"I'd love to do it," she breathed.
"Of course I'll pay you for it," he said, not able to think of anything else, "I couldn't take any money for fiddling," replied Jinnie. "But I'll come. Lafe says money can't be made that way."
She turned to go, but Mr. King detained her.
"Wait a minute," he insisted. "I want to tell you something! You've a great gift--a wonderful genius--and out of such genius much money is made.... I couldn't think of letting you come here unless you allowed me to remunerate you."
Jinnie listened attentively to all he said, but refusal was still in her steady gaze. Mr. King, seeing this, continued quickly: "I want you very much, but on that one point I must have my way. I shall give you twenty-five dollars for playing three pieces."
Then Jinnie thought she was going to faint. Twenty-five dollars! It was a fortune--a huge fortune! But she couldn't take money for playing tunes that came from her heart--tunes that were a part of herself the same as her hands or feet. But before she could offer another argument, the man finished hurriedly: "It's settled now. You're to come here Sunday night at 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.