Lafe began to work desperately.
“It means just this, kid. I’ve got a little club all my own, an’ I’ve named it ‘Happy in Spite.’” His eyes gathered a mist as he whispered, “Happy in spite of everything that ain’t just what I want it to be. Happy in spite of not walkin’—happy in spite of Peg’s workin’.”
Virginia raised unsmiling, serious eyes to the speaker.
“I want to come in your club, too, Lafe,” she said slowly. “I need to be happy in spite of lots of things, just like you, cobbler.”
A long train steamed by. Jinnie went to the window, and looked out upon it. When the noise of the engine and the roar of the cars had ceased, she whirled around.
“Cobbler,” she said in a low voice, “I’ve been thinking a lot since yesterday.”
“Come on an’ tell me about it, lassie,” said Lafe.
She sat down, hitching her chair a bit nearer him, leaned her elbow on her knee, and buried a dimpled chin in the palm of her hand.
“Do you suppose, Lafe, if a girl believed in the angels, anybody could hurt her?”
“I know they couldn’t, kid, an’ it’s as true’s Heaven.”