thicket of sumac into a clearing where a number of sheep were huddled
together in the cold night air. An answer came back almost instantly
from the ragged rocks, and, squatting in a hollow, Flea sat patiently
until the branches broke below her. A woman with tangled hair came
creeping cautiously forward.

"Who be there?" she whispered.

"It's Flea, Screech Owl. Be the bats a runnin' in yer head?"

"Yep, child," the woman answered mournfully. "The fagots be given out,
too, and I'm a huntin' of 'em. The night's cold."

"I was lookin' for ye this afternoon, Screechy," said Flea. "Set down."

The lean, half-starved woman dropped beside the girl. Flea put out her
hand and smoothed down the rough hair on Scraggy's black cat. The
animal, usually so vicious, purred in delight, rubbing his nose against
the girl's hand.

"Air the little Flea wantin' the owl to tell her somethin'?"

"Yep," replied Flea doubtfully.

"And ye brought yer old Screechy a little present?"

"Yep."

"What?"