“Eli!” shouted Lem.

Eli greeted him with a wave of the pole.

The boats neared each other, and Lem shouted that he wanted to get into Cronk’s craft.

“What ye doin’?” asked Crabbe, as the boat he had just left shot away toward the bridge.

“Catching frogs,” replied Eli.  “I sell a lot of ’em to the hotels, and this flood is jest the thing to make ’em thick.”  He lowered his spear and brought up a struggling frog.  Throwing it into a covered box, he peered again into the water.

“Where’s Lon?” he said, straightening again with another victim.

“To Tarrytown.”

“What’s he to Tarrytown fer?”

“He’s a gittin’ Flea and Flukey.  That’s where they runned to.”

“He ain’t found ’em, has he?  Truth, now!”

“Yep, truth,” answered Lem; “and he’s got a fine-lookin’ lawyer-pup to git ’em for him.”

As Eli again and again thrust his spear into the water, Lem told the story of the finding of the twins.  He refrained from speaking of his experience with Screech Owl; but said finally, as if with little interest: 

“Ye ain’t seen Scraggy, has ye?”

“Nope; and she ain’t in her hut, nuther; or she wasn’t awhile back, ‘cause I stopped there, when I was a lookin’ for Lon.”

“When did ye git back to town?”

“I dunno jest what day it were,” responded Cronk, spearing again.

“Can I git up the tracks, Eli?” inquired Lem presently.

“Ye’ll have to wade in mud to yer knees fer a spell after ye leave the boat.”

“I can take the hill over the tracks for a way.  Will ye row me up as far as ye can?”

“Yep, I’ll row ye up,” replied Eli, proceeding with his work.

* * * * *

Late in the afternoon, Lem Crabbe, wet to his knees and covered with mud, entered the scow.  He had stopped at Screechy’s hut, knocked, and, having received no answer, clicked down the hill to the boat.

He made up his mind to stay there until Scraggy came back; then he would go back to Tarrytown and bring the twins to Ithaca.  Every morning Lem mounted the hill, only to find that Screech Owl had not returned.  But one day, just at dusk, as he appeared before the hut, he saw the flickering of a candle.  He did not wait to knock, but entered, and found Scraggy stretched out on the old bed.  She looked up as if she had expected him, noted his dark face, and lowered her head again.

“Black Pussy’s gone, Lem.  I’ve got a cold settin’ on me here,” she whispered, wheezing as she laid her hand on her chest.

“I hope it’ll kill ye!” grunted Lem.  “What did you leave the toolhouse fer, when I told ye to stay?”

“What toolhouse, Lemmy?” The dazed eyes looked up at him in surprise.

“Don’t try none of yer guff on me.  I want to know who ye went to see in Tarrytown, and who the man was that throwed ye over the fence, and then lugged ye off to that vault?”