"Nope; but I see a hook a whirlin' in the air into the good land, a
whirlin' and a whirlin' after ye. I see it a stealin' on ye in the night
when ye think ye're safe. I see the sharp p'int of it a stickin' into
yer soft flesh--"

"Don't, don't!" pleaded Flea in a smothered voice. "Ye said as how I
were goin' with Flukey to a good land down behind the college hill."

"So ye be," assented the Owl; "but after ye get to the good land the
sharp p'int of the hook'll come and rip at ye. I see it a haulin' ye
back away from them what ye loves--"

Flea grasped the woman's arm between her fingers and pressed nearer
Scraggy with a startled cry. The cat, hissing, lashed a bushy tail from
side to side. His eyes flashed green, and a cry came from Flea's lips.
In another instant she was speeding away down the rocks.




CHAPTER SEVEN


At three o'clock the next morning a boat left the lighthouse at the head
of Cayuga Lake and was rowed toward the western shores. As before, two
men and a boy were in it. The lad was still at the rudder, while the men
swiftly cut the water stroke by stroke. For three miles down the lake no
one spoke; but when the boat scraped the shore in front of his hut Lon
broke the silence.