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.

“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 feverish 141 blood 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 it 142 full 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.