to the voices."

A look of bewildered surprise crossed the girl's face. Were they
spirit voices, the voices in the pines, of which Lafe was speaking?
She'd ask him.

"God's voices out of Heaven," said he, in answer to her query. "They
come every night, but I wouldn't listen, till one day my boy was took.
Then I heard another voice, demandin' me to tell folks what was what
about God. But I was afraid an' a--coward."

The cobbler lapsed into serious thought, while Virginia moved a small
nail back and forth on the floor with the toe of her shoe. She
wouldn't cry again, but something in the low, sad voice made her
throat ache. After the man had been quiet for a long time, she pressed
him with:

"After that, Lafe, what then?"

"After that," repeated the cobbler, straightening his shoulders,
"after that my legs went bad an' then--an' then----"

Virginia, very pale, went to the cobbler, and laid her head against
his shoulder.

"An' then, child," he breathed huskily, "I believed, an' I know, as
well as I'm livin', God sent his Christ for everybody; that in the
lovin' father"--Lafe raised his eyes--"there's no line drawed 'tween
Jews an' Gentiles. They're all alike to Him. Only some're goin' one
road an' some another to get to Him, that's all."

These were quite new ideas to Virginia. In all her young life no one
had ever conversed with her of such things. True, from her hill home
on clear Sunday mornings she could hear the church bells ding-dong
their hoarse welcome to the farmers, but she had never been inside the
church doors. Now she regretted the lost opportunity. She wished to
grasp the cobbler's meaning. Noting her tense expression, Grandoken
continued:

"It was only a misunderstandin' 'tween a few Jews when they nailed the
Christ to the cross. Why, a lot of Israelites back there believed in
'im. I'm one of them believin' Jews, Jinnie."

"I wish I was a Jew, cobbler," sighed Jinnie. "I'd think the same as
you then, wouldn't I?"

"Oh, you don't have to be a Jew to believe," returned Lafe. "It's as
easy to do as 'tis to roll off'n a log."

This lame man filled her young heart with a deep longing to help him
and to have him help her.

"You're going to teach me all about it, ain't you, Lafe?" she
entreated presently.

"Sure! Sure! You see, it's this way: Common, everyday folks--them with
narrer minds--ain't much use for my kind of Jews. I'm livin' here in a
mess of 'em. Most of 'em's shortwood gatherers.