From the Valley of the Missing. Grace Miller White
put out his hand. His flesh tingled; for he felt that he could almost touch her, and his heart clamored for the warmth of the tender body he had never forgotten.
"God!" he moaned between his teeth, "if I could tech her once, jest for once, I'd let Flea stay to hum!"
"Did ye speak, Lon?" asked Granny Cronk.
"Nope; I were only a thinkin'."
"Have ye changed yer mind 'bout Flea?"
"Nope, Mammy, and ye keep yer mouth shet if ye want me to stay to hum! See?"
Granny Cronk grunted a reply, and passed into the back room. Five minutes later the rope cot creaked under her weight.
Wrapped in his somber musings, Lon did not hear Flea approach him until she was at his elbow. With her coming, the sweet phantom, to which he grimly held in his moments of solitude, fled back to its unknown grave. Never had his loved one been so near, so real; never before had she touched his writhing nature in all its primeval strength. The girl before him was so like the man who had withstood his agony that he clenched his fist and rose from his chair. Flea was looking at him in mute appeal; but before she could speak he had lifted his fist and brought it down upon the lovely, beseeching face. The blow stunned her; but only a smothered moan fell from her lips.
"I hate ye!" growled Lon. "Get back to the loft afore I kill ye!"
Slowly Flea was regaining her senses, and the squatter's curses struck her ears like a whiplash. Bitter, scalding tears blinded her as, holding her thin skirt to her bleeding nose, she stumbled up the ladder. With anger unappeased, Lon, staggering like one drunken, took his cap from the peg and went out.
When Lon called Flukey, Flea followed her brother into the night, while he arranged the thief's tools in the boat. There was a dull roar and rush of the wind, as it tossed the lake into gigantic whitecaps, which added to the girl's suffering. Her young soul was smarting beneath the scathing injustice. As she watched Lem and Lon pull away, with Flukey at the rudder, Flea squatted on the beach, bent her head, and wept long and wildly.
A gentle, sympathetic touch of a warm tongue made her put out her arms and draw Snatchet into them. It comforted her to feel the faithful heart beating against her own. That Lon disliked to have her and Flukey about him, she knew; but she had not known until today that he hated her. He had never before told her so. Flea caught her breath in a gasp, and turned her eyes to a rift in a rock where the scow lay. Only a dark line distinguished it in the shadows. At the thought that it was to be forced upon her for a home, she cried again, and Snatchet, from his haven of rest, lifted his pointed yellow nose and wailed dismally, striving with all his dog's soul to assuage her unusual grief.
The distant sound of a hoot-owl startled Flea from her tears. It was a familiar sound to her and came as a call from a friend.
Creeping into the low woodshed, Flea took up a bundle of fagots from the corner, and, closing the door on Snatchet that he might not follow her, mounted the hill with the wood under her arm. Once at the top of the lane, she opened her lips and echoed the hoot. She passed through a thicket of sumac into a clearing where a number of sheep were huddled together in the cold night air. An answer came back almost instantly from the ragged rocks, and, squatting in a hollow, Flea sat patiently until the branches broke below her. A woman with tangled hair came creeping cautiously forward.
"Who be there?" she whispered.
"It's Flea, Screech Owl. Be the bats a runnin' in yer head?"
"Yep, child," the woman answered mournfully. "The fagots be given out, too, and I'm a huntin' of 'em. The night's cold."
"I was lookin' for ye this afternoon, Screechy," said Flea. "Set down."
The lean, half-starved woman dropped beside the girl. Flea put out her hand and smoothed down the rough hair on Scraggy's black cat. The animal, usually so vicious, purred in delight, rubbing his nose against the girl's hand.
"Air the little Flea wantin' the owl to tell her somethin'?"
"Yep," replied Flea doubtfully.
"And ye brought yer old Screechy a little present?"
"Yep."
"What?"
"Some fagots to keep ye warm, Screechy."
"Where be they?"
"Here by my side."
"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."
Bending her head nearer, Flea coaxed, "What good land, Screechy dear?"
"Yer's and Flukey's, Flea."
"Where air it?"
"Down behind the college hill, many a stretch for yer short legs from the squatter's settlement, and many a day when bread's short and water's plenty, many a night when the cold'll bite yer legs, and many a tear—"
"Be we leavin' Pappy Lon?" demanded the girl.
"Yep."
"Forever and forever?"
"For Flukey, yep; but for yerself—"
Flea stared in speechless wonder and fright. "I don't want to stay without Flukey!" she cried.
"I ain't a tellin' ye what ye want to do; only how the shadders run. But that's a weary day off. The good land be yers and Flukey's for the seekin' of it."
"Air Flukey goin' to be catched a thievin'?"
"Yep, some day."
"With Pappy Lon?"
"Nope, with yerself, Flea."
"I ain't no thief," replied Flea sulkily. "I ain't never took nothin', not so much as a chicken! And Flukey wouldn't nuther if Pappy Lon didn't make him."
From behind Screech Owl's shrouding gray hair two black eyes glittered.
"The good land, the good land!" whispered the madwoman. "It be all comin' for yerself and Flukey."
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal,