He cried quietly as Jinnie led him into the shadow of a tree.
“Sit here with me,” she invited. “Lay your head on my arm.”
And this time he snuggled to her till the blind eyes and the pursed delicate mouth were hidden against her arm.
“I told you, Bobbie,” Jinnie resumed presently, “I’d let you be Lafe’s little boy, didn’t I?”
“Yes, girl,” replied the boy, sleepily.
“Now wasn’t that awful good of me?”
“Awful good,” was the dreamy answer. “My stars’re glory bright now.”
“And most likely Lafe’ll help you see with your eyes, just like Happy Pete and me!” Jinnie went on eagerly. “All the trees and hundreds of birds, some of ’em yellow 106 and some of ’em red, an’ some of ’em so little and cunning they could jump through the knothole in Peg’s kitchen.... Don’t you wish to see all that?”
The small face brightened and the unseeing eyes flashed upward.
“I’d find my mother, then,” breathed Bobbie.