drag you from this shop, an'
there's my word for it." Then she glanced at Lafe, and ended, "If 'er
leg was nailed to your bench, she wouldn't be any tighter here. Now
eat, all of you, an' keep your mouths shut."

CHAPTER XXIX

PEG'S VISIT

One morning Bobbie sat down gravely some distance from Lafe, took up
one of Milly Ann's kittens, and fell into troubled thought. After
permitting him to be silent a few moments, the cobbler remarked,

"Anything on your mind, comrade?"

"Yes," said Bobbie, sighing.

"Can't you tell a feller what it is?"

Bobbie pushed the kitten from his lap. He crept to the cobbler's side
slowly. Then, as he leaned his golden head against his friend, Lafe's
arm fell about him.

"Tell me, laddie," insisted Mr. Grandoken.

"My stars're all gone out," faltered the boy sadly.

"What made 'em go out, Bob?... Can you tell?"

"Yes," blubbered Bobbie. "I guess Jinnie's sick, that's what's the
matter."

"Sick?" asked Lafe, in a startled voice. "Who said so?... Did she?"

Bobbie shook his head.

"No, but I know!... She cried last night, and other nights too."

Lafe considered a moment.

"I'm glad you told me, Bob," he said, knocking the ashes from his
pipe.

Jinnie left the master's home with lagging footsteps. The idea of
going away to school had not appealed to her, but never in all her
life had she been so tempted to do anything as to go with Theodore for
one blessed day in the country--but a whole day from home could not be
thought of.

The cobbler saw her crossing the tracks, and after the daily salute,
she came on with bent head. He watched her closely during the evening
meal and gave Bobbie credit for discovering the truth. After Peg had
wheeled him back to the shop and he was alone with Jinnie, Lafe called
her to him.

"Bring the stool," said he, "an' sit here."

Languidly she sank down, resting against him. She was very tired
besides being very unhappy. Lafe placed two fingers under her chin,
lifting her face to his. Her eyes were full of tears, and she no
longer tried to conceal her suffering. The cobbler remained quiet
while she cried softly. At last:

"It's Maudlin Bates, ain't it, darlin'?" he asked.

"No, Lafe."

"Can't you tell your friend what 'tis?"

"I guess I'm crying because I'm foolish, dear," she replied.

"No, that's not true, Jinnie. I feel as bad seeing you cry's if 'twas
Peggy."

This was a compliment, and Jinnie tried to sit up bravely, but