“Jinnie’s sad,” he murmured. “Bobbie’s stars’re blinkin’ out.”
Mrs. Grandoken and Jinnie had come to an understanding that Bobbie should not know of the cobbler’s trouble, so the strong fingers closed over the little ones, but the girl did not speak. At length she caught a glimpse of Peg, who, with bent head, was stumbling across the tracks. Peggy had failed in her mission! Jinnie knew 254 it because the woman did not look up as she came within sight of the house.
As Mrs. Grandoken entered slowly, Jinnie turned to her.
“You didn’t see him?” she said in a tone half exclamation, half question.
“No,” responded Peg, wearily, sitting down. “I waited ’most two hours for the lawyer, an’ when he come, I begged harder’n anything, but it didn’t do no good. He says I can’t see my man for a long time. I guess they’re tryin’ to make him confess he killed Maudlin.”
Jinnie’s hand clutched frantically at the other’s arm. Both women had forgotten the presence of the blind child.
“He wouldn’t do that,” cried Jinnie, panic-stricken. “A man can’t own up to doing a thing he didn’t do.”
“Course not,” whispered Bobbie, in an awed whisper, and the girl sat down, drawing him to her lap. She could no longer guard her tongue nor hide her feelings. She took the afternoon paper from Mrs. Grandoken’s hand.
“Read about it aloud,” implored the woman.
“It says,” began Jinnie, “Mr. King’s dying.”