"Bobbie and Happy Pete!" she cried. Then she got up and flashed tearful eyes upon Morse.
"What did you bring them for? Did you tell Peg?"
"No, I didn't tell Peg and--and I brought him----" he paused and beckoned her with an upward toss of his chin.
Jinnie followed him agitatedly.
"I brought him," went on Morse, "because I don't just like your manner. I brought him as a lever to move you with, miss."
Then he left hurriedly, something unknown within him stirring with life. He decided afterward it was the sight of the blind child's golden head pressed against Jinnie's breast that had so upset him.
As he drove away, he crushed a desire to return again, to take them both, boy and girl, back to the cobbler's shop. But he must not allow his better emotions to attack him in this matter. He had known for a long time Jinnie could be wielded through her affection for the lad. He thought of his own child somewhere in the world and what it meant to him to possess Jinnie's money, and set his teeth. He would bring the girl to his terms through her love for the slender blind boy.
That day Jinnie wrote a letter to Peg, telling her that Bobbie was with her, and Happy Pete, too.
The stolid woman had quite given way under the mysterious disappearance of the boy. When she returned home, she searched every lane leading to the marshes until dusk. In fact, she stumbled far into the great waste place, calling his name over and over. He was the last link that held her to the days when Lafe had been in the shop, and Peg would have given much if her conscience would cease lashing her so relentlessly. It eased her anxiety a little when a new resolution was born in her stubborn heart. If they all came back to the shop, she'd make up to them in some way for her ugly conduct. With this resolve, she went home to her own baby, sorrowful, dejected and lonely.
All the evening while Peg was mourning for them, Jinnie sat cuddling Bobbie, until the night put its dark hood on the ravine and closed it in a heavy gloom. Happy Pete, with wagging tail, leaned against the knees of the girl, and there the three of them remained in silence until Bobbie, lifting his face, said quiveringly: "Peggy almost died when you went away, Jinnie."
Jinnie felt her throat throb.
"Tell me about it," she said hoarsely.
"There ain't much to tell," replied the child, sighing, "only Peggy was lonely. She only had me and the baby, and I didn't have any stars and the baby's got no teeth."