" quavered the boy.

"No," said Jinnie, helping to settle him on her back.

Then she crawled closer to the rope, took up her skirt and placed it
about the rough hemp. She was afraid to use her bare hands. The rope
might cut and burn them so dreadfully that she'd have to let go. With
a wild inward prayer, she swung off into the air, with the boy, the
dog and the fiddle on her back, and began her downward slide. She
counted the windows as they passed, one, two, three, and then four.
Only a little distance more before she would be upon firm ground. As
her feet touched the plank, she glanced into the street and in that
awful moment saw Jordan Morse crossing the corner diagonally, within
but a few yards of where she stood, terrified.

CHAPTER XLVII

BOBBIE'S STARS RENEW THEIR SHINING

Jinnie stood rooted to the spot, the burden on her back bearing
heavily upon her. She scarcely dared breathe, but kept her startled
eyes upon the advancing man. Her uncle was walking with his head down.
As he approached the building, a terrible shiver passed over the blind
boy.

"The black man's comin'!" he shuddered. "I hear----"

"Hush!" whispered Jinnie, and Bobbie dropped his head and remained
quiet.

The girl's heart was thumping almost as fast as his.

In the oppressive silence she heard Bobbie's faint whisper: "Our--our
Father who art in Heaven," and her own lips murmured: "He has given
his angels charge over thee."

Without raising his eyes, Jordan Morse sprang to the steps and entered
the door.

Jinnie turned her head and almost mechanically watched him disappear.
Then she took one long, sobbing breath.

"Bobbie, Bobbie," she panted, "get down quick!"

The boy slid to the plank, dropping Happy Pete.

Jinnie grasped the child's cold hand in hers, and they ran rapidly to
a thick clump of trees. Once out of sight of the building, she picked
up the little dog and sank down, clutching Bobbie close to her
heart.

The beginning of the second day of Lafe's trial brought a large crowd
to the courthouse. All the evidence thus far given had been against
him, but he sat in his wheelchair, looking quietly from under his
shaggy brows, and never once, with all that was said against him, did
the sweet, benevolent expression change to anger. The cobbler had put
his life into higher hands than those in the courtroom, and he feared
not.

After the morning session, Jordan Morse left the room with a satisfied
smile. He walked