut.

"Be ye back for the night, Flukey?" she asked.

"Nope."

"Where ye goin' after supper?"

"To Ithaca."

"Air ye leg a hurtin' ye much?"

"Yep."

"Granny Cronk says as how yer pains be rheumatiz. If ye stay in out of
the night air, ye'll get well."

"Pappy Lon won't let me," sighed Flukey.

He sank down on the cabin threshold, and as he spoke drew a blue trouser
leg slowly up.

"Damn knee!" he groaned. "It gets so twisted! And sometimes I can't
walk."

"Be ye goin' to steal again tonight?" asked the girl, bending toward
him.

"Yep, with Pappy Lon and Lem. I hate it all, I do!" he cried
impetuously.

"What makes ye go? Take a lickin', an' I bet ye'll stay to hum. I
would!"

With a spiteful shake of the black curls, she rubbed a bare toe over
Snatchet's yellow back.

"I wish I was a boy," she went on. "While I hate stealin', I'd do it to
have ye stay to hum, Flukey; then ye'd get well. And--"

She broke off abruptly and lowered her eyes to the shore, where Lem and
Lon were in earnest conversation. At the same moment Lon looked up and
shouted a command:

"Flea gal, Flea gal, come down here to me!"

Flea dropped the hand of her brother, moved directly to the water's
edge, and stood quietly until Lon chose to speak.

Lem Crabbe's eyes devoured the slight young figure, his smile contorting
the corners of his whiskered mouth. One hand rested on the bow of the
boat, while the long, rusty hook, sharp at the point and thick ironed at
the top, protruded from the other coat-sleeve.

At last Lon Cronk began to speak deliberately, and the girl gave him her
attention.

"Flea, ye be a woman now, ain't ye?" he said "Ye be fifteen this comin'
Saturday."

"Yep, Pappy Lon."

"And yer brother be fifteen on the same day, you bein' twins."

"Yep, Pappy Lon."

"Yer brother's been taken into my trade," proceeded the squatter, "and
it ain't the wust in the world--that of takin' what ye want from them
that have plenty. It's time for ye to be doin' somethin', too. Ye'll go
to Lem's Scow, Flea."

"