“Did she say somethin’ ’bout a good land for us, Flea?”

“Yep.”

“Where’s the good land?”

“Down behind the college hill, many a stretch from here—­and, Flukey, I ain’t a goin’ to Lena’s, and ye ain’t likin’ to be a thief.  Will ye come and find the good land with me?”

“Girls can’t run away like boys can.  They ain’t able to bear hurt.”

Flea dropped her head with a blush of shame.  She knew well that Flukey could perform wonderful feats which she had been unable to do.  Grandma’m Cronk had told her that her dresses made the difference between her ability and Flukey’s.  With this impediment removed, she could turn her face toward the shining land predicted by Scraggy for Flukey and herself; she could follow her brother over hills and into valleys, until at last—­

“I could wear a pair of yer pants and be a boy, too, and you could chop off my hair,” she exclaimed.  “All I want ye to do is to grow to be a man quick, and to lick Lem Crabbe if he comes after me.  Will ye?  Screechy says he’s goin’ to follow me.”

“I’ll lick him anywhere,” cried the boy, his tears rising; “and if ye has to go to him, and he as much as lays a finger on ye, I’ll kill him!”

His face was so rigidly drawn during his last threat that he hissed the words out through his teeth.

“Then ye’d get yer neck stretched,” argued Flea, “and I ain’t a goin’ to him.  We be goin’ away to the good land down behind the college hill.”

“When?” demanded Flukey.

“Tonight,” replied Flea.  “Ye go and get some duds for me,—­a shirt and the other pair of yer jeans.  Crib Granny’s shears to cut my hair off.  Then we’ll start.  See?  And we ain’t never comin’ back.  Pappy Lon hates me, and he’s licked ye all he’s goin’ to.  Git along and crib the duds!”

She rose to her feet, nervously breaking away the little rivers of grease that had hardened upon her hand and wrist.

“Ye’ve got to get into the hut in the dark,” she said, “and then ye stand at the mouth of the cave while I put on the things.”

“How be we goin’ to live when we go?” asked Flukey dully, making no move to obey her.

“We’ll live in the good land where there be lots of bread and ’lasses,” she soothed; “the two dips in the dish at one time—­jest think of that, ole skate!”

He tried to smile at her forced jocularity; but the hunted expression saddened his eyes again.  To these children, brought up animal-like in the midst of misery and hate, their world revolved round their stomachs, too often empty.  But this new trouble—­the terror of Flea’s going with Lem—­had made a man of Flukey, and bread and molasses sank into oblivion.  He was ready to shield her from the thief with his life.

“Get along!” ordered Flea.

Instead of obeying, the boy sat down on a rounded stone.  “I’d a runned away along ago, if it hadn’t been, for you, Flea.”