“If he’d let me alone, I’d just as soon give him the money,” Jinnie said mournfully.

Lafe shook his head.

“The law wouldn’t let you, till you was of age. No, sir, you’d either have to die a natural death or—another kind, an’ you’re a pretty husky young kid to die natural.”

“I don’t want to die at all,” shivered Jinnie.

Lafe encouraged her with a smile.

“If he finds you,” pursued Lafe, “I’d have to give you up. I couldn’t do anything else. We might pray ’bout it.”

A wistful expression came over Jinnie’s face.

“Is praying anything like wishing, cobbler?”

“Somethin’ the same,” replied Mr. Grandoken, “with this difference—wishin’ is askin’ somethin’ out of somewhere of some one you don’t know; prayin’ is just talkin’ to some one you’re acquainted with! See?”

“Yes, I think I do,” responded the girl. “Your way is mostly praying, isn’t it, Lafe?”

“Prayin’s more powerful than wishin’, lass,” said Lafe. “When I was first paralyzed, I done a lot of wishin’. I hadn’t any acquaintance with anybody but Peggy. After that I took up with God, an’ He’s been awful good to me.”

“He’s been good to me, too, Lafe, bringing me here.”

This seemed to be a discovery to Virginia, and for a few minutes her brain was alive with new hopes. Suddenly she drew her chair in front of Grandoken.

“Will to-morrow ever be to-day, cobbler?”

Lafe looked at the solemn-faced girl with smiling, kindly eyes.

“Sure, kid, sure,” he asserted. “When you get done wishin’ an’ there ain’t nothin’ left in the world to want, then to-morrow’s to-day.”

Jinnie smiled dismally. “There’d never be a day, cobbler, 72 that I couldn’t think of something I’d like for you—and Peg.”

72

Lafe meditated an instant before replying. Then:

 Prev. P 51/276 next