Peg's Bark

Virginia and Lafe Grandoken sat for some time with nothing but the tick-tack of the hammer to break the silence.

"It bein' the first time you've visited us, kid," broke in the man, pausing, "you can't be knowin' just what'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."