Ann held out her hand to him, and dazedly the sick lad took it in his hot fingers.  Then, remembering Everett’s disapprobation of the boys, she glanced into his face; but, meeting a studiously indifferent, slightly bored look, she led Flukey away.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Flukey was too ill, as he stumbled along, to dread the outcome of their act of theft.  He realized only that a beautiful lady was leading Flea to a place where her hunger could be satisfied, and, as he felt the warmth of Ann’s fingers permeate his own famished body, a great courage urged him forward.  He would never again steal at Lon’s command, and Flea would have to dread Lem no more!  Something infinitely sweet, like new-coming life, entered his soul.  It was the first exquisite joy that had come to Flukey Cronk.  He stopped and disengaged his hand, to press it to his side as a pain made him gasp for breath.  Then of a sudden he sank to the polished floor, still clinging to Snatchet.

“Missus,” he muttered, “I can’t walk no more.  Jest ye leave me here and git the grub for Flea.”

Flea turned sharply.  “I don’t eat when ye’re sick, Fluke.  The Prince says as how ye can sleep in the barn, and mebbe—­mebbe he’ll let me work for the victuals Snatchet and Squeaky stole.”

Flea added this hopefully.

“Children,” said Ann in a smothered voice, “listen to me!  You’re both welcome to all you’ve had, and more.  The little dog and pig were welcome too.”

Tears rose under her lids, and she turned her head away, that the twins might not see them.  Ann Shellington, like her brother, had never before seen human misery depicted in small lives.  At the mention of his dog, Flukey opened his eyes and turned his gaze upward.

“Thank ye, Lady,” said he, “thank ye for what ye said about Snatchet.  Ain’t he a pink peach of a dorg, Ma’m?”

Ann inclined her head gently, glancing dubiously over the yellow pup.  She could not openly admit that Snatchet resembled anything beautiful she had ever seen, when the boy, his lips twitching with agony, held his pet up toward her.

“Ye can take him, Ma’m,” groaned Flukey.  “He only bites bad ’uns like Lem Crabbe.”

Snatchet, feeling the importance of the moment, lifted his head and shot forth a slavering tongue.  As it came in contact with her fingers, Miss Shellington drew back a little.  She had been used to slender-limbed, soft-coated dogs; this small, shivering mongrel, touching her flesh with a tongue roughly beaded, sent a tremor of disgust over her.  Flea stepped forward, took Snatchet from her brother, and tucked him away under the arm opposite the one Squeaky occupied.

“Ye’ll go to the barn, Fluke,” she said, “and ye’ll go damn quick!  The lady’ll let ye, and Snatchet’ll go with ye.  Squeaky sleeps with me.”

Ann coughed embarrassedly.  “Children,” she began, “we couldn’t let the dog and pig sleep in the house; neither could we allow you to sleep in the barn.  So, if you will let the coachman take your pets, I’ll see that you, Boy, go into a warm bed, and you,” Ann turned to Flea, “must have some supper and other clothes.  Your brother is very ill, I believe, and I think we ought to have a doctor.”