Theodore King rose to his feet, his face paling. Lafe, smoothing Jinnie’s head now buried in his breast, lifted misty eyes to the young man.
“My poor baby! My poor little girl!” he stammered. “She has much to stand, sir.”
The other man took several nervous turns around the shop. Presently he paused near the cobbler and coughed in embarrassment.
“I’m interested in doing something for your niece, Mr. Grandoken,” said he lamely.
On hearing this, Jinnie lifted her head, and Lafe bowed.
“Thank you, sir,” said he.
“I don’t approve of her going into the marshes alone to gather wood,” continued Mr. King. “She’s too young, too––”
“I don’t uther, sir,” interrupted Lafe sadly, “but we’ve got to live.”
Not heeding the cobbler’s explanation, Theodore proceeded deliberately.
“She plays too well on the violin not to have all the training that can be given her. Now let me be of some service until she is self-supporting.”