“And the baby? Is he well, dear?” questioned Jinnie.
“Oh, fine!” the boy assured her. “He’s growed such a lot. I felt his face this morning, and oh, my, Jinnie, his cheeks puff out like this!”
Bobbie gathered in a long breath, and puffed out his own thin, drawn cheeks.
“Just like that!” he gasped, letting out the air.
“And Lafe?” ventured Jinnie.
“Lafe’s awful bad off, I guess. Bates’ little boy told me he was going to die––”
“No, Bobbie, no, he isn’t!” Jinnie’s voice was sharp in protestation.
“Yes, he is!” insisted Bobbie. “Bates’ boy told me so! He said Lafe wouldn’t ever come back to the shop, ’cause everybody says he killed Maudlin.”
As the words left his lips, he began to sob. “I want my cobbler,” he screamed loudly, “and I want my beautiful stars!”
“Bobbie, Bobbie, you’ll be sick if you scream that way. There, there, honey!” Jinnie hushed him gently. 298