From the Valley of the Missing by Grace Miller White
page 85 of 426 (19%)
page 85 of 426 (19%)
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Just then somebody stepped up behind the girl and touched her on the arm. Flea turned her head and found herself gazing into the kindly eyes and earnest face of her prince. Instantly she lost all thought of her brother and Snatchet. The voice she had dreamed of was speaking. "Little boy," it said, "I've purchased every year the greased pig of the youngster who caught him. May I buy him of you? I'll give you another gold-piece for him." Words stuck in Flea's throat, and she only clung closer to the suckling. At last she murmured, "What do ye want with him?" The man threw back his head and laughed. "Why, to eat him, of course. We always have roast pig for dinner the day after the fair." Flea dug her toe into the dust and flung up a cloud of it, as her face drew into a sulky frown. "Well," she drawled, "ye don't hog down this 'un! He's mine!" "But the money, Boy! Don't you want the money?" Her heart was beating so fast that she dared not lift her eyes again to his. Then a lady spoke in a soft voice, and Flea glanced at her. "This is Mr. Horace Shellington," she said, "and if he did not have the pig he would be disappointed. You'll let him buy it, won't you?" |
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