at's made us live this way."

Virginia made a negative gesture and smiled, settling herself
hopefully for a story, but Lafe brought a frightened expression
quickly to her face by his low, even voice, and the ominous meaning of
his words.

"Me an' Peg's awful poor," said he.

"Then mebbe I'd better not stay, Mr. Lafe," faltered Jinnie.

The cobbler threaded his fingers through his hair.

"The shanty's awful small," he interjected, thoughtfully.

"I think it's awful nice, though," offered the girl. Some thought
closed her blue eyes, but they flashed open instantly.

"Cobbler," she faltered, "is Mrs. Peggy mad when she grits her teeth
and wags her head?"

As if by its own volition the cobbler's hammer stayed itself in the
air.

"No," he smiled, "just when she acts the worst is when she's likely to
do her best ... I've knowed Peggy this many a year."

"She was a wee little bit cross to me," commented the girl.

"Was she? I didn't hear anything she said."

"I'll tell you, then, Mr. Lafe," said Virginia. "When I was standing
by the fire warming my hands, she come bustling out and looked awful
mad. She said something about folks keeping their girls to home."

"Well, what after that?" asked the cobbler, as Jinnie hesitated.

"She said she could see me eating my head off, and as long as I had to
hide from my uncle, I wouldn't be able to earn my salt."

"Well, that's right," affirmed the cobbler, wagging his head. "You got
to keep low for a while. Your Uncle Morse knows a lot of folks in this
town."

"But they don't know me," said Virginia.

"That's good," remarked Lafe.

As he said this, Peg opened the door roughly and ordered them in to
breakfast.

Virginia sat beside the cobbler at the meager meal. On the table were
three bowls of hot mush. As the fragrant odor rose to her nostrils,
waves of joy crept slowly through the young body.

"Peggy 'lowed you'd be hungry, kid," said the cobbler, pushing a bowl
in front of her.

Mrs. Grandoken interrupted her husband with a growl.

"If I've any mem'ry, you 'lowed it yourself, Lafe Grandoken," she
muttered.

A smile deepened on the cobbler's face and a slight flush rose to his
forehead.

"I 'lowed it, too, Peggy dear," he said.

"Eat your mush," snapped the woman, "an', Lafe, don't 'Peggy dear' me.
I hate it; see?"

Virginia refused to believe the startling words. She would have
adored being called "dear." In Lafe's voice, great love rang out; in
the w