me, and he's licked ye all he's goin' to. Git along and crib the duds!"

She rose to her feet, nervously breaking away the little rivers of
grease that had hardened upon her hand and wrist.

"Ye've got to get into the hut in the dark," she said, "and then ye
stand at the mouth of the cave while I put on the things."

"How be we goin' to live when we go?" asked Flukey dully, making no move
to obey her.

"We'll live in the good land where there be lots of bread and 'lasses,"
she soothed; "the two dips in the dish at one time--jest think of that,
ole skate!"

He tried to smile at her forced jocularity; but the hunted expression
saddened his eyes again. To these children, brought up animal-like in
the midst of misery and hate, their world revolved round their stomachs,
too often empty. But this new trouble--the terror of Flea's going with
Lem--had made a man of Flukey, and bread and molasses sank into
oblivion. He was ready to shield her from the thief with his life.

"Get along!" ordered Flea.

Instead of obeying, the boy sat down on a rounded stone. "I'd a runned
away along ago, if it hadn't been, for you, Flea."

"I know that you love me," said the girl brokenly; "I know that, all
right!"