Lon was seated in a chair by the table, and Lem on a stool nearby. Crabbe rose as the pale girl appeared before him; but Lon only displayed two rows of dark teeth. It seemed to him that all his waiting was over; that his wife's constant haunting of his strong spirit would cease, if he could tear the girl from her high estate and watch the small head bend under the indignities Lem would place upon her. The very fact that she had come when he had sent for her showed the fear in which she held him.
Fledra unloosened her wrap from her throat as if it choked her.
"How d'y' do, Flea?" grinned Cronk. His delight was like that of a small boy who has captured a bright-winged butterfly in a net.
"I got yer letter, Pappy Lon," said Fledra, overlooking his impudent manner.
"And ye goin' to stay, ain't ye?" gurgled Lem.
Fledra snapped out "Nope!" to the scowman's question, without looking at him. Her next words were directed to the squatter:
"I've come to beg ye, Pappy Lon, to let me stay in Tarrytown. Mr. Shellington wants to marry me."
She was so frail, so girlishly sweet and desirable, that Lem uttered an oath. But Lon gestured a command of silence.
"Ye can't marry no man yit, Flea," said he. "Ye has to go back to the hut." Determination rang in his words, and the face of the rigid girl paled, and she caught at the table for support. "Ye see," went on Lon, "a kid can't do a thing her pappy says she can't. I says yer to come home to the shanty. And, if ye don't, then I'll do what I said I would. I'll kill that dude Shellington and—"
Before he could finish, Fledra burst in upon him.