“Good!” Lafe was highly pleased. “It’ll work every time, an’ to make a long story short, it works on boots an’ shoes, too.”

“Wood’s awful heavy,” Jinnie decided, irrelevantly.

“Sure,” soothed Lafe again. He hesitated a minute, drew his hand across his eyes, and continued, “An’, by the way, Jinnie––”

Jinnie’s receptive face caused the cobbler to proceed: 81

81

“I wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with Bates’ son Maudlin, if I was you.... He’s a bad lot.”

Jinnie’s head drooped. She flushed to her hair.

“I saw him to-day,” she replied. “He’s got wicked eyes. I hate boys who wink!”

A look of desperation clouded the fair young face, and the cobbler, looking at the slender girlish figure, and thinking the while of Maudlin Bates, suddenly put out his hand.

“Come here, lassie,” he said.

Another flame of color mounted to Jinnie’s tousled hair. With hanging head, she pushed Milly Ann from her lap and walked to the cobbler’s side.

“What did Maudlin say to you?” he demanded.

“He said he’d—he’d crack my twigs for me if—if I’d kiss him, and he pinched me when I wouldn’t.”

Anger and deep resentment displayed themselves on Lafe’s pale face.

“Jinnie, lass,” he breathed. “I c’n trust you, child. Can’t I trust you? You wouldn’t––”

Jinnie drew away from Lafe’s embrace.

“I guess I’d rather be killed’n have Maudlin kiss me,” she cried passionately.

Just then Peg came to the door.

“Run to the butcher’s for a bit of chopped steak, Jinnie,” she ordered, “an’ make your head save your heels by bringin’ in some bread.”

Jinnie jumped up quickly.

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