Then Peggy had to be told, and when the amount of money was mentioned and Jinnie said:
“It’ll all be yours, Peggy, when I get it,”
Mrs. Grandoken grunted:
“You didn’t make your insides, lassie. It ain’t to your credit you can fiddle, so don’t get stuck up.”
Jinnie laughed gaily and went to the kitchen, where for two hours, with Bobbie curled up in the chair holding Happy Pete, she brought from the strings of the instrument she loved, mournful tunes mingled with laughing songs, such as no one in Bellaire had ever heard.
Over and over, as Lafe listened, he wondered where and how such music could be born in the child—for Jinnie, to the lame cobbler, would always be a little, little girl.
Later Jinnie went to the store, and when Peggy had watched her cross the street, she sat down in front of her husband.
“Lafe,” she said, “what’s the kid goin’ to wear to King’s?... She can’t go in them clothes she’s got on.”
Lafe looked up, startled.
“Sure ’nough; I never thought of that,” he answered. “An’ I don’t believe she has uther.”