"Then it's settled," said Morse, rising. "You go this afternoon at three o'clock to Grandoken's, tell Jinnie what I told you to, get the cobbler into an argument, and I'll do the rest."

"You'll be sure to be there?"

"Of course! What'd you think I am? Keep your mouth shut! Be sure of that."

"Three o'clock, then," said Maudlin, getting up. "So long!" and lifting his wood, he went on his way rejoicing.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

THE MURDER

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 b.u.t.ton 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 pa.s.sionately.

"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 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 pa.s.sing 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.