Lafe Grandoken, in his wheel chair, sat under the barred prison window, an open Bible on his knees. Slowly the shadows were falling about him, and to the man every shade had an entity of its own. First there trooped before him all the old memories of the many yesterdays—of Peg—his little dead lad—and Jinnie. And lastly, ghostlike, came the shattered hopes of to-morrow, and with these he groaned and shivered.

Jinnie stole in and looked long upon her friend through the iron-latticed door. The smile that played with the dimples in her cheeks and the dancing shadows in the violet eyes indicated her happiness. Lafe looked older and thinner than ever before, and her heart sang when she thought of the news she had to tell him. She longed to pronounce his name, to take away the far-away expression that seemed to hold him in deep meditation. During her tramp to the jail she’d concocted a fairy story to bring a smile to the cobbler’s lips. So at length:

“Lafe,” she whispered.

Mr. Grandoken’s head came up quickly, and he turned the chair and wheeled toward her. There was the same question in his eyes that had been there for so many days, and Jinnie smiled broadly.

“Lafe,” she began mysteriously, “a great big bird flew right into the house last night. He flopped in to get out of the storm!” 269

“A bird?” repeated Lafe, startled.

“Yes, and everybody says it’s awful good luck.”

Lafe’s expression grew tragic, and Jinnie hurried on with her tale.

“I’ll bet you can’t guess what kind of a bird ’twas, Lafe.”

Lafe shook his head. “I can’t lessen ’twas a robin,” said he.

Jinnie giggled.

“My, no! He was a heap bigger’n a robin. Guess again!”

Such chatter from Jinnie was unusual, especially of late, but Lafe bore it patiently.

“I can’t,” he sighed, shaking his head.

Jinnie clapped her hands.

“I knew you couldn’t! Well, Lafe, it was a—a––”

“Yes?” queried Lafe wearily, during her hesitation. “Well, Jinnie?”

“It was a great, big, beautiful white stork, Lafe, and he brought you a new Jew baby. What’d you think of that?”

“Jinnie, girl, lass, you ain’t tellin’ me––”

“Yes, dear, he’s there, as big as life and twice as natural, Peg says.... Of course,” she rambled on, “the stork went away, but the Jew baby—to make a long story short, he’s with––”

“His ma, eh, dear?” interjected Lafe. “How’s Peg, honey?”

“Oh, she’s fine,” replied Jinnie, “and I’ve a lot to tell you, dearest.”

“Begin,” commanded Lafe, with wide, bright eyes.

Jinnie commenced by telling how lovely the baby was. Of course she didn’t rehearse Peg’s suffering. It wouldn’t do any good. 270

“And the baby looks like you, Lafe,” she observed.

“Does he really?” gasped Lafe, trying to smile.

“He’s got your Jew look ’round his nose,” added Jinnie gravely. “You wanted him to look like you, didn’t you, Lafe?”

“Sure, Jinnie. And now about Peggy? Tell me about Peggy.”

“Peggy’s with us, Lafe––” Jinnie stopped and drew a long breath. “What’d you think? Oh—guess!”

“I couldn’t! Tell me, Jinnie! Don’t keep me waitin’ for good things.”

“Peggy’s in the ‘Happy in Spite’, and I’m learning her all the verses you taught me.”

Then Lafe’s head dropped on his hands and tears trickled through his fingers.

“I wish I could see her,” he groaned deeply.

“When she gets well, you can,” promised Jinnie, “and mebbe the baby.”

Lafe’s head was raised quickly and his eyes sparkled.

“I’d love to see ’em both,” was all he could stammer.

The girl thrust her fingers through the bars to him, and they stood thus, regarding each other in all confidence and faith, until Jinnie dropped his hand.

“Mr. King’s getting well,” she said softly.

“I’m glad, very glad. He don’t think I done it, does he, Jinnie?”

“No, and when I see him I’ll tell him you didn’t.”

And as if that settled it, she turned to go; then hesitating, she smiled upon him.

“Give me four nice kisses, Lafe. I’ll take one to Peg, Bobbie, and the baby, and keep one for myself.” Then after their lips had met through the bars in resounding smacks, Jinnie gasped, “We can’t forget Milly Ann and Happy Pete. Two more, honey!” 271

“God bless you, Jinnie lass,” murmured Lafe, trying to hide his emotion, and then he wheeled quickly back into the falling afternoon light under the window.

Jinnie’s energetic mind was busy with a scheme. She wasn’t sure it would meet with Peg’s approval, but when she arrived home, she sat down beside Mrs. Grandoken.

“Now, Peggy,” she began emphatically, “I want you to pay attention to what I’m saying to you.”

“I will,” said Peggy.

“Lafe wants to see the baby!”

“Now?” asked Mrs. Grandoken, surprised.

“Well, he didn’t say just now, but his eyes asked it, and, Peg, I was wondering if I couldn’t take the little kid up to the jail.”

Peggy shook her head.

“They wouldn’t let you in with ’im,” she objected.

Jinnie thought a long time. Presently she laughed a little, chuckling laugh.

“I know how to get him in there!”

“How?” asked Peggy, incredulously.

“Why, everybody knows I’ve been a shortwood girl. I’ll roll him up in a bundle––”

Peg’s hand sought the little body under the covers protectingly.

“Oh, I won’t hurt him, Peg,” assured Jinnie. “We’ll wrap him up the first fine day! You can do it yourself, dear.”

One week later Jinnie went slowly up the incline that led to the prison. On her back was a shortwood strap filled with brush and small twigs.

“I want to see Lafe Grandoken,” she said.

To surprise Lafe she crept softly along the corridor until she halted at his cell door. She could see him plainly, and the troubled lines were almost erased from between his 272 brows. She was glad of that, for she wanted him to smile, to be “Happy in Spite.”

She called his name and he turned, wheeling toward her.

“I hoped you’d be comin’,” he said, smiling gravely. Then noting the shortwood, he exclaimed, “Have you had to go to work again, lass?”

“Just for to-day,” and Jinnie displayed her white teeth in a broad smile. “I’ve brought you something, Lafe, and I wrapped it up in shortwood.”

The girl carefully slipped the strap from her shoulders and sat down beside it on the floor. Watching eagerly, Lafe peered between the bars, for surely his Peggy had sent him some token of her love. The girl paused and looked up.

“Shut your eyes tight, Lafe,” she commanded playfully.

Lafe closed his eyes, wrinkling down his lids. Then Jinnie lifted the baby and uncovered the small face. The little chap opened his eyes and yawned as the girl held him close to the bars.

“Now, Lafe, quick! Look! Ha! It’s a Jew!”

The cobbler’s eyes flew open, and he was staring squarely into a small, rosy, open-eyed baby face. For a moment he thought he was dreaming—dreaming a dream he had dreamed every night since the thunder storm. He caught at his chin to stay the chattering of his teeth.

“It ain’t him, Jinnie, my Jew baby?” he murmured brokenly.

“Yes, ’tis,” and she laughed. “It’s your own little feller. I brought him to get a kiss from his daddy. Kiss him! Kiss him smack on the mouth, Lafe.”

And Lafe kissed his baby—kissed him once, twice, and three times, gulping hard after each caress. He would never have enough of those sweet kisses, never, never! And as his lips descended reverently upon the smooth, rose-colored 273 skin, Mr. Grandoken laughed, and Jinnie laughed, and the baby, too, wrinkled up his nose.

“Lafe,” Jinnie said tenderly, drawing the baby away, “I knew you wanted to see him; didn’t you?”

Lafe nodded. “An’ I’ll never be able to thank you for this, Jinnie.... Let me kiss him once more.... Oh, ain’t he beautiful?”

Just before the girl wrapped the boy again in the shortwood, she suggested,

“Lafe, what’s against taking him into the ‘Happy in Spite’? He’s happier’n any kid in the whole world, having you for a daddy and Peg for his mother.”

Jinnie thrust the baby’s plump hand through the bars, and Lafe, with tears in his eyes, shook it tenderly, then kissed it.

“Lafe Grandoken, Jr,” he whispered, “you’re now a member of the ‘Happy in Spite’ Club.”

And then Jinnie took the baby back to Peggy.