"I could only buy four, 'cause I only had a nickel."
"Give Squeaky and Snatchet one, will ye, Flea?" ventured Flukey.
"Yep. I said, when I buyed 'em, there'd be one apiece."
"Somethin' has made ye pale, Flea," said Flukey after each of the four had devoured breakfast. "Ye didn't--"
"I see Lem Crabbe's scow down by the river."
Flukey uttered an exclamation and sat up with a groan. "He's comin' after ye, Kid," he breathed desperately.
"Nope, he ain't," assured Flea; "he's takin' lumber down to New York. And he didn't see me. And we'll stay in this here graveyard till he's gone. He's waitin' for the steam tug to come. I guess he poled from Albany down when he couldn't use his mules."
"Were Pappy Lon with him?" asked Flukey, drawing up his knees.
"I dunno; I didn't wait to see. I had to 'arn this nickel."
"Ye didn't steal it, Flea?"
"Nope; I had it give to me for holdin' a horse. Ye believe me, Fluke?"
"Yep, I believe ye. And ye say as how we can't go on now to the good land? We has to stay here?"
"For awhile," replied Flea. "When Lem Crabbe goes to New York, then we go, too."
* * * * *
While hundreds of birds made ready for a long night in the elm trees, the twins turned silent. Flukey lay with his eyes closed in pain. The girl broke the quietude now and then by muttering softly the names on the gravestones over which her eyes roved:
"EVERETT BRIMBECOMB
ONE YEAR OLD BELOVED SON
OF AGNES AND HAROLD BRIMBECOMB.
RESTING IN JESUS"
Flea read this over several times, and turned to Flukey.
"Who's Jesus, Fluke?" she asked.
The boy raised his head and opened his eyes languidly. "What? What'd ye say, Flea?"
"Who's Jesus?" she asked again, pointing to the inscription on the stone.
"I dunno. I guess he's some old feller layin' down in there with that kid."
Thus the day had passed and the night fell. Flukey dropped into a deep sleep, and Flea, huddling to the cold earth, settled closer to her brother in the sheltering darkness. Suddenly the girl aroused as if from a bad dream. She sat up, feeling for the pig and Snatchet, and placed her hand on Flukey's quiet body and lay down. Once more came the sound. It was the faint, distant hoot of an owl, stealing out through the tall trees. Nearer and nearer it came, until Flea sat bolt upright. Instantly into her mind shot the picture of a shriveled woman from the squatter country. A cold perspiration broke over her.