"Peggy's bark's worser'n her bite," Lafe explained in answer. "She's like a lot of them little pups that do a lot of barkin' but wouldn't set their teeth in a biscuit." "Does that mean," Jinnie asked eagerly, "if she don't get the two dollars to-night, Mrs. Peggy might let me stay?" "That's just what it means," replied Lafe, making loud whacks on the sole of a shoe. "You'll stay, all right." The depth of Virginia's gratitude just then could only be estimated by one who had passed through the same fires of deep uncertainty, and in the ardor of it she flung her arms around the cobbler's neck and kissed him. * * * * * When Lafe, with useless legs, had been brought home to his wife, she had stoically taken up the burden that had been his. At her husband's suggestion that he should cobble, Mrs. Grandoken had fitted up the little shop, telling him grimly that every hand in the world should do its share. And that was how Lafe Grandoken, laborer and optimist, began his life's great work--of cobbling a ray of comfort to every soul entering the shack. Sometimes he would insist that the sun shone brighter than the day before; then again that the clouds had a cooling effect. But if in the world outside Lafe found no comfort, he always spoke of to-morrow with a ring of hope in his voice. Hope for another day was all Lafe had save Peggy, and to him these two--hope and the woman--were Heaven's choicest gifts. Now Peggy didn't realize all these things, because the world, with its trials and vicissitudes, gave her a different aspect of life, and she was not in even her ordinary good humor this day as she prepared the midday meal. Her mind was busy with thoughts of the new burden which the morning had brought. Generally Lafe consulted her about any problem that presented itself before him, but, that day, he had taken a young stranger into their home, and Mrs. Grandoken had used all kinds of arguments to persuade him to send the girl away. Peggy didn't want another mouth to feed. She didn't care for any one in the world but Lafe anyway. When the dinner was on the table, she grimly brought her husband's wheel chair to the kitchen. Virginia, by the cobbler's invitation, followed. "Any money paid in to-day?" asked Peggy gruffly, drawing the cobbler to his place at the table. "No," he said, smiling up at her, "but there'll be a lot to-morrow.... Is there some bread for----for Jinnie, too?" Peggy replied by sticking her fork into a biscuit and pushing it off on Virginia's plate with her finger. Virginia acknowledged it with a shy upward glance. Peg's stolid face and quick, insistent movements filled her with vague discomfort. If the woman had tempered her harsh, "Take it, kid," with a smile, the little girl's heart might have ached less. Lafe nodded to her when his wife left the room for a moment. "That biscuit's Peg's bite," said he, "so she'll bark a lot the rest of the day, but don't you mind."