“Yes, I do,” said Peg. “I hate everybody in the world but you.... Everybody but you, Lafe.”
“What’d you think might make a dress for ’er?” asked Grandoken presently.
Before answering, Peg brought her feet together and looked down at her toes. “There’s them lace curtains ma give me when she died,” she said. “Them that’s wrapped up in paper on the shelf.” 134
Lafe uttered a surprised ejaculation.
“I couldn’t let you do that, Peg,” he said, shaking his head. “Them’s the last left over from your mother’s stuff. Everything else’s gone.... I couldn’t let you, Peggy.”
Mrs. Grandoken gave a shake of defiance.
“Whose curtains be they, Lafe?” she asked. “Be they mine or yourn?”
“Yourn, Peggy dear, and may God bless you!”
All through the night Jinnie had dreadful dreams. The thought of either not going to Mr. King’s or that she might not have anything fit to wear filled the hours with nightmares and worryings. In the morning, after she crawled out of bed and was wearily dressing Bobbie, the little blind boy felt intuitively something was wrong with his friend.
“Is Jinnie sick?” he whispered, feeling her face. “My stars ain’t shinin’ much.”