Screech Owl was just recovering her battered senses. She was still dazed, and had not heard the scowman's footsteps, nor did she now hear the mutterings in his throat. Faintly she called to Black Pussy; but, receiving no response from the cat, she crawled deeper into the shadows of the vault and tried to think. Her fitful whining brought Lem from his hiding place.
"Be that you, Owl?" he whispered.
"Yep. Where be the black cat?"
"I dunno. Where ye been? And how'd ye get here?"
Scraggy leaned back against the marble vault in exhaustion.
"I dunno. Where be I now?"
Lem bent nearer her, shaking her arm roughly.
"Ye be in Tarrytown. Did ye come here for the brat?"
"What brat be ye talkin' 'bout, Lem?"
"Our'n, Screechy. Weren't ye here lookin' for him?"
Through the darkness Lem could not see the crazed expression that flashed over Scraggy's face. She thrust her fingers in her hair and shivered. The blow of Everett's fist had banished all memory of the boy from her mind; but Lem lived there as vividly as in the olden days.
"We ain't got no boy, Lem," she said mournfully.
"Ye said we had, Screechy, and I know we have. Now, get up out of that there snow, or ye'll freeze."
The scowman helped Screech Owl to her feet, and supported her back over the graves to the toolhouse.
"Ye stay here till I come for ye, Scraggy, and don't ye dare go 'way no place. Do ye hear?"
Screech Owl uttered an obedient assent, and Lem left her with a threat that he would beat her if she moved from the spot. Then he crawled along the Brimbecomb fence, and saw Lon leaning against a tree, some distance down the road.