Everett caught his breath. She was even more lovely than he had remembered. Inwardly he cursed the squatters. If he could eliminate them from his plans—but they were necessary to him.
"I don't like none o' the bunch of ye!" Fledra burst out in his silence. Brimbecomb's lips formed a slight smile. The girl pondered a moment, and continued fiercely, "And I hate Ithaca and all the squatters!"
"You speak very much like your father," ventured the lawyer. "I can't understand why you hate him. Your place is with him."
The girl bowed her head and wept softly. She realized that when she was excited she could not remember her English.
"I've been a squatter," she said, forlornly shaking her head, "and I s'pose Pappy Lon has a right to me; but I love—"
"You love whom?"
"Mr. Shellington. Oh, Mr. Brimbecomb, can't ye help me to keep away from Pappy Lon? Can't ye make him see that I don't want to go back—that I can't go back to Lem Crabbe ever?"
"There's no danger of your going to—what did you say his name was?"
"Lem Crabbe—the man with a hook on his arm. I hate him so!"
"I remember seeing him once. I don't think you need worry over going with him. Your father is not a fool."