110CHAPTER XV“WHO SAYS THE KID CAN’T STAY?”
Twenty minutes later Mrs. Grandoken entered the shop and sat down opposite her husband.
“Lafe,” she began, clearing her throat.
The cobbler questioned her with a glance.
“That girl’ll be the death of this hull shanty,” she announced huskily. “I hate ’er more’n anything in the world.”
Lafe placed a half-mended shoe beside him on the bench.
“What’s ailin’ ’er now, Peggy?”
“Oh, she ain’t sick,” interrupted Peg, with curling lip. “She never looked better’n she does this minute, settin’ in there huddlin’ that pup, but she’s brought home another kid, as bad off as a kid can be.”
“A what? What’d you say, Peg? You don’t mean a youngster!”
Mrs. Grandoken bobbed her head, her face stoically expressionless. “An’ bad off,” she repeated querulously. “The young ’un’s blind.”
Before Lafe’s mental vision rose Jinnie’s lovely face, her parted lips and self-assured smile.
“But where’d she get it? It must belong to some ’un.”
Mrs. Grandoken shook her head.
“I dunno. It’s a boy. He was with a woman—a bad ’un, I gather. She beat ’im until the little feller ran away to find his own folks, he says—and—Jinnie brought ’im home here. She says she’s goin’ to keep ’im.”111
The speaker drew her brown skin into a network of wrinkles.
“Where’d she find ’im?” Lafe burst forth, “Of course he can’t stay––”
Mrs. Grandoken checked the cobbler’s words with a rough gesture.
“Hush a minute! She got ’im over near the plank walk on the hill—he was cryin’ for ’is ma.”
Lafe was plainly agitated. He felt a spasmodic clutch at his heart when he imagined the sorrow of a homeless, blind child, but thinking of Peg’s struggle to make a little go a long way, he dashed his sympathy resolutely aside.
“Of course he can’t stay—he can’t!” he murmured. “It ain’t possible for you to keep ’im here.”
In his excitement Lafe bent forward and closed his hands over Peg’s massive shoulder bones. Peggy coughed hoarsely and looked away.
“Who says the kid can’t stay?” she muttered roughly. “Who said he can’t?”
The words jumped off the woman’s tongue in sullen defiance.
“But you got too much to do now, Peg. We’ve made you a lot of trouble, woman dear, an’ you sure don’t want to take another––”
Like a flash, Peg’s features changed. She squinted sidewise as if a strong light suddenly hurt her sight.
“Who said I didn’t?” she drawled. “Some husbands do make me mad, when they’re tellin’ me what I want, an’ what I don’t want. I hate the blind brat like I do the girl, but he’s goin’ to stay just the same.”
A deep flush dyed Lafe’s gray face. The intensity of his emotion was almost a pain. Life had ever vouchsafed Lafe Grandoken encouragement when the dawn was darkest. Now Peg’s personal insult lined his clouds of fear112with silver, and they sailed away in rapid succession as quickly as they had come; he saw them going like shadows under advancing sun rays.
“Peggy,” he said, touching her gently, “you’ve the biggest heart in all the world, and you’re the very best woman; you be, sure! If you let the poor little kid stay, I’ll make more money, if God gives me strength.”
Peggy pushed Lafe’s hand from her arm.
“I ’spose if you do happen to get five cents more, you’ll puff out with pride till you most bust.... Anyway, it won’t take much more to buy grub for a kid with an appetite like a bird.... Come on! I’ll wheel you to the kitchen so you can have a look at ’im.”
Jinnie glanced around as the husband and wife entered the room. She pushed Happy Pete from her lap and got up.
“Lafe,” she exclaimed, “this is Bobbie—he’s come to live with us.”
She drew the blind boy from his chair and went forward.
“Bobbie,” she explained, “this is the cobbler. I told you about him in the park. See ’im with your fingers once, and you’ll know he’s the best man ever.”
The small boy lifted two frail arms, his lips quivering in fright and homesickness. Some feeling created by God rose insistent within Lafe. It was a response from the heart of the Good Shepherd, who had always gathered into his fold the bruised ones of the world. Lafe drew the child to his lap.
“Poor little thing!” he murmured sadly.
With curling lips, his wife stood watching the pair.
“You’re a bigger fool’n I thought you was, Lafe Grandoken,” she said, turning away sharply. “I wouldn’t make such a fuss over no one livin’. That’s just what I wouldn’t.”113
She threw the last remark over her shoulder as if it were something she spurned and wanted to be rid of.
Bobbie slipped from Lafe’s arms and described a zigzag course across the kitchen floor toward the place where Mrs. Grandoken stood. His hands fluttered over Peg’s dress, as high as they could reach.
“I like you awful well, Mrs. Peggy,” he told her, “and I just love your kisses, too, Mrs. Peggy dear. They made my stars shine all over my head.”
The cobbler’s wife started guiltily, casting her eyes upon Lafe. He was silent, his patient face expressing melancholy sweetness. As far as the woman could determine, he had not heard the boy’s words. Relieved, she allowed her eyes to rest upon Jinnie. The girl was looking directly at her. Then Jinnie slowly dropped one white lid over a bright, gleeful blue eye in a wicked little wink. This was more than Peggy could endure. Shehadkissed the little boy several times during the process of washing the tear-stained face and combing the tangled hair, but that any one should know it! Just then, Peggy secretly said to herself, “If uther one of them kids get any more kisses from me, it’ll be when water runs uphill. I ’spose now I’ll never hear the last of them smacks.”
“Let go my skirt! Get away, kid,” she ordered Bobbie.
The boy dropped his hands reluctantly. He had hoped for another kiss.
“Peggy,” said Lafe, “can I hold him? He seems so sad.”
Mrs. Grandoken, consciously grim, placed the boy in her husband’s lap.
“You see,” philosophized Jinnie, when she and the blind child were with the cobbler, “if a blind kid hasn’t any place to live, the girl who finds ’im has to bring him home! Huh, Lafe?”114
Then she whispered in his ear, “Couldn’t Bobbie join the ‘Happy in Spite’?”
“Sure he can, lass; sure he can,” assented Lafe.
Jinnie whirled back to the little boy.
“Bobbie, would you like to come in a club that’ll make you happy as long’s you live?”
The bright blind eyes of the boy flashed from Jinnie to the man, and he got to his feet tremulously. In his little mind, out of which daylight was shut, Jinnie’s words presaged great joy. The girl took his hand and led him to the cobbler.
“You’ll have to explain the club to ’im, Lafe,” she said.
“Yes, ’splain it to me, Lafe dearie,” purred Bobbie.
“It’s just a club,” began Lafe, “only good to keep a body happy. Now, me—well, I’m happy in spite a-havin’ no legs; Jinnie there, she’s happy in spite a-havin’ no folks. Her and me’s happy in spite a everything.”
Bobbie stood alongside Lafe’s bench, one busy set of fingers picking rhythmically at the cobbler’s coat, the other having sought and found his hand.
“I want to be in the club, cobbler,” he whispered.
Mr. Grandoken stooped and kissed the quivering face.
“An’ you’ll be happy in spite a havin’ no eyes?” he questioned.
The little boy, pressing his cheek against the man’s arm, cooed in delight.
“And happy in spite of not finding your mother right yet?” interjected Jinnie.
“Yes, yes, ’cause Iamhappy. I got my beautiful Peggy, ain’t I? And don’t she make me a hull lot of fine soup, and ain’t I got Lafe, Happy Pete––”
“You got me, too, Bobbie,” Jinnie reminded him gently.
Bobbie acquiesced by a quick bend of his head, and Lafe grasped his hand.115
“Now you’re a member of the ‘Happy in Spite’, Bob,” said he smiling. “This club is what I call a growin’ affair. Four members––”
“Everybody’s in,” burst forth Jinnie.
“Except Peggy,” sighed Lafe. “Some day something’ll bring her in, too.”
116CHAPTER XVIJINNIE’S EAR GETS A TWEAK
Bobbie had been at the Grandoken home scarcely a week before Jinnie again got into difficulty. One morning, wide-awake, beside the blind boy, she happened to glance toward the door. There stood Peg, her face distorted by rage, staring at her with terrible eyes. Jinnie sat up in a twinkling.
“What is it, Peggy, dear?” she faltered. “What have I done now?”
Without reply, Peggy marched to the bed and took the girl by the ear. In this way she pulled her to the floor, walking her ahead of her to the kitchen.
“I don’t know what I’ve done, Peggy,” repeated Jinnie, meekly.
“I’ll show you. You’ll know, all right, miss! Now if you’ve eyes, squint down there!”
She was pointing to the floor, and as the room was rather dark, Jinnie at first could discern nothing. Then as her eyes became accustomed to the shadows, she saw––
“Oh, what is it, Peggy? Oh, my! Oh, my!”
Peggy gave her a rough little shake.
“I’ll tell you what, Jinnie Grandoken, without any more ado. Well, they’re cats, just plain everyday cats! Another batch of Miss Milly Ann’s kits, if y’ want to know. They can’t stay in this house, miss, an’ when I say a thing, I mean it! My word’s law in this shanty!”117
She was still holding the girl’s ear, and suddenly gave it another tweak. Jinnie pulled this tender member from Peggy’s fingers with a delighted little chuckle.
“Peggy darling, aren’t they sweet? Oh, Peggy––”
“Ain’t they sweet?” mimicked Peggy. “They’re just sweet ’nough to get chucked out. Now, you get dressed, an’ take ’em somewhere. D’ you hear?”
Jinnie wheeled about for another tug of war. It was dreadful how she had to fight with Peggy to get her own way about things like this. First with Happy Pete, then with Bobbie, and now—to-day—with five small kittens, not one of them larger than the blind child’s hand. She looked into Mrs. Grandoken’s face, which was still grim, but Jinnie decided not quite so grim as when the woman appeared at her bedroom door.
“I suppose you’ll go in an’ honey round Lafe in a minute, thinkin’ he’ll help you keep ’em,” said Mrs. Grandoken. “But this time it won’t do no good.”
“Peggy!” blurted Jinnie.
“Shut your mouth! An’ don’t be Peggyin’ me, or I’ll swat you,” vowed Peg.
The woman glared witheringly into a pair of beseeching blue eyes.
“Get into your clothes, kid,” she ordered immediately, “then you––”
“Then I’ll come back, dear,” gurgled Jinnie, “and do just what you want me to.” Then with subtle modification, she continued, “I mean, Peg, I’ll do just what you want me to after I’ve talked about it a bit... Oh, please, let me give ’em one little kiss apiece.”
Peggy flounced to the stove.
“Be a fool an’ kiss ’em if you want to... I hate ’em.”
In the coarse nightdress Peggy had made for her, Jinnie sat down beside Milly Ann. The yellow mother purred in118delight. She’d brought them five new babies, and no idea entered her mother heart that she would have to part with even one.
Out came the kittens into the girl’s lap, and one by one they were tenderly lifted to be kissed. Both Peggy and the kisser were silent while this loving operation was in process. Then Jinnie, still sitting, looked from Milly Ann to Peggy.
“I guess she’s awful fond of her children, don’t you, Peg?”
Peggy didn’t answer.
“You see it’s like this, Peg––”
“Didn’t I tell you not to Peggy me?”
“Then it’s like this, darling,” drawled Jinnie, trying to be obedient.
“An’ you needn’t darlin’ me nuther,” snapped Peggy.
Jinnie thought a minute.
“Then it’s like this, honey bunch,” she smiled again.
Peg whirled around on her.
“Say, you kid––”
“Wait, dearie!” implored Jinnie. “Don’t you know mother cats always love their kitties just like live mothers do their babies?”
Peggy rattled the stove lids outrageously. Hearing these words, she stopped abruptly. Who knows where her thoughts flew? Jinnie didn’t, for sure, but she thought, by the sudden change of Mrs. Grandoken’s expression, she could guess.
The woman looked from Milly Ann to the wriggling kittens in Jinnie’s lap, then she stooped down and again brought to view Jinnie’s little ear tucked away under the black curls.
“Get up out o’ here an’ dress; will you? I’ve said them cats’ve got to go, and go they will!”119
Jinnie returned the kittens to their mother, and when she got back to her room, Bobbie was sitting up in bed rubbing his eyes.
“I couldn’t find you, girl,” he whimpered. “I felt the bed over and you was gone.”
Jinnie bent over him.
“Peg took me out in the kitchen, dear... What do you think, Bobbie?”
Bobbie began to tremble.
“I got to go away from here ... eh?”
“Mercy, no!” laughed Jinnie. “Milly Ann’s got a lot of new babies.”
Bobbie gave a delighted squeal.
“Now I’ll have something else to love, won’t I?” he gurgled.
Jinnie hoped so! But she hadn’t yet received Peg’s consent to keep the family, so when the little boy was dressed and she had combed her hair and dressed herself, they went into the shop, where the cobbler met them with a smile.
“Peg’s mad,” Jinnie observed with a comprehensive glance at Mr. Grandoken.
“Quite so,” replied Lafe, grinning over the bowl of his pipe. “She had frost on her face a inch thick when she discovered them cats. I thought she’d hop right out of the window.”
“She says I must throw ’em away,” ventured Jinnie.
“Cluck! Cluck!” struck Lafe’s tongue against the roof of his mouth, and he smiled. Jinnie loved that cluck. It put her in mind of the Mottville mother hens scratching for their chickens.
“Hain’t she ever said anything like that to you before, lass?” the cobbler suggested presently.
“She said it about me,” piped in Bobbie.120
“An’ about Happy Pete, too,” added Lafe.
“I bet I keep ’em,” giggled Jinnie.
“I’ll bet with you, kid,” said the cobbler gravely.
“I want to see ’em!” Bobbie clamored with a squeak.
But he’d no more than made the statement before the door burst violently open and Peg stood before them. Her apron was gathered together in front, held by one gripping hand; something moved against her knees as if it were alive. In the other hand was Milly Ann, carried by the nape of her neck, hanging straight down at the woman’s side, her long yellow tail dragging on the floor. The woman looked like an avenging angel.
“I’ve come to tell you folks something,” she imparted in a very loud voice. “Here’s this blasted ragtail, that’s went an’ had this batch of five cats. Now I’m goin’ to warn y’ all––”
Bobbie interrupted her with a little yelp.
“Let me love one, Peggy, dear,” he begged.
“I’m goin’ to warn you folks,” went on Peg, without heeding the child’s interjection, “that—if—you don’t want their necks wrung, you’d better keep ’em out of my way.”
Saying this, she dropped the mother cat with a soft thud, and without looking up, dumped the kittens on top of her, and stalked out of the room.
When Jinnie appeared five minutes later in the kitchen with a small kitten in her hand, Peg was stirring the mush for breakfast.
“You hate the kitties, eh, Peg?” asked Jinnie.
The two tense wrinkles at the corners of Mrs. Grandoken’s mouth didn’t relax by so much as a hair’s line.
“Hate ’em!” she snapped, “I should say I do! I hate every one of them cats, and I hate you, too! An’ if y’ don’t like it, y’ can lump it. If the lumps is too big, smash ’em.”121
“I know you hate us, darling,” Jinnie admitted, “but, Peg, I want to tell you this: it’s ever so much easier to love folks than to hate ’em, and as long as the kitties’re going to stay, I thought mebbe if you kissed ’em once—” Then she extended the kitten. “I brought you one to try on.”
“Well, Lord-a-massy, the girl’s crazy!” expostulated Peg. “Keep the cats if you’re bound to, you kid, but get out of this kitchen or I’ll kiss you both with the broom.”
Jinnie disappeared, and Peggy heard a gleeful laugh as the girl scurried back to the shop.
122CHAPTER XVIIJINNIE DISCOVERS HER KING’S THRONE
Two years and almost half of another had passed since Jinnie first came to live with Lafe and Peggy Grandoken. These two years had meant more to her than all the other fifteen in her life. Lafe, in his kindly, fatherly way, daily impressed upon her the need of her studying and no day passed without planting some knowledge in the eager young mind.
Her mornings were spent gathering shortwood, her afternoons in selling it, but the hours outside these money-earning duties were passed between her fiddle and her books. The cobbler often remarked that her mumbling over those difficult lessons at his side taught him more than he’d ever learned in school. Sometimes when they were having heart-to-heart talks, Jinnie confided to him her ambitions.
“I’d like to fiddle all my life, Lafe,” she told him once. “I wonder if people ever made money fiddling; do they, Lafe?”
“I’m afraid not, honey,” he answered, sadly.
“But you like it, eh, Lafe?”
“Sure!... Better’n anything.”
One day in the early summer, when there was a touch of blue mist in the clear, warm air, Jinnie wandered into the wealthy section of the town, hoping thereby to establish a new customer or two.123
Maudlin Bates had warned her not to enter his territory or to trespass upon his part of the marshland, and for that reason she had in the past but turned longing eyes to the hillside besprinkled with handsome homes.
But Lafe replied, when she told him this, “No section belongs to Maudlin alone, honey.... Just go where you like.”
She now entered a large open gate into which an automobile had just disappeared, and walked toward the house.
She paused to admire the exterior of the mansion. On the front, the porches were furnished with rocking chairs and hammocks, but no person was in sight. She walked around to the back, but as she was about to knock, a voice arrested her action.
“Do you want to see somebody?”
She turned hastily. There before her was her King, the man she had met on that memorable night more than two years before. He doffed his cap smiling, recognizing her immediately, and Jinnie flushed to the roots of her hair, while the shortwood strap slipped slowly from her shoulders.
“Ah, you have something to sell?” he interrogated.
Jinnie’s tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. She had never completely forgotten him, and his smile was a delightful memory. Now as he watched her quizzically, all her former admiration returned.
“Well, well,” laughed the man, “if this isn’t my little violin girl. It’s a long time since I saw you last.... Do you love your music as much as ever?”
Her first glance at him brought the flushing consciousness that she was but a shortwood gatherer; the strap and its burden placed a great barrier between them. But his question about the fiddle, her fiddle, placed her again on equal footing with him. She permitted herself to smile.124
“I play every day. My uncle loves it, but my aunt doesn’t,” she answered naïvely.
“And you’re selling wood?”
“Yes, I must help a little.”
She made the assertion proudly, offering no excuse for her chosen trade.
“And this is all for sale?” indicating the wood.
“Yes,” said Jinnie, looking down upon it.
“I’ll take it all,” Theodore offered, putting his hand into his pocket. “How much do you want for it?”
The girl gave him a puzzled glance. “I don’t just know, but I wish––I wish I could give it to you without any pay.”
She moved a little closer and questioned eagerly:
“Won’t you please take it?”
An amused expression crossed the man’s handsome face.
“Of course not, my child,” he exclaimed. “That wouldn’t be business. I want to buy it.... How about a dollar?”
Jinnie gasped. A dollar, a whole dollar! She made but little more during an entire week; she had made less. A dollar would buy––Then a thought flashed across her mind.
“I couldn’t take a dollar,” she refused, “it’s too much. It’s only worth about twenty cents.”
“But if I choose to give you a dollar?” pursued the man.
Again the purple black curls shook decidedly.
“I couldn’t take more’n it’s worth. My uncle wouldn’t like me to. He says all we can expect in this world’s our own and no more. Twenty cents is all.”
Mr. King studied her face, thoughtfully.
“I’ve an idea, a good one. Now what do you say to furnishing me wood every morning, say at fifty cents a125day. We use such a lot! You could bring a little more if you like or—or come twice.”
Jinnie could scarcely believe she’d heard aright. Unshed tears dimmed her eyes.
“I wouldn’t have to peddle to any one else, then, would I?” she stammered.
“No! That’s just what I meant.”
Then the tears welled over the drooping lids and a feeling of gratitude surged through the girl’s whole being. Fifty cents a day! It was such a lot of money—as much as Lafe made five days out of six.
Jinnie sent the man a fleeting glance, meeting his smiling eyes with pulsing blood.
“I’d love to do it,” she whispered gratefully. “Then I’d have a lot of time to—to—fiddle.”
Mr. King’s hand slipped into his pocket.
“I’ll pay you fifty cents for to-day’s wood,” he decided, “and fifty for what you’re going to bring to-morrow. Is that satisfactory?”
As if in a dream, Jinnie tumbled out the contents of the shortwood strap. As she took the money from Mr. King’s hand, his fingers touched hers; she thrilled to the tips of her curls. Then she ran hastily down the long road, only turning to glance back when she reached the gate. Mr. King stood just where she had left him, and was looking after her. He raised his cap, and Jinnie, with burning face, fled on again.
She wondered what Lafe would say about her unexpected good fortune. She would tellhimfirst, before she saw Peggy. She imagined how the sweet smile would cross his lips, and how he would put his arm gently around her.
Lafe heard her open the side door and called,
“Come in, honey!... Come on in.”126
She entered after one hasty glance proved the cobbler was alone.
“You sold quick to-day, lass,” said he, holding out his hand.
Jinnie had planned on the way home to make great rehearsing of Theodore King’s kindness, but in another instant she broke forth:
“Lafe, Lafe! I’ve got something to tell you! Oh, a lovely something! I sold all the wood to one man, and I’m going to take him a load every day, and get fifty cents for it. Regular customer, Lafe!... Here’s a dollar for Peg.”
Lafe did just what Jinnie expected he would, slipped an arm about her waist.
“The good God be praised!” he ejaculated. “Stand here an’ tell me all about it.”
“It was Mr. King––”
“Theodore King?” asked Lafe. “Why, he’s the richest man in town. He owns the iron works.”
Jinnie nodded. “Yes! He’s the one I played for in the train when I first came here. You remember my telling you, Lafe? And he wants wood every day from me. Isn’t it fine?”
“’Tis so!” affirmed Lafe. “Jinnie, lass, them angels come in shapes of human bein’s—mostly so. Now go tell Peggy. It’ll take a load off’n her heart.”
As Jinnie told her story to Mrs. Grandoken and handed her the money, the woman’s lips twitched at the corners, but she only said, warningly:
“Don’t get a swelled head over your doin’s, lass, for a brat ain’t responsible for her own smartness.”
One morning, about a week afterward, Jinnie rapped at the back door of the King mansion.
“Is Mr. King in?” she asked timidly of the servant.127
The girl stared hard at the flushed, pretty face.
“He’s in, but you can leave the wood if you want to.”
“No,” refused Jinnie. “I want to see him.”
The maid turned away, grumbling, and Jinnie backed from the door with bated breath.
Mr. King appeared immediately, seemingly embarrassed. He took both her hands.
“Why, my dear child!” he exclaimed. “I’d completely forgotten to leave the money for the wood, and you’ve been bringing it every day.”
“Peggy made the dollar go a long ways—that and Lafe’s money. We didn’t need any till to-day.... So—so I asked for you.”
“I’m glad you did,” responded King, counting and giving her the money.
Then his glance fell upon the bulging shortwood strap.
“I’m afraid you carry too much at a time,” he admonished, gravely. “You mustn’t do that.”
Jinnie dropped her eyes.
“I was talking to my uncle about it,” she explained embarrassedly, “and he thought same’s I, that you were paying too much for that little wood. I’m goin’ to bring more after this.”
“I’m satisfied, though, and I can’t have you hurting yourself by being too strenuously honest.... I might—yes, I will! I’ll send for you every day or every other––”
Jinnie’s eyes lighted up with happiness.
“Oh, sir,––” she began entreatingly.
“Wait––” said Mr. King. “It’s this way! If you brought it up here in one of my cars, it would save a lot of your time, and you wouldn’t have to come every day.”
“I could fiddle more,” Jinnie blurted radiantly. She remembered how sympathetically he had listened to her128through the blizzard. He liked the fiddle! She went a little nearer him. “I’m trying to make a tune different from any I’ve ever done, and I can’t always play well after lugging shortwood all day.... I’d love to deliver it the way you said.”
King stood gazing at her. How strangely beautiful she was! Something in the wind-browned face stirred his heart to its depths.
“Then that’s settled,” he said kindly. “You tell me where to have my man and what time, and to-morrow he’ll meet you.”
Jinnie thought a moment.
“I wonder if he knows where Paradise Road ends near the edge of the marsh.”
“He could find it, of course.”
“There’s a path going into the marsh right at the end of the road. I’ll meet him there to-morrow at twelve o’clock, and—and I’m so much obliged to you.”
When Jinnie told Lafe of the new arrangement, she gurgled with joy.
“Lafe, now I’ll make that tune.”
“Yes, honey,” murmured Lafe contentedly. “Now get your fiddle and practice; after that you c’n study a while out of that there grammar book.”
129CHAPTER XVIIIRED ROSES AND YELLOW
The days went on peacefully after the new arrangements for the shortwood. Every other day, at twelve o’clock, one of Theodore King’s cars waited for Jinnie at the head of the path leading into the marsh.
When the weather was stormy, Bennett, the chauffeur, took the wood, telling Jinnie to run along home.
All this made it possible for Jinnie to study profitably during the warm months, and by the last of August she had mastered many difficult subjects. Lafe helped her when he could, but often shook his head despondently as she sat down beside him on the bench, asking his advice.
“The fact is, honey, I ain’t got much brains,” he said to her one afternoon. “If I hung by my neck till I could see through them figures, I’d be as dead as Moses.”
One Thursday morning, as she climbed into the big car with her load, Bennett said,
“I ain’t goin’ to pay you this mornin’! The boss’ll do it. Mr. King wants to see you.”
Jinnie nodded, her heart pounding.
It was delightful to contemplate seeing him once more. She wondered where he had been all these days and if he had thought of her. Jinnie’s pulses were galloping along like a race horse. She stood quietly until the master was called, and he came quickly without making her wait.
“I’m going to ask you to do me a favor,” he said, coming forward, holding out his hand.130
Now when Jinnie first heard that he wished to see her, she thought her heart could beat no faster, but his words made that small organ tattoo against her sides like the flutter of a bird’s wing in fright. She could do something for him! Oh, what joy! What unutterable joy!
“We’re going to have some friends here Sunday evening––”
The sudden upfling of Jinnie’s head cut off his words.
What difference would his having friends make to her? Oh, yes, they wanted more wood. How gladly she would get it for him; search all day for the driest pieces if he needed them!
“I was wondering,” proceeded Mr. King, “if you would come here with your violin and play for—for—us?”
Jinnie’s knees relaxed and she staggered back against the wall.
“You musn’t feel embarrassed about it,” he hurried on. “I’d be very much indebted to you if you thought you could.”
Tears were so perilously near Jinnie’s lids that some of them rolled into her throat. To regain her self-possession enough to speak, she swallowed several times in rapid succession. Such a compliment she’d never been paid before. She brought her hands together appealingly, and Mr. King noticed that his request had heightened her color.
“I’d love to do it,” she breathed.
“Of course I’ll pay you for it,” he said, not able to think of anything else,
“I couldn’t take any money for fiddling,” replied Jinnie. “But I’ll come. Lafe says money can’t be made that way.”
She turned to go, but Mr. King detained her.
“Wait a minute,” he insisted. “I want to tell you something! You’ve a great gift—a wonderful genius—and out131of such genius much moneyismade.... I couldn’t think of letting you come here unless you allowed me to remunerate you.”
Jinnie listened attentively to all he said, but refusal was still in her steady gaze. Mr. King, seeing this, continued quickly:
“I want you very much, but on that one point I must have my way. I shall give you twenty-five dollars for playing three pieces.”
Then Jinnie thought she was going to faint. Twenty-five dollars! It was a fortune—a huge fortune! But she couldn’t take money for playing tunes that came from her heart—tunes that were a part of herself the same as her hands or feet. But before she could offer another argument, the man finished hurriedly:
“It’s settled now. You’re to come here Sunday night at eight. I’ll send for you.”
Lafe was sitting at the window as she ran through the shortcut along the tracks. Her curls were flying in the wind, her cheeks glowing with flaming color. Every day the cobbler loved her more, for in spite of the dark soil in which Jinnie thrived, she grew lovelier in spirit and face.
He waved his hand to her, and both of her arms answered his salute. When the door burst open, Lafe put down his hammer expectantly. Before he could speak, she was down upon her knees at his side, her curly head buried in his loving arms, and tears were raining down her face.
Lafe allowed her to cry a few moments. Then he said:
“Something’s hurt my lassie’s heart.... Somebody!... Was it Maudlin?”
Through the tears shone a radiant smile.
“I’m crying for joy, Lafe,” she sobbed. “I’m going to play my fiddle at Mr. King’s house and make twenty-five dollars for three tunes.”132
Lafe’s jaws dropped apart incredulously.
“Twenty-five dollars for playin’ your fiddle, child?”
Jinnie told all that had happened since leaving home.
Then Peggy had to be told, and when the amount of money was mentioned and Jinnie said:
“It’ll all be yours, Peggy, when I get it,”
Mrs. Grandoken grunted:
“You didn’t make your insides, lassie. It ain’t to your credit you can fiddle, so don’t get stuck up.”
Jinnie laughed gaily and went to the kitchen, where for two hours, with Bobbie curled up in the chair holding Happy Pete, she brought from the strings of the instrument she loved, mournful tunes mingled with laughing songs, such as no one in Bellaire had ever heard.
Over and over, as Lafe listened, he wondered where and how such music could be born in the child—for Jinnie, to the lame cobbler, would always be a little, little girl.
Later Jinnie went to the store, and when Peggy had watched her cross the street, she sat down in front of her husband.
“Lafe,” she said, “what’s the kid goin’ to wear to King’s?... She can’t go in them clothes she’s got on.”
Lafe looked up, startled.
“Sure ’nough; I never thought of that,” he answered. “An’ I don’t believe she has uther.”
It was the cobbler who spoke to Jinnie about it.
“I suppose you hain’t thought what you’re going to wear Sunday night?”
Jinnie whirled around upon him.
“Oh, Lafe!” she faltered, sitting down quickly.
“Peggy ’lowed you’d forgotten that part of it.”
“I did, Lafe; I did! Oh, I don’t know what to do!”
“I wisht I had somethin’ for you, Jinnie dear,” breathed Bobbie, touching her hand.133
Jinnie’s only response was to put her fingers on the child’s head—her eyes still on the cobbler.
“What did Peggy say, Lafe?”
“Nothin’, only you couldn’t go in the clothes you got.”
Jinnie changed her position that she might see to better advantage the plain little dress she was wearing.
“But I’ve got to go, Lafe; oh, I’ve got to!” she insisted. “Mr. King wants me.... Please, Lafe, please!”
“Call Peggy, Bobbie,” said Lafe, in answer to Jinnie’s impetuous speech.
Bobbie felt his way to the door, and Peggy came in answer to the child’s call.
“I only thought of the twenty-five dollars and the fiddling, Peggy,” said Jinnie as Mrs. Grandoken rolled her hands in her apron and sat down. “Did you say I couldn’t go in these clothes?”
“I did; I sure did. You can’t go in them clothes, an’ what you’re goin’ to wear is more’n I can make out. I’ll have to think.... Just let me alone for a little while.”
It was after Jinnie had gone to bed with Bobbie that Peg spoke about it again to Lafe.
“I’ve only got one thing I could rig her a dress out of,” she said. “I don’t want to do it because I hate her so! If I hated her any worse, I’d bust!”
The cobbler raised his hand, making a gesture of denial.
“Peggy, dear, you don’t hate the poor little lass.”
“Yes, I do,” said Peg. “I hate everybody in the world but you.... Everybody but you, Lafe.”
“What’d you think might make a dress for ’er?” asked Grandoken presently.
Before answering, Peg brought her feet together and looked down at her toes. “There’s them lace curtains ma give me when she died,” she said. “Them that’s wrapped up in paper on the shelf.”134
Lafe uttered a surprised ejaculation.
“I couldn’t let you do that, Peg,” he said, shaking his head. “Them’s the last left over from your mother’s stuff. Everything else’s gone.... I couldn’t let you, Peggy.”
Mrs. Grandoken gave a shake of defiance.
“Whose curtains be they, Lafe?” she asked. “Be they mine or yourn?”
“Yourn, Peggy dear, and may God bless you!”
All through the night Jinnie had dreadful dreams. The thought of either not going to Mr. King’s or that she might not have anything fit to wear filled the hours with nightmares and worryings. In the morning, after she crawled out of bed and was wearily dressing Bobbie, the little blind boy felt intuitively something was wrong with his friend.
“Is Jinnie sick?” he whispered, feeling her face. “My stars ain’t shinin’ much.”
The girl kissed him.
“No, honey,” she said, “Jinnie’s only sad, not sick.”
Together they went into the shop, where Peggy stood with the most gorgeous lacy stuff draped over her arms. Strewn here and there over the yards and yards of it were bright yellow and red roses. Nothing could have been more beautiful to the girl, as with widening eyes she gazed at it. Lafe’s face was shining with happiness. Peggy didn’t seem to notice the two as they entered, but she lifted the lace, displaying its length stolidly.
Jinnie bounded forward.
“What is it, Peg? What is it?”
Lafe beamed through his spectacles.
“A dress for you, girl dear. Peggy’s givin’ you the things she loves best. She’s the only woman in the world, Jinnie.”135
Reverently Jinnie went to Mrs. Grandoken’s side. She felt abjectly humble in the presence of this great sacrifice. She looked up into the glum face of the cobbler’s wife and waited in breathless hesitation. Peg permitted her eyes to fall upon the girl.
“You needn’t feel so glad nor look’s if you was goin’ to tumble over,” she said. “It ain’t no credit to any one them curtains was on the shelf waitin’ to be cut up in a dress for you to fiddle in. Go put the mush on that there stove!”