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From the Valley of the Missing by Grace Miller White
page 41 of 426 (09%)
"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'
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