something in the low, sad voice made her throat ache. After the man had been quiet for a long time, she pressed him with:

“After that, Lafe, what then?”

“After that,” repeated the cobbler, straightening his shoulders, “after that my legs went bad an’ then—an’ then––”

Virginia, very pale, went to the cobbler, and laid her head against his shoulder.

“An’ then, child,” he breathed huskily, “I believed, an’ I know, as well as I’m livin’, God sent his Christ for everybody; that in the lovin’ father”—Lafe raised his 65 eyes—“there’s no line drawed ’tween Jews an’ Gentiles. They’re all alike to Him. Only some’re goin’ one road an’ some another to get to Him, that’s all.”

65

These were quite new ideas to Virginia. In all her young life no one had ever conversed with her of such things. True, from her hill home on clear Sunday mornings she could hear the church bells ding-dong their hoarse welcome to the farmers, but she had never been inside the church doors. Now she regretted the lost opportunity. She wished to grasp the cobbler’s meaning. Noting her tense expression, Grandoken continued:

“It was only a misunderstandin’ ’tween a few Jews when they nailed the Christ to the cross. Why, a lot of Israelites back there believed in ’im. I’m one of them believin’ Jews, Jinnie.”

“I wish I was a Jew, cobbler,” sighed Jinnie. “I’d think the same as you then, wouldn’t I?”

“Oh, you don’t have to be a Jew to believe,” returned Lafe. “It’s as easy to do as ’tis to roll off’n a log.”

This lame man filled her young heart with a deep longing to help him and to have him help her.

“You’re going to teach me all about it, ain’t you, Lafe?” she entreated presently.

“Sure! Sure! You see, it’s this way: Common, everyday folks—them with narrer minds—ain’t much use for my kind of Jews. I’m livin’ here in a mess of ’em. Most of ’em’s shortwood gatherers. When I found out about the man on the cross, I told it right out loud to ’em all. ... You’re one of ’em. You’re a Gentile, Jinnie.”

“I’m sorry,” said the girl sadly.

“Oh, you needn’t be. Peg’s one, too, but she’s got God’s mark on her soul as big as any of them women belongin’ to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob––I 

 Prev. P 46/276 next