"Can't I stay with you and with Granny Cronk for another year? Can't I
stay? Can't I, Pappy Lon?"

"Nope, I wouldn't keep ye in the shanty if ye had money for yer keeps.
Ye go on a Saturday to Lem's boat to be his woman, ye see?"

The iron hook by this time was hanging loosely by Lem's side; but a
cruel expression had gathered on the sullen face. A frown drew the
crafty eyes together, bespeaking wrath at the girl's words.

That he would have her at the bidding of her father, Lem never doubted.
During the last three years he had been resolved to take her home in due
time to be his woman. To subdue the proud young spirit, to make her the
mother of children like himself,--the boys destined to be thieves, and
the girls squatter women,--was his one ambition. That he was old enough
to be her father made no difference to him.

He was watching her as she stood in the darkening twilight, gloating
over the thought that his vicious dreams were so near their fulfilment.

Flea was looking into the eyes of her father, and he looked back at her
with an impudent smile.

"Ye don't like the thought of this comin' Saturday, Flea--eh?" he asked
slowly. "But, as I said before, a gal hain't nothin' to do with the
notions of her daddy. And Granny Cronk'll give ye a pork cake to take to
Lem's, and he'll let ye eat it all to yerself. Eh, Lem?"

"Yep," grunted Lem. "She eats the pork cake if she will; but after