With a sigh Jinnie allowed Lafe to buckle the shortwood strap to her shoulder. Oh, how many days she had gone through a similar operation with a similar little sigh!

It was a trying ordeal, that of collecting and selling kindling wood, for the men of Paradise Road took the best of the shortwood to be found in the nearer swamp and marsh lands, and oftentimes it was nearly noon before the girl would begin her sale.

But the one real happiness of her days lay in dropping the pennies she earned into Peg’s hand.

Now Peggy didn’t believe in spoiling men or children, but one morning, as she tied a scarf about Jinnie’s neck, she arranged the black curls with more than usual tenderness.

Pausing at the door and looking back at the woman, Jinnie suddenly threw up her head in determination.

“I love you, Peggy,” she said, drawing in a long breath. “Give me a little kiss, will you?”

There! The cat was out of the bag. In another instant Jinnie would know her fate. How she dared to ask such a thing the girl could never afterwards tell.

If Peg kissed her, work would be easy. If she denied her––Peggy glanced at her, then away again, her eyes shifting uneasily.

But after once taking a stand, Jinnie held her ground. 90 Her mouth was pursed up as if she was going to whistle. Would Peg refuse such a little request? Evidently Peggy would, for she scoffingly ordered.

“Go along with you, kid—go long, you flip little brat!”

“I’d like a kiss awful much,” repeated Jinnie, still standing. Her voice was low-toned and pleading, her blue eyes questioningly on Peg’s face.

Peg shook her head.

“I won’t kiss you ’cause I hate you,” she sniffed. “I’ve always hated you.”

Jinnie’s eyes filled with tears.

“I know it,” she replied sadly, “I know it, but I’d like a kiss just the same because—because I do love you, Peg.”

A bit of the same sentiment that had worried her for over a year now attacked Mrs. Grandoken. Her common sense told her to dash away to the kitchen, but a tugging in her breast kept her anchored to the spot. Suddenly, without a word, she snatched the girl close to her broad breast and pressed her lips on Jinnie’s with resounding smacks.

“There! There! And there!” she cried, between the kisses. “An’ if y’ ever tell a soul I done it, I’ll scrape every inch of skin off’n your flesh, an’ mebbe I’ll do something worse, I hate y’ that bad.”

In less seconds than it takes to tell it, Peg let Jinnie go, and the girl went out of the door with a smiling sigh.

“Kisses ’re sweeter’n roses,” she murmured, walking to the track. “I wish I’d get more of ’em.”

She turned back as she heard Peg’s voice calling her.

“You might toddle in an’ bring home a bit of sausage,” said the woman, indifferently, “an’ five cents’ worth of chopped steak.”

Mrs. Grandoken watched Jinnie until she turned the corner. She felt a strangling sensation in her throat. 91

A little later she flung the kitchen utensils from place to place, and otherwise acted so ugly and out of temper that, had Lafe known the whole incident, he would have smiled knowingly at the far-off hill and held his peace.

Late in the afternoon Jinnie counted seventeen pennies, one dime and a nickel. It was a fortune for any girl to make, and what was better yet, buckled to her young shoulders in the shortwood strap was almost her next day’s supply. As she replaced the money in her pocket and walked toward the market, she murmured gravely,

“Mebbe Peg’s kisses helped me to get it, but—but I musn’t forget Lafe’s prayers.”

Her smile was radiant and self-possessed. She was one of the world’s workers and loved Lafe and Peg and the world with her whole honest young heart.

“Thirty-two cents,” she whispered. “That’s a pile of money. I wish I could buy Lafe a posy. He does love ’em so, and he can’t get out like Peg and me to see beautiful things.”

She stopped before a window where brilliant blossoms were exhibited. Ever since she began to work, one of the desires of Jinnie’s soul had been to purchase a flower. As she scrutinized the scarlet and white carnations, the deep red roses, and the twining green vines, she murmured.

“Peg loves Lafe even if she does bark at him. She won’t mind if I buy him one. I’ll make more money to-morrow.”

She opened the door of the shop and drew her unwieldy burden carefully inside. A girl stood back of the counter.

“How much’re your roses?” asked Jinnie, nodding toward the window and jingling the pennies in her pocket.

“The white ones’re five cents a piece,” said the clerk, “and the red ones’re ten.... Do y’ want one?”

“I’ll take a white one,” replied the purchaser. 92

“Shall I wrap it in paper?” asked the other.

“No, I’ll carry it this way. I’d like to look at it going home.”

The girl passed the rose to Jinnie.

“It smells nice, too,” she commented.

“Yes,” assented Jinnie, delightedly, taking a whiff.

Then she went on to the meat market to buy the small amount of meat required for the three of them.

One of the men grinned at her from the back of the store, calling, “Hello, kid!” and Maudlin Bates, swinging idly on a stool, shouted, “What’s wanted now, Jinnie?” and still another man came forward with the question, “Where’d you get the flower, lass?”

“Bought it,” replied Jinnie, leaning against the counter. “I got it next door for the cobbler. He’s lame and can’t get out.”

The market man turned to wait upon her.

“Five cents’ worth of chopped meat,” ordered Jinnie, “and four sausages.”

“Ain’t you afraid you’ll overload your stomachs over there at the cobbler’s shop?” laughed one of the men. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Jinnie ... Do you see that ring of sausage hangin’ on that hook?”

The girl nodded wonderingly, looking sidewise at Maudlin.

“Well, if you’ll give us a dance, a good one, mind you, still keepin’ the wood on your back, I’ll buy you the hull string. It’ll last a week the way you folks eat meat.”

Jinnie’s face reddened painfully, but the words appealed to her money-earning spirit, and with a curious sensation she glanced around. Could she dance, with the wondering, laughing, admiring gaze of the men upon her? And Maudlin, too! How she detested his lustful, doltish eyes!

She straightened her shoulders, considering. The wood 93 was heavy, and the strap, bound tightly about her chest and arms, made her terribly tired. But a whole string of sausage was a temptation she could not withstand. In her fertile imagination she could see Lafe nod his approbation, and Peggy joyously frying her earnings in the pan. She might even get three more kisses when no one was looking.

“I don’t know what to dance,” she said presently, studying the rose in her confusion.

“Oh, just anything,” encouraged the man on the stool. “I’ll whistle a tune.”

“Hand her the sausage, butcher;” sniggered Maudlin, “then she’ll be sure of it. The feel of it’ll make her dance better.”

The speaker grinned as the butcher took the string from the hook. Jinnie slipped the stem of the cobbler’s rose between her white teeth, grasped the sausage in one hand and gripped the shortwood strap with the other. Then the man started a rollicking whistle, and Jinnie took a step or two.

Every one in the place drew nearer. Here was a sight they never had seen—a lovely, shy-eyed, rosy, embarrassed girl, with a load of kindling wood on the strong young shoulders, turning and turning in the center of the market. In one hand she held a ring of sausage, and between her lips a white rose.

“If you’ll give us a grand fine dance, lass,” encouraged the butcher, “you c’n have the chopped meat, too.”

The man’s offer sifted through Jinnie’s tired brain and stimulated her to quicker action. She turned again, shifting the weight more squarely on her shoulders, her feet keeping perfect time with the shrill, whistling tune.

“Faster! Faster!” taunted Maudlin. “Earn your meat, girl! Don’t be a piker!” 94

Faster and faster whirled Jinnie, the heft of the shortwood carrying her about in great circles. Her cap had fallen from her head, loosing the glorious curls, and her breath whistled past the stem of Lafe’s white flower like night wind past a taut wire.

Jinnie forgot everything but the delight of earning something for her loved ones—something that would bring a caress from Lafe. She was sure of Lafe, very sure!

As voices called “Faster!” and still “Faster!” Jinnie let go the shortwood strap to fling aside her curls. Just at that moment she whirled nearer Maudlin Bates, who thrust forth his great foot and tripped her. As she staggered, not one of those watching had sense enough to catch her as she fell. At that moment the door swung open and Peg Grandoken’s face appeared. She looked questioningly at the market man.

“I thought I saw Jinnie come in,” she hesitated––

Then realizing something was wrong, her eyes fell upon the stricken girl.

“She was just earnin’ a little sausage by dancin’,” the butcher excused.

Peggy stared and stared, stunned for the moment. The hangdog expression on Maudlin’s face expressed his crime better than words would have done. Jinnie’s little form was huddled against the counter, the shortwood scattered around her, and from her forehead blood was oozing. On the slender arm was the ring of sausage and between her set teeth was Lafe’s pale rose. With her outraged soul shining in her eyes, Peggy gathered the unconscious girl in her two strong arms.

“I bet you done it, you damn Maudlin!” she gritted, and without another word, left the market.

Within a few minutes she had laid Jinnie on her bed, and was telling Lafe the pathetic story.