“I’ve come to see him,” answered Jinnie evasively.
“He’s a cobbler and lives down with the shortwood gatherers there on Paradise Road. Littlest shack of the bunch! He ain’t far from my folks. My name’s Maudlin Bates.” 50
He went very near her.
“Now I’ve told you, you c’n gimme a kiss,” said he.
“I’ll give you a bat,” flung back Jinnie, walking away.
Some distance off she stood looking down the tracks, her blue eyes noting the row of huts strung along the road and extending toward the hills. At the back of them was a marshland, dense with trees and underbrush.
“My father told me Mr. Grandoken was a painter of houses!” Jinnie ruminated: “But that damn duffer back there says he’s changed his work to cobbling. I’ll go and see! I hope it won’t be long before I’m as warm as can be. Wonder if he’ll be glad to see me!”
“It’s the smallest house among ’em,” she cogitated further, walking very fast. “Well! There ain’t any of ’em very big.”
She traveled on through heavy snow, glancing at every hut until, coming to a standstill, she read aloud:
“Lafe Grandoken, Cobbler of Folks’ and Children’s Shoes and Boots.”