136CHAPTER XIXTHE LITTLE FIDDLER
Jinnie’s heart was skipping about like a silly little kitten as she sat watching Peg’s stiff fingers making large stitches in the lace.
“Oh, Peg, isn’t it lovely? Perfectly beautiful! Nobody ever had a dress like that!... My, Peggy! How your fingers fly!”
Peg’s face was noncommittal to the point of blankness.
“Tain’t no credit to me what my hands do, Miss Jinnie,” she said querulously. “I didn’t make ’em.”
The girl’s happiness was absolutely complete. The dress would be finished and Sunday evening––oh, Sunday evening! Then she walked restlessly to the window and studied the sky.
“I hope it doesn’t rain to-morrow!... Oh, Peggy, don’t you hope so too?” Mrs. Grandoken glowered at her.
“Kid,” she said, “come away from that window. You been doin’ nothin’ but wishin’ ’twon’t rain all day. You’ll wear out the patience of the Almighty; then he’ll make it rain an’ soak you through a-purpose.”
“I don’t know which I like best, Lafe,” the girl remarked presently, turning to the cobbler, “the red roses or the yellow.”
Bobbie came to Jinnie’s side and fingered the lace.
“Tell me how the dress looks, dear,” he whispered, tugging at her sleeve.
“YOU NEEDN’T FEEL SO GLAD NOR LOOK AS IF YOU WAS GOIN’ TO TUMBLE OVER. IT AIN’T NO CREDIT TO ANYONE THEM CURTAINS WAS ON THE SHELF WAITIN’ TO BE CUT UP IN A DRESS FOR YOU TO FIDDLE IN.”
“YOU NEEDN’T FEEL SO GLAD NOR LOOK AS IF YOU WAS GOIN’ TO TUMBLE OVER. IT AIN’T NO CREDIT TO ANYONE THEM CURTAINS WAS ON THE SHELF WAITIN’ TO BE CUT UP IN A DRESS FOR YOU TO FIDDLE IN.”
137
“Sure,” agreed Jinnie. “Feel right here! Well, that’s a beautiful red rose and here’s a yellow one.” She took his small finger and traced it over a yard of lace. “Feel that?”
“Yes,” murmured Bobbie.
“Well, that’s a green vine running up and down, and all around among the roses.”
“Oh, my!” gasped Bobbie. “Red and yellow. That’s how the sun looks when it’s goin’ down, ain’t it? And green’s like the grass, eh?”
“Just the same,” replied Jinnie, laughing.
“It’s a beauty,” supplemented Lafe, glowing with tenderness. “There won’t be a dress at that party that’ll beat it.”
Mrs. Grandoken shook out the voluminous folds of lace.
“Anybody’d think to hear you folks talk that you’d made these rag tags with your toe nails,” she observed dryly. “The smacking of some folks’ lips over sugar they don’t earn makes me tired! Laws me!... Now I’ll try it on you, Jinnie,” she ended.
Jinnie turned around and around with slow precision as Mrs. Grandoken ascertained the correct hanging of the skirt. When the last stitches had been put in, and the dress lay in all its gorgeous splendor across the chair, Peg coughed awkwardly and spoke of shoes.
“You can’t wear them cowhides with lace,” said she.
“I might make a pair if I had a day and the stuff,” suggested Lafe, looking around helplessly.
“Ain’t time,” replied Peg. And of course it was she who gave Jinnie some money taken from a small bag around her neck and ordered her to the shop for shoes.
“She ought to have a fiddle box,” Lafe suggested.
“There ain’t ’nough money in the house for that,” replied Peg—“but I’ll give her a piece of the curtains to wrap it up in.”138
“That’ll look better’n a box,” smiled Lafe. “I’m a happy cobbler, I am.”
When Jinnie returned with a pair of low black slippers, no one noticed that they weren’t quite what should have been worn with a lace frock. Contentment reigned supreme in the Grandoken home that day.
Sunday evening at seven Jinnie displayed herself to Lafe. The cobbler gave a contented nod.
“You and the dress’re beautiful,” he ruminated. “Wonderful!... Kiss me, Jinnie!”
She not only kissed Lafe, but Bobbie, Happy Pete, and Milly Ann, too, came in for their share. Peg looked so sour, so forbidding, that Jinnie only faltered,
“Much obliged, Peggy darling.... Oh, I’m so happy!” She stood directly in front of Mrs. Grandoken. “Aren’t you, dear?” she besought.
“We’re all glad, lass,” put in the cobbler.
Jinnie’s blue, blue eyes were seeking approbation from the gaunt, frowning woman.
“None of you’ve got the sense of my bedpost,” snapped Peg, sniffing the air. “Get along. They’re waitin’ for you.”
Jinnie arrived in great excitement at Theodore King’s door. She stumbled up the stone steps of the mansion with the fiddle carefully wrapped under her arm.
“Is Mr. King here?” she asked of the maid, hesitatingly.
She stood very still, scarcely breathing, until they called the master of the house, and as Theodore’s eyes fell upon the lace dress, with its red and yellow roses and green vines running the length of the slim young figure, he smoothed away a smile that forced itself to his lips.139
Out of gratitude to Peggy, Jinnie felt she ought to speak of the frock, so with an admiring glance downward, she confided:
“Peggy made my dress out of her dead mother’s curtains, and gave me this piece for my fiddle.... Wasn’t it lovely of her?”
The pleading, soulful, violet eyes stirred Theodore King with a new sensation. He had passed unscathed through the fires of imploring, inviting glances and sweet, tempting lips, nor yet realized that some day this black-haired girl would call him to a reckoning.
“It’s very pretty, very pretty,” he affirmed hurriedly. “I’m glad you’re here.... Just wait for a moment. I’ll come back for you.”
There was a fixed line between his handsome eyes as he faced his guests. Theodore couldn’t analyze his feelings toward Jinnie, but he was determined none should make sport of her.
“I’ve prepared a great treat for you,” he stated, smiling, “but I want to ask you to overlook anything that may seem incongruous, for the musician is very sensitive.”
Then he went back for Jinnie, and she followed him into the large room. The gorgeous red and yellow roses in the limply hanging blouse lent a color to her sunburned skin.
“You may play anything you like,” Theodore whispered.
“All right,” nodded Jinnie.
She unwrapped the fiddle and tuned it with nimble fingers. Not until she placed the instrument under her chin did she raise her head. Her eyes went searchingly from face to face of the attentive assembly. It so happened that they fell upon a crown of golden hair above a pair of dark eyes she vividly remembered. The glance took her back to that night more than two years before—to the night when her father died.140
Molly Merriweather was seated in queenly fashion in one of the large chairs, a questioning look stealing over her countenance. Jinnie smiled at her and began to play. It might have been the beautiful woman opposite that brought forth the wild hill story, told in marvelous harmonies. The rapt young face gave no sign of embarrassment, for Jinnie was completely lost in her melodious task. Above the dimpled chin that hugged the brown fiddle, Theodore King could see the brooding genius of the girl, and longed to bring a passionate lovelight for himself into the glorious eyes. The intensity of the music established in him an unconquerable hope—a hope that could not die as long as life was in him, as long as life was in the little fiddler.
As Jinnie finished with dramatic brilliancy, great applause and showers of congratulations fell upon her ears. Theodore went to her quickly.
“Wonderful! Splendid, child!” he declared joyously. “You’re a genius!”
His words increased her joy—his compelling dark eyes added to her desire to do her best.
She meditated one moment. Then thoroughly unconscious of herself, turned and spoke to the audience.
“I’ll play about fairies ... the ones who live in the woods and hide away in the flowers and under the leaves.”
Once more she began to play. She believed in fairies with all her heart and had no doubt but that every one else did. Under the spell of her music and her loveliness, imaginary elves stole from the solitude of the summer night, to join their tiny hands and dance to the rhythm of her song.
As she lowered her violin and looked around, she saw astonishment on the faces of the strangers about her. A deathlike hush prevailed and Jinnie could hear the feverish141blood as it struck at her temples. Into her eyes came an unfathomable expression, and Theodore King, attracted by their latent passion, went rapidly to her.
“It’s exquisite!” he said vehemently. “Can’t you see how much every one likes it?”
“Do you?” queried Jinnie, looking up at him.
“I love it, child; I love it.... Will you play again, please?”
A flame of joy suffused her as again she turned to the open-eyed crowd.
“Once,” she informed them, “a big lion was hurt in the forest by lightning.... This—is—how he died.”
She slowly raised the instrument, and sounded a vibrant, resonant, minor tone, measured, full and magnificent. Each listener sank back with a sigh.
Jinnie knew the mysteries of the forest as well as a singer knows his song, and she had not presented ten notes to the imagination of Theodore’s friends before they were carried away from the dainty room in which they sat—away into a dense woodland where, for a few minutes, she demonstrated the witching wonders of it. Then she slipped the bow between her teeth and struck the violin strings with the backs of her fingers. The vibrations of impetuous harmony swept softly through the lighted room. Louder and louder was heard the awful fury of approaching thunder, while twinkling string-touches flashed forth the lightning between the sonorous peals.
Jinnie never knew how the fiddle was capable of expressing the cautious tread of the terrified king of beasts in his isolated kingdom, but her listeners beheld him steal cautiously from the underbrush. They saw him crouch in abject terror at the foot of a wide-spreading, gigantic tree, lashing his tail in elemental rage. Then another scintillating flash of lightning, and the beast caught it142full in the face. The slender hand of the little player was poised above the strings for a single vibrating moment, during which she stood in a listening attitude. Then, with the sweep of three slender fingers, the lion’s scream cut the air like a two-edged sword.
Death came on rapidly in deep, resounding roars, and the misery of the cringing, suffering brute was unfolded—told in heart-rending intonations, until at last he gave up his breath in one terror-stricken cry.
Jinnie dropped her hands suddenly. “He’s dead,” she said tremulously. “Poor, poor lion!”
She turned tear-wet eyes to Theodore King.
“Shall I play any more?” she asked, shyly.
The man shook his head, not permitting himself to speak.
“Miss Grandoken has given us a wonderful entertainment,” said he to his friends; then turning to her, he held out his hand, “I want to thank you, Miss Grandoken.”
Many people crowded around her, asking where and how she had learned such music.
Molly the Merry, the mystified expression still on her face, drew near.
Again Jinnie smiled at her, hoping the lovely lips would acknowledge their former acquaintanceship. But as another person, a man, stepped between her and the woman, Jinnie glanced up at him. He was very handsome, but involuntarily the girl shuddered. There was something in the curling of his lips that was cruel, and the whiteness of his teeth accentuated the impression. His eyes filled her with dread.
“Where did you learn that wonderful music?” he smiled.... “I mean the music itself.”
“Out of my heart,” she said simply. “I couldn’t get it anywhere else.”143
“She’s very delightful!” said the stranger, turning to Theodore. “I’ve forgotten her name?”
He was so near her that Jinnie shrank back, and the master of the house noted her embarrassment.
“Her name is Grandoken, Miss Grandoken.... Come,” he said, holding out his hand to Jinnie, and as she placed her fingers in his, he led her away.
A large car was waiting at the front door, and he held her hand in his for a few seconds. The touch of her fingers thrilled him through and through. He noticed her head just reached his shoulder and a conscious desire to draw her to him for one blessed moment surged insistent within him. He dropped her hand suddenly.
“I wish now,” he said, smiling, “I had sent for you to come here before. It was such a treat!”
Jinnie shrank away as he offered her a roll of bills. An unutterable shyness crept over her.
“I don’t want it,” she said, gulping hard. “I’d love to fiddle for you all day long.”
“But you must take it,” insisted King. “Now then, I want to know where you live. I’m coming to see your uncle very, very soon.”
Lafe and his wife were waiting for the girl, and the cobbler noticed Peggy’s eyes were misty as Jinnie gave her the money. Over and over she told them all about it.
“And he’s coming to see you, Lafe,” she cried with a tremulous laugh. “Mr. King says some day I’ll be a great player. Will I, Lafe? Will I, Peggy?”
“You may,” admitted Peggy, “but don’t get a swelled head, ’cause you couldn’t stop fiddlin’ any more’n a bird could stop singin’.... Go to bed now, this minute.”
And as Jinnie slept her happy sleep in Paradise Road, another woman was walking to and fro with a tall man under the trees at Theodore King’s home.144
“I thought I’d scream with laughter when she came in,” said Molly the Merry. “If it hadn’t been for Theo’s warning, I’m sure most of us would.... Did you ever see such a ridiculous dress, Jordan?”
The man was quiet for a meditative moment. “I forgot about the dress when she began to play,” he mused. “The sight of her face would drive all thoughts of incongruity out of a man’s mind.”
“Yes, she’s very pretty,” admitted Molly, reluctantly. “And Jordan, do you know there’s something strangely familiar about her face?... I can’t tell where I’ve seen her.”
“Never mind. The important thing to me is I must have money. Can’t keep up appearances on air.”
“You know I’ll always help you when I can, Jordan.”
“Yes, I know it, and I’ll not let you forget it either.”
The woman gave him a puzzled look and the man caught her meaning.
“You’re wondering why I don’t open offices here, aren’t you? Well, a person can’t do two things at once, and I’ve been pretty busy tracing Virginia Singleton. And when I find her, you know very well I will return every penny I’ve borrowed.”
And later, when Molly went to her room, she walked up and down thoughtfully, trying to bring to her mind the familiar violet eyes and the mass of purple black curls which were the crowning glory of Jinnie Grandoken.
145CHAPTER XXTHE COBBLER’S SECRET
One Sunday morning, Jinnie sat with Lafe in the shop. In hours like these they thoroughly enjoyed themselves. The quietude of these precious Sabbath moments made the week, with its arduous tasks, bearable to the sensitive girl.
For several days past Jinnie had noticed Lafe had something on his mind, but she always allowed him to tell her everything in his own good time. Now she felt the time had come. His gray face, worn with suffering, was shining with a heavenly light as he read aloud from a little Bible in his hand. To-day he had chosen the story of Abraham and Sarah. When he came to the part where Abraham said:
“Lord, if now I have found favor in Thy sight, pass not away, I pray Thee, from Thy servant,” he pronounced the last word with sobbing breath. One quick glance was enough for Jinnie’s comprehension.
She leaned forward breathlessly.
“What is it, Lafe?... Something great?”
“Yes, something great, lassie, and in God’s name most wonderful.”
Before Jinnie’s world of imagery passed all the good she had desired for Lafe. His softly spoken, “In God’s name most wonderful,” thrilled her from head to foot.
“And you’ve been keeping it from me, Lafe,” she chided gently. “Please, please, tell me.”
Lafe sat back in the wheel chair and closed his eyes.146“Wait, child,” he breathed hesitatingly. “Wait a minute!”
As Jinnie watched him, she tried to stifle the emotion tugging at her heart—to keep back the tears that welled into her eyes. Perhaps what he had to tell herwouldmake her cry. Jinnie hoped not, for she disliked to do that. It was so childlike, so like Blind Bobbie, who always had either a beatific smile on his pale lips, or a mist shining in his rock-gray eyes.
At length Lafe sighed a long, deep-drawn sigh, and smiled.
“Jinnie,” he began––
“Yes, Lafe.”
“I’ve been wonderin’ if you remember the story of the little feller God sent to Peg an’ me—the one I told you would a been six years old.”
“Yes, I remember, Lafe.”
“An’ how good Peggy was––”
“Oh, how good Peggy always is!” interjected Jinnie.
“Yes,” breathed Lafe, dreamily. “May God bless my woman in all her trials!”
Jinnie hitched her chair nearer his and slipped her arm about his neck soothingly.
“She doesn’t have trials you don’t share, Lafe,” she declared.
Lafe straightened up.
“Yes, Peg has many, lassie, I can’t help ’er with, an’ she’ll have a many more. To get to tell you something, Jinnie, I asked Peg to take Bobbie out with ’er. We can’t turn the little feller from the club room when he ain’t out with Peg; can we, Jinnie?”
“Of course not,” agreed Jinnie, nodding.
“So when Peg said she was goin’ out,” proceeded Lafe, gravely, “I says, thinkin’ of the things I wanted to say147to you, I said to Peggy, ‘Take the little blind chap along with you, Peggy dear,’ an’ without a word she put the youngster into his clothes an’ away they went.”
Jinnie’s curiosity was growing by the minute.
“And you’re going to tell me now, Lafe?”
“An’ now I’m goin’ to tell you, Jinnie.”
But he didn’t tell her just then. Instead he sat looking at her with luminous eyes, and the expression in them—that heavenly expression—compelled Jinnie to kneel beside him, and for a little while they sat in silence.
“Dear child,” Lafe murmured, dropping a tender hand on her shining head, “dear, dear girl!”
“It must be a joyful thing, Lafe, for your face shines as bright as Bobbie’s stars.”
“I’m blessed happy to-day!” he sighed, with twitching lips.
Jinnie took his hand in hers and smoothed it fondly.
“What is it, Lafe, dear?” she asked.
“Do you want to kneel while I tell you?” queried the cobbler.
“Yes, right here.”
“Then look right at me, Jinnie lass!”
Jinniewaslooking at him with her whole soul in her eyes.
“I’m looking at you, Lafe,” she said.
“An’ don’t take your eyes from me; will you?”
“Sure not!”
It must be a great surprise for Lafe to act like this, thought the girl.
“Lassie,” commenced Lafe, “I want you to be awful good to Peggy.... It’s about her I’m goin’ to speak.”
Jinnie sank back on the tips of her toes.
“What about Peg? There isn’t––”
“Dear Peggy,” interrupted Lafe softly, his voice quick148with tears, “dear, precious Peggy!” Then as he bent over Jinnie and Jinnie bent nearer him, Lafe placed his lips to her ear and whispered something.
She struggled to her feet, strange and unknown emotions rising in her eyes.
“Lafe!” she cried. “Lafe dear!”
“Yes,” nodded the cobbler. “Yes, if you want to know the truth, the good God’s goin’ to send me an’ Peg another little Jew baby.”
Jinnie sat down in her chair quite dazed. Lafe’s secret was much greater than she had expected! Much!
“Tell me about it,” she pleaded.
Keen anxiety erased the cobbler’s smiling expression.
“Poor Peggy!” he groaned again. “She can’t see where the bread’s comin’ from to feed another mouth, but as I says, ‘Peggy, you said the same thing when Jinnie came, an’ the blind child, an’ this little one’s straight from God’s own tender breast.’”
“That’s so, Lafe,” accorded Jinnie, “and, Oh, dearie, I’ll work so hard, so awful hard to get in more wood, and tell me, tell me when, Lafe; when is he coming to us, the Jew baby?”
Lafe smiled at her eagerness.
“You feel the same way as I do, honey,” he observed. “The very same way!... Why, girlie, when Peg first told me I thought I’d get up and fly!”
“I should think so, but—but—I want to know how soon, Lafe, dear.”
“Oh, it’s a long time, a whole lot of weeks!”
“I wish it was to-morrow,” lamented Jinnie, disappointedly. “I wonder if Peg’ll let me hug and kiss him.”
“Sure,” promised Lafe, and they lapsed into silence.
At length, Jinnie stole to the kitchen. She returned with her violin box and Milly Ann in her arms.149
“Hold the kitty, darling,” she said softly, placing the cat on his lap. “She’ll be happy, too. Milly Ann loves us all, Milly Ann does.”
Then she took out the fiddle and thrummed the strings.
“I’m going to play for you,” she resumed, “while you think about Peggy and the—and—the baby.”
The cobbler nodded his head, and wheeled himself a bit nearer the window, from where he could see the hill rise upward to the blue, making a skyline of exquisite beauty.
Jinnie began to play. What tones she drew from that small brown fiddle! The rapture depicted in her face was but a reflection of the cobbler’s. And as he meditated and listened, Lafe felt that each tone of Jinnie’s fiddle had a soul of its own—that the instrument was peopled with angel voices—voices that soothed him when he suffered beyond description—voices that now expressed in rhythmical harmony the peace within him. Jinnie was able to put an estimate on his moods, and knew just what comfort he needed most. Until that moment the cobbler’s wife had seemed outside the charm of the beloved home circle. But to-day, ah, to-day!—Jinnie’s bow raced over the strings like a mad thing. To-day Peggy Grandoken became in the girl’s eyes a glorified woman, a woman set apart by God Himself to bring to the home a new baby.
Jinnie played and played and played, and Theodore in spirit-fancy stood beside her. Lafe thought and thought and thought, while Peggy walked through his day dreams like some radiant being.
“A baby––my baby, in the house,” sang the cobbler’s heart.
“A baby, our baby, in the house,” poured from Jinnie’s soul, and “Baby, little baby,” sprang from the fiddle over and over, as golden flashes of the sun warms the earth. Truly was Lafe being revivified; truly was Jinnie! Theodore150King! How infinitely close he seemed to her! How the memory of his smile cheered and strengthened her!
From the tip of the fiddle tucked under a rounded chin to the line of purple-black hair, the blood rushed in riotous confusion over the fiddler’s lovely face. What was it in Lafe’s story that had brought Theodore King so near?
Jinnie couldn’t have told, but she was sure the fiddle knew. It was intoning to Lafe—to her—the language of the birds and the mystery of the flower blossoms, the invisible riddles of Heaven and earth, of all the concealed secrets beyond the blue of the sky; all the panorama of Nature strung out in a wild, sweet forest song. Jinnie had backed against the wall as she played, and when out of her soul came the twitter of the morning birds, the babbling of the brook on its way to the sea, the scream of the owl in a high woodland tree, Lafe turned to watch her, and from that moment until she dropped exhausted into a chair, he did not take his eyes from her.
“Jinnie!” he gasped, as he thrust forth his hand and took hers. “You’ve made me happier to-day’n I’ve been in many a week. Peg’ll be all right.... Everybody’ll be all right.... God bless us!”
Jinnie sat up with bright, inquiring eyes.
“Did you tell Peg I was to know about––”
“About our baby?” intervened Lafe tenderly.
He dwelt lovingly on those precious words.
“Yes, about your baby,” repeated Jinnie.
“Yes, I told ’er, dear. I said you’d want to be happy too.”
“I’m so glad,” sighed Jinnie, reverently. “Look!... Peg’s coming now!”
They both watched Mrs. Grandoken as she stolidly crossed the tracks, leading Bobbie by the hand.
And later Jinnie hovered over Peggy in the kitchen.151The woman had taken on such a new dignity. She must be treated with the greatest and most extra care. If Jinnie had done what she craved, she’d have bounded to Peg and kissed her heartily. Of course that wouldn’t do, but talk to her she must,
“Peggy,” she said softly, tears lurking in her eyes.
Peg looked at her without moving an eyelash. Jinnie wished she would say something; her task would be so much easier.
“Peggy,” she begged again.
“Huh?”
“Lafe told me, dear,” and then she did something she hadn’t done with Lafe; she began to cry, just why, Jinnie didn’t know; Peg looked so sad, so distant, and so ill.
It was probably Jinnie’s tears that softened Peg, for she put her hand on the girl’s shoulders and stood silent. After the first flood of tears Jinnie ventured:
“I’m awful happy, Peggy dear, and I want you to know I’m going to work harder’n I even did for Blind Bobbie.... I will, Peg, I promise I will.... Kiss me, Oh, kiss me, dear!”
Peggy bent over and kissed the upturned, tearful face solemnly. Then she turned her back, beginning to work vigorously, and Jinnie returned to the shop with the kiss warm on her cheek.
152CHAPTER XXITHE COMING OF THE ANGELS
“You’d better make it a special prayer, Lafe,” said Jinnie, a little pucker between her eyes. “Every day I’m more’n more afraid of Maudlin.”
“I will, honey, an’ just pop into Bates’ cottage an’ tell Maudlin’s pa to run in the shop.... Go long, lass, nobody’ll hurt you.”
After leaving Lafe’s message at the Bates’ cottage, Jinnie stepped from the tracks to the marshes with a joyful heart. Of course nothing could harm her! Lafe’s faith, mingled with her own, would save her from every evil in the world.
When Bates opened the shop door, the cobbler looked up gravely. He nodded his head to Jasper’s, “Howdy do, Grandoken?”
“Sit down,” said Lafe.
“Jinnie says you wanted me.”
“Yes, a few minutes’ chat; that’s all!”
“Spit it out,” said Bates.
Lafe put down his hammer with slow importance.
“It’s this way, Jasper. Maudlin’s––”
“What’s Maudie done now?” demanded Bates, lighting his pipe.
“He’s been botherin’ my girl, that’s what,” responded Lafe.
“Jinnie?”153
“Sure. She’s all the girl I got.... Maudlin’s got to stop it, Bates.”
A cruel expression flitted over Jasper’s face.
“I ain’t nothin’ to do with Maudlin’s love affairs,” said he. “Jinnie could do worse’n get him, I’m a guessin’! Maudie adds up pretty good, Maudie does!”
Lafe shook his head with a grim serenity that became the strained white face.
“His addin’ up ain’t nothin’ to his credit, Jasper,” he protested. “He’s as crooked as a ram’s horn an’ you know it. If you don’t, take my word for it! There ain’t nothin’ doin’ for him far’s Jinnie’s concerned!... I sent for you to bargain with you.” Jasper pricked up his ears. The word “bargain” always attracted him.
“Well?” he questioned.
“You keep your boy from my girl and I’ll do all your family cobblin’ for nothin’ till Jinnie’s a woman.”
Bates leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.
“It’s a bargain, all right. Them kids of mine do wear out the soles of their shoes some. But, Lafe, I can’t tag Maudlin around all day.”
Lafe took up his hammer.
“Lick him if he won’t mind you, Bates. He’s got to let my girl be, and that’s all there is to it.”
Saying this, he started to work, giving the shortwood gatherer his dismissal. Bates left his chair thoughtfully.
“I’ll talk to Maudie,” said he, “but he’s an onery kid; has been ever since his mother died. He don’t git along with his stepma very well, and she’s got such a lot of little kids of ’er own she ain’t time to train no hulk of a boy like Maudlin.”
Pausing a moment, he went on, “Maudlin’s been madder’n hell because that duffer King’s been haulin’ Jinnie’s wood. He says––”154
“It ain’t any of Maudlin’s business who helps Jinnie,” interrupted Lafe. “If you got any shoes needin’ fixin’, tote ’em over, Jasper.”
Bates left the shop and Lafe fell to work vigorously.
Maudlin Bates stood at the path leading to the marshes. He was waiting for Jinnie to appear with her load of shortwood. To the young wood gatherer, a woman was created for man’s special benefit, and a long time ago he had made up his mind that Jinnie should be his woman.
He was leaning against a tree when the girl came in sight, with her wood-strap on her shoulders. She paid no attention to him, and was about to turn into Paradise Road when the man stepped in front of her.
“Wait a minute, Jinnie,” he wheedled.
Jinnie threw him a disdainful glance.
“I can’t wait. I’m in a hurry,” she replied, and she hoped the fellow would go on before the car arrived.
Young Bates’ face was crossed by an obstinate expression.
“I’m goin’ to find out,” he said, gruffly, “why you’re ridin’ in rich folks’ motor cars.”
“Isn’t anything to you,” snapped Jinnie.
The wood gatherer came so close that he forced her back a step on the marsh path. Her disdainful eyes had drawn him to her, for, like all men, he could be drawn by the woman who scorned him, and mesmerized by the sheer repulse. By great effort, Jinnie had escaped from Maudlin’s insults for many months, but he had never been quite so aggressive as this! Now she could see the dark blood in his passionate face mount even to the whites of his eyes, those eyes which coveted the youngness of her body, the vitality of her girl life, and all the good within her.155
“Get out of my way!” she said sharply. “You let me alone. I’ve got a right to get my wood hauled if I can.”
“Well, you don’t do it any more,” said Maudlin. “If you’re too lazy to carry your own wood, I’ll help you myself.... You can’t go no more to King’s inhiscar.”
Jinnie turned a pair of glinting blue eyes upon him.
“Who said I couldn’t?” she demanded. “Uncle Lafe lets me.”
“Your Uncle Lafe said you could marry me,” said Maudlin in slow, drawling tones.
Jinnie’s blood boiled up behind her ears. She was eyeing him in bewilderment. Maudlin’s words made her more angry than she’d ever been in her life.
“You lie, you damn fool!” she cried, and then caught her breath in consternation. It was the first oath that had escaped her lips in many a long day, and she felt truly sorry for it. She would tell Lafe of the provocation that caused it and beg to be forgiven. She moved back a step as Maudlin pinched her.
“I don’t lie,” he growled. “You think because you can scrape on a fiddle you’re better’n other folks. Pa an’ me’ll show you you ain’t.”
“You and your pa don’t know everything,” answered Jinnie, wrathfully.
“We know ’nough to see what King’s doin’ all right.”
He made a dive at the girl and laid a rough hand on the shortwood strap.
“Here! Gimme that wood if you’re too lazy to carry it.”
Jinnie turned her eyes up the road. It was time Bennett came. The sound of his motor would be like sweet music in her ears. She jerked the strap away from the man and turned furiously upon him.
“Don’t touch me again, Maudlin Bates.... I don’t interfere with you. I’ll—I’ll––”156
But Maudlin paid no heed to her insistence. He was dragging the strap from her shoulders.
Jinnie’s face grew waxen white, but she held her own for a few minutes. Maudlin was big in proportion to her slenderness, and in another instant her shortwood lay on the ground, and she was standing panting before him.
“Now, then, just to show what kind of a feller I be,” said he, “I’m goin’ to kiss you.”
Jinnie felt cold chills running up and down her back.
“It’s time you was kissed,” went on Maudlin, “and after to-day I’m goin’ to be your man.... You can bet on that.”
He was slowly forcing her backward along the narrow path that led into the marshes. Jinnie knew intuitively he wanted her to turn and run into the underbrush that he might have her alone in the great waste place.
Like a mad creature, she fought every step of the way, Maudlin’s anger rising at each cry the girl emitted.
“I’ll tell my uncle,” she screamed, with sobbing breath.
“You won’t want to tell ’im when I get done with you,” muttered the man. “Why don’t you run? You c’n run, can’t you?”
Oh, if Bennett would only come! She was still near enough to Paradise Road for him to hear her calling.
Maudlin reached out his hand and caught the long curls between his dirty fingers.
“If you won’t run,” he said, “then, that for you!” and he gave a cruel twist to the shining hair, pulling Jinnie almost off her feet.
Then the ruffian turned, slowly dragging her foot by foot into the marshland. She opened her lips, and gave one long scream; then another and another before Maudlin pulled her to him and closed her mouth with a large hand, and Jinnie grew faint with fright and terror.157
They were out of sight now of Paradise Road, still Jinnie struggled and struggled, gripping with both hands at Bates’ fingers jerking at her curls.
Suddenly Lafe’s solemn words surged through her mind. “He has given His angels charge over thee.” Oh God! Dear God! What glorious, blessed words! Lafe’s angels, her angels—Jinnie’s heart throbbed with faith. Once Lafe had told her no one, no, not even Maudlin Bates, could keep her own from her! Her honor and her very life were in the tender hands of the cobbler’s angels. Suddenly in fancy Jinnie saw the whole world about teeming with bright ecstatic beings, and multitudes of them were hurrying through the warm summer air to the Bellaire marshes. They were coming—coming to help her, to save her from a fate worse than death! Her mind reeled under the terrible pain Maudlin was inflicting upon her, and she closed her eyes in agony. With one mighty effort, she dragged her face from the brown, hard hand and screamed at the top of her lungs.
Theodore King swung his car around into Paradise Road with busy thoughts. He had decided to go himself that morning to bring the little fiddler back to his home with the shortwood. He had a plan for Jinnie.
Past the cobbler’s shop sped the big motor, and as it drew up to the marshes, he heard a blood-curdling cry from the depths of the underbrush. In another instant he was out on the ground, dashing along the path. He saw Jinnie and Maudlin before either one of them knew he was near. He saw the fellow pulling the black curls, and saw a hand almost covering the fair young face.
Then Jinnie saw him, and sent him one swift, terrified, appealing glance.158
In the smallest fraction of a second Maudlin was sprawling on the ground, and Theodore was soundly kicking him. Jinnie sank down on the damp moss and began to cry weakly. Her face was scratched from the man’s fingers, her head aching from the strenuous pulling of her hair. Then she covered her eyes with her hands. Godhadsent an angel—she was saved! When Mr. King touched her gently, she sat up, wiping away little streams of blood running down her face and neck.
“Oh, you came,” she sobbed, raising her head, “and oh, I needed you so!”
Theodore lifted her to her feet.
“I should say you did, you poor child! I should certainly think you did.”
Then he turned to Maudlin Bates.
“What, in God’s name, were you trying to do?”
Maudlin, raging with anger, scrambled from the ground.
“Get out o’ here,” he hissed, “an’ mind your own business.”
“When I keep a bully away from a nice little girl, I’m minding my business all right.... What was he trying to do, Jinnie?”
Maudlin walked backward until he was almost in the brush.
“I’m goin’ to marry her,” he said, surlily.
“He isn’t,” cried Jinnie. “Oh, don’t believe him, Mr. King! He says Uncle Lafe said he can marry me, but he can’t.”
Once more Theodore turned on Maudlin, threateningly, his anger riding down his gentleness to Jinnie.
“Now get out of here,” he exclaimed, “and don’t ever let me hear of your even speaking to this child again.”
The shortwood gatherer stood his ground until Theodore, with raised fist, was almost upon him.159
“I said to get out!” thundered Mr. King.
With a baffled cry, Bates turned, rushed back into the marsh, and for several seconds they heard him beating down the brushwood as he ran.
Theodore tenderly drew the girl into Paradise Road.
“I wanted to see your uncle to-day,” he explained, without waiting for the question which he read in Jinnie’s eyes, “so I came over myself instead of sending Bennett.... There, child! Don’t tremble so! Never mind the wood.”
Jinnie hung back.
“I’ve got to sell it to you this afternoon,” she murmured brokenly. “Peg’s got to have the money.”
“We’ve enough at home until to-morrow.... Wait until to-morrow.”
Jinnie looked longingly at the wood.
“Somebody’ll take it,” she objected, “and it’s awful hard to gather.”
A grip of pain stabbed Theodore’s heart. This slender, beautiful girl, rosy with health and genius, should gather wood no more for any one in the world.... To soothe her, he said:
“I’ll come by and pick it up on my way back.... Come along.”
He lifted her into the car, and they moved slowly through Paradise Road, and drew up before the cobbler’s shop.
Lafe put down his hammer as they entered, and bade King take a chair. Jinnie sat weakly on the bench beside Mr. Grandoken. He took her hand, and the loving pressure brought forth a storm of outraged tears.
“’Twas Maudlin, Lafe,” she wept.
Then her arms stole around the cobbler. “The angels sent Mr. King!... Lafe, Lafe, save me from Maudlin! He—he––”160
Theodore King rose to his feet, his face paling. Lafe, smoothing Jinnie’s head now buried in his breast, lifted misty eyes to the young man.
“My poor baby! My poor little girl!” he stammered. “She has much to stand, sir.”
The other man took several nervous turns around the shop. Presently he paused near the cobbler and coughed in embarrassment.
“I’m interested in doing something for your niece, Mr. Grandoken,” said he lamely.
On hearing this, Jinnie lifted her head, and Lafe bowed.
“Thank you, sir,” said he.
“I don’t approve of her going into the marshes alone to gather wood,” continued Mr. King. “She’s too young, too––”
“I don’t uther, sir,” interrupted Lafe sadly, “but we’ve got to live.”
Not heeding the cobbler’s explanation, Theodore proceeded deliberately.
“She plays too well on the violin not to have all the training that can be given her. Now let me be of some service until she is self-supporting.”
Again Lafe repeated, “Thank you, sir, but I don’t think Jinnie could accept money from any one.”
“I don’t see why not! It’s quite customary when a young person is ambitious to receive––”
“Is it, sir?” ejaculated Lafe.
“Indeed yes, and I’ve been making inquiries, and I find there’s a very good teacher on the hill who’ll give her the rudiments.... After that, we’ll see.”
Jinnie was breathing very fast.
“Lessons cost lots of money,” objected Lafe feebly, drawing the girl closer.
“I know that,” interposed Mr. King, “but I want to161pay for them. She ought to take one every day, the teacher says, commencing to-morrow.”
Jinnie stood up. “I couldn’t let you pay for ’em,” she said quickly. “I––”
She sat down again at a motion from Theodore.
“Please don’t object until I have finished,” he smiled at her. “It’s like this: If you study, you’ll be able to earn a lot of money. Then you can return every dollar to me.”
Suddenly it came to her mind to tell him she would have all the money she needed when she should be eighteen.
“I’ll have––” she began, but Lafe, feeling what she was going to say, stopped her. It wasn’t time to confide in any one about the danger hanging over her. He took the matter in his own hands with his usual melancholy dignity.
“Jinnie’ll be glad to let you help her, sir, providin’ you keep track of the money you spend,” he agreed.
The girl could scarcely believe her ears. Suddenly her indignant sense of Maudlin’s abuse faded away, leaving her encouraged and warm with ambition.
Theodore took one more stride around the little room.
“Now that’s sensible, Mr. Grandoken,” he said contentedly. “And before I go, I want you to promise me your niece won’t go into the marshes even once more. I must have your word before I can be satisfied. As it is now, she earns three dollars a week bringing me wood. That I must add to the lesson money––”
Lafe’s dissenting gesture broke off Mr. King’s statement, but he resumed immediately.
“If you’re sensitive on that point, I’ll add it in with the other money. I think it wise to keep our arrangements to ourselves, though.” He stopped, his face changing. “And I—I would like to make you more comfortable here.”162
Lafe shook his head.
“I couldn’t take anything for me and Peggy,” he announced decidedly, “but Jinnie’ll give back all you let her have some day.”
Then Theodore King went away reluctantly.