He's Come To Live With US, Peggy

"I'd find my mother, then," breathed Bobbie.

"And you'd see a big high tree, with a robin making his nest in it!... Have y' ever seen that?"

Jinnie was becoming almost aggressive, for, womanlike, with a point to make, each argument was driven home with more power.

"No," Bobbie admitted, and his voice held a certain tragic little note.

"And you've never seen the red running along the edge of the sky, just when the sun's going down?"

Again his answer was a simple negative.

"And hasn't anybody tried to show you a cow and her calf in the country, nipping the grass all day, in the yellow sunshine?"

Jinnie was waxing eloquent, and her words held high-sounding hope. The interest in the child's face invited her to go on.

"Now I've said I'd let my folks be yours, and didn't I find you, and have you got any one else? If you don't let me help you to Lafe's, how you going to see any of 'em?" She paused before delivering her best point, which was addressed quite indifferently to the sky. "And just think of that hot soup!"

This was enough. Bobbie struggled up, flushed and agitated.

"Put your arm around me, girl," which invitation Jinnie quickly accepted.

Then they two, so unlike, went slowly down the walk toward the tracks to Lafe Grandoken's home.

Jinnie's heart vied with a trip-hammer as they turned into Paradise Road. She did not fear the cobbler, but the thought of Peggy's harsh voice, her ruthless catechizing, worried her not a little. Nevertheless, she kept her arm about the boy, steadily drawing him on. When they came to the side door of the house, the girl turned the handle and walked in, leading her weary companion.