They did not speak again for a few moments. 55

55

“Go call Peg,” the cobbler then said.

At a loss, Virginia glanced about.

“Peg’s my woman—my wife,” explained Lafe. “Go through that door there. Just call Peg an’ she’ll come.”

In answer to the summons a woman appeared, with hands on hips and arms akimbo. Her almost colorless hair, streaked a little with grey, was drawn back from a sallow, thin face out of which gleamed a pair of light blue eyes. Jinnie in one quick glance noted how tall and angular she was. The cobbler looked from his wife to her.

“You’ve heard me speak about Singleton, who married Miss Virginia Burton in Mottville, Peggy, ain’t you?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered the woman.

“His kid’s come to live with us. She calls herself Jinnie.” He threw his eyes with a kindly smile to the girl, standing hesitant, longing for recognition from the tall, gaunt woman. “I guess she’d better go to the other room and warm her hands, eh?”

Mrs. Grandoken, dark-faced, with drooping lips, ordered the girl into the kitchen.

Alone with his wife, Lafe read Singleton’s letter aloud.

“I’ve heard as much of her yarn as I can get,” he said, glancing up. “I just wanted to tell you she was here.”

“We ain’t got a cent to bless ourselves with,” grumbled Mrs. Grandoken, “an’ times is so hard I can’t get more work than what I’m doin’.”

A patient, resigned look crossed the cobbler’s pain-worn face.

“That’s so, Peg, that’s so,” he agreed heartily. “But there’s always to-morrow, an’ after that another to-morrow. With every new day there’s always a chance. We’ve got a chance, an’ so’s the girl.” 56

56

The woman dropped into a chair, noticing the cobbler’s smile, which was born to give her hope.

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