So suddenly had the two strong, friendly forces been swept from Jinnie’s daily life that as yet she had not the power to think with precision. Lafe she had had every day for almost three years, and Theodore King—oh, how she loved him! Rumors were afloat that no power could save Lafe—her dear, brave cobbler.

Day by day the girl’s faith increased, and of late she had uttered silent prayers that she might be allowed to see Theodore.

One morning she was in the kitchen rocking little Lafe when Peggy called her.

“There’s some one to see you,” said she.

Jinnie gave the mother her baby and went to the shop door. A man in a white suit smiled down upon her.

“I’m from the hospital,” said he. “Mr. King would like to see you this morning.”

Jinnie’s heart seemed to climb into her throat.

“Mr. Theodore King?” she murmured.

“Yes,” said the young man. “I’ve got a car here. Will you come?”

“Of course! Wait till I get my hat.”

Once at their destination, they tiptoed into Theodore’s room noiselessly, and as Jinnie stood over the bed, looking down upon him, she suffered keenly, he looked so deathlike; but she resolutely controlled her feelings. When Theodore 275 glanced at her, she forced herself to smile, and the sight of the lovely girl refreshed the sick man, giving him a new impetus to recover.

He smiled back, endeavoring not to show his weakness.

“You see I’m getting well,” he whispered.

Jinnie nodded. She wasn’t sure whether he was or not. How her heart ached to do something for him!

One of his long, thin hands lay over the coverlet, and Jinnie wanted to kiss it. Tears were standing thick on her lashes.

The doctor stood beside her, consulting his watch.

“If you wish to speak, Mr. King,” he said kindly, “you must do so quickly, for the young lady can stay but two minutes more. That’s all!”

The doctor turned his back upon them, watch in hand.

“Kiss me, dear!” murmured Theodore.

Oblivious of the doctor’s presence, Jinnie stooped and kissed him twice, taking the thin hand he extended.

“I sent for you because I feared you’d go to work at the wood again.”

Jinnie would reassure him on this point even by an untruth, for she might be driven, for the sake of Peggy and the children, to go back into that hated occupation.

“I promise I won’t,” she said.

“Are you still taking lessons?”

Jinnie shook her head.

“I couldn’t when you were sick. I just couldn’t.”

“But you must; you must go to-morrow. I have something here for you,” he said, reaching under the pillow with his free hand.

Jinnie drew back abashed.

“You’re too sick to think of us,” she murmured.

Theodore raised her hand to his lips.

“No! No, darling, I think of you always—every day and 276 shall even when I’m dead. You must take this money. Do you love me, dearest, very much?”

He smiled again as she stooped impetuously to kiss him, and with her face very close to his, she whispered,

“Lafe didn’t do it, darling!”

“I know it,” replied Theodore, closing his eyes.

Then the doctor turned and sent her away.

When she sank back in the automobile, Jinnie opened her hand with the roll of bills in it, and all the way home, she repeated, “He has given His angels charge over thee.” She was hoping and praying for Theodore King.

Two days later, coming down the hill, she met Miss Merriweather on horseback. The young woman stopped her and asked her to accompany her home. Jennie hesitated. She still had memories of the cat sent to its death in Molly’s fit of anger and the woman’s chilling reception of her at the King dinner. Nevertheless she turned and walked slowly beside the horse. When they reached the porch of Mr. King’s home, a groom came and led the animal away. Jinnie laid down her fiddle, taking the chair indicated by Molly. It had been Jordan Morse’s idea that she should endeavor to again talk with the girl, but the woman scarcely knew how to begin. Jinnie looked so very lovely, so confiding, so infinitely sweet. Molly leaned over and said:

“Wasn’t it queer how suddenly I remembered who you were? That night at the party your name refused to come to my mind. I’ve wanted to tell you several times how sorry I was about your accident!”

“I recognized you the minute I saw you,” said Jinnie, smiling, relieved a little by Molly’s apology.

“You’ve a good memory,” answered Molly. “Now I want to tell you something, and I hope you’ll be guided by my judgment.” 277

Jinnie looked straight at her without a sign of acquiescence.

“What is it?” she asked presently.

“You must leave Grandoken’s!”

Jinnie started to speak, but Molly’s next words closed her lips.

“Please don’t get nervous! Listen to me! You’re a very young and very pretty girl and there—there is some one interested in you.”

Jinnie pricked up her ears. Some one interested in her! Of course she knew who it was. Theodore! But she wouldn’t leave Peggy even for him, and the thought that he would not ask this of her brought her exquisite joy.

“Is it Mr. King who’s interested in me?” she asked, timidly.

Molly’s eyes narrowed into small slits.

“No, it isn’t Mr. King who’s interested in you!” she replied a trifle mockingly. “Mr. King’s too sick to be interested in anybody.”

Jinnie couldn’t refrain from saying, “He looked awful ill when I saw him at the hospital.”

Molly stared at her blankly. She grew dizzy and very angry. This girl always made her rage within herself.

“You’ve seen him since—since––”

A maddened expression leapt into Molly’s eyes.

“I drive there every day, but they won’t let me see him,” she said, reddening.

“Mr. King sent for me,” Jinnie replied, resolutely.

And as the girl admitted this, with deepening flushes, Molly looked away. When she had first spoken of Jinnie’s future to Jordan Morse, she had pleaded with him to be kind to her, but now she could surround that white throat and strangle the breath from it without compunction. 278

“Will you tell me what he said to you?” she queried, trying to hide her anger.

Jinnie looked down, and locked her fingers together.

“I can’t tell,” she said at length, moving in discomfort.

She wanted to go—to get away from the woman who looked at her so analytically, so resentfully. She got up nervously and picked up her fiddle.

“Don’t go,” urged Molly, starting forward.

Then she laughed a little and went on, “I suppose I did feel a bit jealous at first because we—Mr. King and I—have been friends so many years. But now we won’t think any more about it. I do want you to go from that terrible Paradise Road. It’s no place for a girl in your position.”

“You’ve told me that before,” retorted Jinnie, with clouded eyes. “My position isn’t anything. I haven’t any other home, and I’m a sort of a helper to Peggy.”

A helper to Peggy! Doubtless if Lafe had heard that he would have smiled. Truly she was a wonderful little helper, but she was more than that, much more—helper, friend, and protector all in one.

“Another thing,” added Jinnie quickly, “I love ’em all.”

“You’ve your own home in Mottville,” the woman suggested. “You ought to be there.”

Jinnie sank back into the chair.

“Oh, I couldn’t ever go there!” she cut in swiftly. “But I can’t tell you why.”

“Don’t you want me to help you?”

Jinnie shook her head doubtfully.

“It wouldn’t help any, taking me away from Peggy. I’d rather you’d do something for Lafe. Help him get out of prison. Will you?”

“I’m not interested in him,” said Molly. “But I am in you––” 279

“Why?” blurted Jinnie.

Molly colored.

“One can’t explain an interest like mine. But I’d go back to Mottville with you, and help you with your––”

Jinnie shook her head violently.

“I wouldn’t go there for anything in the world,” she interjected.

“I can’t understand why not!”

“Well, first I couldn’t, and I won’t.... Then Peggy needs me in Paradise Road, and there’s the baby and Bobbie.”

“Who’s Bobbie?”

“Our little kid,” replied Jinnie, smiling sweetly.

She did not think it necessary to explain that she had found Bobbie in the woods. He was as much one of them as Lafe’s baby or herself. Neither did she speak of the boy’s pitiful condition.

In spite of Jinnie’s absolute refusal, Molly went on:

“But you don’t understand. You’ve got your own life to think of!”

Jinnie burst in with what she thought was a clinching triumph.

“I take lessons on my fiddle every day. Some time I hope––”

Molly’s eyes gleamed again.

“How can you afford to take lessons?”

The questioner read the truth in the burning blush that swept the girl’s dark hair line, and her little white teeth came together.

“Mr. Grandoken is not your uncle,” she snapped.

“He’s more’n my uncle; he’s a father to me, and when he comes home––”

“He’s not coming home. Murderers don’t get off so easily.” 280

Jinnie got up and again picked her fiddle from the floor.

“He isn’t a murderer!” she stammered, with filling eyes. “Lafe wouldn’t kill anything.... I’ve been with him almost three years and I know. Why, he wouldn’t let Peg or me swat flies.”

Miss Merriweather saw her mistake. She realized then as never before that nothing could take from the girl her belief in the cobbler.

“Sit down,” she urged. “Don’t go yet.”

“I don’t want to sit down,” said Jinnie, very much offended. “I’m going! I’m sorry you think Lafe––”

Molly rose too. Impetuously she held out her hand.

“I really shouldn’t have spoken that way, because I don’t know a thing about it.”

Jinnie relented a little, but not enough to sit down. She was too deeply hurt to accept Molly’s hospitality further.

“And we musn’t quarrel, child,” decided the woman. “Now won’t you reconsider my proposition? I should love to do something for you.”

Resolutely the dark curls shook in refusal.

“I’m going to stay with Peggy till Lafe gets out, and then when I’m eighteen I’m going to school. I’ve been studying a lot since I left Mottville.... Why sometimes––” she resumed eagerly, “when we haven’t had enough to eat, Lafe’s made me buy a book to study out of, and I promised him I’d stay with his family till he came back. And––” she walked to the edge of the porch, turning suddenly, “and he’s coming back, all right,” she ended, going down the stairs.

Molly watched the slim young figure swing out to the road. The girl didn’t look around, and the woman waited until she had disappeared through the gate.

“He’ll not get out, and you, you little upstart,” she gritted, “you’ll not stay in Paradise Road, either.”