"That's so, Peg, that's so," he agreed heartily. "But there's always to-morrow, an' after that another to-morrow. With every new day there's always a chance. We've got a chance, an' so's the girl." The woman dropped into a chair, noticing the cobbler's smile, which was born to give her hope. "There ain't much chance for a bit of a brat like her," she snarled crossly, and the man answered this statement with eagerness, because the rising inflection in his wife's voice made it a question. "Yes, there is, Peg," he insisted; "yes, there is! Didn't you say there was hope for me when my legs went bad--that I had a chance for a livin'? Now didn't you, Peggy? An' ain't I got the nattiest little shop this side of way up town?" Peg paused a moment. Then, "That you have, Lafe; you sure have," came slowly. "An' didn't I make full sixty cents yesterday?" "You did, Lafe; you sure did." "An' sixty cents is better'n nothin', ain't it, Peg?" Mrs. Grandoken arose hastily. "Course 'tis, Lafe! But don't brag 'cause you made sixty cents. You might a lost your hands same's your feet. 'Tain't no credit to you you didn't. Here, let me wrap you up better! You'll freeze all that's left of your legs, if you don't." "Them legs ain't much good," sighed the cobbler. "They might as well be off; mightn't they, Peg?" Peggy wrapped a worn blanket tightly about her husband. "You oughter be ashamed," she growled darkly. "Ain't you every day sayin' there's always to-morrow?" This time her voice was toned with finality, and she turned and went out. [Illustration: "I GUESS THEY WON'T EAT MUCH, BECAUSE MILLY ANN CATCHES ALL KIND OF LIVE THINGS. I DON'T LIKE HER TO DO THAT, BUT I HEARD SHE WAS BORN THAT WAY AND CAN'T HELP IT."] CHAPTER VI PEG'S BARK Virginia and Lafe Grandoken sat for some time with nothing but the tick-tack of the hammer to break the silence. "It bein' the first time you've visited us, kid," broke in the man, pausing, "you can't be knowin' just what's made us live this way." Virginia made a negative gesture and smiled, settling herself hopefully for a story, but Lafe brought a frightened expression quickly to her face by his low, even voice, and the ominous meaning of his words. "Me an' Peg's awful poor," said he. "Then mebbe I'd better not stay, Mr. Lafe," faltered Jinnie. The cobbler threaded his fingers through his hair. "The shanty's awful small," he interjected, thoughtfully. "I think it's awful nice, though," offered the girl. Some thought closed her blue eyes, but they flashed open instantly. "Cobbler," she faltered, "is Mrs. Peggy mad when she grits her teeth and wags her head?" As if by its own volition the cobbler's hammer stayed itself in the air. "No," he smiled, "just when she acts the worst is when she's likely to do her best ... I've knowed Peggy this many a year." "She was a wee little bit cross to me," commented the girl. "Was she? I didn't hear anything she said."