guess ye'll have to wait, Lem," he said; "fer--"

Flea did not hear the rest of the sentence; for she and Flukey were
hurrying toward the hut.

Lem stood wiping the blood from his face. "The cussed spit-cat!" he
hissed. "When I take her in hand--"

"When ye take her in hand, Lem," interrupted Lon darkly, "ye can do what
ye like. Break her spirit! Break her neck, if ye want to! I don't care."

* * * * *

The children found Granny Cronk with bent shoulders and palsied hands
toiling over the supper. About the withered neck hung a red
handkerchief, and on top of the few gray whisps of hair rested a
spotless cap. She grunted as the children entered the room like a
whirlwind and climbed the long ladder to the loft, where for some time
the low voice of Flukey and the sobs of Flea could be heard in the
kitchen below.

It was not until her son had entered and hung his cap upon the peg that
the old woman ventured to speak.

"Be Flea in a tantrum, Lon?"

"Yep, ye bet she be!"

"Have ye been a beatin' her?"