Flea saw him coming and could detect the terror in the flying little beast.  Her heart leaped up in answer to the call from something in distress—­something she loved, loved because it lived and suffered through terrible fear.  She dropped Snatchet and caught the greased pig in her arms.  She hugged him up to her breast and, turning flashing eyes upon the people staring at her, said: 

“Poor little baby piggy!  He’s scared almost to death.”

“You’ve caught the greased pig!” somebody shouted.  “You can have him—­he’s yours!”

“Ye mean mine to keep?” Flea demanded of the man who had cheered on the boys.

“Yes, to keep,” was the reply, “and this five-dollar gold-piece because you caught him.”

“I didn’t try to catch him,” she said simply.  “He jest comed to me ‘cause he were so afeard.  His little heart’s a beatin’ like as if he’s goin’ to die.  I’ll keep him, and I thank ye for the money....  Golly! but ain’t me and Flukey two rich kids?  Where’s Fluke?”

Just then somebody stepped up behind the girl and touched her on the arm.  Flea turned her head and found herself gazing into the kindly eyes and earnest face of her prince.

Instantly she lost all thought of her brother and Snatchet.  The voice she had dreamed of was speaking.

“Little boy,” it said, “I’ve purchased every year the greased pig of the youngster who caught him.  May I buy him of you?  I’ll give you another gold-piece for him.”

Words stuck in Flea’s throat, and she only clung closer to the suckling.  At last she murmured, “What do ye want with him?”

The man threw back his head and laughed.  “Why, to eat him, of course.  We always have roast pig for dinner the day after the fair.”

Flea dug her toe into the dust and flung up a cloud of it, as her face drew into a sulky frown.  “Well,” she drawled, “ye don’t hog down this ’un!  He’s mine!”

“But the money, Boy!  Don’t you want the money?”

Her heart was beating so fast that she dared not lift her eyes again to his.  Then a lady spoke in a soft voice, and Flea glanced at her.

“This is Mr. Horace Shellington,” she said, “and if he did not have the pig he would be disappointed.  You’ll let him buy it, won’t you?”

Flea looked into the questioning face of her prince, the face of her dreams, looked again into his smiling eyes, and stood hesitant.  Her thoughts flew fast.  She remembered the terrified pig, how she had pitied him, and how much he wanted to live, to frisk in the sunshine.  She thought of the cruel knife that would reach the tiny heart tapping against her own, and threw back her head in defiance.

“Ye may have e’t all the greased pigs in this here country,” she said to Shellington; “but ye don’t eat this ’un!  Ye see, this ’un’s mine, and he’s goin’ to live, eat, and be happy, that’s all!” Although she had spoken emphatically, her eyes dropped again before the keen gaze bent upon her.  To relieve her embarrassment, she turned and shouted, “Flukey, Flukey, come along!  Where’s Snatchet?”