A more perplexing problem had never faced his paternal soul. After his little son had gone away, there had been no child to love until--and now as he looked at Jinnie, agony surged through him with the memory of that other agony--for she might go to little Lafe.

There came again the stabbing pain born with Peg's tale of the dance.

The white rose lay withered in the cobbler's bosom where it had been since his girl had been carried to what the doctor said would in all probability be her deathbed. It was on nights like this that dead memories, with solemn mien, raced from their graves, haunting the lame man. Even Lafe's wonderful portion of faith had diminished during the past few days. He found himself praying mighty prayers that Jinnie would be spared, yet in mental bitterness visualizing her death. Oh, to keep yet a while within the confines of his life the child he loved!

"Let 'er stay, Lord dear, let my Rose o' Paradise stay," Lafe cried out into the shadowy night, time and time again.

Peggy came, as she often did, to wheel him away and order him to bed, but this evening Lafe told Peg he'd rather stay with Jinnie.

"She looks like death," he whispered unnerved.

"She is almost dead," replied the woman grimly.

The doctor entered with silent tread. Stealing to the bed, he put his hand on the girl's brow.

"She's better," he whispered, smilingly. "Look! Damp! Nothing could be a surer sign!"

"May the good G.o.d be praised!" moaned Lafe.

Jinnie stirred, lifted her heavy lids, and surveyed the room vacantly.

Her glance pa.s.sed over the medical man as if he were not within the range of her vision. She gazed at Lafe only, with but a faint glimmer of recognition, then on to Peg wavered the sunken blue eyes.

"Drink of water, Peggy dear," she whispered.

Mrs. Grandoken dropped the fluid into the open, parched mouth from a spoon; then she bent low to catch the stammering words:

"Did Lafe like the rose, Peggy, and did you get the ring of sausage?"

Peg glanced at the doctor, a question struggling to her lips, but she could not frame the words.

"Tell her 'yes'," said the man under his breath.

"Lafe just doted on the flower, honey," acknowledged Peggy, bending over the bed, "and I cooked all the sausage, an' we two et 'em. They was finer'n silk.... Now go to sleep; will you?"

"Sure," trembled Jinnie. "Put Happy Pete in my arms, dear."

Mrs. Grandoken looked once more at the doctor. He nodded his head slightly.

So with the dog clasped in her arms, Jinnie straightway fell asleep.

Then Peggy wheeled Lafe away to bed, and as she helped him from the chair, she said:

"I lied to her just now with my own mouth, Lafe. I told her we et them sausages. We couldn't eat 'em 'cause they was all mashed up an'

covered with blood."

The cobbler's eyes searched the mottled face of the speaker.

"That kind of lies 're blessed by G.o.d in his Heaven, Peg," he breathed tenderly. "A lie lendin' a helpin' hand to a sick la.s.s is better'n most truths."

Before going to bed Peg peeped in at Jinnie. The girl still lay with her arm over the sleeping Pete, her eyes roving round the room. She caught sight of the silent woman, and a troubled line formed between her brows.

"How're you going to get money to live, Peggy?" she wailed. "I'm just beginning to remember about the dance and getting hurt."

Peggy stood a moment at the foot of the bed.

"Lafe's got a whole pocket full o' money," she returned glibly.

"That's nice," sighed the girl in relief.

"Shut up now an' go to sleep! Lafe's got enough cash to last a month."

And as the white lids drooped over the violet eyes, Peg Grandoken's guardian angel registered another lie to her credit in the life-book of her Heavenly Father.

CHAPTER XIII

WHAT JINNIE FOUND ON THE HILL

The days rolled on and on, and the first warm impulses of spring brought Jinnie, pale and thin, back to Lafe's side.

She was growing so strong that days when the weather permitted, Peg put a wrap on her, telling her to breathe some color into her cheeks.

For a long time Jinnie was willing to remain quietly on the hut steps where she could see the cobbler whacking away on the torn footwear.

She knew that if she looked long enough, he would glance up and smile the smile which always warmed the c.o.c.kles of her loving heart.

As she grew better, and therefore restless, she walked with Happy Pete along the cinder path beside the tracks. Each day she went a little further than the day before, the spirit of adventure beginning to live again within her. The confines of her narrow world were no longer kept taut by the necessity of selling wood, and to-day it seemed to broaden to the far-away hill from whence the numberless fingers of shadow and sunshine beckoned to the sentimental girl.

She wandered through Paradise Road with the little dog as a companion, and finding her way to the board walk, strolled slowly along.

Wandering up above the city, she discovered a lonely spot snuggled in the hills, and gathering Happy Pete into her arms, she lay down. Over her head countless birds sang in the sunshine, and just below, in the hollow, were squirrels, chattering out their happy existence.

Dreamily, through the leaves of the trees, Jinnie watched the white clouds float across the sky like flocks of sheep, and soon the peace of the surrounding world lulled her to rest.

When Happy Pete touched her with his slender tongue, Jinnie sat up, staring sleepily around. At a sound, she turned her head and caught sight of a little boy, whose tangled hair lay in yellow curls on his head.

The sight of tears and boyish distress made Jinnie start quickly toward him, but he seemed so timid and afraid she did not speak.

Suddenly, two slight, twig-scratched arms fluttered toward her, and still without a word Jinnie took the trembling hands into hers. Happy Pete crawled cautiously to the girl's side; then, realizing something unusual, he threw up his black-tipped nose and whined. At the faint howl, the boy's hands quivered violently in Jinnie's. He caught his breath painfully.

"Oh, who're you? Are you a boy or a girl?"

His eyes were touched with an indefinable expression. Jinnie flushed as she scanned for a moment her calico skirt and overhanging blouse.

Then with a tragic expression she released her hands, and ran her fingers through her hair. With such long curls did she look like a boy?

"I'm a girl," she said. "Can't you see I'm a girl?"

"I'm blind," said the boy, "so--so I had to ask you."