The fifth day of Jinnie's stay in the cobbler's home crept out of the cold night accompanied by the worst blizzard ever known along the lake. Many times, if it had not been for the protecting overhanging hills, the wood gatherers' huts would have been swept quite away. As it was, Jinnie felt the shack tremble and sway, and doubted its ability to withstand the onslaught. After breakfast found Lafe and Jinnie conversing interestedly in the shop. The cobbler allowed several bright nails to fall into his palm before he answered the question which was worrying the girl. "There ain't no use troublin' about it, child," commented he. "We can't starve." "If I could only work," said Jinnie gloomily, "I bet Peg'd soon like me, because she wouldn't have to go out in the cold at all. But you think it'd be bad for me, eh, Lafe?" "Well, you couldn't go around to the factories or stores very well," replied Lafe. "You see your uncle's tryin' to trace you. I showed you that this mornin' in the paper, didn't I, where he mourned over you as lost after findin' your father dead?" Jinnie nodded. "Yes, I read it," she said. "An' he can't get your money for seven years. That makes him madder'n a hatter, of course." "If he'd let me alone, I'd just as soon give him the money," Jinnie said mournfully. Lafe shook his head. "The law wouldn't let you, till you was of age. No, sir, you'd either have to die a natural death or--another kind, an' you're a pretty husky young kid to die natural." "I don't want to die at all," shivered Jinnie. Lafe encouraged her with a smile. "If he finds you," pursued Lafe, "I'd have to give you up. I couldn't do anything else. We might pray 'bout it." A wistful expression came over Jinnie's face. "Is praying anything like wishing, cobbler?" "Somethin' the same," replied Mr. Grandoken, "with this difference--wishin' is askin' somethin' out of somewhere of some one you don't know; prayin' is just talkin' to some one you're acquainted with! See?" "Yes, I think I do," responded the girl. "Your way is mostly praying, isn't it, Lafe?" "Prayin's more powerful than wishin', lass," said Lafe. "When I was first paralyzed, I done a lot of wishin'. I hadn't any acquaintance with anybody but Peggy. After that I took up with God, an' He's been awful good to me." "He's been good to me, too, Lafe, bringing me here." This seemed to be a discovery to Virginia, and for a few minutes her brain was alive with new hopes. Suddenly she drew her chair in front of Grandoken. "Will to-morrow ever be to-day, cobbler?" Lafe looked at the solemn-faced girl with smiling, kindly eyes. "Sure, kid, sure," he asserted. "When you get done wishin' an' there ain't nothin' left in the world to want, then to-morrow's to-day." Jinnie smiled dismally. "There'd never be a day, cobbler, that I couldn't think of something I'd like for you--and Peg." Lafe meditated an instant before replying. Then: