"Yep, Scraggy. We'll get the boy again, and all of us'll live on the scow." His swarthy face went yellow in the candlelight, and the huge goiter under his chin evidenced by its movements the emotion through which he was passing. Scraggy had sunk to the floor. Now she crawled nearer him, staring at his face with wonder-widened eyes. "Do ye mean, Lemmy, that ye love yer pretty boy brat well enough to want him on the scow, and that he can eat all he wants?" "That's what I mean," grunted Lem. "And that ye mean me to tell him what ye says, Lemmy, and that ye want me to bring him back?" "Yep." Scraggy had drawn closer and closer to Lem, her sad face wrinkling into deeper lines. With each uttered word Lem had seen that he had conquered her. Suddenly he dropped his heavy left hand down on the gray head and kept it there. For the first time in many weary years Scraggy Peterson was kneeling before her man. Now he wanted her! He had asked her to come again to that precious haven of rest, and to bring the child! Scraggy forgot that the babe she had passed through the barge window was grown to be a man, forgot that he might not want to come back to the scow with her and his father. Lem drew her close between his heavy knees and touched her withered chin with his fingers. "Where be the brat, Scraggy?" he wheedled. Screech Owl lifted her head and drew back frightened. Something warned her that she must not tell him where his son lived. "I'll get him for ye," she said doggedly. "Where be he?" demanded the scowman. "I ain't tellin' ye where he be now, Lem." Scraggy's tone was sulky. "Why?" "'Cause I'll go and get him. I'll bring him to the scow lessen--lessen--" "Lessen what?" cried Lem darkly. "Lessen a month," replied Scraggy, "and ye'll kiss the brat, and he'll call ye 'Daddy,' and he'll love ye like I do, Lemmy dear." Lem was rigid, as the woman smoothed down his shaggy gray hair and patted his hard face. Suddenly he started to his feet. "Ye say, Scraggy, that ye'll bring the boy lessen a month?" "Yep, lessen a month. And, Lemmy, he be a beautiful baby! Ye'll love him, will ye, Lemmy?" "Yep. And now ye take yer cat, Screechy, and get back to bed, and when ye get the boy bring him to the scow." He hesitated a moment; then said, "Ye don't know, do ye, where Flea and Flukey run to?" Scraggy's face dropped. "Be they gone?" she stammered, rising. "Yep, for a long time; and Granny Cronk be dead." "Then ye didn't get Flea, Lem?" "Nope. And I don't want the brat, Scraggy; I only want the boy." He spoke with meaning, and when he stood on the hut steps he turned back to finish, "Ye'll bring him, will ye, Owl?" "Yep, Lemmy love, lessen a month." Scraggy greedily watched the shadowy form move away in the light of the lantern. "Pussy, Pussy," she muttered, as she closed the door, "black Pussy, come a beddy; yer ole mammy be that happy that her heart's a bustin'."