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Updated: June 16, 2025
She leaned farther over, and kissed the white face of her son. "Yer hook's killed our little 'un, Lemmy my little 'un, my little 'un!" "Oh, no, no, he isn't dead!" cried Ann. "He can't be dead!" She let go her hold on Fledra, and, with Scraggy, bent over Everett. "Oh, he breathes! But he isn't your son?" "Yep; he be Lemmy's boy and mine," answered Scraggy, lifting her eyes once more to Ann. "Look!
The grizzled head shook a negative. "Be ye dyin?" This time Crabbe's head came forward in assent. "Then ye dies with yer little boy poor little feller! He were the bestest boy in the hull world!" Here she placed an arm under Everett's neck; throwing the other about Lem, she drew the two men together before she resumed. "And Lemmy was the bestest man and pappy that anybody ever see!"
"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.
Mammy Grace was the family nurse, but as she was growing old and somewhat infirm, she required a pair of young, sprightly feet to run after little Lemmy to keep him out of mischief, and to carry the teething, worrying baby about. Tidy was just the child for her. The morning after her arrival, Mrs. Lee instructed her in her duties thus: "You are to do what Mammy Grace and the children tell you to.
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."
Lemmy see. And, if you please, a hand was thrust over my shoulder and the sketch seized, without so much as a 'By your leave. Can you fancy a more unwarrantable, insufferable liberty? But they are all alike over here. I turned about, and saw a woman who was examining the reverend revivalist with much satisfaction.
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.
Do ye want to see how I'd kill him?" His eyes blazing with fire, he lifted the steel hook, brandished it in the air, and brought it down close to the thin, drawn face. Scraggy, uttering a cry, sprang to her feet. "Lemmy, Lemmy, I love ye, and the brat loves ye, too! He'll grin at ye any ole day when ye cluck at him. And I teached him to say 'Daddy, to surprise ye on his birthday.
Scraggy put her hands on Everett, and saw Lem struggle to sit up, the lust of killing still blazing in his eyes. He had heard the woman's words, and as he slowly grasped the import of them he turned over and raised his head while pulling desperately at his throat. "Oh, Lemmy, love," she murmured, "ye've killed him this time! He's dead!"
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