“What is it, Lafe?... Something great?”
“Yes, something great, lassie, and in God’s name most wonderful.”
Before Jinnie’s world of imagery passed all the good she had desired for Lafe. His softly spoken, “In God’s name most wonderful,” thrilled her from head to foot.
“And you’ve been keeping it from me, Lafe,” she chided gently. “Please, please, tell me.”
Lafe sat back in the wheel chair and closed his eyes. 146 “Wait, child,” he breathed hesitatingly. “Wait a minute!”
As Jinnie watched him, she tried to stifle the emotion tugging at her heart—to keep back the tears that welled into her eyes. Perhaps what he had to tell her would make her cry. Jinnie hoped not, for she disliked to do that. It was so childlike, so like Blind Bobbie, who always had either a beatific smile on his pale lips, or a mist shining in his rock-gray eyes.
At length Lafe sighed a long, deep-drawn sigh, and smiled.
“Jinnie,” he began––
“Yes, Lafe.”
“I’ve been wonderin’ if you remember the story of the little feller God sent to Peg an’ me—the one I told you would a been six years old.”