t 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."

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' fo