CHAPTER THIRTY

When Fledra opened her eyes the next morning she could not at first realize where she was.  When she did she rose from the bed fully dressed; for she had taken off none of her clothing the night before.  She drew a long breath as she realized that she would not be pestered by Lem during the trip to Ithaca.  Peering through the small cabin window, she could see that they were slowly passing the farms on the banks of the river as the barge was towed slowly through the water.  The peace of spring overspread each field, covering the land as far as the girl could see.  Herds of cattle grazed calmly on the hills, and she could hear the faint tinkling of their bells above the chug-chug of Middy’s small steamer ahead.  At intervals fleets of barges, pulled along by struggling little tugboats, passed between her and the bank.  These would see Tarrytown—­the promised land of Screech Owl’s prophecy, the paradise she had been forced to leave!  The light of self-sacrifice shone in her uplifted eyes, and many times her sight was blurred by tears; but no thought of escape from Lem and Lon came to her mind.  To reenter her promised land would place her beloved ones in jeopardy.

Her reverie left her at a call from Lon, and she unfastened the cabin-door.

“Come out and get the breakfast fer us, Kid,” ordered the squatter.

Fledra left the little room and mechanically prepared the coarse food.  When it was ready, she took her seat opposite Cronk, and Lem dragged a chair to the table by the aid of the hook on his arm.

“Ye’re feelin’ more pert this mornin’, Flea,” said Lon, after drinking a cup of black coffee.

“Yes,” replied Flea faintly.

“And are ye goin’ to mind yer pappy now?” pursued Lon.

“Yes, after we get to Ithaca,” murmured Fledra.

“Tell me what ye said to Flukey in yer note.”

“I told him he could stay with Brother Horace; but that I’d go with you, and—­”

Her slow precise speech made a decided impression upon Lem; for he ceased eating and stared at her open-mouthed.  But Cronk brought his fist down on the table with a thump that rattled the tin dishes.

“Don’t be puttin’ on no guff with me, brat!” he shouted.  “Ye talk as I teeched ye to, and not as them other folks do.”

Fledra fell into a resentful silence.

After a few seconds, Cronk said: 

“Now, go on, Kid, and tell me what ye told him.”

“If you won’t let me speak as I like, Pappy Lon, then I’ll keep still.”

The girl faced him with brave unconcern, with such reckless defiance that Lon drew down his already darkened brow.

“Yer gettin’ sassy!” Lem grunted, with his mouth full of food.

Cronk held his peace.  He peered at her covertly, as if he would discover what had so changed her since the night before.  Her dignity, the haughty poise of her head as she looked straight at him, filled him with something like dismay.  Would Lem be able to subdue her with brute force?  The scowman also observed her stealthily, compared her to Scraggy, and wondered.  They both waited for Fledra to continue; but during the rest of the meal she did not speak again.