Lafe uttered a quick little prayer as the door opened. His glance through the window had shown him Jinnie’s pale face and her dark head drooping against Mr. King’s shoulder. Theodore smiled as he entered, which instantly eased the fear in the cobbler’s heart and he waited for the other man to speak.

“Jinnie had a fall,” explained Mr. King, “so I drove her home.”

He placed the girl in a chair. She was still holding the mangled cat in her arms.

“Is she much hurt?” questioned Lafe anxiously.

“No, Lafe, I’m not hurt a bit. Miss Merriweather took me for a little ride. I jumped out to get this kitty because she ran over ’im.”

She displayed the quivering grey tiger cat.

“Jumped out of a fast-goin’ car, honey!” chided Lafe. “That was some dangerous.”

Jinnie’s eyes were veiled with wonder.

“But I couldn’t let him stay and get run over again, could I, Lafe?”

“No, darlin’, of course you couldn’t.... Are you pretty well broke up?”

Mr. King explained the accident as best he could, and after he departed Mrs. Grandoken came in with Bobbie clinging to her skirts. Then the story was repeated. 172

“Can’t we do something for him, Peg?” pleaded Jinnie.

Peg knelt down and examined the animal as it lay on the floor. She would not have admitted for anything that she was disturbed because of Jinnie’s fall. She only said:

“’Twasn’t your fault, miss, that you ain’t almost dead yourself.... I’ll get a dish with some water.... You need it as much as the cat.”

It was Bobbie who brought from Peggy a fierce ejaculation. He was standing in the middle of the floor with fluttering hands, a woebegone expression on his upturned face.

“My stars’re goin’ out,” he whimpered. “I want to touch my Jinnie.”

“She ain’t hurt much, kid,” said Peg, hoarsely. “Don’t be shakin’ like a leaf, Bobbie! You’d think the girl was dead.”

Jinnie called the boy to her.

“I’m here, honey,” she soothed him, “and I’m all right. I got a little whack on the ground, that’s all.... There, don’t cry, dearie.”

Peg looked down on them frowningly.

“You’re both of you little fools,” she muttered. “Get out of my way till I go to the kitchen, or I’ll kick you out.”

When Mrs. Grandoken brought the water, they worked over the cat for a long time, and at length Peg carried the poor little mangled body to the kitchen, Bobbie following her.

Jinnie sat down beside the cobbler on the bench.

“There’s something I don’t know, Jinnie,” he said.

Fully and freely she told him all—all that had happened that day. She explained Molly’s recognition of her and the terrors of the afternoon’s ride.

“She hates barn-cats,” went on the girl, “and, Lafe, 173 when the wheels gritted over him, I flew right out on the ground.”

Lafe’s arms tightened about her.

“You just couldn’t help it,” he murmured. “God bless my little girl!”

“Then Mr. King took me with him,” concluded Jinnie.

Lafe had his own view of Molly the Merry, but he didn’t tell the faint, white girl at his side that he thought the woman was jealous of her.

As Jinnie again recounted nervously the conversation about her Uncle Jordan, the cobbler said softly:

“It’s all in the hands of the angels, pet! No harm’ll come to you ever.”

Jordan Morse answered Miss Merriweather’s telephone call.

“I want to talk with you,” said she peremptorily.

“I’ll come right up,” replied Morse.

She stood on the porch with her hands tightly locked together when Jordan dashed up the roadway. She walked slowly down the steps.

“What’s up?” demanded Morse.

Molly glanced backward at the quiet home. Theodore’s mother was taking her afternoon siesta, and no one else was about. She slipped her hand into Morse’s arm and led him under the trees.

“Let’s go to the summer house,” she urged.

Once seated, Morse looked at her curiously.

“You’re ill,” he said, noting her distorted face.

“No, only furious.... I’ve made a discovery.”

“Anything of value?”

“Yes, to you—and to me.”

Morse bent a keen glance upon her. 174

“Well?” was all he said.

“I know where your niece, Virginia Singleton, is.”

She said this deliberately, realizing the while the worth of her words.

Morse got to his feet unsteadily.

“I don’t believe it,” he returned.

“I knew you wouldn’t, but I do just the same.”

“Where?”

“In this town.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

Morse dropped back on the seat once more.

“For God’s sake, don’t play with me. Why don’t you––”

“I’m going to! Keep still, can’t you?”

“You’re torturing me,” muttered the man, mopping his brow.

“She’s—she’s Jinnie Grandoken—the girl who played at Theo’s party.”

“Good God!” and then through the silence came another muttered, “Great merciful God!”

Molly allowed him to regain his self-control.

“I told you that night, Jordan, I thought I remembered her,” she then said. “To-day I found out it was she.”

“Tell me all you know,” ordered Morse, with darkening brow.

Molly openly admitted her jealousy of Jinnie. She had no shame because, long before, she had told her husband of her absorbing passion for Theodore King.

“I discovered it purely by accident,” she went on, relating the story.

Morse chewed the end of his cigar.

“Now what’re you going to do?” demanded Molly presently. 175

Jordan threw away his cigar and thrust his hands deep into his pockets, stretching out a pair of long legs. There he sat considering the tips of his boots in silence.

“I’ve got to think, and think quick,” he broke out suddenly. “My God! I might have known she didn’t belong in that cobbler’s shop.... I’ll go now.... Don’t mention this to Theo.”

As he was leaving, he said with curling lip:

“I guess now you know my prospects you won’t be so stingy. I’ll have to have money to carry this through.”

“All right,” said Molly.

When she was alone, Molly’s anger decreased. She had an ally now worth having. She smiled delicately as she passed up the stairs to her room, and the smile was brought to her lips because she remembered having begged Jordan to help her in this matter several times before. Then he had had no incentive, but to-day––Ah, now he would give her a divorce quietly! The social world in which she hoped to move would know nothing of her youthful indiscretion.

That night Jinnie and Peg were bending anxiously over a basket near the kitchen stove. All that human hands and hearts could do had been done for the suffering barn-cat. He had given no sign of consciousness, his breath coming and going in long, deep gasps.

“He’ll die, won’t he, Peg?” asked Jinnie, sorrowfully.

“Yes, sure. An’ it’ll be better for the beast, too.” Peg said this tempestuously.

“I’d like to have him live,” replied Jinnie. “Milly Ann mightn’t love him, but she got used to Happy Pete, didn’t she?” 176

“This feller,” assured Peggy, wagging her head, “won’t get used to anything more on this earth.”

“Poor kitty,” mourned Jinnie.

She was thinking of the beautiful world, the trees and the flowers, and the wonderful songs of nature amidst which the dying animal had existed.

“I hope he’ll go to some nice place,” she observed sadly, walking away from Mrs. Grandoken.

Later, after cogitating deeply, Jinnie expressed herself to the cobbler.

“Lafe, Lafe dear,” she said, “it’s all true you told me, ain’t it?... All about the angels and God?... The poor kitty’s suffering awful. He’s got the Christ too, hasn’t he, Lafe?”

The man looked into the agonized young face.

“Yes, child,” he replied reverently, “he’s got the Christ too, same’s you an’ me. God’s in everything. He loves ’em all.”

That night the girl sat unusually long with paper and pencil. Just before going to bed she placed a paper on the cobbler’s knee.

“I wrote that hurt kitty some poetry,” she said shyly.

Lafe settled his spectacles on his nose, picked up the sheet, and read:

Mr. Grandoken lifted misty eyes.

“It’s fine,” he said, “an’ every word true!... Every single word.”

The next morning Jinnie went to the basket behind the stove. The cat was dead,—dead, in the same position in which she had left him the night before, and close to his nose was the meat Peggy had tried to entice him to eat. She lifted the basket and carried it into the shop.

“Poor little feller,” said Lafe. “I ’spose you’ll have to bury him, lass.”

Bobbie edged forward, and felt for Jinnie’s fingers.

“Bury him on the hill, dearie, where you found me,” he whispered. “It’s lovely there, and he can see my stars.”

“All right,” replied Jinnie, dropping her hand on the boy’s golden head.

That afternoon, just before the funeral, Jinnie stood quietly in front of the cobbler.

“Lafe,” she said, looking at him appealingly, “the kitty’s happy even if he is dead, isn’t he?” 178

“Sure,” replied Lafe. “His angels’ve got charge of him, all right.”

“I was wondering something,” ventured the girl, thoughtfully. “Couldn’t we take him in the ‘Happy in Spite’?... Eh, Lafe?”

Lake looked at her in surprise.

“I never thought of takin’ anything dead in the club,” said he dubiously.

“But he’s happy, you said, Lafe?”

“He’s happy enough, yes, sure!”

“Then let’s take him in,” repeated Jinnie eagerly.

“Let’s take ’im in, cobbler,” breathed Bobbie, pressing forward. “He wants to come in.”

They lifted the cover of the basket, and there in quietude the barn-cat was sleeping his long last sleep.

Jinnie lifted one of the stiff little paws, and placed it in Lafe’s fingers. The cobbler shook it tenderly.

“You’re in the club, sir,” said he in a thick, choked voice. Then Jinnie and Bobbie, carrying their precious dead comrade, started for the hill.