When Fledra entered the breakfast room it was evident to both Ann and
Horace that she had had no sleep. Dark rings had settled under her eyes.
The girl had decided that Lon would make good his threat against the
person who should try to keep his children from him, and, if she went to
school, Lem and her father might come when she was gone. As they rose
from the table, she said sullenly:
"I'm not goin' to school any more. I don't like that place. I want to
stay at home."
"Are you ill, Dear?" asked Ann, coming forward.
"No, I'm not sick; but I can't go to school."
Horace's brow darkened.
"That's hardly the way to speak to my sister, Fledra," he chided gently.
Ann glanced at him in appeal. Fledra was standing before them, and her
eyes dropped under his words.
"If I asked you to let me stay home," she said in a low tone, "you'd
both say I couldn't; so I just had to say that I won't go."
Fledra knew no other way to stand guard over the houseful of loved ones.
If Lon were to come while she was gone, he might take her brother. If
she told Horace that thieves had entered his home, and if she named
them, that would draw fatal consequences down on Floyd. She could only
hold her peace and let matters take their course. At any rate, she did
not intend to go to school. Now she cast a quick glance at Ann; but kept
her eyes studiously from Horace. Noting Miss Shellington's entreating
face, Fledra flung out her hands.
"I didn't want to be mean," she said quickly; "but I want you to let me
stay home today. Can I? Please, can I?"
"There! I knew that you'd apologize to my sister," Horace said, smiling.
At this, Fledra turned upon him. He had never felt a pair of eyes affect
him as did hers. How winsomely sweet she was! It came over him in a
flash that he had not dealt quite justly with her; so he smiled again
and held out his hands.
* * * * *
During the morning Fledra crept ghostlike about the house. She strained
her eyes, now at one window and then at another, for the first glimpse
of Lon. The luncheon hour came and passed, and still the thieves gave no
sign of coming. Horace had returned from his office early in the
afternoon, and was smoking a cigar in the library, when suddenly a loud
peal of the doorbell roused him. Fledra, too, heard it distinctly. She
was sitting beside Floyd; but had not dared to breathe their danger to
him. Her cheeks paled at the sound, and she rested silent until
presently summoned to the drawing-room.
"What's the matter?" asked her brother.
"Nothin', Fluke, lay down, and if ye hear anyone talkin' keep still.
Somebody's coming."
"Somebody comes every day," answered Floyd. "That ain't nothin'. What ye
doin', Flea?"
She was standing at the door with her ear to the keyhole. She heard the
servant pass her, heard the door open, and Lon's voice asking for Mr.
Shellington. Then she slid back to Flukey, trembling from head to foot.
"Ye're sick, Dear," said the boy. "Get off this bed, Snatchet! Lay down
here by me, Flea and rest."
The girl dropped down beside him and closed her eyes with a groan. Floyd
placed his thin hand upon her, and Fledra remained silent, until she was
summoned to the drawing-room.
* * * * *
"Who wanted me?" Horace asked the question of the mystified servant.
"I didn't catch the name, Sir. I didn't understand it. He's a
dreadful-looking man."
Horace rose, put down his cigar, and walked into the hall.
Lon Cronk was waiting with a shabby cap in his hand. He bowed awkwardly
to Shellington, and essayed to speak; but Horace interrupted:
"Do you wish to see me?"
"Yep," answered Lon, glancing sullenly over the young lawyer. "I've come
for my brats."
"Your what?"
"My kids, Flea and Flukey Cronk."
Horace felt something clutch at his heart. Fledra's radiant face rose
before his mental vision, and he swallowed hard, as he thought of her
relation to the brutal fellow before him.
"Walk in here, please," he said.
Then he bade the servant call his sister.
Miss Shellington obeyed the summons so quickly that her brother was
indicating a chair for the squatter as she walked in. At sight of the
uncouth stranger she glanced about her in dismay.
"Ann," said Horace, "this is the father--of--"
Ann's expression snapped off his statement. She knew what he would say
without his finishing. She remembered the stories of terrible beatings,
and the story of Fledra's fear of a wicked man who wanted her for his
woman. The boy's words came back to her plainly. "And he weren't goin'
to marry her nuther, Mister, and that's the truth." Nevertheless, she
stepped forward, throwing a look from her brother to the squatter.
"But he can't have them--of course, he can't have them!"
Lon had come with a determination to take the twins peaceably if he
could; he would fight if he had to. He had purposely applied to
Shellington in his home, fearing that he might meet Governor Vandecar in
Horace's office. As long as everyone thought the children his, he could
hold to the point that they had to go back with him. He would make no
compromise for money with the protectors of his children; for he had
rather have their bodies to torment than be the richest man in the
state. He had not yet avenged that woman dead and gone so many years
back. At thought of her, he rose to his feet and smiled at Ann with
twitching lips.
"Ye said, Ma'm, that I couldn't have my brats. I say that I will have
'em. I'm goin' to take 'em today. Do ye hear?"
"He can't have them, Horace. Oh! you can't say yes to him!"
Horace's mind turned back to Fledra, and he mentally blessed the
opportunity he had to protect her.
"I don't think, Mr. Cronk, that you will take your children," he said,
"even granted that they are yours. I'm not sure of that yet."
Lon's brown face yellowed. Had they discovered the secret that he had
kept all the dark, revengeful years?
Horace's next words banished that fear: "I shall have to have you
identified by one of them before I should even, consider your
statement."
Cronk smiled in relief; and Ann shuddered, as she thought of Flukey's
frail body in the man's thick, twisting fingers.
"That be easy enough to do. Jest call the gal--or the boy."
"The boy is too ill to get up," said Ann huskily; "and I beg of you to
go away and leave them with us. You don't care for them--you know you
don't."
"Who said as how I don't care for my own brats?"
"The little girl told me the night she came here that you hated her, and
also that you abused them."
"I'll fix her for that!" muttered Lon.
"I don't believe you'll touch her while she is with me," said Horace
hotly. "I shall send for the girl, and, if you are their father, then--"
"They can't go!" cried Ann.
"I haven't said that they could go, Ann. I was just going to say to Mr.
Cronk that if they wanted to go of course we couldn't keep them.
Otherwise, there is a remedy for him." Horace leaned over toward the
squatter and threw out his next words angrily, "There's the law, Mr.
Cronk! Ann, please call Fledra."
* * * * *
The girl responded with the weight of the world on her. Had some
arrangements been made for her and Floyd between Horace and Lon? She
knew that Ann was there, and that Mr. Shellington had been talking with
the squatter long enough to decide what should be done. She walked
slowly to the door, her head spinning with anxiety and fear. For one
single moment she paused on the threshold, then stepped within.
Drop by drop, the color went from her cheeks, leaving them waxen white.
She threw the squatter an unbending opposing glance.
"Did you come for Fluke and me, Pappy Lon?" she stammered.
Her lips trembled perceptibly; but she went forward, and, taking Ann's
hand in hers, stood facing Cronk.
Lon looked her over from head to foot. First, his gaze took in the
pretty dark head; then it traveled slowly downward, until for an instant
his fierce eyes rested on her small feet.
"Yep," he replied, raising a swift look, "I comed for ye both--you and
Flukey, too. Go and git ready!"
Fledra dared not appeal to Horace. He stood so quietly in his place,
making no motion to speak, that she felt positive that he wished her to
go away. She was too dazed to count up the sum of her troubles. Her face
fell into a shadow and grew immeasurably sad. Lon was glowering at her,
and she read his decision like an open page. The dreadful opposition in
his shaggy brown eyes spurred Fledra forward; but Ann's arms stole about
her waist, and the slender figure was drawn close. A feeling of
thanksgiving rushed over the girl. How glad she was that she had kept
the secret of Everett's unfaithfulness!
"Sister Ann," she gasped, "can't ye keep us from him? Fluke nor me don't
want to go, and Pappy Lon don't like us, either. I couldn't go--I'd
ruther die, I would! He'd make me go to Lem's scow! Ye can see I can't
go, can't you?" She wheeled around and looked at Horace, her eyes filled
with a frightened appeal. Shellington's glance was compassionate and
tender.
"I not only see that you can't go," said he; "but I will see to it that
you don't go. Mr. Cronk, I shall have to ask you to leave my house."
"I don't go one step," growled Lon, "till I get them kids! Where's
Flukey?" He made a move toward the door; but Horace thrust his big form
in front of him.
"The boy shall not know that you are here," said he. "I shall keep it
from him because he's ill, and because a great worry like this might
seriously harm him. It might even kill him."
Lon's temper raced away with his judgment.
"What do I care if he dies or not? I'm goin' to have him, dead or
alive!"
Shellington noted the hatred and menace in the other's tones, and he
smiled in triumph.
"It's about as I thought, Mr. Cronk. You care no more for these children
than if they were animals. That statement you just made will go against
you at the proper time, all right. Please go now, and remember what I've
said, that you have the law. And remember another thing: if you do
fight, I shall bring everything I can find against you, if I have to ask
the aid of Governor Vandecar. I see no other course open to you.
Good-day, Sir."
Cronk glared about until his gaze rested upon the two girls. His eyes
pierced into the soul of Fledra. She shuddered and drew closer to Miss
Shellington. The squatter walked toward the door, and once more looked
back, an evil expression crossing his face and settling in deep lines
about his mouth.
"Ye remember what I told ye, Flea, the last time I seed ye! I meant what
I said then, and I say it over again!"
The emphasis upon the words struck terror to Fledra's sensibilities.
But, with new courage in her eyes, she advanced a step, and, raising a
set face, replied:
"Ye can't have us, Pappy Lon--you can't! I'll take care of Flukey, and
Mr. Shellington'll take care--of--me."