back. Almost before Flea realized that he had gone, he was in the cave
again with Snatchet in his arms, displaying his plunder.

"Put 'em on quick!" ordered Flukey. "Here, hold still!" As he spoke, he
gathered Flea's black curls into his fingers and cut them off boylike to
her head. "If Pappy Lon catches us," he went on, "he'll knock hell out
of us both."

The girl, having surrendered her spirit of command, crawled into the
trousers and donned the blue shirt. After extinguishing the candle,
which Flukey slipped into his pocket, they clambered out of the cave,
leaving the rocky floor strewn with locks of hair, and stole softly
along the shore toward the college hill.




CHAPTER EIGHT


Horace Shellington, newly fledged attorney and counsellor-at-law, sat in
his luxurious library, his feet cocked upon the desk in true bachelor
fashion. He was apparently deep in thought, his handsome head resting
against the back of the chair, when his meditations were broken by a
knock at the door.

"Come in. Is it you, Sis?" he said.

"Yes, Dear," was the answer as the girl entered. "Everett wants us to go
in his party to the Dryden fair. Would you like to?"