the engine and the roar of the cars had ceased, she whirled around.

“Cobbler,” she said in a low voice, “I’ve been thinking a lot since yesterday.”

“Come on an’ tell me about it, lassie,” said Lafe.

She sat down, hitching her chair a bit nearer him, leaned her elbow on her knee, and buried a dimpled chin in the palm of her hand.

“Do you suppose, Lafe, if a girl believed in the angels, anybody could hurt her?”

“I know they couldn’t, kid, an’ it’s as true’s Heaven.”

“Well, then, why can’t I go out and work?”

Lafe paused and looked over his spectacles.

“Peggy says, ‘Every hand should do its share’,” he quoted.

Jinnie winced miserably. She picked up several nails 75 from the floor. It was a pretext for an activity to cover her embarrassment.

75

The cobbler allowed her to busy herself a while in this way. Then he said:

“Sit in the chair an’ wrap up in the blankets, Jinnie. I want to talk with you.”

She did as she was bidden, sitting quietly until the man chose to speak.

“I guess you’re beginnin’ to believe,” said he, at length, “an’ if you do, a world full of uncles couldn’t hurt you. Peg says as how you got to work if you stay, an’ if you have the faith––”

Jinnie rose tremblingly.

“I know I’ll be all right,” she cried. “I just know you and me believing would keep me safe.”

Her eagerness caused Lafe to draw the girl to him.

“Can you holler good an’ loud?” he asked.

The girl shot him a curious glance.

 Prev. P 54/276 next