Lem turned on her sharply; for Scraggy seemed to speak sanely.
"The bats be gone from my brain, Lem, and I want to tell ye somethin' 'bout Flea—Flea Cronk—and to tell ye that I be hungry."
"What about Flea?" snapped Lem. "Ye're bein' hungry ain't nothin' to do with me. If ye got somethin' to tell me that I want to hear, lip it out, and then scoot; for I ain't no time to bother with ye. My time's precious, Scraggy—see?"
"Yep; but I ain't goin' to tell ye nothin' till ye give me somethin' to eat."
She cast ravenous eyes on the small bundles Lem was placing on the table.
"I'll give ye a piece of bread an' 'lasses," was the grudging answer. "And mind ye, I wouldn't do that but I want to hear what ye say 'bout Flea."
Avidly the woman ate the thick slice of bread and treacle, offering a bit now and then to the cat. When she had devoured it Lem spoke:
"Now wash it down with this here water and tell me yer tale—and if ye lie to me I'll kill ye!"
"I ain't a goin' to lie to ye—I'll tell ye the truth, I will!"
They both drank, the man from the bottle, the woman from a tin cup. Presently she asked: