most desirable thing in the world, but the cobbler’s wife merely muttered as she went away to the kitchen, and Virginia, sighing, sat down.

“Now suppose you tell me all about it, Jinnie,” Lafe suggested smilingly; “just where you went an’ how you earned all the money.”

Fatigued almost beyond the point of rehearsing her experiences, Jinnie took Milly Ann on her lap and curled up in the chair.

“I guess I’ve walked fifteen miles,” she began. “You know most folks don’t want wood.”

Lafe took one sidewise glance at the beautiful face. He remembered a picture he had once seen of an angel. Jinnie’s face was like that picture. 80

80

“Well, first, Lafe,” she recounted, “I gathered the wood in the marsh, then I went straight across the back field through the swamp. It’s froze over harder’n hell––”

Lafe uttered a little, “Sh!” and Jinnie, with scarlet face, supplemented,

“I mean harder’n anything.”

“Sure,” replied Lafe, nodding.

“Mr. Bates and his kids were there, but he c’n carry a pile three times bigger’n I can!”

“Well, you’re only a child. Sometimes Bates can’t sell all he gets, though.”

“I sold all mine,” asserted Jinnie, brightening.

The cobbler recalled the history of Jinnie’s lonely little life—of how during those first fifteen years no kindly soul had given her counsel, and now his heart glowed with thanksgiving as he realized that she was growing in faith and womanliness. He wanted Jinnie to give credit where credit was due, so he said,

“You sold your wood because you had a helpin’ hand.”

Jinnie was about to protest.

“I mean––” breathed Lafe.

“Oh, angels! Eh?” interrupted the girl. “Yes, I sold my last two cents’ worth by saying what you told me—‘He gives His angels charge over thee’—and, zip! a woman bought the last bundle and gave me a cent more’n I charged her.”

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