"Kid," she warned. "I want to tell you something before you go any farther in life. You may be smart, but 'tain't no credit to you, 'cause you didn't make yourself. I'm tellin' you this for fear makin' so much money'll turn your head.... Here's your ten cents.... Now go along." After Jinnie had gone, Mrs. Grandoken sat down opposite her husband. "The girl looks awful tired," she offered, after a moment's silence. "She's been earnin' her livin' by the sweat of her brow," replied Lafe, with a wan smile. "Mebbe she'll get used to it," growled Peg. "Of course I don't like her, but I don't want her hurt. 'Twon't make her sick, will it?" "No, she's as strong as a little ox. She's got enough strength in her body to work ten times harder, but Peg----" Here Lafe stopped and looked out to the hill beyond the tracks, "but, Peggy, perhaps we c'n find her somethin' else after a while, when there ain't so much fear of her uncle. To make a long story short, Peg, danger of him's the only thing that'll keep the kid luggin' wood." "I was wonderin'," returned Peg, "if we couldn't get some one interested in 'er--the Kings, mebbe. They're a good sort, with lots of money, an' are more'n smart." Lafe's eyes brightened visibly, but saddened again. He shook his head. "We can't get the Kings 'cause I read in the paper last night they're gone away West, to be gone for a year or more.... It's a good idea, though. Some one'll turn up, sure." "When they do, my man," Peg said quickly, "don't be takin' any credit to yourself, 'cause you hadn't ought to take credit for the plannin' your sharp brains do." As he shook his head, smiling, she left him quickly and shut the door. CHAPTER X ON THE BROAD BOSOM OF THE "HAPPY IN SPITE" Thus for one year Jinnie went forth in the morning to gather her shortwood, and to sell it in the afternoon. Peg always gave her a biscuit to eat during her forenoon's work, and Jinnie, going from house to house later, was often presented with a "hunk of pie," as she afterwards told Lafe. If a housewife gave her an apple, she would take it home to the cobbler and his wife. Late one afternoon, at the close of a bitter day, Jinnie had finished her work and was resting on the door sill of an empty house on an uptown corner. She drew forth her money in girlish pride. Twenty-seven cents was what she'd earned,--two cents more than any day since she began working. This money meant much to Jinnie. She hadn't yet received a kiss from Mrs. Grandoken, but was expecting it daily. Perhaps when two cents more were dropped into her hand, Peggy might, just for the moment, forget herself and unwittingly express some little affection for her.