BOBBIE TAKES A TRIP
Jinnie had been gone two weeks. Nearly every day the postman brought a
letter from the girl to Peggy, and after reading it several times to
herself, she gave it to Blind Bobbie. Mrs. Grandoken had discovered
this was the way to keep him quiet.
One afternoon the boy sat on the front steps of the cobbler's shop,
sunning himself.
"You can hear Jinnie better when she comes," said Peg, as an excuse to
coax him out of doors. "Now sit there till I get back from the
market."
Bobbie had Happy Pete in his arms when he heard strange footsteps
walking down the short flight of steps. He lifted his head as he heard
a voice speak his name.
"Bobbie," it said softly. "Are you Bobbie?"
"Yes," replied the boy tremblingly.
The soft voice spoke again. "Do you want to see Jinnie?"
Bobbie clutched Happy Pete with one arm and struggled up, holding out
a set of slender fingers that shook like small reeds in a storm.
"Yes, I want to see 'er," he breathed. "Do you know where she is?"
"If you'll come along with me, I'll take you to her. Bring the dog if
you like."
"I want to see her to-day," stated Bobbie.
Jordan Morse took Bobbie's hand in his.
"Come on then, and don't make a noise," cautioned the man. "Put down
the dog; he'll follow you."
Once in Paradise Road, he stooped and lifted the slight boyish figure
and walked quickly away. Beyond the turn in the road stood his car. He
placed Bobbie and the dog on the seat beside him, and in another
moment they were speeding toward the hill.
At that moment Jinnie was brooding over her violin. Her fiddle was her
only comfort in the lonely hours. The plaintive tones she drew from it
were the only sounds she heard, save the rushing water in the gorge
and the thrashing of the trees when the wind blew. The minutes hung
long on her hands, and the hours seemed to mock her as they dragged
along in interminable sequence. With her face toward the window, she
passed several hours composing a piece which had been in embryo in her
heart for a long time. The solitude, the grandeur of the scenery, the
wonderful lake with its curves and turns, sometimes made her forget
the tragic future that lay before her.
She was just finishing with lingering, tender notes when Jordan Morse
came quickly through the corridor.
Bobbie stiffened in his arms suddenly.
"I hear Jinnie's fiddle," he gasped. "I'm goin' to my Jinnie."
When the key turned in the lock, the girl came to the door. At first
she didn't notice the blind child, but her name, unsteadily called,
brought her eyes to the little figure. Happy Pete recognized her with
a wild yelp, wriggled himself past the other two, and whiningly
crouched at her feet. Jinnie had them both in her arms before Morse
turned the key again in the lock.
"Bobbie and Happy Pete!" she cried. Then she got up and flashed
tearful eyes upon Morse.
"What did you bring them for? Did you tell Peg?"
"No, I didn't tell Peg and--and I brought him----" he paused and
beckoned her with an upward toss of his chin.
Jinnie followed him agitatedly.
"I brought him," went on Morse, "because I don't just like your
manner. I brought him as a lever to move you with, miss."
Then he left hurriedly, something unknown within him stirring with
life. He decided afterward it was the sight of the blind child's
golden head pressed against Jinnie's breast that had so upset him.
As he drove away, he crushed a desire to return again, to take them
both, boy and girl, back to the cobbler's shop. But he must not allow
his better emotions to attack him in this matter. He had known for a
long time Jinnie could be wielded through her affection for the lad.
He thought of his own child somewhere in the world and what it meant
to him to possess Jinnie's money, and set his teeth. He would bring
the girl to his terms through her love for the slender blind boy.
That day Jinnie wrote a letter to Peg, telling her that Bobbie was
with her, and Happy Pete, too.
The stolid woman had quite given way under the mysterious
disappearance of the boy. When she returned home, she searched every
lane leading to the marshes until dusk. In fact, she stumbled far into
the great waste place, calling his name over and over. He was the last
link that held her to the days when Lafe had been in the shop, and Peg
would have given much if her conscience would cease lashing her so
relentlessly. It eased her anxiety a little when a new resolution was
born in her stubborn heart. If they all came back to the shop, she'd
make up to them in some way for her ugly conduct. With this resolve,
she went home to her own baby, sorrowful, dejected and lonely.
All the evening while Peg was mourning for them, Jinnie sat cuddling
Bobbie, until the night put its dark hood on the ravine and closed it
in a heavy gloom. Happy Pete, with wagging tail, leaned against the
knees of the girl, and there the three of them remained in silence
until Bobbie, lifting his face, said quiveringly:
"Peggy almost died when you went away, Jinnie."
Jinnie felt her throat throb.
"Tell me about it," she said hoarsely.
"There ain't much to tell," replied the child, sighing, "only Peggy
was lonely. She only had me and the baby, and I didn't have any stars
and the baby's got no teeth."
"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.
"I want to be 'Happy in Spite'," the boy went on. But his words
brought before the pale girl that old, old memory of the cobbler who
had invented the club for just such purposes as this. How could she be
'Happy in Spite' when Bobbie suffered; when Peg and baby Lafe needed
her; happy when Lafe faced an ignominious death for a crime he had not
committed; happy when her beloved was perhaps still very ill in the
hospital? She got up and began to walk to and fro. Suddenly she paused
in her even march across the room. Unless she steadied her fluttering,
stinging nerves, she'd never be able to still the wretched boy.
There's an old saying that when one tries to help others, winged aid
will come to the helper. And so it was with Jinnie. She had only again
taken Bobbie close when there came to her Lafe's old, old words: "He
hath given his angels charge over thee."
"Bobbie," she said softly, "I'm going to play for you."
As Jinnie straightened his limp little body out on the divan, she
noticed how very thin he had become, how his heart throbbed
continually, how the agonized lines drew and pursed the sensitive,
delicate mouth.
Then she played and played and played, and ever in her heart to the
rhythm of her music were the words, "His angels shall have charge over
thee." Suddenly there came to her a great belief that out of her faith
and Lafe's faith would come Bobbie's good, and Peg's good, and
especially the good of the man shut up in the little cell. When the
boy grew sleepy, Jinnie made him ready for bed.
"I'll lie down with you, Bobbie," she whispered, "and Happy Pete can
sleep on the foot of the bed."
And as the pair of sad little souls slept, Lafe's angels kept guard
over them.