Every Hand Shall Do Its Share, Quoth Peg

"I don't want to die at all," shivered Jinnie.

Lafe encouraged her with a smile.

"If he finds you," pursued Lafe, "I'd have to give you up. I couldn't do anything else. We might pray 'bout it."

A wistful expression came over Jinnie's face.

"Is praying anything like wishing, cobbler?"

"Somethin' the same," replied Mr. Grandoken, "with this difference--wishin' is askin' somethin' out of somewhere of some one you don't know; prayin' is just talkin' to some one you're acquainted with! See?"

"Yes, I think I do," responded the girl. "Your way is mostly praying, isn't it, Lafe?"

"Prayin's more powerful than wishin', lass," said Lafe. "When I was first paralyzed, I done a lot of wishin'. I hadn't any acquaintance with anybody but Peggy. After that I took up with God, an' He's been awful good to me."

"He's been good to me, too, Lafe, bringing me here."

This seemed to be a discovery to Virginia, and for a few minutes her brain was alive with new hopes. Suddenly she drew her chair in front of Grandoken.

"Will to-morrow ever be to-day, cobbler?"

Lafe looked at the solemn-faced girl with smiling, kindly eyes.

"Sure, kid, sure," he asserted. "When you get done wishin' an' there ain't nothin' left in the world to want, then to-morrow's to-day."

Jinnie smiled dismally. "There'd never be a day, cobbler, that I couldn't think of something I'd like for you--and Peg."

Lafe meditated an instant before replying. Then: "I've found out that we're always happier, kid, when we've got a to-morrow to look to," said he, "'cause when you're just satisfied, somethin's very apt to go smash. I was that way once."