The room was small and cheerless, although a fire was struggling for life in a miniature stove. In one corner was a table strewn with papers. Back from the window which faced the tracks was a man, a kit of cobbler's tools, in the disarray of daily use, on the bench beside him. He halted, with his hammer in the air, at the sight of the newcomer.
"Come in and shut the door," said he, and the girl did as she was bidden. "Cold, ain't it?"
"Yes," replied Jinnie, placing the pail and fiddle on the floor.
The girl looked the man over with her steady blue eyes. Then her heart gave one great bound. The grey face had lighted with a sweet, sad smile; the faded eyes, under the bushy brows, twinkled welcome. A sense of wonderful security and friendship rushed over her.
"Well, what's your business? Got some shoes to mend?" asked the man. "Better sit down."
Jinnie took a chair in silence, a passionate wish suffusing her being that this small home might be hers. She was so lonely, so homesick. The little room seemed radiant with the smile of the cobbler. She only felt the wonderful content that flowed from the man on the bench to herself; she wanted to stay with him; never before had she been face to face with a desire so great.
"I've come to live with you," she gulped, at length.
The cobbler gave a quick whack at the little shoe he held in the vise.
"I'm Jinnie Singleton, kid of Thomas Singleton, the second," the girl explained, almost mechanically, "and I haven't any home, so I've come to you."
During this statement the cobbler's hammer rattled to the floor, and he sat eyeing the speaker speechlessly. Then he slowly lifted his arms and held them forth.
"Come here! Lass, come here!" he said huskily. "I'd come to you, but I can't."
In her mental state it took Jinnie a few seconds to gather the import of the cobbler's words. Then she sprang up and went forward with parted, smiling lips, tears trembling thick on her dark lashes. When Jinnie felt a pair of warm, welcoming arms about her strong young shoulders, she shivered in sudden joy. The sensation was delightful, and while a thin hand patted her back, she choked down a hard sob. However, she pressed backward and looked down into Lafe Grandoken's eyes.
"I thought I'd never cry again as long as I lived," she whispered, "but--but I guess it's your loving me that's done it."
It came like a small confession--as a relief to the overburdened little soul.