"Ye be a good Flea," cackled Screechy. "Be ye in trouble?"
"Yep. So be Flukey. Can ye tell me anything 'bout Flukey?"
The woman frowned. "Flukey, Flukey, yer brother," she repeated. "I ain't a likin' boys, 'cause they throw stones at me."
"Flukey never throwed no stones at ye, Screechy, an' he's unhappy now. He'll bring ye a lot more fagots sometime to heat yer bones by."
"Aye, I'm a needin' heat. My bones be stiff, and my blood's nothin' but water, and my eyes ain't seein' nothin'."
"Don't they see things in the dark," asked the girl, superstitiously, "ghosts and things?"
"Aye, Flea; and the things I see now I'll tell ye if they be good or bad—mind ye, good or bad!"
"Good or bad," repeated Flea.
At length, after a silence, the girl broke forth. "Air Flukey in yer eyes, Screechy?"
"Yep, Flea, and so be you; but there ain't much for ye, savin' that ye go a long journey lookin' for a good land."