By The Sweat of Her Brow

Lafe uttered a little, "Sh!" and Jinnie, with scarlet face, supplemented, "I mean harder'n anything."

"Sure," replied Lafe, nodding.

"Mr. Bates and his kids were there, but he c'n carry a pile three times bigger'n I can!"

"Well, you're only a child. Sometimes Bates can't sell all he gets, though."

"I sold all mine," asserted Jinnie, brightening.

The cobbler recalled the history of Jinnie's lonely little life--of how during those first fifteen years no kindly soul had given her counsel, and now his heart glowed with thanksgiving as he realized that she was growing in faith and womanliness. He wanted Jinnie to give credit where credit was due, so he said, "You sold your wood because you had a helpin' hand."

Jinnie was about to protest.

"I mean----" breathed Lafe.

"Oh, angels! Eh?" interrupted the girl. "Yes, I sold my last two cents' worth by saying what you told me--'He gives His angels charge over thee'--and, zip! a woman bought the last bundle and gave me a cent more'n I charged her."

"Good!" Lafe was highly pleased. "It'll work every time, an' to make a long story short, it works on boots an' shoes, too."

"Wood's awful heavy," Jinnie decided, irrelevantly.

"Sure," soothed Lafe again. He hesitated a minute, drew his hand across his eyes, and continued, "An', by the way, Jinnie----"

Jinnie's receptive face caused the cobbler to proceed: "I wouldn't have nothin' to do with Bates' son Maudlin, if I was you.... He's a bad lot."