Mrs. Grandoken looked from her husband to Virginia.
“I want to work like other folks,” the girl burst forth, looking pleadingly at the shoemaker’s wife.
Peggy wiped her arms violently upon her apron, and there flashed across her face an inscrutable expression that Lafe had learned to read, but which frightened the newcomer.
Oh, how Jinnie wanted to do something to help them both! Now, at this moment, when there seemed a likelihood of being industriously useful, Jinnie loved them the more. She was going to work, and into her active little brain came the sound of pennies, and the glint of silver.
“I want to work, Peggy,” she beseeched, “and I’ll make a lot of money for you.”
“Every hand ought to do its share,” observed Peg, stolidly, glancing at the girl’s slender fingers. They looked so small, so unused to hard work, that she turned away. 77 An annoying, gripping sensation attacked her suddenly, but in another minute she faced the girl again.
“If you do it, miss, don’t flounce round’s if you owned the hull of Paradise Road, ’cause it’ll be nothin’ to your credit, whatever you do. You didn’t make yourself.”
At the door she turned and remarked, “You’ve got t’have a shoulder strap to hold the wood, an’ you musn’t carry too much to onct. It might hurt your back.”
“I’ll be careful,” gulped Jinnie, “and mebbe I could help make the strap, eh, Lafe?”
An hour later Jinnie was running a long needle through a tough piece of leather. She was making the strap to peddle shortwood, and a happier girl never breathed.