If Molly was suffering over the crime which had sent the man she loved to the hospital, Jinnie was going through thrice that agony for the same man. He had almost met his death in coming to tell Lafe of their love, and had been struck down in his mission by an unknown hand. Jinnie knew it was an unknown hand, because just as sure as she lived, so sure was she that Lafe had not committed the crime. The cobbler had explained it all to her, and she believed him. Peggy was dreadfully ill! After her fainting spell, the girl put Mrs. Grandoken to bed, and then went to comfort Bobbie. She found him huddled on his pillow, clasping Happy Pete in his arms. The small face was streaked with tears and half buried from sight.
"Bobbie," called Jinnie softly.
The yellow head came up with a jerk, the flashing grey eyes begging in mute helplessness an explanation for these unusual happenings.
"I'm here, Jinnie. What's the matter with everybody?"
Jinnie lay down beside him.
"Peggy's sick," she said, not daring to say more.
"Where's Lafe?"
An impulsive arm went across the child's body.
"He's gone away for a little while, dear, just for a few days!"
Something in her tones made Bobbie writhe. With the acuteness of one with his affliction, his ears had caught the commotion in the shop.
"But he can't walk, Jinnie. Did he walk?" he demanded.
"No."
"How'd he go, in a motor car?"
"No," repeated the girl.
"Some one took him, then?" demanded Bobbie.
"Yes."
"In a wagon?"
By this time she could feel the tip-tap of his anguished heart against hers.
"Yes," she admitted, but that was all. She felt that to tell the truth then would be fatal to the throbbing young life in her arms.
"Bobbie," she whispered, cuddling him. "Lafe's coming home soon. Be a good boy and lie still and rest. Jinnie'll come back in a few minutes."
She crawled off the bed, and went to the shop door. By main force she had to drag her unwilling feet over the threshold. She stood for two tense minutes scanning the room with pathetic keenness. Then she walked forward and stood beside the bench. It seemed to be sentiently alive with the magnetism of the man who had lately occupied it. Jinnie sat on it, a cry bursting from her white lips. She wanted to be with him, but she had promised to take care of Peggy, and she would rather die than betray that trust. Her eyes fell upon two dark spots upon the floor, one near the door and one almost under her feet. She shuddered as she realized it was blood. Then she went to the kitchen for water and washed it away. This done, she gathered up Lafe's tools, reverently kissing each one as she laid it in the box under the bench. How lonely the shop looked in the gathering gloom! To dissipate the lengthening shadows in the corners, she lighted the lamp. The flickering flame brought back keenly the hours she had spent with Lafe--hours in which she had learned so much. The whole horror that had fallen on the household rushed over her being like a tidal wave over a city. Misery of the most exquisite kind was tearing her heart in pieces, stabbing her throat with long, forklike pains. Tense throat muscles caught and clung together, choking back her breath until she lay down, full length, upon the cobbler's bench.