"I'm a thief by trade," he said; "but my sister ain't. She ain't never stole nothin' in all her life, she ain't. Take me, will ye, Mister?"
"Sister!" murmured the gentleman, turning to Flea.
If nothing else had been said, the question would have been answered in the affirmative by the vivid blush that dyed Flea's dark skin. Her embarrassment brought another exclamation from Flukey.
"She's a girl, all right! She's only tryin' to save me. She put on my pants jest to get away from Pappy Lon. I'll go to jail; but don't send her!"
He swayed blindly, closing his eyes with a moan.
"The child is sick, Horace," said Ann. "I think he is very sick."
"Where did you sleep last night?" Shellington asked this of Flea.
"Out there," answered the girl, pointing over her shoulder, "down by a big monument."
"Horace Shellington," gasped Ann, "they slept in the cemetery!"
The sharp tone of the girl's voice brought Flukey back to the present.