"Ye mean mine to keep?" Flea demanded of the man who had cheered on the boys.
"Yes, to keep," was the reply, "and this five-dollar gold-piece because you caught him."
"I didn't try to catch him," she said simply. "He jest comed to me 'cause he were so afeard. His little heart's a beatin' like as if he's goin' to die. I'll keep him, and I thank ye for the money.... Golly! but ain't me and Flukey two rich kids? Where's Fluke?"
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?"