As if leaving a tomb, he went softly from the room and turned the key in the lock with a sigh. Jinnie had relieved him of an awful responsibility. At least fate had taken from his hands a detestable task, at which he had many a time recoiled. So far all of his enemies, with the exception of Theodore King, had one by one been taken away, and he swung himself out of the building with a great burden lifted from his shoulders.
As he passed, Jinnie was still drawing long breaths under the thick bushes, Bobbie's face against her breast, and it was not until she was sure Morse had gone that she ventured to speak.
"We're going to Lafe and Peg, Bobbie," she said. "Can you walk a long way?"
"Yes," gurgled Bobbie, color flaming his face. "My legs'll go faster'n anything."
And "faster'n anything" those thin little legs did go. The boy trotted along beside his friend, down the hill to the flats. Jinnie chose a back street leading to the lower end of the town.
"I'd better carry you a while, dearie," she offered presently, noting with what difficulty he breathed. "You take the fiddle!" And without remonstrance from the boy she lifted him in her arms.
From the tracks Lafe's small house had the appearance of being unoccupied. Jinnie went in, walking from the shop to the kitchen, where she called "Peggy!" two or three times. Then the thought of the cobbler's trial rushed over her. Peggy and the baby were at court with Lafe, of course.
Knowing she must face her uncle in the courtroom, she went to Lafe's black box and drew forth the sealed letter her father had sent to Grandoken. This she hid in her dress, and taking Bobbie and the fiddle, she went out and closed the door.
Another long walk brought them to the courthouse, which stood in solemn stone silence, with one side to the dark, iron-barred jail. Jinnie shivered when she thought of the weary months Lafe had sat within his gloomy cell.
She entered the building, holding Bobbie's hand. Every seat in the room was filled, and a man was making a speech, using the names of Maudlin Bates and Lafe Grandoken.
Then she looked about once more, craning her neck to catch sight of those ahead. Her eyes fell first upon Lafe, God bless him! There he sat, her cobbler, in the same old wheelchair, wearing that look of benign patience so familiar to her. Only a little distance from him sat Peggy, the baby sleeping on her knees. Molly the Merry was seated next to Jordan Morse, whose large white hand nervously clutched the back of the woman's chair.