In the past few weeks Jinnie Grandoken had been driven blindly into unknown places, forced to face conditions which but a short time before would have seemed unbearable. However, there was much with which Jinnie could occupy her time. Blind Bobbie was not well. He was mourning for the cobbler with all his boyish young soul, and every day Peggy grew more taciturn and ill. The funds left by Theodore were nearly gone, and Jinnie had given up her lessons. She was using the remaining money for their meagre necessities.

So slowly did the days drag by that the girl had grown to believe that the authorities would never bring Lafe to trial, exonerate him, and send him home. Then, too, Theodore was still in the hospital, and she thought of him ever with a sense of terrific loss. But the daily papers brought her news of him, and now printed that his splendid constitution might pull him through. It never occurred to her that her loved one would believe Lafe had shot him and Maudlin Bates. Theodore was too wise, too kindly, for such suspicions.

For a while after receiving permission from the county attorney, she visited Lafe every day. Peggy had seen him only once, being too miserable to stand the strain of going to the jail. But Mrs. Grandoken never neglected sending by the girl some little remembrance to her husband. 263 Perhaps it was only a written message, but mostly a favorite dish of food or an article of his wearing apparel.

One afternoon Bobbie sat by the window with his small, pale face pressed close to the pane. Outside a great storm was raging, and from one end of Paradise Road to the other, rivulets of water rushed down to the lake. Several times that day, when the boy had addressed Mrs. Grandoken, she had answered him even more gruffly than of yore. He knew by her voice she was ill, and his palpitating heart was wrung so agonizingly that he was constantly in tears. Now he was waiting for Jinnie, and the sound of the buffeting rain and the booming roar of heavy thunder thrilled him dismally. To hear Jinnie’s footsteps at that moment would be the panacea for all his grief.

Peg came into the shop, and Bobbie turned slightly.

“Jinnie’s stayin’ awful long at the jail to-day,” said the woman fretfully. “Do you hear her comin’, Bobbie?”

“No,” said Bobbie, “I’ve been stretchin’ my ears almost to the hill to hear her. If she doesn’t come soon, I’ll die—my stars’ve been gone a long time.”

“I wish she’d come,” sighed Mrs. Grandoken.

“Bend over here, Peg,” entreated Bobbie, “I want to touch your eyes!”

Without comment the woman leaned over, and the boy’s fingers wavered over her wrinkled countenance.

“You’re awful sick, dearie,” he grieved, pressing against her. “Can Blind Bobbie do anything?”

Peg dropped her arm around him.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered. “I wish Lafe and Jinnie was here.”

One long shiver shook Bobbie’s slender body. That Peg could ever be afraid was a new idea to him. It terrified him even to contemplate it. He began to sob wistfully, but in another instant raised his head. 264

“She’s comin’,” he cried sharply. “I hear ’er. I got two stars, mebbe three.”

When Jinnie opened the door, the water was dripping from her clothes, and her hair hung in long, wet curls to her waist. One look into Peg’s twisted, pain-ridden face, and she understood.

“I’m glad you’re here,” said the woman, with a gesture of helplessness. And Bobbie echoed, with fluttering hands, “I’m glad, too, Jinnie. Me and Peg was so ’fraid.”

The girl spoke softly to Bobbie, and drew Peggy into the bedroom. There, with her arm thrown across Mrs. Grandoken’s shoulder, she gave all the assurance and comfort of which she was capable.

Long after midnight, the rain still came down in thrashing torrents, and through the pieces of broken tin on the roof the wind shrilled dismally.

There was a solemn hush in the back bedroom where Peggy lay staring at the ceiling. In front of the shadowy lamp was a bit of cardboard to protect the sick woman’s eyes from the light. At Peggy’s side sat Jinnie, and in her arms lay a small bundle. Jinnie had gained much knowledge in the last few hours. She had discovered the mystery of all existence. She had seen Peg go down into that wonderful valley of life and bring back Lafe’s little boy baby, and the girl’s eyes held an expression of impenetrable things. She moved her position slightly so as to study Mrs. Grandoken’s face.

Suddenly Peg’s eyes lowered.

“Jinnie, gimme a drink, will you?”

Placing the child on the bed, the girl got up instantly. She went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of milk. It had scarcely touched the woman’s lips before she raised her hand and pushed it away.

“I mustn’t drink that,” she whispered feebly. 265

“I got it specially for you, Peggy dear,” insisted Jinnie.... “Drink it,” she wheedled, “please.”

Then Jinnie sat down again, listening as the elements kept up their continuous rioting, and after a while they lulled her to rest. Suddenly her head dropped softly on the bundle in her arms, and the three—Peggy, Jinnie and the tiny Jewish baby—slept.

Jinnie’s name, spoken in low tones, roused her quickly. She raised her head, a sharp pain twisting her neck. Peggy was looking at her, with misery in her face.

“I feel awful sick, Jinnie,” she moaned. “Can’t you say somethin’ t’me, somethin’ to make me feel better?”

Something to make her feel better! The words touched the listener deeply. Oh, how she wanted to help! To alleviate Peg’s suffering was her one desire. If it had been Bobbie, or even Lafe, Jinnie would have known exactly what to say; but Peggy, proud, stoical Peggy!

“Let me put the baby with you where it’s warm, Peg,” she said, gently. “I’m going to talk to you a minute.... There, now, you’re all safe, little mister, near your mammy’s heart.”

Then she knelt down by the bed and took the woman’s hot fingers in hers.

“Peggy,” she began softly, “things look awful bad just now, but Lafe told me once, when they looked that way, it was time for some one to come along and help. I’ll tell you about it, Peg! Eh?”

“Who c’n come?” demanded Mrs. Grandoken, irritably. “Mr. King can’t, an’ we hain’t no other friends who’ll come to a cobbler’s shop.”

The question in her voice gave Jinnie the chance she was looking for.

“Yes, there is,” she insisted. “Now listen, while I say something; will you?” 266

“Sure,” said Peg, squeezing Jinnie’s fingers.

Then Jinnie started to repeat a few verses Lafe had taught her. She couldn’t tell exactly where they were in the Bible, but the promise in them had always made her own burdens lighter, and since seeing Lafe daily, she had partially come back to her former trust.

“‘The Lord is my Shepherd,’” she droned sleepily. Then on and on until she came to, “‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,’” and Peg broke into a sob.

“‘I will fear no evil,’” soothed Jinnie, amid the roaring of the wind and the crackling of the thunder over the hill.

“‘For thou art with me,’” she finished brokenly. “He’s the one I was talking about, Peggy. He’ll help us all if we can believe and be––”

Then she quickly ended, “Happy in Spite.”

Peg continued to sob. One arm was across her baby boy protectingly, and the other hand Jinnie held in hers.

“Somehow things seem easier, Peggy, when you hold your head up high, and believe everything’ll come all right.... Lafe said so; that’s why he started the club.”

“I wisht I could think that way. I’m near dead,” groaned the woman.

Jinnie smoothed the soft, grey-streaked hair.

“Wouldn’t you like to come into the club, dear?” she faltered, scarcely daring to put the question. “Then you’ll be happy with us all—with Lafe and Bobbie and—and––”

Jinnie wanted to say another name, but doubted its wisdom—and then abruptly it came; “and Jinnie,” she finished.

Peggy almost sat up in bed.

“Darlin’,” she quivered. “Darlin’ girl, I’ve been cussed 267 mean to Lafe an’ you. I’ve told you many a time with my own mouth I hated you, but God knows, an’ Lafe knows, I loved you the minute I set eyes on you.” She dropped back on the pillow and continued, “If you’ll take me in your club, an’ learn me how to believe, I’ll try; I swear I will.”

For a long time Jinnie sat crooning over and over the verses she’d learned from Lafe, and bye-and-bye she heard Peg breathing regularly and knew she slept. Then she settled herself in the chair, and sweet, mysterious dreams came to her through the storm.