Twenty minutes later Mrs. Grandoken entered the shop and sat down opposite her husband.

“Lafe,” she began, clearing her throat.

The cobbler questioned her with a glance.

“That girl’ll be the death of this hull shanty,” she announced huskily. “I hate ’er more’n anything in the world.”

Lafe placed a half-mended shoe beside him on the bench.

“What’s ailin’ ’er now, Peggy?”

“Oh, she ain’t sick,” interrupted Peg, with curling lip. “She never looked better’n she does this minute, settin’ in there huddlin’ that pup, but she’s brought home another kid, as bad off as a kid can be.”

“A what? What’d you say, Peg? You don’t mean a youngster!”

Mrs. Grandoken bobbed her head, her face stoically expressionless. “An’ bad off,” she repeated querulously. “The young ’un’s blind.”

Before Lafe’s mental vision rose Jinnie’s lovely face, her parted lips and self-assured smile.

“But where’d she get it? It must belong to some ’un.”

Mrs. Grandoken shook her head.

“I dunno. It’s a boy. He was with a woman—a bad ’un, I gather. She beat ’im until the little feller ran away to find his own folks, he says—and—Jinnie brought ’im home here. She says she’s goin’ to keep ’im.” 111

The speaker drew her brown skin into a network of wrinkles.

“Where’d she find ’im?” Lafe burst forth, “Of course he can’t stay––”

Mrs. Grandoken checked the cobbler’s words with a rough gesture.

“Hush a minute! She got ’im over near the plank walk on the hill—he was cryin’ for ’is ma.”

Lafe was plainly agitated. He felt a spasmodic clutch at his heart when he imagined the sorrow of a homeless, blind child, but thinking of Peg’s struggle to make a little go a long way, he dashed his sympathy resolutely aside.

“Of course he can’t stay—he can’t!” he murmured. “It ain’t possible for you to keep ’im here.”

In his excitement Lafe bent forward and closed his hands over Peg’s massive shoulder bones. Peggy coughed hoarsely and looked away.

“Who says the kid can’t stay?” she muttered roughly. “Who said he can’t?”

The words jumped off the woman’s tongue in sullen defiance.

“But you got too much to do now, Peg. We’ve made you a lot of trouble, woman dear, an’ you sure don’t want to take another––”

Like a flash, Peg’s features changed. She squinted sidewise as if a strong light suddenly hurt her sight.

“Who said I didn’t?” she drawled. “Some husbands do make me mad, when they’re tellin’ me what I want, an’ what I don’t want. I hate the blind brat like I do the girl, but he’s goin’ to stay just the same.”

A deep flush dyed Lafe’s gray face. The intensity of his emotion was almost a pain. Life had ever vouchsafed Lafe Grandoken encouragement when the dawn was darkest. Now Peg’s personal insult lined his clouds of fear 112 with silver, and they sailed away in rapid succession as quickly as they had come; he saw them going like shadows under advancing sun rays.

“Peggy,” he said, touching her gently, “you’ve the biggest heart in all the world, and you’re the very best woman; you be, sure! If you let the poor little kid stay, I’ll make more money, if God gives me strength.”

Peggy pushed Lafe’s hand from her arm.

“I ’spose if you do happen to get five cents more, you’ll puff out with pride till you most bust.... Anyway, it won’t take much more to buy grub for a kid with an appetite like a bird.... Come on! I’ll wheel you to the kitchen so you can have a look at ’im.”

Jinnie glanced around as the husband and wife entered the room. She pushed Happy Pete from her lap and got up.

“Lafe,” she exclaimed, “this is Bobbie—he’s come to live with us.”

She drew the blind boy from his chair and went forward.

“Bobbie,” she explained, “this is the cobbler. I told you about him in the park. See ’im with your fingers once, and you’ll know he’s the best man ever.”

The small boy lifted two frail arms, his lips quivering in fright and homesickness. Some feeling created by God rose insistent within Lafe. It was a response from the heart of the Good Shepherd, who had always gathered into his fold the bruised ones of the world. Lafe drew the child to his lap.

“Poor little thing!” he murmured sadly.

With curling lips, his wife stood watching the pair.

“You’re a bigger fool’n I thought you was, Lafe Grandoken,” she said, turning away sharply. “I wouldn’t make such a fuss over no one livin’. That’s just what I wouldn’t.” 113

She threw the last remark over her shoulder as if it were something she spurned and wanted to be rid of.

Bobbie slipped from Lafe’s arms and described a zigzag course across the kitchen floor toward the place where Mrs. Grandoken stood. His hands fluttered over Peg’s dress, as high as they could reach.

“I like you awful well, Mrs. Peggy,” he told her, “and I just love your kisses, too, Mrs. Peggy dear. They made my stars shine all over my head.”

The cobbler’s wife started guiltily, casting her eyes upon Lafe. He was silent, his patient face expressing melancholy sweetness. As far as the woman could determine, he had not heard the boy’s words. Relieved, she allowed her eyes to rest upon Jinnie. The girl was looking directly at her. Then Jinnie slowly dropped one white lid over a bright, gleeful blue eye in a wicked little wink. This was more than Peggy could endure. She had kissed the little boy several times during the process of washing the tear-stained face and combing the tangled hair, but that any one should know it! Just then, Peggy secretly said to herself, “If uther one of them kids get any more kisses from me, it’ll be when water runs uphill. I ’spose now I’ll never hear the last of them smacks.”

“Let go my skirt! Get away, kid,” she ordered Bobbie.

The boy dropped his hands reluctantly. He had hoped for another kiss.

“Peggy,” said Lafe, “can I hold him? He seems so sad.”

Mrs. Grandoken, consciously grim, placed the boy in her husband’s lap.

“You see,” philosophized Jinnie, when she and the blind child were with the cobbler, “if a blind kid hasn’t any place to live, the girl who finds ’im has to bring him home! Huh, Lafe?” 114

Then she whispered in his ear, “Couldn’t Bobbie join the ‘Happy in Spite’?”

“Sure he can, lass; sure he can,” assented Lafe.

Jinnie whirled back to the little boy.

“Bobbie, would you like to come in a club that’ll make you happy as long’s you live?”

The bright blind eyes of the boy flashed from Jinnie to the man, and he got to his feet tremulously. In his little mind, out of which daylight was shut, Jinnie’s words presaged great joy. The girl took his hand and led him to the cobbler.

“You’ll have to explain the club to ’im, Lafe,” she said.

“Yes, ’splain it to me, Lafe dearie,” purred Bobbie.

“It’s just a club,” began Lafe, “only good to keep a body happy. Now, me—well, I’m happy in spite a-havin’ no legs; Jinnie there, she’s happy in spite a-havin’ no folks. Her and me’s happy in spite a everything.”

Bobbie stood alongside Lafe’s bench, one busy set of fingers picking rhythmically at the cobbler’s coat, the other having sought and found his hand.

“I want to be in the club, cobbler,” he whispered.

Mr. Grandoken stooped and kissed the quivering face.

“An’ you’ll be happy in spite a havin’ no eyes?” he questioned.

The little boy, pressing his cheek against the man’s arm, cooed in delight.

“And happy in spite of not finding your mother right yet?” interjected Jinnie.

“Yes, yes, ’cause I am happy. I got my beautiful Peggy, ain’t I? And don’t she make me a hull lot of fine soup, and ain’t I got Lafe, Happy Pete––”

“You got me, too, Bobbie,” Jinnie reminded him gently.

Bobbie acquiesced by a quick bend of his head, and Lafe grasped his hand. 115

“Now you’re a member of the ‘Happy in Spite’, Bob,” said he smiling. “This club is what I call a growin’ affair. Four members––”

“Everybody’s in,” burst forth Jinnie.

“Except Peggy,” sighed Lafe. “Some day something’ll bring her in, too.”