A look of amusement crossed the girl's face and a little laugh escaped her; but it was cut short at the sight of a fierce flash from the blue eyes confronting her. To marry Jem was not her idea of freedom, and was the last thing she wanted to contemplate, but at the sight of the expression which lay in the blue eyes she said meekly— "I don't think I want to be married yet. Jem dear. I want to be free, you see." "You should be free." "You say so now, but in a year or two you'd think differently I take it. I daresay father said that kind of thing to mother when he went courtin' her, but he don't care a hang for her now, and leads her a pretty life." "He ain't your father," said Jem roughly, "and don't you be a comparin' me to that brute. Let me look at your arm. Was that him?" The girl held out her arm and his eyes fastened on an ugly scar just above the wrist. "The brute," he exclaimed savagely, "he shall pay for that." "What's the use," said Meg. "He was angry with me because I said I'd never sing at the 'Cart and Horse' again. Nothin' vexes father like the thought of losin' money. But it ain't worth bein' angry about, and if I'm to be free what does it matter?" "He shall pay for it," repeated Jem fiercely. Then after a pause he said in a gentler tone of voice, "You'll take your freedom then, Meg?" "Yes, I'll take it. But you've been ever so kind to me and I shall miss you badly. Why don't you make up your mind to leave 'em all and get good work." "It's Steve. I can't leave the poor little chap to aunt's care. They'd starve him if I wasn't there to see. They grumble as it is at the milk he has to have. And when they move on they'll never give a thought to him, or think if he's fit for a tramp. They ought always to put him in the van, but they don't think ought about him. No, I can't leave him yet." "How much longer will they stay on Boxley Common?" asked the girl. "I heard 'em talkin' of leavin' this mornin'. They've stayed there longer than in most places, as that pit is convenient at night, but now if you don't come back they'll leave sure enough. I saw this mornin' when they found you'd gone that they were a bit uneasy, they were afraid you might complain of 'em to the police. And now if you don't come back they'll be off. But what do you mean to do?" "I mean to be free. I shall go towards Minton this evening and beg a night's lodging and some food, and if I can I'll work my way to London. I can sing in the streets and earn enough to keep myself." Jem looked at her anxiously. "I hope you'll never sing again in a public house," he said. "I shall sing in the streets," said Meg evasively, "and when I go to London I shall see Bostock." The lad's eyes glared. "Not to be with the wild beasts?" "Yes, why not? I'd be a deal happier with them than with father and mother in that van; it only wants courage, Jem, and I ain't afeared." Jem paced up and down in front of his companion to work off his feelings.