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 a 125 day. 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 tell him first, 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 her 128 through 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.”