At half past one that afternoon a messenger appeared at Grandoken’s with a letter for Jinnie.

Peggy called the girl to the shop.

“Boy’s got something for you,” she declared. “It’s a letter, I guess.”

Jinnie held out her hand with thumping pulses, took the extended pencil, and signed her name to a blank page. Then the boy held out the missive. Of course it was from Theodore, thought Jinnie. She had scarcely slept the night before, fitfully dreaming of him. Throwing a shy smile at Peg, she went into her bedroom and shut the door. With a long, ecstatic breath, she set herself to the delightful task of slowly perusing the beloved epistle.

“My darling,” Jinnie read, and she kissed those two words, each one separately. Then she whispered them again, “My darling,” and read on:

“I’m coming this afternoon at three to see your uncle, and I thought you might like me to talk with him alone. It will be a simple matter for you to take the little blind boy and go away for an hour or so, but be sure and return at four. By that time I’ll have our arrangements all made, but I won’t go until I see you.

“I send all my love to you, my sweetheart.

“Your own,

“Theodore.”

Jinnie kissed the words “my sweetheart” too, and then joyfully slipped the letter inside her dress. She daren’t speak of his coming, for how could she conceal her happiness from Lafe?

At two o’clock, she said to Peggy:

“May I take Bobbie for a little walk, dear?”

The blind child heard the request and scrambled up.

“Can I go, Peggy?” he pleaded.

Peg glared at the girl.

“I thought you always fiddled in the afternoon,” she queried.

“I do generally,” acquiesced Jinnie, “but—to-day––”

“Well, go ’long,” said Peg, not very graciously. “I’m goin’ over to Miss Bates’ a while. Maudlin come by just now, an’ said would I come over.... Get back early!”

Jinnie dressed Bobbie with trembling fingers. The boy noticed she could scarcely button his jacket.

“What’s the matter, Jinnie dear?” he whispered.

Jinnie was just slipping on his cap as he spoke. She bent and kissed him passionately.

“Nothing, honey, only Jinnie’s happy, very happy.”

“I’m so glad,” sighed Bobbie, with a smiling wag. “I’m happy too. Let’s go on the hill, and take Petey.”

“It’d be lovely, dear,” replied the girl.

A few minutes later, with the little dog at their heels, they were wending their way up the board walk to the hill.

Mr. Grandoken, alone in his shop, worked with contented vigor. The days, those beautiful summer days, were bringing untold joy to him. Peggy seemed in brighter spirits, and Jinnie’s radiant face made Lafe rejoice. Little Bobbie’s stars were always shining nowadays, so what more could the dear man want? As he sat tip-tapping, he took himself in fancy to that day ahead when Heaven would unfold another blessing for Peg—for him. He put down 235 his hammer and glanced out of the window, and suddenly Maudlin Bates loomed up, with all his hulking swagger obliterating the shoemaker’s mental bliss.

Lafe nodded as Maudlin stepped into the shop. There was an unusually aggressive expression upon the young wood gatherer’s face, and Mr. Grandoken refrained from asking him to sit down. Instead he questioned:

“Brought some cobblin’?”

“No,” said Bates. “Wanted to talk to you; that’s all.”

“Hurry up, then, ’cause I’m busy.”

“Where’s Jinnie?” queried Maudlin.

Swift anger changed the cobbler’s face.

“What’s that to you?” he demanded. “And you needn’t be drippin’ tobacco juice around my shop.”

“Won’t hurt it, I guess,” answered Maudlin insolently, sitting down heavily.

With every passing minute, Lafe was growing more and more enraged.

“Yap me your business and get out,” he ordered, picking up his hammer.

He settled his eyes on the sodden face before him, and for a minute or two each plumbed the strength of the other.

“I’m goin’ to marry Jinnie,” announced Maudlin, drawing his large feet together and clasping his fingers over his knees.

The cobbler deliberately placed the hammer beside him once more and leaned back against the wall.

“Who said so?” he asked.

“I do,” defied Maudlin, swaggering.

“Is that what you come to say to me?”

“Yep.”

“Well, now you’re done with your braggin’, get out, an’ get out quick.” 236

But Maudlin didn’t move.

“I said to scoot,” said Lafe presently, in suppressed tones. He was magnificent in his ferocity.

“I heard you!” observed Maudlin, still sitting, though a little cowed in his former egotistical spirit.

Lafe picked up the hammer and pounded frantically on the sole of a shoe.

“I’m goin’ to have money,” muttered Maudlin when the cobbler paused for a few nails.

As Lafe proceeded with his work silently, Maudlin said:

“I’ll marry Jinnie and take the empty shack next to pa’s. I got money, I said.”

Lafe’s lips were moving rapidly, but the other could not hear what he was saying. The fact was, the cobbler was asking for strength and self-control.

“Where’s Jinnie?” demanded Maudlin again.

“She ain’t here,” said Lafe, “an’ I want you to get out before she comes.”

He said this more gently, because his muttered prayers had somewhat assuaged his rage.

Just then a motor car dashed into the little lane at the side of the house, and Maudlin knew that Morse had arrived.

“I’ll go when I see Jinnie,” he insisted, sinking deeper into his chair, “I want to tell ’er somethin’ about a party.”

“Ain’t no show o’ your seein’ ’er to-day,” replied Lafe. “I bargained with your pa about you lettin’ my girl alone, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Pa’s cobblin’ ain’t nothin’ to do with me,” observed Maudlin darkly. “I’ll wait for ’er!”

At that minute Theodore King’s car drew up in front of the shop, and he stepped out. Maudlin caught a glimpse of him and set his teeth sharply. He’d have it out with this man, too. They might as well all understand what 237 his intentions were. He wondered if Morse, from his point of vantage, had seen Mr. King arrive.

When Theodore swung into the shop, he paused at the sight of Bates and frowned. He brought to mind the chastening he had given the fellow, and how Jinnie had suffered through his brutality.

Lafe smiled cordially at the young man and asked him to be seated.

“Jinnie’s out,” stated the cobbler.

“I know it!” responded Theodore, taking a chair. “I’ve come to have a talk with you.” Then looking from Mr. Grandoken to Maudlin, he queried, “Will you soon be disengaged?”

Lafe nodded.

“I hope so,” he said disinterestedly.

Lafe always disciplined himself after a siege with his temper.

“He won’t be alone till I get through with ’im,” grunted Maudlin, with an ugly expression. “I been tellin’ ’im I’m goin’ to marry Jinnie.”

Lafe straightened with a throat sound that boded no good for the speaker, and Theodore got swiftly to his feet.

“Don’t repeat what you’ve just said,” the latter gritted between his teeth, whirling on Maudlin.

Bates shot out of his chair at this command.

“My tongue’s my own,” he roared, “and Jinnie’ll be glad to marry me before––”

Theodore’s big fist swept out, striking the man full in the face, and Maudlin dropped like an ox hit with an axe, but he was on his feet in another minute. His rapidly swelling face was blanched with rage.

“Damn you, twicet and three times damn you––”

Lafe made an ejaculation, and neither one of the three 238 men noticed that the door to the little hall at the back had opened a trifle.

Jordan Morse was peering in upon the enraged trio. He saw the man he’d hired to help him take the first knock down and get up swiftly. He saw Theodore King make another dive at the wood gatherer. The cobbler was in direct range of Jordan’s vision, and he slipped his hand into his pocket, from which he took a revolver. Two quick, short cracks, and the pistol came flying through the room and landed near the cobbler’s bench. Then the kitchen door slammed suddenly. Theodore staggered forward and sank slowly to the floor, while Maudlin fell headlong without a cry.

As in a maze Lafe heard a motor leap away like a mad thing. Through the window he could see Theodore’s car where the young man had left it. He made a desperate effort to rise, but sank back with a shuddering groan. He forced his eyes to Bates, who was close to the shop door, then dragged them backward to Mr. King, whose head was almost under his bench. Each had received a bullet, and both lay breathing unconsciously. The cobbler stooped over and placed his hand under Theodore’s head to straighten it a little. For a full minute nothing was heard but the loud rattling in Maudlin’s throat and the steady, laborious breath of the man at his feet.

Sudden tears diffused the cobbler’s eyes, and he leaned over and tenderly touched the damp forehead of Jinnie’s friend.

“He’s given His angels charge over thee, boy,” he murmured, just as Jinnie, leading Bobbie by the hand, walked in.

The girl took one impetuous step forward and noted Lafe’s white, agonized face. Then she caught a glimpse of the stricken men on the floor. Her tongue refused its 239 office, and dropping the blind child’s fingers, she came quickly forward.

“Call help! Hurry! Get a doctor!” gasped Lafe, and Jinnie, without saying a word, rushed out.

Afterward she could not measure with accuracy the events of that afternoon. Peggy came home and put the terrified Bobbie in bed, telling him curtly to stay there until she allowed him to get up. Several doctors rushed in and examined both Theodore and Maudlin. Not one word had escaped Jinnie’s pale lips until the wounded men were removed from the shop. Then she sank at the cobbler’s feet.

“Will he die?” she whispered, in awe-stricken tones.

“Maudlin’s dyin’,” replied the cobbler, with bowed head, “an’ Mr. King’s awful bad off, the doctor says.”

Jinnie went to Lafe’s side and put her arm about his neck, and as if it had never been, their joy was blotted out by the hand of a bloody tragedy.