For a while after receiving permission from the county attorney, she visited Lafe every day. Peggy had seen him only once, being too miserable to stand the strain of going to the jail. But Mrs. Grandoken never neglected sending by the girl some little remembrance to her husband. 263 Perhaps it was only a written message, but mostly a favorite dish of food or an article of his wearing apparel.
One afternoon Bobbie sat by the window with his small, pale face pressed close to the pane. Outside a great storm was raging, and from one end of Paradise Road to the other, rivulets of water rushed down to the lake. Several times that day, when the boy had addressed Mrs. Grandoken, she had answered him even more gruffly than of yore. He knew by her voice she was ill, and his palpitating heart was wrung so agonizingly that he was constantly in tears. Now he was waiting for Jinnie, and the sound of the buffeting rain and the booming roar of heavy thunder thrilled him dismally. To hear Jinnie’s footsteps at that moment would be the panacea for all his grief.
Peg came into the shop, and Bobbie turned slightly.
“Jinnie’s stayin’ awful long at the jail to-day,” said the woman fretfully. “Do you hear her comin’, Bobbie?”
“No,” said Bobbie, “I’ve been stretchin’ my ears almost to the hill to hear her. If she doesn’t come soon, I’ll die—my stars’ve been gone a long time.”
“I wish she’d come,” sighed Mrs. Grandoken.
“Bend over here, Peg,” entreated Bobbie, “I want to touch your eyes!”
Without comment the woman leaned over, and the boy’s fingers wavered over her wrinkled countenance.
“You’re awful sick, dearie,” he grieved, pressing against her. “Can Blind Bobbie do anything?”
Peg dropped her arm around him.